#i'm still confused on how I calculated half of this

[lotus-soda]

I think I may have solved the bsd mainline manga timeline

TW FOR MENTIONS OF SUICIDE AND DEATH!

Soooo this took me a week, but so worth it! The link to the google doc where everything is and is explained, is here! I hope you all enjoy! Thanks!

[creepyscritches]

I read your post about open enrollment for the ACA and was hoping you might expand on why you believe it would take years to dismantle. I've been terrified that with a Republican house/senate, Trump could just snap his fingers and make it go away within months of taking office. I'd love some reassurance that that's not possible.

Hiya, sure I can share some thoughts on the matter! First, it's very important to understand the ACA is a huuuuuuuuuuuuge system with subject matter experts in dozens of places throughout the process. I'm one of those SMEs, but I am at the end of the process where the revenue is generated, so my insight is limited on the public facing pieces.

What this means is that I am professionally embedded in the ACA in a position that exists purely to show what conditions people are treated for and then generate that data into what's called a "risk score". There's about 6 pages I could write on it, but the takeaway is that the ACA is

1) intricately interwoven with the federal government

2) increasingly profitable, sustainable, and growing (it is STILL a for-profit system if you can believe it)

3) wholeheartedly invested in by the largest insurance companies in the country LARGELY due to the fact that they finally learned the rules of how to make the ACA a thriving center of business

4) since the big issuers are arm+leg invested in the ACA, there is a lot of resistance politically and on an industry level to leave it behind (think of the lobbyists, politicians, corporations that will fight tooth and nail to protect their profit + investment)

The process to calculate a risk score takes roughly 2 years. There is an audit for the concurrent year and then a vigorous retro audit for the prev year - - this is a rolling cycle every year. Medicare has a similar process. These are RVP + RADV audits if you would like the jargon.

Eliminating the ACA abruptly is as internally laughable as us finishing the RADV audit ahead of schedule. If Trump were to blow the ACA into smithereens on day 1, he would be drowning in issuer complaints and an economic health sector that is essentially bleeding out. You cut off the RVP early? We have half of next RADV stuck in the gears now. You cut off the RADV early? No issuer will get their "risk adjusted" payments for services rendered in the prev benefit year (to an extent, again very complex multi-process system).

The ACA is GREAT for the public and should be defended on that basis alone. However, the inner capitalistic nature of the ACA is a powerful armor that has conservatives + liberals defending it on a basis of capital + market growth. It's not sexy, but it makes too much money consistently for the system to be easily dismantled.

Or at least that's what I can tell you from the money center of the ACA. they don't bring us up in political conversation because we are confusing to seasoned professionals, boring to industry outsiders, and consistently we are anathema to the anti-ACA talking points.

I am already preparing for next year's RVP for this window of open enrollment. That RVP process will feed into the RADV in 2026. In 2025, we begin the RADV for 2024. If nothing else, the slow fucking gears of CMS will keep the ACA alive until we finish our work at the end of the process. I highly doubt that will be the only reason the ACA is safeguarded, but it is a powerful type of support to pair with people protecting the ACA for other reasons.

I work every day to show, defend, and educate on how many diagnoses are managed thru my company's ACA plans. My specialty is cancer and I see a lot of it. The revenue drive comes from the Medical Loss Ratio (MLR) rule stating only 20% MAX of profit may go to the issuer + the 80% at a minimum must go back to the customer or be invested in expanding benefits. The more people on the plan using it, the higher that 20% becomes for the issuer and the more impactful that 80% becomes for the next year of benefit growth. It is remarkably profitable once issuers stop seeking out "healthy populations". The ACA is a functional method for issuers to tap into a stable customer base (sick/chronic ill customers) that turns a profit, grows, and builds strong consumer bases in each state.

The industry can never walk away from this overnight - - this is the preferred investment for many big players. Changing the direction of those businesses will be a monumental effort that takes years (at least 2 with the audits). In the meantime, you still have benefits, you still have care, and you still have reason to sign up. Let us deal with the bureaucracy bullshit, go get your care and know you have benefits thru 2025 and we will be working to keep it that way for 2026 and forward. This is a wing of the federal government, it is not a jenga tower like Trump wishes.

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

Clone baby AU TimKonBartCassie

Part 1

"Don't be mad."

Tim is more than aware he might not be the most sane, he also is more than aware that sometimes he does things that can be considered rage inducing or morally wrong but he can't say he regrets his choices.

Especially when she's seven pounds four ounces and just holding her makes him ready to burn the whole word down.

A perfect blend of him, Kon, Bart, and Cassie which oddly enough was extremely difficult to do since as it turns out genetic sequencing which is already absurdly complicated gets even worse when you add two more people.

She's perfect.

It was a spur of the moment decision a nightmare that drove him right back into the center of his grief.

He was staring at his previous cloning calculations and for a moment he was so incrediblely selfish.

He wanted a piece of his friends proof in a way of how deeply devoted he is to them. Something that no matter what couldn't be taken from him, something he could love unconditionally.

In a darker part of his mind he admits that the baby, his child who is incredible could have been just his and Kon's a half kryptonian but in his experience that is still too mortal.

But combined with a speedster and demigod he might have just made an unbeatable weapon. Not that his little girl will ever be that, he won't allow it.

"Tim is that a baby?" Kon gasps.

He only had held her for five minutes the greatest thing in the word had only been alive for ten minutes before he raced to titans tower holding his precious cargo.

All of them, the other parents? His friends sitting peacefully watching some program completely unaware of what's he's done. Not that it stayed that way for long.

"Is that Luci?" Bart asks.

All of them turn even Tim completely shocked his entire explanation that he had been planning for the last few hours gone with one sentence.

"Bart do you know this random baby? Also Luci what kind of name is that? Tim why do you have a baby?Cassie demands trying to sound stern but everyone can tell is beyond confused.

Bart who had gotten up walks not an once of speed the calmest any of them have ever seen, over to him a soft smile directed at apperently Luci although Tim agrees wth Cassie it's a weird name and not what he was planning.

"Our son, and Luci is a nickname, and if I'm right Tim just spent the last twenty four-ish hours creating him."

Before he can comprehend half of what Bart just said. Luci?

Is being cradled head perfectly surported by the speedster along with soft cooing from said speedster looking so natural as if fatherhood was created just for him.

Finally he finds his voice.

"Daughter, but Bart is right she's ours."

A giggle interrupts the cooing before a smirk paints Bart's face.

"No it's definitely son but it will be a good few years before he's able to voice that specific issue, not that it's much of an issue with all the money your daddy has isn't that right little lightening?"

And once again Bart is back to being absurdly attractive holding their child that Tim is getting a feeling he had prior knowledge of. Who also is trans? Maybe? which is completely fine of course but back to the whole Bart clearly knows something.

"Imp, ok I get the whole Rob made a baby with our DNA thing. No offense but I'm not exactly surprised Sunshine, your crazy we love that about you, but Bart why are you talking like you already know them."

Kon asks sounding very tired which Tim is a little offended by, he's not crazy.

Also how dare he be so accepting of Tim's cloned child as if this is Tuesday and Tim does this everyday he definitely does not, he's not Batman well ok maybe a little bit like him but still.

Wow Tim is way to sleep deprived if this is his inner monologue right now.

"Because I do. Lilith right? That's the name you had in mind apperently he doesn't actually mind you going with that for now since in his own words it inspires his much scarier name. God I love that kid."

Tim blanks.

He swallows throat suddenly really dry.

"Bart did you go to the future?"

He is trying to process but is now very scared is a time line fractured? Could his child not exist, and nevermind the whole Bart apperently already has insider info on the child his child that Tim just made ten fucking minutes ago.

"Oh no nothing like that."

He laughes out as if Bart hasn't been sitting on life changing information for who knows how long. Which is also extremely hypocritical of him considering secret child and timeline shenanigans that he was just panicking over.

"Our wonderful, gremlin, of a child ran into me actually some evil rouge with Time Travel powers which was a whole thing."

He pauses clearly rejoicing in some memory of their child that again Tim you know his mother wasn't privy to. Even though Tim is a man which would make him Dad but he created the baby so he should have been the first to have fond memories.

"I went to interrupt said fight not knowing and your child, yah Robie he was hundred percent your child, threw a DNA test in my face told me to get out of his way and absolutely demolished the dude before who I believe and I am just speculating here, was your brother's kid grabbed the dude and threw him into some weird portal before vanishing."

Tim is gonna lose his fucking mind his baby who he just created.

Grows up to be a superhero which alright not surprising, but also apperently one of his siblings has a child also not surprising. But they apperently travel through time together and cause chaos how fucking lovely he is starting to feel really guilty about everything with Bruce.

Oh my god he has to tell Bruce. But first.

"Which sibling?"

He doesn't actually know what's he's hoping for maybe Dick's kid yah, a sunshine child, chaotic but nice yah that sounds like a good influence. On once again his twenty minute old son? Daughter something? Whatever baby.

"Well based on the guns, and arrows that were floating around. You also can't forget the helmet I would say that was Arsenal and Red Hood's very own precious bundle but Luci wouldn't give me a straight answer but what would you expect when we raised him."

Tim's tired very tired he doesn't even stop himself from face planting onto the floor. Everything will make more sense after a nap a very long nap.

Oh my god Jason procreated is his last thought before he falls into a nightmare filled sleep.

[coolemmasulivan2]

Rewinding Us | 2

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: You and Mason built a love story over five years, but after an accident, your memories are wiped away, including any feelings for your constant bickering "rival". Can you remember your love story with Mason, or will you have to start all over?

Word count: 2736

You can read more chapters here.

I am thinking of you In my sleepless solitude tonight If it's wrong to love you Then my heart just won't let me be right

The villa was filled with the anxious feeling of saying goodbye. Tomorrow, everyone would go back to their own lives, leaving behind the sun and freedom of the past week.

You zipped and unzipped your suitcase, feeling that you were forgetting something. You couldn't remember what it was and that frustrated you. Your head was a confusing mess.

Things had been awkward with Mason since you brought up the kiss. Every glance, every brush of your arms, sent shivers down your spine. You tried to ignore it, pretend nothing had changed, but you would be lying. The accident hadn't just stolen your memories, it had changed something deep inside you.

"I hate you!"

"Do you really, Y/n?"

The flashback vanished, leaving you staring at your half-packed suitcase. A cold sweat ran through your skin. You knew the answer to that question. You hated him then, but now the feeling was different and it was terrifying. So, you ran.

The morning after the confrontation, a suffocating silence settled between you and Mason. You maintained your distance and were drawn to others, ensuring there was always a physical barrier between you and him.

Seeing your calculated distance hurt Mason. He wanted to tell you how much he missed the way you used to laugh with him, the way your eyes would light up when you spoke with him, your touch and your lips. But he had to give you time. More time.

"You're still packing?" Ben entered the bedroom and sat down on the bed next to the open luggage.

You were sat on the other side of the bed, folding slowly some of your clothes. "I'm getting there. What's the rush? I have all night." You smiled and he smiled back.

"Is everything okay?" His voice was gentle.

You looked up at him. "Yeah. Just tired from the beach, that's all!"

Ben's gaze held yours, amusement quickly replaced by a knowing sparkle. "You've been quiet!" He observed, his voice soft. "For these past two days." You kept folding clothes, slowly and carefully. Ben continued, his voice laced with a quiet persistence. "Does it have anything to do with… Mase?"

You paused, the question hanging heavy in the air. How could you explain the tangled mess of emotions stirring inside you?

You locked eyes with Ben, the lie a bitter flavour on your tongue. "No!" You forced out, the word barely a whisper.

Ben chuckled. "You forget I know you, Y/N. You've been ignoring him like a ghost." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Ignoring him more than usual, I mean. You haven't even started your usual arguing routine."

Frustration bubbled up, spilling over in a sigh. You slammed the suitcase shut. "It feels like everyone's lying to me." You blurted out, your voice thick with a tremor you couldn't control. "You included! Why can't anyone just tell me the truth?"

Ben raised an eyebrow, concern etched on his face. "What do you mean?"

"It's like you're all walking on eggshells." You said, throwing a frustrated hand in the air. "There's something you're not telling me. Everyone."

Ben's easy smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of unease crossing his features. "You're imagining things."

His words felt like a weak dam incapable of holding back the suspicion inside of you. "Imagining?" You scoffed. "Then tell me, Ben. What was my life like before the accident? Was I happy?"

"Happy? Yeah, of course you were. Living your life, having a job you liked, good friends…"

"And Mason? Did we still…hated each other?" You pressed on, your voice laced with a desperate need for answers. A hesitant pause followed your question.

Ben shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flitting away from yours. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. "I mean… you started to become more friendly with each other, yes… is that a bad thing?" His answer was carefully chosen, without revealing the true nature of your relationship with Mason.

You narrowed your eyes. "Friendly?" You repeated the single word dripping with disbelief. "Ben, you're lying to me."

Ben stuttered, his carefully constructed facade crumbling. "I, uh... I think it's better if you ask Mason about that, don't you think?"

The suggestion felt like a betrayal. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you mumbled: "He's probably going to lie too." Asking Mason about your relationship meant facing the possibility of something more.

Ben reached for your hand. "Look…" He said, his voice softer now. "I can't even imagine how it feels to wake up without memory. But if you want answers, maybe you should ask them to the right people." His gaze held yours for a beat longer than necessary. Then, with a quick kiss on your forehead, he turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The next day, the drive to the airport was a blur of familiar views and friendly conversation. Charlotte, in the front seat, chatted excitedly about her plans, when they arrived back in London, while Ben and Mason talked quietly about an old football match.

The airport was loud with lots of people and long lines. As you checked in, you felt more and more worried. You just couldn't shake the feeling that you had left something behind.

Finally, when you got to the gate to wait for the plane, you remembered. "Wait!" You shouted. Your hand went straight to your neck. "I can't leave! I forgot my necklace."

"We can't go back, Y/n." Ben said kindly. "We'll miss our flight."

"But I have to!" Your voice was desperate. "It's a silver chain with a heart pendant. I can't leave without it!"

Surprise flickered across Mason's face. Mason knew about the necklace, he had given it to you on your first anniversary as a couple, but he hadn't realised that you had been wearing it all this time.

"Y/n, we really don't have time for this." Charlotte added.

"Then you guys go!" You snapped, the words tumbling out before youe could stop them. "I'll catch a later flight."

A tense silence descended upon the group. It confused him why the necklace meant so much to you, especially since you couldn't even recall that it was a gift from him.

"I'll go with her." Mason said. "We'll be quick, but if you need to leave, you can go!" You stared at him, your heart pounding. Why would he offer to go with you? Was it pity? "What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

You were so anxious that you kept your mouth closed and followed him out of the airport.

The car ride back to the villa was tense. The music offered a thin shield against the awkward silence that installed between you and Mason. He stole glances your way, craving to hear your voice, to see your familiar eyes. Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, he spoke.

"Why is the necklace so important to you?" Mason asked, his voice soft.

"Because it's mine!" You replied, looking at him. "I don't know why exactly. I woke up with it, and I just take it off to shower. Must've left it on the sink by mistake." You mumbled the last part, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Maybe you could just buy a new one. It's easier." He suggested. When you sighed heavily, he realized he was pissing you off.

"I don't want another one, Mount." You snapped, his last name slipping out in irritation. "That is my necklace."

A small smile tugged at Mason's lips. The human brain was a fascinating thing, he thought, storing away memories even when you couldn't access them.

Back at the villa, you recovered the spare key from the hidden place and hurried inside, the urgency of the situation finally sinking in. You raced upstairs, Mason following at a slower pace. He knew the chances of making the flight were slim, so there was no point in rushing.

He found you in the bathroom, kneeling on the floor and frantically searching for the silver necklace. "Oh my god, it's not here!"

"Maybe it's in the bedroom." Mason offered. "Come on, I'll help you find it."

In the bedroom, you checked the nightstand, under the bed, and even tossed the pillows aside, but it was nowhere to be found. Just as despair began to set in, Mason spotted a glint of silver on the floor.

"Found it!"

The familiar sight made your eyes light up, a spark that sent a jolt through Mason. He hadn't realized how much he missed seeing that spark in your eyes. A shy smile graced your lips, and for a moment, Mason felt like he was falling in love with you all over again.

"Oh my god, thank you." You breathed out.

"Turn around." He said, his voice barely a whisper. You hesitated for a second but then found yourself turning, allowing him to clasp the necklace around your neck.

His movements were slow, his body brushing tantalizingly close. You could feel his warm breath on your neck, sending shivers down your spine. As his fingers brushed your skin, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, and a memory slammed into your mind out of nowhere.

"What do you have behind your back?" You asked, your voice thick with joy.

It was your first anniversary together, and after dinner, you'd settled on the couch for a movie night. But Mason had excused himself for a few minutes, returning with a mischievous grin and his hand hidden behind his back.

He sat down beside you and brushed a kiss across your lips, his familiar cologne making you smile. "I have something for you." He announced.

He smirked as he opened a small black box, revealing a delicate silver necklace adorned with a perfectly formed heart, causing your heart to melt.

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. "Mason, it's beautiful!" You whispered, taking the delicate gift from his hand.

He leaned in, his eyes searching yours. "Just like you." He murmured, his voice husky with emotion. And then, he closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate.

The memory hit you so vividly that it took your breath away. You gasped, clutching the necklace to your chest and stepping back from Mason, your eyes wide with shock. He stood there with a confused expression on his face, his hands still hovering in the air where they'd just clasped the necklace around your neck.

"What?" He asked, concern lacing his voice.

You attempted to steady your breathing, but your mind was in turmoil.

This memory explained the strange possessiveness in his eyes when you first mentioned the necklace and the way his touch sent a familiar shiver down your spine. You didn't even know what to say. The memory left you in a sea of confusion.

"Y-You…" You stuttered, the word catching in your throat.

Mason was starting to get worried. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out hesitantly. "What is it, Y/n?"

"You were the one!" You blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips. "You gave me the necklace!"

Mason swallowed the lump in his throat and his heart was beating very fast. He wanted to say yes, that the necklace was a gift from him, a symbol of his love, but by the terrifying look in your eyes, he controlled himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said, his voice a low rumble.

You took a step back, confused and terrified by what the memory had brought surging to the surface. "I saw you!" You insisted, your voice shaking. "The necklace. It was a black box."

Mason let out a nervous chuckle, the sound strained and unconvincing. "Y/n, I think you're confusing things."

"STOP LYING TO ME!" You yelled, a burst of frustration.

"YES, IT WAS ME!" He shouted in response, finally letting go. The frustration in his voice mirrored yours. He was tired. He was tired of pretending he didn't want to be by your side every single day. "I gave you the necklace. Happy now?"

You squeezed the necklace in your hand. You didn't know what to feel. Since you'd met Mason years ago, your interactions had been filled with annoyance and hatred. But now, those new feelings were scary. You were afraid. Afraid of feeling something more for the handsome footballer standing before you.

"Why?" You whispered, your voice barely audible. "Why did you give me the necklace?"

Mason ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. "If you remember the box was black, you also remember we kissed." His eyes locked on yours. "God, Y/n, it's not that difficult. We were together."

You shook your head in denial, the image of his lips meeting yours in the memory flashing before your eyes. "No!" You breathed.

"Yes!" He said, his voice firm.

"No. We hate each other. That's impossible." The words tumbled out, a desperate attempt to cling to the reality you remembered.

Ignoring the protest in your voice, Mason took a step forward, forcing you to back up until you felt the cool wall against your back. The gesture sent a jolt through you, a mix of fear and a strange, unfamiliar excitement. He slowly took another step, and another, until he was impossibly close, his chest brushing against yours. You could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Do you hate me?" He asked, his voice a husky whisper. He was so close that you could count the small freckles peppered across his nose. "Do you hate me like you used to?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. His lips were a mere breath away, distracting you. "No-- yes, y-yes, I do!"

He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The tension was unbearable. "I don't believe you." He said.

"I don't car--"

"I love you!" The words exploded from him. His eyes holding yours captive. The force of his words left you speechless. Your legs felt like jelly, threatening to buckle beneath you. "I have been loving you for a long time."

"Don't say that, Mason."

"I missed you calling me Mason." He murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips. The air crackled with unspoken desire. "Fuck," He breathed, his voice thick with frustration. "I miss you so damn much."

There was a tense silence between you. You and Mason stared at each other, searching each other's eyes for answers. A slow smile played on Mason's lips, a hint of worry mixed in. He leaned closer, slowly, like a magnet drawn to you. Your heart pounded in your chest, a frantic drum against your ribs. Every part of you wanted to step back, to run away. But you couldn't move. Then, a second later, his lips met yours.

The kiss was passionate and gentle. Mason's hands cupped your face softly like he was afraid to break something. You wrapped your hand in his shirt, clinging to him as the kiss deepened. Without even thinking, you kissed him back, pouring all your jumbled emotions into the kiss.

It was a kiss that belonged to a different you. A you who maybe, loved Mason back. The realization slammed into you like a cold shower. You pulled away abruptly, gasping for air.

Mason's eyes searched your face. His hand brushed your cheek, a lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine. "Y/n…" He started, his voice hoarse., because of the kiss.

"I-I can't." You stuttered, the words slipping out in a rush. You stumbled away, needing distance. It was all too much.

"Wait!" Mason reached for you, but you were already running towards the exit. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision. You didn't dare look back, afraid of wanting to stay with him.

The fresh air hit you as you burst out of the villa, your lungs burning.

Focused on escaping from Mason, you hadn't noticed the car speeding down the street. It wasn't slowing down.

A screech of tyres tore through the pavement, followed by a loud honk. You heard a desperate shout - "Y/N!" - but it was too late. The world seemed to blur as the blinding headlights filled your vision.

[k5ashe]

malicious

taking care of your anaemic roomate

mdni: dark content, mentions of degrading nicknames, abusive and toxic relationship

starring my twink malewife Nikolai ^^

"Fyodor-?" Your sweet voice rings in his room as you walk in, opening the curtains. It's 10 AM, a perfect Sunday morning. "Wake up, it's already 10. How long are you gonna stay coped in there?" Your tone is slightly strict, nagging him for being such a bed bug. You sigh when he pulls the blanket over him, reluctant to get up. "Do you want me to splash water on your face again?". At the mention of water, he gets up, staring at you with a scrutinized expression.

"It's my day off. Go away." You huff at his cold tone, opening the window and letting sunlight in.

Its been 5 months since you started living with him. A medical student with basically zero income- you needed a cheap place to stay, which wasn't hard when you found Fyodor. You still remember it like it was yesterday. Discovering he was anaemic was easy- there were signs. The first was how cold he was- just like his demeanor. His finger tips felt like ice against your plump skin. His eyes seemed tired, a yellowish hue in them. So, when he fainted while working, it didn't surprise you.

"You know, you should stop being so mean to me". You jokingly say, earning a glare from him. He slowly gets up, gulping down water. You stare at him for a second, before making his bed up.

Huh? Blood? You freeze, looking at his undershirt. The sleeves were ripped, as if surviving an assault. Half of the buttons were either ripped off or broken in half. What makes you erk was the humongous blood stain on it, the stench making you crill your nose up. It takes you by surprise when he suddenly grabs the shirt, yanking it from your hands.

"Fyod-" "Did I ask you to make the bed? Stop pissing me off first thing in the morning."

You're taken aback by his strict tone, taking a step back. He enters the washroom, slamming the door shut. You huff, making your way over the kitchen.

You're left alone the whole day, the man not bothering to come out his room

Ring. Ring. Ring

You get up, startled by the sudden series of bells chiming. You hurriedly open the door, still half sleepy. "Who is it-...?". Your eyes meet one of a confused man. Long, white braided hair- spreading along him like an expanse of white scenery. He tilts his head, looking down at you with a grin.

"Wow, Fedya has a girlfriend? You're pretty, miss." Eh? A girlfriend? You shake your head, confused. "I'm his roomate. Who might you be?". At your question, the man fakes a disheartened smile, clutching his shirt. "How cruel, my dear Fedya hasn't mentioned me to you even once? Ah, well. He is an asshole, so." You fake a smile, looking at him. "He's not home right now. Is there a message you want me to pass down, sir-"

Oh, Lord. You freeze at the sinister smile the stranger gives you, his lips stretching wide. The lips, typically drawn in a tight, thin line, seem to stretch unnaturally across the face, forming a grim, twisted expression that appears almost predatory. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, but there's no warmth or sincerity in the gesture. Instead, it exudes an aura of calculated malice, as if the person behind it is relishing some hidden agenda or reveling in the discomfort they are causing.

"Ah, how cute. Staying with a criminal-" Before he could complete what he was saying, you slam the door in his face, dropping to the floor. Your heartbeat is the fastest it has ever been. In a second, you're sprinting, closing all the windows in the house and double locking the back door. You hug yourself, wrapping yourself up in sheets, hoping to find some comfort.

Till dawn, the image on that smile haunts your mind.

"Fyodor? Your friend came to visit you." He quirks an eyebrow, lifting his gaze from the book he was reading. He's silent, signalling you to continue.

"He has really long, white hair. Honestly, he scared the crap out of me. He startes grinning like a madman and he said I'm living with a criminal. People these days are-"

Huh? You shut your mouth when you see his expression. His eyes are wide, staring at you as he's seen a ghost. You shiver.

"And he kept calling you Fedya". He gets up, grabbing your shoulder. You look at him, confused. " Fyo-". His hand chops down on your neck. You gasp, feeling immense pain run through your spine. In a second, you're out cold.

".. You know too much."

As you woke, your heart pounded in terror. Chains bounded your wrists and ankles, trapping you in a dim, foreboding room. Panic surged through you as you struggled against the cold metal, realizing you were captive and alone, mind racing with fear and uncertainty.

"You're up"

You lift your head, heart dropping to your stomach when you recognize the familiar face. The tired eyes, purple hair. "Fyodor-?... Why are you-.. "

And then it all comes down. The countless blood stains you found on his shirt. His absence of days, stretching to weeks. How he hated you grabbing his phone. At a point, this should have deemed suspicious to you. But, love makes you blind, right?

It was like love at first sight. His tone was oddly gentle and he was more open to you. His build was slim but he was strong, strong enough to grab you when you almost fell from the couch. You felt nervous under his gaze. When your eyes met, a rush of nervous excitement fluttered in the pit of your stomach, mingling with the undeniable pull of attraction. It was as if time stood still, the world fading away around you as you became lost in the depths of his gaze.

"... Will you kill me too, Fyodor?". Your sweet voice rings through him again, and he clenches his teeth, almost holding back. His hand grabs your chin, tilting it up. You smile at him, a genuine one.

"I love you, Fyodor."

He stares at you, silent for a moment before he slowly starts laughing. He laughs and laughs, the sound cold and humourless. "Oh, you really are dumb, aren't you? I already suspected you were one. But this? What an idiot."

He stands up now, walking to where you sit on the floor. A harsh smirk is on his lips now, and he stands above you, looking down at you with a twisted expression. "Look at you... you honestly can't see why I picked you? A dumb slut is what you are. And you're mine to play with, after all. Honestly, I'm a little disappointed. I thought you were smarter, but, clearly not. You're nothing but an idiotic whore."

"But-" Your voice cracks. "I love you, Fyodor. I love every single moment that happened between us. There’s no way all that was fake." You say, crying.

"Oh? You love me?" He grips your hair now, pulling you up to your feet. He smirks as his eyes stare darkly into your own, almost sadistically amused by your words. He's always been cruel, but... never to this degree. "My dear, look where it's gotten you, hm? You're at my mercy... do you really think confessing to loving a man like me will do you any good?"

You gasp for breath, tears streaming down your face. "Play with me, Fedya". You say, tone almost desperate. " Just don’t leave, Fedya-"

Your words die at your tongue when a cold blade presses on your neck. Before you could move, your eyes close. You suddenly realise you can't move -- won't move. The blood spills and colors the floor is a beautiful red color, soaking his shoes up. It's the last thing you ever see

[songmingisthighs]

Oddeleny

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. lxvi - gotcha

ghost!yeosang × reader

genre : ghost!au

rating, warning : mature; crude jokes and filthy language

wc : 1.2 k

buy me coffee ?

a connection once had, broken with the expectation that the ending is final. but life has an odd proclivity of making attachments from detachments. in the end, we don't know what we lost until we look at what we have

To say Wooyoung hesitated to come was a major understatement because the second Wooyoung got to Mingi and Yeosang's apartment complex, he felt a shiver down his spine, remembering what happened in Yeosang's room. That's why it was so hard for him to knock on the door of the apartment because he didn't know what to expect then.

Frankly, Wooyoung didn't know why he listened to Mingi and agreed to come. Of course, it was curiosity that got the best of him because for the past God knows how long, Wooyoung was trying to look for an explanation or something to relate to. Well, someone. Now that Mingi said the things he said, he wanted to believe that Mingi shared his experience. All in all, Wooyoung hoped that he would be able to get some clue as to what to do with what happened, whatever it was.

So he braced himself, took a deep breath, and rang the bell, almost regretting it immediately and part of his brain told him to just turn around and walk away but Mingi had opened the door.

"Good, you're here," Mingi huffed, convincingly acting as if he was flustered which surprised Wooyoung because he had never been glad for his arrival. Slowly, Wooyoung trailed into the apartment and took off his shoes. "I'm surprised that you're glad I'm here," Wooyoung muttered, looking around the apartment warily as if expecting to see Yeosang standing there. But of course, Yeosang didn't show up.

"So what is it that freaked you out to the point of contacting me?" Wooyoung asked, his eyes still shifting around like a thief who is calculating his move. Mingi made a point to sigh and gestured for Wooyoung to sit on the couch, "I think... It's better for you to sit down first because things could get overwhelming," he stated, confusing Wooyoung who cautiously followed Mingi's direction and sat down. "What are you talking about?" It took him a moment but his eyes widened, "Did you catch Yeosang popping on his computer screen?" Wooyoung asked, his voice laced with anxiety with a hint of excitement.

"Remember how you told your friends that you think your grandma always favoured your twin sister and that you're worried that she's going to give your portion of the inheritance to her because she'd just manipulate her and that you'd make sure nothing like that ever happens?" Mingi started, inching towards his room while Wooyoung's eyes followed his movements. Slowly, Wooyoung nodded but his eyebrows furrowed, "Yeah? What about it?" he asked, now feeling that the conversation was inching somewhere else.

Without saying much more, Mingi opened the door of his room and Seonghwa and San stepped out, surprising Wooyoung enough to make him stand up. "What are you two doing here?" Wooyoung was in no way ready to face the two considering he had abandoned all of his responsibilities to San and their channel and refused to answer Seonghwa's calls. "Wooyoung, we've been talking to Mingi and we're worried about you," Seonghwa started as San only stood by the sides with his arms crossed, trying his best not to immediately attack his credibility as influencer partner. To that statement, Wooyoung's body shifted to a defensive stance, one foot in front of the other as if he was preparing to run if needed. "And what the fuck has Mingi been telling you two? You know he's a liar, right? He exaggerates all of the things he said. He doesn't know half the shit in my life and what I've been doing." Sighing, Seonghwa crossed his arms too and peeked into the room he came from before returning his gaze to Wooyoung, "No, but I've heard a lot, SEEN a lot from (y/n) and that's what got me even more worried."

It was bad enough that Seonghwa, HIS friend, mentioned your name, but to see you coming out of Mingi's room and standing in front of San with people he recognized as your friends spreading along the room almost made him scream. As hard as it was, Wooyoung held his voice in and only snarled at the sight of his twin sister, "And what the hell are you doing here you psycho?" Immediately, the bulky guy next to you (Jongho), took a step forward to swing at Wooyoung only to be held back by the smallest guy of the bunch (Hongjoong). "Hey, it's not like I wanna face you Wooyoung but I'm doing this so your friends don't have to deal with the horse shit you've been piling on me," you scoffed with a roll of an eye, making it obvious that you were done with his antics while simultaneously pissing him off. Judging from the way Wooyoung clenched his fists, it seemed like you achieved your goal.

Wooyoung stood there as he eyed you and his friends, conveniently acting like your own friends weren't even there. Not that any of them cared because they were only there to support you and in addition, Mingi and in extension, Seonghwa and San. "So what did this bitch told you that you were so easily manipulated, huh? Did she told you all about how she was ignored all of our childhood and that she blamed it on me? Did she told you about how she manipulated my grandma and my cousin to the point that our parents were harrassed?" "Save it Wooyoung, we know you've been stalking her and we know that it was you who planted the idea in your parents' brain to kick (y/n) out of school," San finally spoke up, stepping out from behind Seonghwa to face the friend he now barely recognized.

The secret had obviously eaten Wooyoung away like a flesh-eating virus because the person who stood before them was not the proud, cocky, and albeit conceited friend they once know. The guy before them was skittish, wary, he looked like he was running from something which he was and it was his past that was catching up to him at a rapid speed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Wooyoung said as his brain tried to think of a way to inch out slowly, figuring how to get out considering that he was grossly outnumbered. Plus, in his deluded mind, he believed that the people before him were willing to do what he would and what he would do was just something none of the others would even consider.

"Wooyoung, just stop. Aren't you tired of hiding everything?" You snapped, taking steps forward to Wooyoung much to your friends' dismay, "Look at you! No one knew where you've been for weeks and everyone is worried! Frankly, I am because you were not like this before and you're cracking, Wooyoung. You're like a fragile porcelain teacup just a tap away from shattering and God, don't you see how affected your friends are?" Hearing that made Wooyoung blink in realization, his eyes immediately darted to his friends and sure enough, he recognized the worry underneath the stress lines on each of his friends. "They're so worried about you that they rushed here to help you because damn it, Wooyoung, you're out of fucking control! What you've been doing are criminal actions and had it been up to me, I would've put your ass in jail, BELIEVE ME. But against my better judgment and absolute fury, they told me that you deserve a second chance. I know more than ANYONE what it felt to deserve a second chance only to not even be offered it. God knows what it felt like to be the person who actually has the trigger to ruin your whole life at the tip of my finger for retribution only to be coaxed to understand you. So please Wooyoung, make me hate you more by being benevolent because the other side of the coin would allow me to ruin you and if I achieve that so easily, I'd turn into you."

The room fell silent and for once in his life, Wooyung was speechless. He hadn't taken into consideration how his actions affected his friends. Then again, he never had to think about anyone other than himself and he was perfectly fine with that. So it took him by absolute surprise that you'd be the one to speak on behalf of his friends.

"Wooyoung, we want to help you. You need the help. Professional help and we want to be there for you," Seonghwa said from behind you, hesitating to move as he was afraid that if he moved too quickly. Wooyoung would flee like a deer. But Seonghwa braved himself and stepped out to stand next to you, "Let us help you, Wooyoung."

Hope emerged when the people in the room saw Wooyoung's shoulders drop and his hands reached out to his friend.

As quick as the hopeful moment came, it was oh too quickly snubbed out as chaos broke. Wooyoung's hand pivoted at the last moment and instead of Seonghwa, he grabbed you by the forearms and swung himself sideways, effectively throwing you back against the coffee table, breaking it to pieces. It was so sudden that no one really knew what to do. In the midst of the confusion, Wooyoung took the chance to push past San and Hongjoong, making his exist as quick as he could while leaving a mess behind.

While people rallied around you, worried beyond their minds, you caught a glimpse of the fear in Wooyoung's eyes as he gave one last regretful look before he disappeared behind the door. It was then did you allow the regret to sink in as you thought,

I should have let the bitch rot in jail.

network :

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[davidchiemcore]

started thinking about how much money each of the characters likely makes

(DRDT SPOILERS AHEAD - for character and story backgrounds)

basic information I'm going off of: drdtdev stated that everyone except Teruko and Min make their living from their talent. the hope's peak academy they attend is located in the US, and they're specifically part of the east class, so implying its somewhere on the eastern side of the us. While they don't have to live where the school is, there is a western branch of Hope's Peak, so the fact that they attend the eastern branch suggests that they're closer to that side. The series takes place sometime in the future, but given the world had a major tragedy and seems to be on the same level as the world we live in, I'm gonna assume inflation is roughly the same as now

teruko: She does mention having to choose between rent and food, meaning she makes some sort of money, and enough to rent a place at times. I assume she works some sort of minimum wage job, given she doesn't have full schooling experience. a lot of the eastern us has minimum wage at 7.25, but places in the northeast have it a bit higher, from 10-15. If she earned something like 13 dollars an hour, worked 40 hours a week, and worked every week, she would make around 27k. However, with her bad luck and lack of legal documents as mentioned when she talks about her schooling, I assume she probably loses jobs quite frequently. Assuming she's unemployed for about a fourth of the year, she would' earn roughly 20k

xander: This one confuses me a bit. He's basically an activist, so I'm not sure what kind of job he would have consistently. Additionally, he lived in the UK from at least age 14 until he started attending Hope's Peak, so I had to look for jobs there. Looking it up, it seems that the pay ranges from 23k-49k, averaging at 33k (all in pounds). Converting that, the average salary would be 43-44k. He's living with no family, and who were poor enough to likely not leave anything behind, so he probably has to work a lot to pay for his overseas school. However, he did do school at the same time, so I'll take 3/4s of the total salary to give him 33k a year.

charles: Given that being even an entry-level chemist requires at least a four year degree, I assume he may work as an assistant to one at the moment. They still make quite a bit of money, however, most making 37k-49k a year. The average is 49k, but there's a chunk of outliers around 82k, mostly from California, which is in the western US. Therefore, I think it's reasonable to suggest he makes something in the middle of the range I gave, giving him a salary of 43k. However, given that he was likely doing school at the same time and has parents to support him, who also seemed to shelter him a lot, he likely works part time. For part time, I'll cut the salary by half and say he probably earns 22k a year.

ace: Horse jockeys get paid per race, both for winning and participating, so this is a little harder to calculate. Most horse jockeys earn 53k-67k, but given that Ace is the Ultimate Jockey, this is a job where being skilled can really help you rise in the ranks, both of how much you can charge, and how often you win. It's also something that he could reasonably have a couple years of experience in given that they only need to be 16 years old to start professionally racing. Therefore, I would put him at the high end of the average or maybe even higher. I'll estimate 70k per year. Many horse jockeys drop out of school to focus on their job, so I'll leave him at that.

arei: This is also a little harder to calculate, because while you can bowl at any age, you can only join the Professional Bowlers Association once you turn 18. However, she could still compete for prizes in PBA Jr. and other smaller competitions. This year's PBA Jr. Competition gave 10k in scholarship money, but most competitions have at most a couple thousand dollars as the top reward, so I'll estimate she might make about 12k in a year? However, she lives with family still, so this is probably fine for her.

rose: rose is stated to have earned several millions doing forgery, so her previous salary would've been incredible. However, now she just does recreations of other paintings. None of the money goes to her, but if we still want to calculate it, the average reproduction artist earns 46k a year.

hu: I assume she likely does small venues where she plays the zither. According to a reddit post, the average earnings for a gig for a small musician is around $230, and assuming she does an average of one a week (some weeks she might do more, some weeks she might not do any), she'd earn about 12k a year.

eden: Eden is stated to both do clock making and clock repair. Most clock repairers make 36k-44k a year, averaging to 40k, and the average clock maker earns about 40k a year as well. She says that she can work 14 hours without breaks, implying she has some very long work days, possibly putting her slightly above the average at 42k.

levi: At first i thought Levi would make a lot because personal stylists sound like a rich people thing? But looking into it the average salary in the US ranges from 34k-50k a year, and since he states that he's relatively new to the field, he probably leans to the lower end of that. im gonna put him at 36k? He lives alone, so he likely works full time to pay for his living conditions.

arturo: Similar to Charles, he likely doesn't perform his actual job yet regularly. Half of all plastic surgeon assistants make somewhere between 22k-56k a year, with the halfway point at 37k. The median amount is around 44k. Given that he was likely working part-time, as he was probably in school at the same time, I'll cut that in half to give him a salary of 22k per year.

min: It's stated that her schooling up until this point was paid for by the spurling foundation, so i assume either the same is the case for her time in college, or her parents were able to save a lot of money to pay for it. Given this and how much time she puts into school, i assume she doesn't have a job.

david: This was a hard one to calculate. The average motivational speaker (I know he's called an inspirational speaker but in this case they're interchangeable) can make anything from 500 to 30k per speech, depending on their experience and skill. We know David is a well-known celebrity, being famous worldwide, but it's not to the degree that everyone in the class is shocked by his appearance, just Xander. If he work to make 10k a speech, and do one speech every two months, he'd be making 60k a year. In addition to this, many speakers have alternate sources of income, like book and channels. He's not stated to have these, but I'd assume he at least does smaller talks, maybe giving him another 10k a year?? As he's paid per speech, this doesn't require a lot of hours, so he probably is able to make full pay while also going to class. I'm not sure if this is a super accurate salary, but it's hard to get a gauge on it, so I'm going with 70k a year.

veronika: How does one make money as a horror fanatic? She mentions being a scholar in her field, so maybe she writes papers and small books on the subject. However, I'm a personal fan of the "deep dive youtuber" theory, so I'll calculate for both. For scientific papers, you can earn from a few hundred to a few thousand per paper. Given this kind of stuff takes at least a couple months of research, I'd say she would only make a few thousand a year. Maybe 10k if I'm being generous and giving her a 2k article every other month? Now, for the other idea, youtubers make about 2.5-7.5 dollars per thousand views on a video. If she gets an average of 800k views per video (with a couple million on some and a few hundred thousand on some), and makes 5 dollars per thousand, she'd be getting about 4k per video. Again, if she puts out a video every other month, this would be getting her 20k.

j: Special Effects artists make anywhere from 44k to 86k a year. The average is 68k, but most make either a bit more or a bit less, and given J's influence from her mother, I'd assume she's in the higher range. The highest category is 23% of people making 78k-86k, so I'll give her 80k. I'm not sure about whether she'd work fulltime or part time, because she definitely has the money to work part time because of her mother, but she might also try to make all her own money herself to spite her? I'm leaning that she works part time, so if I cut that in half she still makes 40k a year.

whit: The average professional matchmaker makes 42k-46k a year. The average is a clean 44k a year. Again, I'm not sure if he'd work part time or full time because we don't know much about his living situation. It's possible he needs to help support his single dad, so I'll put him at 3/4s of that, 33k.

nico: Most animal behavior specialists, which is what Nico says they are in their conversation with Xander, make 46k-53k a year, with an median of 48k. However, given they don't have a degree yet, I'll assume they make on the lower end of that, so 46k. They mention going to school, so they likely work part time, cutting that in half to give them a salary of 26k.

if anyone read this far thank you this took me like three hours HAHA

[uchihaharlot]

Hey there! Love your work and if you're still doing requests, I've got one for ya: a hot, sexy threesome between a female reader, Itachi (loooove him) and Shisui. I'm imagining a competition angle where they've both been pining after the same girl for a while and she likes them both too, but can't choose (and I mean, who could, right? Lol). Eventually, someone (probably Shisui based on my own interpretations of his personality) decides that choosing sucks and sharing is caring, leading to super hot sex 🔥

Ooooo deary,

You speak right to my soul. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized being the center of an Uchiha pissing contest. I’ve always felt that love is kind; love is free and love is patient.I’m hikjackjng your request a bit, I’ve had a draft for several months. There is no real competition here, but extremely hot solicited sex and yes. You are correct, Shisui is one hundred percent the purveyor of pleasure.

It will be soo worth it though; there is a second part to this — written by @shisuis-left-nipple, my draft is also beta’d by her as well — thank you my little Shisui harlot. I dream nothing more of being an Uchiha sandwich on a daily basis.

I’ll forefront this by saying there is mentioning of Shiita. Nothing overtly intimate between the two, but it’s undeniably there and at the back burner. Though you are the main focus of this event, I do apologize to the people who haven’t eaten the forbidden fruit.

NSFW; all out Uchiha fuckfest; overstimulation; multiple climaxes; fucked stupid; mild Shiita.

Yea I thought about this for a while. How did you even get in this situation? Probably met at the spring festival and all.

Since, in my au head canon, they foiled the coup. Shisui lives, Itachi rules the coop. Feel free to ask me about exactly what happened — there is so, so much in my one brain cell.

Itachi is now clan leader these days. Shisui is his right-hand man. They've grown out of that phase of just the two of them. I know it's not everyone's cup, but they definitely fucked and now that they're adults and have clan responsibilities, growing out of that phase.… though sometimes they share a girl here or there.

So, here you are at the festival. Looking so gorgeous it's damn near criminal. The spring festival is held in the Uchiha district this year — Shisui called it reclamation day. As part of the planning committee sent by the Godaime, you get to enjoy all the hard work you put into decorating their little corner of the world and Shisui is grateful.

I mean really grateful, his cock thanks you too. Your guys’ budding romance starts out slow.… lol, ya whatever that means in Shisui’s head.

Shisui is the extrovert while Itachi is still a bit shy and reserved. (This might get confusing because Izumi obviously hadn't died, but let's just say well.... I think most of the Uchiha believe in free love. At least the younger progressive ones. It keeps the curse of hatred at bay and sex is free. Love is kind).

Who in their right mind wasn't fucking one another in that gorgeous clan of men?

Everyone was.

This event really turned out, ‘the Uchiha are eternally indebted to you for your hard work' says Shisui. He's the charmer — the concierge of bedroom antics. The proprietor for drawing the women into the sheets.

It doesn't take Shisui long to make fucking shit out of you a habit, upheaving your feels and all. Just casually, no big deal. Starts asking questions after a hot session, of course he came to you during lunch. When he has a craving, the man is insatiable. You mention a few taboo things, maybe binding, nothing too extravagant or out of the ordinary. But he is calculating — ever the entrepreneur, ‘how can I give this girl the most beautiful experience of her life?’ He thinks.

Shisui drops the threesome paper bomb in your lap and you’re like — ‘uhhh….yea, sure. Why not but, with…who?’

‘Well Itachi, of course.’ Just so damn casual like it was a regular Tuesday and he hadn’t spent the last half hour rearranging your guts.

Cue blank screen syndrome, ‘what?’ As if waiting for the room to read itself, ‘is this….something you guys do….regularly?’

‘Yea, sometimes. Just so happened to tell him about this woman who has me in a chokehold. Stealing my soul and that her beauty makes the sun ashamed to shine.’ That sort of Casanova type shit, sick as cancer. Shisui was undoubtedly winning this match.

It serves your desire on a silver kunai. The wet mixture the two of you had created rehydrates and Shisui takes the opportunity to fuck you again, slower — deeper. Asking if you’re interested mid stroke, whispering filth in your ear as you start to come undone. Sexual coercion at its finest. You’re so aroused at the thought of this situation you come hard when he mentions some quip about being a double stuffed bento box.

The good, good Itachi is so prim and proper. He hosts a mini dinner, and you’re sort of sweating, uncertainty beckons you. What the hell is going on here…..it’s mildly unsettling at first, but Itachi refuses to fuck a woman he doesn’t know a little bit about. You all three enjoy Itachi’s over the top meal and the conversation flows. The awkwardness melts away and it isn’t long before Shisui takes off leaving you two alone.

Itachi takes you out to sit on the enagwa for tea. He is such a gentleman to consider you this way. While Shisui preps their sanctum, Itachi’s lips make his first impression, and boy it's hot. Not that Shisui wasn’t the connoisseur of making out himself, but Itachi’s kiss is gentle — light. Soft as petals that feather and cradle yours, making you embarrassingly breathless almost immediately. He wants to make sure you're comfortable with this whole situation and Shisui always finds his chivalry adorable, but you can't talk Itachi out of it. He has to do this. It sets the mood and also lowers any preemptive warnings that you might have, since this is already a new thing for you, there won't be any silly toys. Just pure unadulterated pleasure and free love. Once you spend about a half hour lip locked with Itachi, he's going to lead you around the house. Takes you to a room on the back side that’s dimly lit. Starts kissing you in the room behind closed doors when a small gust of wind comes at your back — Shisui. Always one to make an appearance.

Another set of strong hands are at your back. While one wraps around you from the front, the other from the back. Your senses are already in overdrive, Shisui is the impatient one while Itachi likes to draw things out. Shisui hungrily kisses down your neck and Itachi is just swallowing every soft sigh from your lips. Shisui's hands lift at your shirt, and you thought this through. Some cute lacy see through bra that catches Itachi off guard. Has his sights zeroing in, seemingly devouring you through the material.

Shisui wants the bra off, but Itachi has to remind him who the boss is — using that big ‘fuck you’ energy out of nowhere. Shisui just rolls his eyes, a small glint of the sharingan in an exaggerated attempt to look annoyed but not really — fine, so be it. Itachi can have his portion of you but, either way, a candle can burn from both ends if it's double wicked and there is so much of you to explore, top to bottom.

Shisui kisses down your back as it arches, his hands resting on either hip when he crouches. Itachi is nipping and rolling your nipples through the lacy bra. He absolutely loves the temptation of it and maybe even stole a glance through red spun pearls for later review — yep just know that they are going to be recording this for their own personal collection. (Let's touch on the sharingan for a second, I truly believe that it's emotionally charged. If something feels good, it's out in the open. Big bad and red, like an eye erection or some shit lol. Spinning wildly absorbing collective imagery to database — consider it similar to how pupils dilate when it sees something it likes).

Shisui's already got your pants down. He's so hard, Itachi's exceedingly hard too but he takes forever, so Shisui just starts undressing him too because what are friends for? Everyone needs a little help from their friends. You couldn't be really sure, but you’re positive that Shisui may or may not have kissed the tip of Itachi's cock and licked the excitement off, but all you really could hear was his laugh.

Your pants are shucked and tossed aside, Shisui's got you lifting each leg over his shoulder, he's buzzing and wants to start making you moan. Itachi is just following along for now as long as Shisui doesn’t touch his portion of you. Suddenly, you’re slightly lifted up. Looking down you see Shisui sitting on the ground, his arms holding you up. That shit eating grin filling his face as he peers up at you. Then Shisui’s face at your sex inhaling and exhaling hot and breathy, you sit on his shoulders while he holds you at your lower back. Itachi laughs at the audacity of that man, but he knows how insatiable Shisui is. He wants you dripping down his face, chest and eventually his cock.

Itachi finally removes your bra. The sensations are tantalizing — you got one that's slow and sweet and the other that's too fast for his own good. Shunshin no Shisui never could live life in the slow lane. So just like his namesake you're already one and now a second orgasm deep on his mouth. Your hands, well you didn't know what to do with them. ltachi guided one to his shoulder and the other to rake in Shisui's hair, which instantaneously made Shisui groan on your sopping mound, his nose rubbing in the cleft of your heat and his tongue rolling over that deliriously sensitive patch of nerve within your sweet seam. Prodding you, drinking you in and leaving you full-mouthed whimpering.

Once you've been properly worked in, Shisui stands, leaving you at his mercy high in the air. You yelp and cling to him, so this was the actual strength of a renowned shinobi. He lays you so gentle and sweet like on the bed. And yes this time, you saw what you saw, Itachi languidly strokes Shisui's cock before your eyes and you're like what in tarnation — but it was hot because Shisui bit his lip and looked at you like James Dean with big puppy dog reds. They would tease one another here and there and it would absolutely fan the flame between your legs.

Shisui goes over the many ways this could go down and you're like...

‘I'm just here for the ride. Two against one, does it really matter what I want?’ And they both laugh; how adorable because yea, you're right. They're doing it the way they want and Shisui grabs a few things. Lube, leg spacers etc. but you're like ‘uuhhh leg spacers??’ That's when you end up on top of him turned around, your back to his chest and your legs hung over his knees.

All for your consideration and comfort, he's not one to take liberties, not yet. You’re spread open like the world's finest charcuterie board. Itachi's eyes populate and spin red. 'Gorgeous.’ Cause you are, not a damn thing wrong with you, especially from this perspective.

Shisui's hot breath is at your neck, kissing you all over. Not an inch of skin that his lips could reach is untouched. Neck, ears, shoulders — nipping the space between your shoulder blades. Really a pleasure king for you.

Itachi, this man, may not look like much to the naked eye, but he's that and more. So much more, kneels between your legs and just devours you. Like a fucking goddamn goddess, his lips make praise to your sopping cunt. That damned nose, rubbing it all up in your clit while his tongue is gently teasing your slick. You've never had someone be so attentive to you, and while you're distracted in pre orgasm build up, Shisui is administering a severe amount of lube to Itachi's hand. A grand distraction to addle your mind a bit more.

You've already left your consciousness in the sixth dimension and your soul in the 9th circle to hell. What's something a little deeper? As you climax for maybe the sixth time now this evening, Itachi's slim fingers prod at your uncharted asshole. Oh dear. You've not ever experienced ass play. This is unfortunate but also exciting. You moan treasonously and can *feel* Shisui smirking as he kisses and nips at your back. One of his hands splayed across your stomach. Pressing as you climax hard. Itachi wasn't rough, but he wasn't sincere about knocking on the back door.

‘My apologies' Itachi says when you chirp a little bit over it. Gentlemanly as he is, he's ravenous now. And you can't really be sure, but there is more squelches and a brief motion outside your visual perception.

Shisui says some shit like, ‘breathe for me baby’ through bated breath and next thing you know. Itachi's lubed up Shisui's lovely fat cock and is attempting to breach your second entrance. Oh, mama Kaguya! You were a bit selfish when it came to relinquishing control and Shisui offers you some advice, 'look at me gorgeous.'

It’s in this moment you fully understood what Shisui meant about being a double stuffed bento box, he's only sunk about four inches of his cock in your ass and it's not entirely unpleasant, but new. Your neck is craned in a searing kiss with Shisui, him rocking his hips gently until you're comfortable. Itachi toying with your clit to acquiesce the intrusion. Only when Itachi’s mouth sucks on your bud does it then feel really good.

The intake of air to your lungs as an entirely different type of roaring climax, in a whole new group of muscles, doesn't seem to fill you with enough air to accommodate the salacious inconsolable loud moan that escapes your lips. Shisui gently pioneering slow purposed full-length thrusts into a hole that was once too tight for two fingers.

After that, all he has to do is sit pretty. Itachi takes over after you have a few more orgasms, like what, 9 or 10 now total? If you tried to count, just give up. You're done physically, mentally and emotionally at this point. You've left your soul in their vision for it to never be returned. Completely dominated and owned.

But they're Uchiha. They know the effect they have on people. Itachi puts his hair up a little tighter in a bun. Such a cutie, he slowly strokes himself watching as Shisui has his round. Then the room goes still, all you can hear is Shisui's heavy breathing in your ear, as he’s had to hold back quite a bit. You're so taut around him, he almost busted a nut and unfortunately for him, the second Itachi stretches your weeping and already swelling cunt, Shisui does cum — poor bastard. But his best friend makes sure to angle his slow strokes downwards so that way he gets a little bit of friction and as a double whammy the mere feeling of Shisui pulsating and coming inside of you is like an intermittent vibrator, so you climax, full force. Resting your head on Shisui’s shoulder, he kisses your cheek as your eyes roll shut, and you babble like a cute idiot.

So here you are, hot sweaty and now gagged on Shisui’s fingers as he shoves them in your mouth. Shisui didn't necessarily go soft, the overstimulation of you pulsing and continually on edge keeps a lovely semi at his disposal. Itachi's got your arms wrapped up and set behind Shisui's head, his lips tease at your nipples. He is the slow and steady sensual man. You moan, Shisui moans. Everyone is moaning, it's a cacophony of gasps and sighs. Itachi's is just enjoying being the one in charge of you both, then Shisui starts hitting you with some katon heated dirty talk.

'Such a good girl.’

‘You're choking my cock so well.’

'Another one already?'

Just hot talk and even a bit of teasing. Since he's like buckled down for the ride now, he just gets to experience all the pleasure without much work, but he does make sure to suck at your neck, leaving a few marks on your back too. He's considering that maybe you're the girl for him. With his best friend's approval of course, this is just like a clan initiation at this point. Itachi would let you marry Shisui if he really hard pressed him enough, but Shisui feels deeply, this type of connection only comes once in a life and out of the myriad of females they've shared (which isn't many to be honest) you're this Pandora's box that has so many different things about you he already loves.

Someone is falling hard.

Itachi is of course enthralled with your breasts, they're perky, beautiful and each nipple is gently switched between his lips, pert and sensitive. Though he would turn up the heat and use a little bit of that Uchiha fire to warm them up, only to change the sensation and make you writhe. Slowly pumping himself into you, calls you ‘princess,’ of all things. So old school, Itachi started out quiet but when Shisui is kissing one side of your neck, Itachi is sucking and nipping at the other. All timed of course; right as you orgasm again. Always some sort of over stimulation going on and — hey wait a minute! When did Shisui start playing with your clit? You don't know and don't care because this next orgasm was the most intense yet.

And you squirted all over Itachi's cock, raining down on Shisui's, he couldn't help but start to move his hips a little. The contrasting thrusts sending you even further spiraling.

'Are you ok y/n?' A playful jab at your wavering consciousness by Shisui in a deep raspy whisper. You're catatonic.

An Uchiha flesh-light now. Thank the gods you're on the pill. Just the smell of their musk, power of the gods and that smokey katon heat would one hundred percent have you ending up pregnant and Itachi has big people issues right now, he can't have a kid just yet. You might even just become the wife to both of them. Though Shisui is greedy, possessive with what's his. Itachi has Izumi, but that doesn't mean you couldn’t take part in their secret swingers group.

Here you lie between them, filled up tight to the brim. Shisui has definitely cum at minimum three times, his seed seeping out your little bottom hole. Itachi isn't really that much into multiple, he enjoys perpetually edging the hell out of himself and right when he is about to cum, he slips out. Let's Shisui pound you a few good times and thank gods you have a clean booty hole. Itachi slips him out of his new claimed territory and by gods, there is that lovely Shisui cock filling your warm worn-out cunt. So thick and creamy with his seed, just slips into your tight seam. Slowly thrusting into you, he peppers kisses down your left cheek as Itachi takes a breather. Whispering how much you mean to him, so precious and his. Somewhere down the blurred vision to keep your eyes focused, Shisui is comfortably situated back as your butt plug. Time has escaped you, it all just cascades quickly.

Itachi lifts both your legs under Shisui’s *arms*, oof. Spreading you further, nearly to your ears. Folded like a lawn chair, a personal favorite to both. Shisui locks his hands over your sternum and holy hell this man is strong. You moan when Itachi slips back into your tired cunt. You're still so snug and wet though, the two of them each swing their hips in tandem; you weren't expecting this. All that heavy breathing, encouragement from Shisui and maybe a few a 'good girl’ from Itachi here or there. You're stretched to the limit. Can feel their cocks rubbing against one another through that thin layer of skin that separates your two channels.

Shisui's the first one to bust… again, lucky guy. He's had about five maybe? And Itachi reams his slender hand around your neck. You're so far spent; incapable of an orgasm, beyond belief overstimulated to the point that you're not sure if it's pleasant or not anymore. But it's hot, Shisui biting your shoulder, Itachi's grip tightens a little. He's a bit perturbed you've reached your limit before he could cum, so yea.

Tsukuyomi induced orgasm for you, honey.

Red spun pearls lull and bend your subconscious, all he says in the echo chamber is 'cum.’ Much to your surprise, you do, several times more. All over him as he deposits the hottest load of baby gravy into your cunt, making sure to fuck it in you. Tapping it against your cervix like it was some sort of keg tap. Just knock knock knock genetic coding at your womb. But he apologizes for getting so aggressive once he drops that mild soporific genjutsu and Shisui is trying to not snicker at your disheveled face.

Now honey, you've had a rough night. Let's talk some after care. Lots more kissing, worshipping your amazing body for all the shit it's just been through. Wrapped up like a cocoon and carried off into the main portion of the house.

What do you want? Tea? A movie? A bath?

You can bathe with both of them. Or alone. Whoever you choose. They are definitely going to make sure you are treated with the utmost care and adoration the Uchiha have to offer.

Do you need your leg muscles rubbed? They did go numb at some point. So, you have your bath, Shisui is there while Itachi makes tea. Shisui is such a gentleman though, washing your back. Asking if you want to wash your special areas yourself, he feels like maybe they just violated you, but you laugh out loud at and kiss him softly. 'I got exactly what I asked for.’

And he smiles the full length of his mouth. Such a handsome guy, the bath is rather quick. Itachi's readied the tea, and you can have your own room for the night, but like... ‘what if we all just cuddled and slept in the same bed.' You speak.

‘Hot damn, yes that too,’ Shisui quips. You're like a loaded canon and he is absolutely pulling the trigger finger on that.

Itachi nods and smiles, ‘ok.’

So, you have your tea, maybe even watch a movie but girl you are dead on your ass. You pass out within the first twenty minutes, Shisui finishes your tea and carries you to bed. Gently stationed between them, you just sleep so peacefully and serene.

Yep, and then when the morning comes, it's breakfast time.

[asumofwords]

So I see you’re going to open up requests soon??? 👀

Lemme just put this one there to marinate because some of the asks have really put the thought in my head with no sign of it leaving me be.

Spooky season is coming!!!!

I rewatch the Haunting series on Netflix every October so I’m kinda feeling a Bly Manor type possession fic. SFA one shot or not, but Aemond’s dead and they were definitely in love. When reader moves on after his death and eventually meets someone she can fall in love with again, maybe she brings him home and Aemond possesses her new man just so he can fuck her again. Bonus points if she doesn’t know the first few times but keeps wondering how her new boo knows exactly what she likes before Aemond finally reveals himself and ultimately, she lets it continue because she gets her Aemond again.

Just some thots

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: Death, murder, sadness, depression, thoughts of suicide, talks of blood and gore, moving on, haunted estate, possession, fear, anger, smut, chasing, blood, choking, slapping, fucking, creampie, degradation, rough sex, angry sex, dub-con, slight non-con, confusion, grief, Cregan being possessed by your late husband, spooky vibes.

Pairings: Ghost!Aemond x Reader / Aemond Targaryen Possession Fic, Cregan Stark x Reader, Possessed!Cregan x reader

Notes: Look.... I'm such a Cregan Stark slut, I'm gonna throw him in wherever I can... Hope you enjoy!!!! Hehehe, I hope I have done your request some justice!!! I really enjoyed writing this <3

Aemond Targaryen was a man that could not be summarised by mere words. You didn’t believe that you could ever find enough of them to describe him, if any could come close to it. He was kind, quiet at times, calculating, but passionate. And that was why you had married him. His passion for you was so strong it almost burnt, the flames of it constantly flickering over you like fire. 

You had been married for some time, meeting at University, Advanced History and the Politics of Old, and instantly falling for the quiet man who had sat up the back, hand constantly writing notes on paper. He had this charm that surrounded him, and the day you had gotten the courage to ask him out, pacing in front of your mirror all morning, practising the words over and over in your head and aloud, he beat you to it, seemingly having done the same thing. 

You were married a year later, a quick turn around, but happy with bliss and the love that you had for each other. Years flew by together and eventually you began to plan for a child, and Aemond in his excitement, invited his family over to announce this to them. His mother, unbeknownst to him, invited his half-sister Rhaenyra, her children, and her husband, Daemon; A man Aemond had once admired, but now despised. 

And because of this, tragedy struck.

At first the evening went well, but with the presence of his nephew, Lucerys, the boy who had taken his eye in an accident at a young age, Aemond’s anger simmered that night between him and his uncle, Daemon, and with the alcohol that flowed heavily from the table during your celebrations, a fight broke loose. 

You could still see it. Still see it move behind your eyelids like a film, slow motion, then quick, then slow again.

Aemond’s fist flying into Daemon’s cheek, a man much taller and broader than your husband. You had shot up from your chair to reach them, but Alicent had held you back whilst Rhaenyra tried to pull her husband away from her half-brother, who Daemon knelt over, fist after fist striking the younger mans face. You had screamed when Daemon was finally pulled up and away by his angry wife, concern thrown down to her estranged sibling, her violet eyes roaming him for injury. 

But your Aemond, your sweet, sweet Aemond, head strong and stubborn as he was, didn’t know when to stop, and so, jumping up from the ground, face bloodied and lips bleeding, Aemond’s hand had snatched a steak knife from the table, charging for Daemon, who pushed Rhaenyra out of the way. 

The next thing you knew, Aemond lay lifeless on the floor, knife in his unseeing eye, blood pooling on the floor around him. You had screamed and ran to him, sobbing over his corpse as Daemon stood in shock, looking at his now bloodied hand whilst Alicent blinked down at her son.

Daemon went to jail, a short term for murdering your husband, self defence they had said, since Aemond made the first move and grabbed the knife. And whilst Daemon sat in a cell, visited by his children and wife, you were left alone in the large estate that you had together, bereft with grief and uncertain if life would ever move on without him. 

You had thought about it, once or twice, grabbing a razor or taking one too many of the pills the doctors had prescribed for your debilitating depression, or perhaps reaching beneath the sink to grasp at Aemond’s old pain medication and taking the entire lot. But each time you thought of it, you just couldn’t do it. Too cowardly to go forward with it, which almost always ended with you on the floor where he had died, sobbing into the flagstones. 

It had been five years when you met him, five years when you decided to get back out into the world. Or not really decided, more like forced to by Helaena, Aemond’s older sister, who had been your life boat through grieving the loss of her brother. She had told you that Jacaerys, her nephew she had no qualms with despite the family tension, had a friend that you would get along with. Someone kind and gentle, and so far away from being anything like Aemond, that it was a safe bet.

And so one night of a blind date with Cregan Stark, Helaena and her girlfriend Cassandra joining as a buffer, turned into two, which then turned to three, then four, until soon enough, you were falling for the man. 

He was courteous. Tall and broad, with long, dark hair and a short beard, or more like stubble that had been left untouched for days on end. He had kind grey eyes, that looked like a winters storm that swirled each time he gazed at you. 

And he was different. That’s what you likened as to why you liked him. 

He was the complete opposite of Aemond. 

Where Aemond was fiery and warm, Cregan was cool and patient, always waiting for you to make the first step. Whenever you would fight, if at all you would manage to get him to react, it would always end with him apologising to you. 

Even when you were in the wrong. 

That was one thing you hated about it. 

He would never rise to your goading, never rise to the bait you would set for him to flare his temper. Sure, he would get angry, his wild grey eyes alight with something, but it would pass as soon as a storm, and he would leave to walk it out, or ask for space. 

You missed how it had been with Aemond. How you could goad him into anger, to have him fold you over any surface and have his way with you, rutting into you violently and cruelly, as he ripped peak, after peak from you, until you begged for mercy, tears falling down your cheeks. 

But Cregan was different, softer, sweeter, and not at all like your hot headed late husband. 

And this, you were thankful for. 

In some ways at least. 

It had been over a year of dating when you finally asked him to move into the estate with you. He lived awhile away, and you were alone in a house that had close to a hundred rooms and only memories to haunt you. It only felt right to fill it up with one more person. 

The estate was old, and although Aemond had died within its walls, you just couldn’t leave it. 

You were stuck. 

Feeling drawn to its stones and halls, and even the mere thought of parting with it made you breathless. 

Though, there was something about the old estate that made your skin crawl. 

It had always made you uncomfortable, and it was something that you had voiced to Aemond upon many a times, and he would always assure you, that they could not touch you, whoever they were.

But something was different.

Something had changed in the years past since Aemond had died.

Helaena had once come to the estate, months after the fact, and gone pale, looked right past you as though she was looking at someone there. But when you had turned, there was no-one. Not a soul, or wisp, or a particle. Just air.

But it was cold. And Helaena had told you, whilst staring behind, that Aemond would always be with you.

But you knew he would. You had his memories, his photos, his clothes that you had folded in trunks in the attic, or the blanket that still smelt very much like him that you would curl into on lonely nights and breathe in his scent. 

Of course he would always be with you. 

He was your first love.

But there was something about the estate.

You just didn’t know what.

It didn’t help that no matter what you did, you felt like you were being watched. But the building was as old as the hills, and your therapist had told you it was likely just your hyper observance and PTSD to blame. 

There were no ghosts in the house, no ghouls or monsters. It was just you. 

You and the empty walls, and halls that used to house his voice, and his smile, and his laughter. 

You were lonely, that much was sure, and although you loved Cregan, you truly did, it would just never match the love you and Aemond had. Not that you were comparing the two to each other in that way. Aemond was fire, Cregan was ice. They were both two very different people who loved in two very different ways. And you knew, much to your grief, that it was time to move on. 

Time to move forward with your life. 

And so you did. With Cregan. And that feeling of being watched only amplified. The feeling of heat on the back of you neck, being watched wherever you went, multiplying by tenfold with Cregan’s now permanent presence. 

The rooms would suddenly get cold, to the point that he had even noted it, but had explained it away; His home back in Winterfell was older than this estate, and it too had cold spots in it. 

It didn’t mean anything, it was just the old buildings, with old drafts, and terrible old insulation. 

But something felt off since he moved in. 

You always felt like you were being watched but it had changed to something more angry. Like something was always in the corner of your eye when with him, especially when intimate. But Cregan, with this kind eyes and unbendable patience, listened to your worries, and ensured you that it was fine, and even if there was an entity in the estate, it could not touch you, nor harm you, and probably didn’t even know you were there, lost in a world of its own. 

Yet, you still couldn’t shake the feeling of it. Maybe it was because you were moving on, and feeling guilty about doing so. 

You didn’t move into your old room that had been yours and Aemond’s. That was off limits. Closed for good, unless you wished to go in there and sit for a while. It had been over six years, six long years without him, but maybe, just maybe, Aemond would want you to move on. 

Yes, you were sure of it. 

He would want you to be happy, to move on. Not forget about him, but to continue on with your life without him, despite the feeling that your life had stopped with him the day he was killed. 

You still had night terrors about it, picturing his body on the floor, lifeless and cold, blood pooled beneath his head, seeing eye staring up unfocused. 

The terrors had gotten worse when Cregan had moved in. You would wake with a scream, and the vision and smell of blood before you, body covered in a light sheen of sweat, and the feeling as though something, or someone, had be pushing down on your chest. And each time, Cregan would be there for you, to ground you, to bring you back to the present and hold you as you sobbed in his arms, and eventually went back to sleep, skin tingling with the feeling of an extra eye on you.

But Cregan made you feel safe.

There were many things about Cregan that you adored. His loyalty to his friends and family, his smile when excited or pleased, the way he would hold you tightly against his chest, head tucked beneath his chin as you inhaled deeply. 

And to top it all off, he was an amazing lover.

Sleeping with Cregan was different to what it had been like with Aemond. He was gentler, softer, less rough and violent. Which was something you actually missed. When once you had asked Cregan to wrap his large hands around your throat, he had blushed and looked away, saying he needed time to work his way up to that. And so you dropped it, and respected that boundary. 

It wasn’t that the sex wasn’t good, it was. Cregan knew how to bring you to your peak with practised skill. It was just that it wasn’t what you needed. You needed a release. A cathartic bloom of pleasurable pain, submission and dominance, to not be in control, to let someone take the reins and bring you to a warm and fuzzy place that Aemond called ‘Sub Space’. You needed to feel the ache of being roughly handled, to see the bruises of Cregan’s love on your skin the next day or week after, but he was almost afraid of hurting you.

Gods bless that sweet man.

-

Footsteps clumped from down the hall as the tv softly played the previews of a new show on Netflix. You leant back against the couch, tucked under a thick blanket as you watched Cregan enter the lounge room with two bowls in hand. 

“What are we watching?” His deep voice curled around the room, eyes darting to the tv as you scrolled down, trying to find something the two of you could watch.

“I don’t know.” You flicked to the Recommended For You section, the couch dipping beside you as he sat, placing the steaming bowls of pasta in front of you, “Thanks.” You pecked his cheek lightly, before looking back at the screen.

“What are our options?” His fork clinked on the edge of his bowl as he twirled the long pasta up his fork, shoving it into his mouth beside you.

“Pride and Prejudice-“

“-2005 or BBC?” Cregan interrupted.

“2005 obviously.” You smirked, turning back to the tv, “Jurassic Park, Knives Out,” You flicked through the recommendation list, hearing a snicker beside you as you moved past 365 Days, “Gone Girl-“

“Gone Girl? What’s that?” Cregan asked between chews, large hand reaching to place your own bowl into your lap.

You grinned, “Only one of the best movies ever. Have you really not seen it?” You turned to face him, watching as he shook his head. “Gone Girl it is.”

The movie began to play as you settled in at his side, eating the dinner he had made you both. Cregan was engrossed in the film, and made you laugh as he screamed profanity at the tv, already hating Ben Affleck's character thinking he had killed his wife.

Towards the end of the movie however, Cregan was cheering Amy on, getting excited as it went through her step by step revenge plan. You were almost at the crescendo of the film when you felt Cregan shift beside you, his audible stream of consciousness suddenly stopped. 

You turned your head to look at him.

The large man was sitting stiff as a board beside you, grey eyes narrowed onto your face. It was as if all emotions had slid away, leaving a cool exterior. You frowned, turning your body to face him completely, watching as his eyes slid carefully over your body.

“Are you okay?” You asked, wondering what had changed his mood so suddenly.

Cregan’s eyes blinked slowly, lids half hooded as he peered at you.

There was something about it that was familiar.

Something about it that sent a shiver down your spine. 

And as if it didn’t happen, Cregan blinked again, shaking his head slightly, large hand coming to press at an eye as though in pain.

Your hand reached out to rest on his shoulder, “Hey, are you okay?” Concern written on your features.

Brows furrowed, he winced, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye, “Sorry.” He apologised through gritted teeth, “Migraine came out of nowhere.”

Sympathy rolled through you. Standing from the couch you clicked your tongue, “That’s no good. Let me get you some pain killers.” 

Your bare feet pressed into the cold flagstones as you headed to the large kitchen, bending at the waist to rifle in the small medicine box under the sink. 

The box was old, something left over from Aemond, with the painkillers still inside that he used for whenever his eye and scar was giving him bother. You spotted the small silver packet of pain killers beside Aemond’s old ones, out of date and not useful to anyone, and yet you still could never bring yourself to get rid of them, as though your brain worried that they would be needed out of habit despite him no longer being there anymore. 

Bypassing your late husbands medication, you pulled at the small packet of regular painkillers and made your way back to the lounge room, worrying over Cregan’s sudden pain. 

He never usually had migraines or headaches, but it had become something more frequent since he moved in. His doctor had said it could be allergies, or perhaps even the presence of black mould in the old estate, but you had hired mould cleaners, and even mould detecters who brought in an old dog to sniff about the property, and they, not once, found any sign of damp or growing fungus. 

Entering the lounge you spotted Cregan, sitting stiff backed on the couch, head immediately flicking to you.

“I got you some pain killers,” You walked towards him, popping two little pills out of the foil packet, “Is it bad?”

Cregan’s lips twitched slightly as he watched you, eyes narrowed, and yet he did not answer. 

Must be bad if he’s not talking. 

“Here.” You held your hand out, waiting to place the two painkillers into his palm. 

Cregan Stark watched you with hawklike eyes, not taking the pills from you. Suddenly he stood, large frame towering over you as he looked down his nose at you, face devoid of any emotion, and a certain strike of familiarity sparked inside your mind.

Why does this feel familiar?

A large hand struck out, grabbing you neck roughly, squeak falling from your lips as you were tugged towards Cregan, his lips finding yours in a rough and bruising kiss, his straight teeth nipping at your bottom lip roughly, tingles climbing up your spine. He kissed you until you were out of breath, hand not releasing itself from your neck, keeping you firmly to him until you parted bare centimetres away to catch your breath, lips brushing against each other as you heaved. 

“What's gotten into you?” You breathed heavily, want coursing through you.

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his lips, though moving slower as though he was savouring the taste of you on him, “I’ve missed this.” Came a deep purr from within his chest.

A smirk pulled at your mouth, “You had me last night.” You teased, nibbling at your bottom lip, wondering where this sudden burst of lust had come from.

Cregan merely grunted as he crashes his lips back against yours, fingers tightening around your throat in a way that you had begged him to do for months, cutting the supply of blood flow making your head spin. You mewled as he broke the kiss, spinning you around to push you over the edge of the couch arm. 

Air was ripped from your lungs as he pushed his weight onto your lower back with his hand, fingers ripping at your clothes to reveal your slick folds to the room. 

There was no preparation, no warning, just the sudden and sharp bite of his length pushing into your walls. You cried out, hands grasping at the pillows as he set a rough pace, his length dragging in and out of you sharply as he grunted from behind. 

Cregan’s weight pushed into your spine as he continues to rut into you wildly, feet dangling uselessly as he fucking you over the arm of the couch, hands gripping the pillows tightly in your hands. It was the first time he had ever fucked you with such vigour, without care, and it set your nerves alight. 

You whined beneath him, feeling closer and closer to your peak, slick coating your thighs and his length, the wet sound of flesh against flesh behind you. 

“Always such a good little slut for me.” Cregan growled, and the sound sent tremors through you.

Your brows furrowed, a nagging sensation in the back of your mind telling you that something was not quite right. That Cregan would never call you that, had never called you that, and that it was something that Ae-

Blinding white pleasure burst through you as you came, Cregan moaning behind you as he felt your walls tighten around his length. You whined beneath him, body going slack as he sought out his own peak, rutting into you frantically until he came with a grunt, warmth filling your walls.

You slumped against the couch, mind hazy as your climax scrambled all thoughts. A kiss was pressed against your shoulder blade and a small hiss came from behind as your boyfriend pulled out of your core. Too tired to move, and the man clearly sensing that, you were scooped up into two large arms and carried off to your bedroom. 

The rest of the evening a blur of being cleaned, given water to drink, and then the soft sheets and warmth of a body pressed up against you in bed, large hand stroking over your hair lovingly as you drifted off to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, it was to a grunt of pain and not pleasure. Cregan was laid on his back, hand once again pressed into his eye as his brows furrowed, desperate to alleviate the pain that settled behind it. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, turning to face him, watching as he tried to compose himself, a soft wince pulling at his features. 

“Migraine again.” Cregan whispered into the early morning air. 

Your hand out of habit, moved to soothe the hair at the top of his head on the side of the eye pain, in a way that was purely instinctual, in a way that you had for many years with Aemond whenever he would wake in pain, or lay in silence, biting roughly at his own lips to try and get through it alone.

Pressing a kiss to the side of Cregan’s face you crawled out of bed, “You didn’t take the painkillers last night that’s why. I’ll go get you some more.”

You had brought him the painkillers and forced him to take them with a whole glass of water, before settling back into the covers with him, soothing his long brown hair away from his face as the pain slowly dissipated away from his features. 

-

The next week, it happened again. 

The headache. 

The cool half lidded gaze.

The sudden change in demeanour.

The things that he did and said reminded you so much of Aemond, that you felt immediate guilt for thinking of your late husband whilst in the throws of a rough fuck with your new boyfriend. But this time you took the reins, and told him to slow down, told him that you wanted it softer, more loving, more him. 

“Sl-slow down.” You pleaded from below, thighs pressed against your chest as Cregan pushed his whole length inside of you, tip of his cock pushing against your cervix.

His eyes narrowed on you as he grunted, fucking into you harder instead, “No.” He growled, and a small spark of fear sparked up your spine. 

Tears welled in your eyes as you pushed at his chest, “S-stop. Cregan, stop.” Your nails dug into his chest as you tried to push him off of you, yet his pace didn’t falter. 

Your brain in its confusion pushed out a word you hadn’t used in years, a word that was reserved for you and Aemond only, a word that was to be used if you wanted all things to end. 

“Perzys.”

Fire.

Cregan immediately stopped, eyes blinking suddenly as he looked down at you in a moment of confusion, and then concern. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked at him, your own confusion and sorrow swirling inside of you. 

How did he-

“What’s wrong?” 

A tear slid down your cheek as you felt him looking over you, blinking again as though trying to rise from a fog, and yet he had stopped. He stopped with a word that he shouldn’t have even known. 

Or maybe you had told him. Maybe you had, a long time ago? Maybe he was confused by your sudden use of the foreign word? Maybe-

“You’re scaring me.” Your words came out breathlessly, all desire having leaked from your body and replaced with a myriad of others. 

Guilt.

Fear.

Confusion.

Grief.

It was too real.

It was too familiar.

It was-

“I thought this was what you wanted, ñuha-“ Cregan’s hand flew to his eye, pressing into it roughly as he gasped out in pain. 

You scrambled to sit up, pulling his length from inside of you as you held onto his face, soothing his hair away, fear replaced with worry. 

“Hey, what’s going on?” You asked in concern, watching as Cregan’s teeth ground down on each other, low grunt of agony passing through his clenched teeth.

“Let me see.” You begged, mind going into autopilot as you gently grasped his wrist, pulling his hand away from his eye as he blinked down at you in surprise for a moment, a multitude of emotions flashing across his face before his hand rose, and then his face crumpled once again, and the heel of his hand pushed back into his eye. 

You sprung into action, body already taking you immediately to get painkillers for him, hand reaching for the little yellow pill container before having to grab the others. 

Eventually you got him to settle into bed, begging him to see a doctor, before the two of you finally agreed to see one later that week. 

And what an uneventful doctors visit that was. 

Two MRI’s, CT scans, and blood tests later, the doctor gave him the all clear. No growths to be seen, or unusual brain activity, not even a simple vitamin deficiency; Cregan was the pinnacle of health. The Stark came out of the doctors office with reassurance that there was no malignant growth or anything to be worried about, but a warning that perhaps stress was the causation for his sudden pains. He was given instructions to rest, and so Cregan took sick leave for the rest of the month. 

-

Two weeks into Cregan’s rest, and the both of you were pleased to find that Cregan didn’t have another migraine attack. Nor did his demeanour suddenly change like the last time, much to your relief. 

Winter had begun to roll into the realm, and the estate, being as old as it was, became far colder at times, inside than out. The fires were constantly lit to keep you both warm, and it made for a rather romantic setting for the two of you. 

That morning you had gone out to get a nice bottle of wine to bring home. You were going to surprise Cregan with a home cooked meal, a nice bottle of red, and then after, if you were both feeling inclined, which you knew you would be, a slow and gentle fuck in front of the fireplace.

You had gone out of your way to avoid him that day, going to the shops to buy ingredients, prepping the dinner as quietly and quickly as you could, lighting candles in the casual lounge room for the two of you, and placing some fluffed pillows before the hearth to lounge in.

It was perfect. 

Your dinner was cooked, and you were ready for the evening and with good timing. You heard Cregan walking through the hall as you put his bowl next to yours on the coffee table, placing the nice bottle of wine in the centre as you brushed down the sides of your dress and made sure your hair was perfect. 

The dress you wore was tight and black, and although you had thought of wearing heels, there was no need to in your own home, so you went bare foot. Beneath your dress lay a lacy surprise. You waited to see Cregan enter the room, to see his smiling eyes and warm grin at you, but he kept on. Walking straight past the lounge, his footsteps disappearing down the vast hall. 

You stood in confusion for a moment.

Maybe he was going to the bathroom.

Maybe he didn’t know you were there or that you had cooked dinner. 

But he would have smelt it. 

And he would have known. 

You waited for a while longer, hoping he was making his way back, but when he didn’t, you began to grow impatient, leaving your steaming dinner behind to go in search for him. In that moment you cursed the vastness of the estate, but knew that Cregan wasn't really one to explore it. He kept to what he knew, and so you went to those spaces.

He wasn’t in your shared room.

Or the dining hall.

Or one of the many bathrooms. 

Nor was he in the kitchen.

The estate was cold, and dark, and the coolness of the home creeped up your bare feet and into your spine, sending shivers running down it. You called out his name, hoping he would come to you so that you would eat.

But no response came. 

It wasn’t until you were climbing the stairs back to your bedroom that you noticed a light on in a distant room. 

A room far down the end of the east wing. A room in which Cregan knew he wasn’t allowed inside. A room in which you had not been inside of for a long, long time. 

A pang of hurt and anger rose inside of you as you went towards it, feet slapping against the stones as you got closer and closer, unready and unwilling to be reasonable for such a boundary being crossed.

This was not what you had planned for the evening.

The hallway became shorter, as you got closer, and the air in the hall changed. It became colder. Sharper. More charged. And the anger that you had within you, slowly began to crackle as you came to a stop, spotting Cregan standing in Aemond’s study, his large back to you.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, hurt rising within as he stood in front of Aemond’s old desk. 

There was the smallest of whispers of something not being right that began to grow in the back of your mind. 

But Cregan did not answer you, nor did he turn to look at you when he would have no doubt heard you enter. 

The room opened a wound you thought had been closed.

And Cregan had done that.

You stepped towards him again, no answer still from his lips. 

You thought he was better than this.

You thought that he respected this boundary.

What did he want from coming into this room?

Why would he be in here?

You looked at his posture. 

Bone straight.

His large hands clenching and unclenching at his side as his head stayed straight on.

Something wasn’t right.

“You shouldn’t be in here.” You told him, voice wary as you stopped yourself mere feet away from him. 

Again, no answer.

Did something happen?

Was this a test?

“Cregan?”

And then you heard it.

A low chuckle.

A sound that in your years of dating Cregan, you had not heard once.

And in your years of his absence, you had missed.

It was a chuckle that sent ice running down your spine. 

And yet, your feet took you forward anyway.

“Cregan?” You asked again, wariness in your voice as you tried to peer around his side and look at his face.

Was this a dream?

A nightmare?

A hum. All that came from his chest, was a deep and oh too familiar hum.

“Hm.”

Your spine stiffened, and it felt as though the air in the room turned to ice, goosebumps rising on your skin. 

“This isn’t funny, Cregan. Get out.” One last attempt of courage, one last attempt of standing your ground, or at least your first attempt, which came and flew and crashed to the ground in flames. 

Cregan finally shifted, turning to face you, and although it was the face of your boyfriend, it was the mannerisms of your late husband which caused you to gasp out in fear. On Cregan’s soft lips, was the sharp pull of a smirk that Aemond almost always reserved for you.

“I’ve missed you zaldrītsos.” Little dragon.

Horror flooded you.

“Cregan.” You warned in clenched teeth, afraid that if they were open, they’d chatter, “This isn’t funny.” 

Growling, a tear fell down your cheek, your hands clenched into fists as you looked at him.

He had no right to be in this room.

He had no right to call you that name.

To act as he did.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Another smirk, and a step towards you, “Cregan is indisposed.”

Another tear fell down your cheek as you took a step backwards and away, watching as his eyes roamed down your body, “Cut it out, Creg. I’m serious.”

Brown hair cascaded over his shoulder as he tilted his head at you, clicking his tongue, “Oh, I'm deathly serious.” Came his purr-like response.

Your heart raced against your ribcage, blood rushing into your ears as you stared at him in shock and fear.

This-

It couldn’t-

It wasn’t-

“Aemond?” You breathed.

And it was the smile that did it for you. The smile you had prayed and hoped and dreamed to see every day for the years without it, yet now, seeing it up close on the face of your boyfriend scared the living wits from you.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he shifted lightly on his feet, not at all in the clunky manner that Cregan would have, but it in a smooth, calculated way that was every movement Aemond would make, “Have you missed me?”

You couldn’t move. 

You couldn’t breathe. 

You couldn’t speak, even if you dared to. 

It must be a dream. 

A cruel dream.

A nightmare in which you would wake from soon. 

But it felt too real.

It felt too sure. 

He was here. 

There, right in front of you. But it wasn’t him.

It wasn’t his body, his face, his voice.

But it was him.

He took another step towards you, and your stumbled backwards, mouth agape as you looked at him, the shadows of the dark lit room falling across his face. 

And then there it was. 

That Cheshire Cat smile.

“Run."

Your feet bound on the flagstones as you fled in terror, racing down the stairs to try and escape, to leave the estate, to get to your car and go, or your phone, or anywhere that wasn’t near him. To get away from him. It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him.

It was.

It was him. 

Air struggled to get into your lungs as you ran as fast as you could, hands catching themselves on the stone walls, nails biting into them as you caught yourself taking sharp corners, the dark halls and stairways causing your heart to race faster, feeling as though they were closing in on you. 

You didn’t dare look back. 

You knew he was there. 

You knew he was chasing you. 

Something you had done together for fun, for pleasure, but now, you were struck with terror.

But there it was, sweet salvation. 

The floor crashed up towards you as you landed heavily on your knees, tripping on the last step, not wasting anytime to check for injury nor even feel the blood that dripped down your legs, knees skinned from landing on the ancient stone floors. 

But there it was. 

The main hall. 

And there at the end, your way out. 

Your escape. 

The front doors of the estate.

You raced for it, heart in your throat, air barely in your lungs as they screamed for a reprieve, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you got closer and closer, fear still crawling up your throat, threatening to break through as a scream. 

And scream you did as your body was hauled off of your feet and into the air by a pair of large arms, wrapped around your centre. You kicked and clawed as you tried to get away from him, mind racing a million miles an hour, unsure of what was happening, and if it was even possible, but desperate to get away.

Not a sound, nor a jeer, nor a tease came from the man behind you. Not even a word to reassure you that this was a game, that it was Cregan, that you were safe, that this was just a long planned part of a fantasy you had expressed you wanted and he had denied. 

There was no reassurance. 

There was no check in. 

Because it wasn’t Cregan. 

It was Aemond. 

And as he hauled you back down the hall and up the stairs, kicking and screaming, back to his study, tears falling from your cheeks, you knew that it was him. You knew that it had been the slightest glimmers of him in Cregan the past month. Those migraines were more, those changes were more, and you had ignored them. 

Your hips collided with the desk of Aemond's study as he threw you into it, hands desperate to catch your fall, spreading across the desk knocking over items that had not been touched nor moved for years.

“I’ve had to watch him fuck you, every night.” He growled from behind, as you tried to push yourself up, his body caging you into his desk. There was a flicker of familiarity of the times you had once found yourself in a similar predicament.

“I’ve had to hear your moans and whines, knowing they were for someone else.” He said angrily, pulling at your dress, ripping it upwards as you tried to pull it back down, hands clawing backwards at his arms.

“You’re insane!” You screamed at him, “Get off me, Cregan!”

Aemond chuckled from behind, “You know it’s me. You always did like it rough,” His hands smacked yours away from him, shoving your face down on the desk again, “And poor Cregan just couldn’t do that for you, could he?”

Tears fell onto the desk below you, brain short circuiting as you didn’t know what to do or how to react, “Cregan, this isn’t funny.” You tried one last time, hoping his name would reach him, to snap him out of whatever this was, “Please, stop.”

Two large hands wrapped themselves around your wrists, bringing them both into one as he squeezed, face coming to the side of yours as he growled deeply, “Stop. Calling. Me. That.”

Aemond’s free hand ripped at your lace panties that you had worn for Cregan, tearing them to shreds from your body, the burn of the material hot against your skin. His hips pressed into you from behind roughly, and you stifled a confused and frightened sob.

“I’m going to fuck this little pussy like I’ve wanted to for years.” He emphasised with a grind against your backside, “I’ve had to watch you cry over me, my sweet byka mēre.” Little one, You sobbed loudly at the name, “Ao sagon ñuhon. Iksan dōrī ivestragī jā.” You’re mine. I am never letting you go.

It was him.

It was truly him.

Cregan couldn’t speak Aemond’s native tongue. 

Cregan didn’t know the names your late husband had called you.

It was him. 

It was Aemond.

You sobbed beneath him, you didn’t know if it was in relief, in horror, or in fear. 

You were so confused. 

“Valzȳrys?” Husband, You cried, trying to turn your head, but knowing that you would be met with a face that didn’t match.

Long fingers brushed through your folds, finding them slick already, “Shhh.” Aemond quietened you, “Let me take care of my ābrazȳrys.” Wife. 

Aemond smeared your slick through your folds with the tip of his cock as he brushed against your bud and then pushed inside of you. A long groan fluttered through his chest, vibrating against your back.

He set a brutal pace immediately, the old, heavy, wooden desk jutting with each thrust, your hips no doubt bruised from the force. Tears still fell from your eyes as you cried out, feeling him pull you by your hair, causing your back to arch up against his front as he fucked into you harder, hot pants in your ear. 

Aemond fucked you in a way that only he knew how, pulling mewl after mewl from you with every stroke, large palm squeezing at your throat whilst the other moved to grasp at your hip, pulling you back onto his cock roughly, slick dripping down your thighs as the coil within you began to tighten.

“So fucking tight for me.” He grunted from behind, hand coming to your front to gather some slick from your folds as he parted them further, his cock plunging inside of you from between them, “So fucking wet. I have missed this little pussy.”

His fingers pressed against your bud, swirling in time with his thrusts, causing your pleasure to mount faster and faster, the tears having stopped falling from your eyes as you moaned loudly, head thrown back against his shoulder. 

Your release was bounding towards you rapidly, and Aemond felt it. 

“Squeezing me so good, you gonna cum for me already?”

You nodded, feeling a smirk beside your cheek as he pressed harder against your bud, “Cum for me.”

The coil snapped, and warmth flooded over your body as your writhed in his grip, walls gripping his cock as you came hard. Aemond increased his pace, fucking into you harder as he squeezed your neck roughly, mind spinning and vision going black in the corners. 

You felt like you were floating. 

You hadn’t felt like this in years.

Aemond moaned from behind you as your walls clamped down on him, “Such a perfect little pussy.” He thrusted deeply into you, grinding the air out of your lungs as your mouth dropped open, “Made me for me. Only me.”

You body began to feel heavy as he continued to squeeze your throat, mind going fuzzy as you floated in bliss, his cock drilling into your walls, the sound of your slick release obscene in the room as he clapped his hips against yours. 

“You’re mine.” Came a growl that sounded just like Aemond’s voice and not Cregan’s, tip of his cock jutting into your cervix painfully, “Forever.”

You nodded weakly and whined, “Yours. Only yours.” 

Tears began to spring into your eyes again, knowing that this was Aemond. Knowing that this was him, but also knowing that you could never have him truly. Knowing he was gone, and never coming back, and although you had tried, although you did love Cregan, you would never truly move on from Aemond. 

You would always be his.

The grip around your neck pulled away and blood rushed to your head, strange euphoria taking over as you felt his pull out of you from behind. You stumbled forward slightly before he caught you, turning you around and lifting you onto the desk. And although you were staring at Cregan’s face, with his stormy grey eyes and his brown hair, you could tell just by the way his features contorted, by the way he moved or talked or fucked you, that it was Aemond. 

And at this, more tears came.

Aemond sucked his tongue at you, wiping away a tear roughly as he pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, and without waiting another second, slid back inside of your walls, a needy moan falling from your lips as you continued to cry.

Aemond began to rub at your clit again, sending blinding pleasure back up your spine. It was almost too much, too intense, added with everything else, your mind was running in circles.

You whimpered and tried to run away from his fingers, which only served to anger him. 

“Stop crying.” He ordered, hand slapping at your clit in warning causing you to yelp.

You hiccuped and sniffled, body jolting with every thrust as he pushed you backwards to lay down on the desk, hovering over you, one hand gripping your shoulder to pull you back down on him, the other pressed onto your swollen bud, “You like when I fuck this little pussy?” He grunted, and you closed your eyes, trying to imagine his face instead of seeing Cregan’s.

“You’ve been thinking of me, haven’t you?” He chastised you, tutting meanly as you nodded your head with a suppressed sob, “He could never fuck you the way I can.”

Pleasure mounting within you again, all you could do was nod and babble yes.

This seemed to both please and anger Aemond, his thrusts speeding up as your spine rubbed painfully into the hard wooden surface, “Cregan could never give you what you want. What you need. He’s useless.” A tear tracked down your cheek as you turned your head away, looking at the far wall as he ploughed into your cunt, “It’s only me. Only I can make you feel this good.”

You moaned beneath him as you felt your second peak rising just as rapidly as the first, his hand not once relenting. But your non-answer came at a cost. Pain bloomed in the side of your cheek as you squeaked, slap having caught your attention as Aemond pinched your jaw in his hand to look up into eyes that weren’t his.

“Say it.” He thrust into you sharply and as deep as he could go, sparks of pain rippling through your cervix in a haze of confusing pleasure.

“Only you,” You whined, “Always you, Aemond.”

“Good girl.”

Aemond’s pace increased, determined to bring you to your end as well as reach his, each thrust jolting the desk against the floor and punching the air from your lungs. You knew that by morning you’d be an aching and bruised mess, but that thought only brought you closer to your peak.

Loving kisses were dotted against your cheeks as Aemond soothed the tracks of tears away with his lips. Your hands reaching up to wrap themselves around his shoulders and your legs around his waist, desperate to pull him in closer.

“Please.” You whimpered, but you didn’t know what for.

Aemond’s arms scooped under your back and pulled you closer to him, changing the angle so that his cock pressed deeper and at a higher angle, one that he knew you loved the most.

And it was all that you needed before you fell of the edge with him, head tossed back in ecstasy as you came for the second time, Aemond following you with a long moan, pressing as deep as he could inside of you. 

“I love you.” You whispered into his neck, feeling his cock pulse inside of you, cum filling up your walls.

Your hands soothed the hair at the front of his face in a way you knew he liked, and you felt him shudder from above, kisses pressed into the crux of your shoulder and neck as he whispered into the skin. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

I love you.

All too soon, the high of your ecstasy fizzled away, and reality came crashing down around you. Your arms and legs tightened around him, small hiss coming through his teeth as your walls clamped around him. 

The stinging prickle of tears filled your eyes again, “Please don’t leave me.” You cried, heart beginning to feel as though it was breaking all over again. 

Aemond pulled away from you, though not without a struggle, a different face looking down at you with a familiar sign of love. His hand came to brush the tears away from your cheek slowly, before he leant down to pull you into a kiss, your lips shuddering as you poorly contained a sob, “I will never leave you.” He whispered against your lips, “Not now, not ever. I am always here.” He pulled away, soothing your hair from your face as his brows pulled together in a way that you knew pain was coming. 

You tried to sit up, to try and soothe his pain, to instinctually run for the medication you had kept all these years, but he stopped you, cupping your cheek with his large hand as he looked down at you, eyes now full of determination, “I am always watching you. And one day, Cregan won’t be a problem anymore.” 

You blinked in confusion as you looked at him, your own brows furrowing, but before you could even respond, his eyes shut in pain and a groan whittled through his lips, heel of his hand pressed into the side of his face where Aemond had lost his eye. 

“Aemond?” You whispered quietly, unsure what was happening.

Grey eyes opened slightly, looking at you in confusion as he blinked a couple of times, “Huh?” A low groan came from deep within his chest as he clutched the side of his head, “Wha- Wher-“

“Cregan?”

His eyes opened at you again, and then did a sweep of you and the position you were in. You looked no doubt a mess, hair tousled, neck red from where Aemond’s- Cregan’s hands had squeezed, down to your ripped dress, to finally where you were still connected, your combined releases leaking onto the old wooden desk.

Blinking rapidly he noticed the tear tracks staining your cheeks, and suddenly the pain was pushed away by concern. Cregan’s hand came to touch your neck tentatively, fear rising on his features, "Are you okay?” His voice was rushed, “Are you hurt? Did I- Did I hurt you?”

Guilt and pain struck in your chest. 

He thought you were hurt. 

He thought he hurt you. 

You shook your head rapidly, clutching the sides of his face in your hands, “No, no. You didn’t hurt me. Not at all.”

Cregan seemed to relax at this, though there was still confusion as he looked at you, forehead pulled in pain as he tried to piece everything together.

“Did we…”

You bit at your lip, worrying it between your teeth, “Are you okay? Do you remember anything?”

The man closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think, “I remember smelling food, and then I had this urge to go somewhere.“

Your heart began to race in your chest as you looked at him. You wet your lips with your tongue, eyes searching his face for any sign of Aemond left. 

What had just happened?

Was any of that real?

What was happening to you?

What was happening to Cregan?

“Hey.” Cregan caught your attention again, lowering his face to your height, “Are you okay?”

Your mouth was dry. 

Were you okay?

No.

Yes.

You didn’t know.

“I’m okay.” You lied.

Cregan frowned at your obvious avoidance, “You sure I didn’t hurt you?”

“Positive.” You reassured him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, your stomach turning. 

When you pulled away, Cregan was watching you with caution again.

“What?” You asked quietly, fear beginning to rise inside of you. 

Did he remember?

Does he know?

Did he-

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You couldn’t help it. 

You couldn’t stop it if you tried. 

A broken sob fell through your lips like a half laugh.

Had you?

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the general tag list please let me know on the general taglist post here :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[sytoran]

𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌.

in which natasha is a lovable, mischievous little shit and you have to deal with her antics.

──── ♥ pairing. gf!natasha x gn!reader

──── ♥ cont. fluff, established relationship, implied sexual references, innuendos, romance, natasha is an adorable little bean who can do no wrong

──── ♥ note. i just want to hug and kiss and hold her

masterlist / AO3 / join the taglist

"i'm in the mood."

blinking slowly, you look away from your paperwork to grace your girlfriend with calculative eyes. scanning over her choice of clothes, or lack thereof, as she sits herself into your lap while you're working from home.

having effectively stradled your lap, you had no choice but to pay your clingy girlfriend a pinch of attention.

"in the mood for what, darling?' you ask softly, tracing your hands up and down the sides of her thighs. you think you know the answer.

natasha smiles slowly, nuzzling her head into your chest, deeply inhaling your scent. “you know what i mean, baby.”

you look at her expectantly, a smirk growing on your face. you cradle her head in your hands, tilting it up to look at you. it’s endearing, how pink her cheeks are. you can’t help the way your sides of your lips quirk up.

“really? like, that mood, mood?” you ask, genuinely. it was rare that natasha needed you so badly, to the extent of deterring you from your work, much less at eight in the morning.

“yep!” your girlfriend replies cheerfully, shifting in your lap. she presses a kiss to your neck, and you feel a shiver travel up your spine. boy, she was making it hard to focus. “i’m very much in the mood.”

natasha laughs into your warm skin, loving the effect she inflicted on you. “hurry up, baby, please?” she asked, inquisitively.

oh, how were you to deny your girlfriend looking at you longingly with those eyes?

in a sweeping motion, you’ve stood up with natasha still cradled in your arms. within seconds, you practically toss her over your shoulders, clutching her single-handedly by the back of her thighs. natasha laughs, the joyful sound like music to your ears.

you exit the room with your girlfriend still on your shoulders, all while listening to her excited giggles. as you turn to the right in the corridor, natasha interrupts you quite rudely. not that you could ever be mad at her. “where are ya going? i said i was in the mood!”

natasha scrambles in your grasp, forcing you to let her down. almost instantaneously, natasha finds her way into your arms, legs wrapping around your torso with a vice grip.

“i’m so confused right now, sweetheart,” you say truthfully, eyes wide. did you do something wrong? “you said you were in the mood.”

“yeah!” natasha says with a little bit of sass, pointing to the kitchen, which was the opposite way from which you were walking. “in the mood for ice cream!”

“...ice cream?” 

“yeah, duh.”

you look at your girlfriend, embarrassment taking over your features for a moment. had you misread the situation that badly? 

“really?” you ask, hands moving to cup at natasha’s sides, instinctively stroking up and down once again. “i was thinking a different kind of cream, baby.” 

natasha lets out a shriek at your dirty comment, whacking your head. you try to duck and fail miserably – you end up dropping natasha in your shock. she yelps, clutching onto you for support. you, in the first place, had lost your balance.

that little catastrophe somehow ended up with natasha pinned to the ground with you laying above her, breathing heavily. you stare into her eyes, taking note of the newly-dilated pupils. you lick your lips.

you feel natasha trailing her hands up your back, going to pull you in for a kiss.

you get up at a lightning-quick speed. “ice cream it is,” you announce, helping your girlfriend up — who was still trapped in her momentary haze of lust.

oh, two could play this game.

natasha huffs in disappointment, letting you drag her to the kitchen for the ice cream.

it was only after half an hour that natasha decided the ice cream could wait.

this time, she lets you carry her on your shoulder towards the bedroom.

taglist: @natashamaximoff69 @ohsugar-honey-iced-tea @fayhar @bibliophilicbi @screechcat @rowanyaboats @nahnahnahwhat @the-night-owl-blr @nemowevoli @wannabe-fic-reader @natsxwife @wandsmxmff @enanna-h @gay4lizzie @jemilyswhor3 @manyfandomsfanvergent @scarsw1fe @jlsammy23 @gingerninja-93 @spongebobs-tie1 @kiyozoe6778 @Lovebelt @lexscursed26 @godsfavouritelesbiann @bvrxbre @ezay @forthelesbians @wlwfanfictionss @forthelesbians @cowxpoke @supaheroine @saqua14 @olsensnpm @33-mrvl @gay4ols3n @knellyc30 @eatkobi @stitch26gp @lovelyy-moonlight @wandaromanoff69 @shuriri4life @inluvwithfictionalwomen

random blurb lets goooo

masterlist / AO3 / join the taglist

[solar-bean]

Jut found out that the full Touchstarved game might not be out till 2025 so here's a scenario I imagined with Ais. Has the others interact with mc too, but Ais is the main love interest. Hope this doesn't feel too much like my oc. I chose the Unnamed route so that may be brought up.

Worth The Trouble ( Ais x GN Reader )

( Content Warning: Violence, Blood, cursing, Ais being Ais, Remember what he did to that guy in the demo )

MC = Y/N ( I'm too tired from finals to type the slash, sorry 😭)

It started off as a normal day in Eridia, or at least as peaceful as things could be in the hellscape of a city. MC went to the market for some light grocery shopping, their small tote bag half full, when a group of kids zoomed past them. For a flash they could see that the kids' arms were full of produce, a few stray fruits leaving a trail in their wake. It was mere seconds before an enraged yell from a man was heard.

" Get back here you little shits!!!" the a man, a local produce seller, barreled down in the kid's direction. Nearly knocking down passersby, MC included.

One of the smaller kids tripped, dropping all of their stolen goods. They called to their friends for help but it was too late. The seller had already grabbed them by the collar like a stray puppy.

" Stupid maggot! I'll show you what happens to thieves around here!!" He pulled back his meaty fist to strike them.

Without thinking, MC ran to grab his wrist before the blow landed.

" Hey! That's going way too far."

The seller looked down at them and snarled.

" Stay out of this! This is between me and this little thief here."

" I get that but look at them." MC pointed to the kid's dirty clothes that were holding on by threads. " Clearly they aren't stealing for the fun of it. Can't you let them go?"

The seller scoffed at them, foul breath fanning their face. Thankfully they held back their disgust.

" I'm not running a charity. If the kid wants to eat the kid's gotta pay."

MC thought for a moment as they stared at the child, who was still curled in a protective ball. Although their face was covered, it was clear by their trembling that they were crying. MC immediately remembered all the times they'd been hungry and in need after they fled the temple. While they survived they couldn't imagine doing so at this child's age. How long had they been suffering?

" I'll do it."

" Do what?"

" Pay." MC reached into their cloak and pulled out their coin purse. " I've got plenty to spare." which wasn't true but they'd manage. The seller gave them a long, calculated glare before sighing.

" Fine."

He put the kid down. They gave a quick glance to the seller then the MC before grabbing their haul and scurrying off to where the rest of the group went. MC wasn't expecting a thank you, but the last look the kid gave to them over their shoulder was enough.

" Ok," MC counted the coins in their palm, leaving the purse nearly empty. " Will this be enough?"

The seller took the coins. Counting each while scratching his stubbly chin.

" Yeah, almost..."

MC looked at him confused. They were sure that they gave him much more than his nearly, spoiled produce was worth. They almost didn't notice his arm go up. But they did feel the strike across their face. Everything went white for a moment as they stumbled. Pain flared over the entirety of the right side of MC's face. They pressed their palm to it and whipped their gaze back to the seller stunned.

" What the fuck is your problem??!!" they shrieked at him.

" Don't look so confused. You said you'd pay for everything. That includes punishment. " He let out a dark chuckle and walked pass them. " Maybe think twice next time you wanna be someone's savior."

MC gawked at his back. What kind of asshole pulls a stunt like that. He got his money fair and square. Clearly he just wanted a reason to cause someone harm. They wanted to let it go and move on but crap that hit really hurt. His hands were big enough to crush their skull and they were pretty sure that his ring cut their cheek. There was no way they were gonna let him walk away so easily.

" Hey!"

The seller turned around and was met with a fist right to the nose. He reeled back, giving MC enough time to land a kick to his kneecap. He fell to the city floor with the gracefulness of an old dying ox, MC's coins going down with him. They grabbed a handful of them before making a break for it back to the Wet Wick.

Out of breath, energy, half their coins and what little faith they had in humanity, all MC wanted to do was go to sleep in their room and maybe have some of their scraps for dinner. It could've been made into a full meal but they hadn't realized they'd dropped their tote bag until it was too late. Thankfully, the bar sounded empty from the outside, so at least they could avoid the headache of possibly socializing.

" Hey sparrow."

Shit.

There right in his usual spot at the bar sat Ais, accompanied by Vere and Leander.

" Hey Ais..." they said weakly, pulling up their hood even more to hide the blooming bruises.

" Um Excuse me. I'm here too dear. Goodness has being here already dulled your manners?" came Vere, tail playfully swaying.

" Hey Vere." they said quickly as they tried to flee to their room, but that would've been to easy.

" Oh MC how was the market did you get anything good?" Leander asked, conveniently getting in front of them and blocking their path. They didn't look up at him and did their best not to adjust their hood again.

" Yeah, yeah it was good."

" But where's your tote ba-"

" It's getting late I'll see you guys later." MC swerved around him, nearly home free.

" Sparrow."

They stopped. Ais' piercing gaze burning into their back.

" Come here, please." he instructed in a soft yet stern tone. They couldn't resist him. He'd only pry more if they did, so reluctantly they sat next to him, avoiding eye contact.

" Take off your hood."

They stayed still. The air filled with a tense silence.

" Ais come one. They've probably had a long day. I'm sure their fi-" Lenader nearly choked when MC took their hood off. " What the hell happened?! Are you ok?!"

" Obviously not." Vere scoffed. " Thought I smelled blood but that's nothing new for you. Do tell, what mess have you found yourself in this time, MC?"

MC let out a tired sigh. Leander's worrying and Vere's teasing made for a sickening combo on an already shitty afternoon.

" It's nothing. I just ran into a bad guy at the market. Nothing interesting." They were about to get up to leave when Ais' hand was placed firmly on their shoulder.

" Humor us would ya? What really happened?" While the slight smile on his face was meant to be assuring, MC knew he was up to no good.

" Really it's nothing. I just saw some kids steal some food and one of them got caught by the seller. So I thought hey why not be nice and help this clearly starving child. But nope! As usual the situation blew up in my face. Apparently coins weren't enough payment for the guy so he- " They mimicked the back-handed slap motion they'd been a victim to. " The asshole didn't even have the decency to warn me first, so I thought it was only fair to get in a few blows in myself then run like hell before things got too heated. So yeah that's it. Nothing special."

After what they hadn't meant to be a ramble there was another thick silence. Crap maybe I said too much. Then a low chuckle came from beside them. Oh good Ais found the story amusing, maybe they were worried for nothing. But that was quickly put aside when they turned to look at him.

His grin was downright dangerous. Fangs gleaming and all. His eyes were even worse, glowing with a bloodlust that would scare a soulless shitless.

" I'll be right back." he said, getting up from his seat and stretching out his tired joints with a pop.

" Ais." Leander warned. " Let's think about this, ok buddy."

" Nothing to think about. Now," He stood in front of MC and leaned down to their level. " Which seller was it?"

MC felt their pulse quicken. Not just from being at eye level with Ais, but also from the immense violent aura he began to exude.

" Really Ais it's fine. I hit him pretty hard so we're even."

" I'm sure you did. But this is purely for my own selfish vices. I can't rest easy knowing this jackass is going around threatening kids and hitting customers. So who was it?"

" Ais. It's not worth the trouble just let it g-"

Ais' hand swiftly taken ahold of their chin. With a gentleness that greatly contrasted his character, he tilted MC's face to better examine the damage. They couldn't help the heat that rose within them.

" Plenty worth the trouble to me." He tilted their head back to face forward. " Who was it, MC."

Maybe it was the softness of his tone or the way he said their name instead of Sparrow, but they confessed. Even down to what stalls the seller's had been next to. He gave them a small, genuine smile and went on the hunt.

" Well, there's no stopping him now. Let's get some ice on that bruise, hm." Leander went around the counter, paying no mind to MC's breathless expression. In no time he came back with clean rag and another with ice inside. " Alright let me see."

Before he could attend to their face, Vere cut in.

" Leander, didn't the doctor leave some magic elixir or whatever for minor injuries in the backroom?"

" Oh you're right. He did. I should go get it."

" Yes you should." Vere smiled sweetly then frowned once Leander was out of sight. " Good I couldn't tolerate him for much longer without Ais here."

" Don't get too excited, he'll be back soon." MC reminded him.

" No he won't," Vere swiped the rag that Leander left on the counter near the ice bag before turning back to them with a mischievous smirk. " I poured those nasty medicine bottles out weeks ago."

MC gawked at him.

" Why would you do that? What if someone needed those?"

" What like you? Don't be such a baby you'll be fine. Now hold still. I can only take so much of you blood smelling up the place."

With a similar gentleness as Ais, Vere took hold of their chin and began to dab the blood away from the cut that was already beginning to close. MC didn't have the energy for anymore shock today, so they relished in the care.

" You know. This pacifist act you're playing won't do you any good in this city"

MC sighed and grabbed the ice bag to put on their bruise once he was done with the cut.

" I'm not a pacifist. Trust me I've got nothing against that jerk getting what he deserves. I just don't want Ais to get in any trouble because of me."

" Hmph, now why would Ais get in trouble?"

" Because, he's a monster. What if the Senobium punishes him for being too violent?"

Vere hummed to himself. He carelessly tossed the bloody rag on the floor and leaned back against the counter, tail swishing languidly.

" Oh don't fret dear. The Senobium's too up their own asses to care about a few lowtown brutes getting torn apart. Besides I highly doubt Ais would do anything so dreadful as to get a punishment like mine. And if he did..." Vere's eyes turned a bright pink, his fangs seemed longer as well. " I'd tear this city to the ground before they laid a finger on him."

MC just stared at him for a while. The primordial fear in their gut was unmistakable, but they couldn't help but feel a bit relieved.

" Well I'm glad Ais has a friend like you to look after him."

The fox scoffed.

" I'm not his friend."

A bit confused by that response, they were sure he was joking. The duo seemed as close as Mhin and Kuras if not more.

" Ok then I'm glad you're his very close, foxy furry acquaintance."

Vere's ears went down as he scowled at them.

" I can break you like a twig. Don't forget that."

They merely chuckled at that although they weren't entirely sure if he was serious or not.

" Sorry for the wait!" Came Leander's chipper voice. He rejoined the two with a small container of bandaids and a bottle of unknown liquid. " Took me forever to find this elixir. I could've swore we had more bottles. Thankfully, I always stash a spare."

" Wow how great is that Vere." MC gave him an innocent smile that in turn got them glare. Vere definitely meant that threat now.

----

Ais arrived back at the bar late into the night. He wreaked of blood despite his best efforts to clean himself. He didn't want to make another bad impression on his new...new friend? Acquaintance? Whatever they were he wanted them around him more often. Which would be hard if they were scared of him. Did he scare them before when asking about the seller? They seemed nervous, but most people were around him, especially after knowing about his brutal tendencies.

Perhaps they didn't mind. He got a good look at the seller's broken nose, and what he could assume was an injured knee that made it all the easier to catch and corner him. The sparrow really did have a tough side after all. He was almost sad that he sullied their work with his own. No one would suspect that what was left of the asshole was the handiwork of two pissed off individuals. Maybe returning their tote bag full of goods and the coins that he'd swiped from the guy's pockets would be a good enough apology gift.

The barkeep was cleaning shot glasses when he arrived. Out of no where a wave of unease hit him. Maybe he came back too late and should just leave their stuff here.

" Got something for MC. Can you give it to them for me?"

The barkeep only spared him a quick glance.

" Do I look like a delivery boy? Drop it off at their door yourself, I'm busy." She replied with a bitterness that he always found amusing.

" Yes ma'am."

He was in front of their door when the doubt came back, sweaty palms too. What the hell was he nervous for? He doesn't get nervous. This was just a small favor for a frien-aquaintance. Just put the stuff down and go. But what if someone took it? Maybe he should see if they're awake first. Maybe not what if he wakes them up.

Annoyed by his rambling thoughts he did least smart thing and opened, which should've been locked, door. It was dark inside, aside the moonlight from a small window. His higher than average vision could make out a small bed with a lump under the covers. Next to it was a dresser. He made his way to it quietly, mentally cursing the metal on his boots for the creaks they made in the floorboards.

Finally at his destination, he set the tote bag and coins on the dresser and turned to leave. But curiosity got the best of him. He snuck a peak at MC and it was all over. The covers were up to their nose. There was a small bandage on their cheek. The bruising seemed to have healed a bit. Ais had never seen them look so peaceful. It was actually pretty cute. Then he realized how creepy this whole situation was and made his way to the door.

" Ais...?"

Shit!

He stopped mid step, looking over his shoulder at them. Their eyes were barely open and their voice was quiet and soft.

" That you?"

He sighed.

" Yeah it's me sparrow. Don't worry just wanted to return your bag. I'm leaving, go back to sleep." he kept walking.

" Are you ok?"

He stopped again, wide eyed.

" What?" he asked.

They yawned.

" I smell blood."

Oh, he thought. They were worried about him? That's actually really sweet. When was the last time anyone got worried for him? Vere and Kuras maybe. But they knew he could handle himself. It's what's he's good at. Looking out for himself when no one will. When everyone else leaves eventually.

But maybe MC wanted to stick around.

He smiled, unsure if they could see his face so he made sure they could hear it in his voice.

" I'm just fine sparrow. It's not my blood you're smelling."

They smiled back before yawning again.

" Good. Well see ya later I guess..."

They curled back into their blanket and pillow, already drifting. He took in the sight one last time before leaving and closing the door.

" Yeah see ya later."

The barkeep and every wander through the night had no idea why the feared demon renegade, Ais, had the softest smile on his face all the way back to the wastelands.

[cielur5ww]

୨🎻୧ ─────・ the violist boy

▭ Synopsis﹕ Scaramouche by chance met someone from the music club, a boy he didn't even know from school. Maybe the beginning of a story.

★ ❪CW❫── amab!reader!violist x scaramouche, modern AU, fluff.

ᶻz ─── n/a﹕Finally, I no longer have a block, I will just throw up this idea. Oh, and it will have other parts, I think... if I don't procrastinate─ It's quite short, I'm really sorry 😭

❱❱ first part

Scaramouche trudged through the deserted hallways, his mind still trapped in the day's frustrations. He observed the fluorescent lights flickering intermittently, casting shadows on the peeling walls and faded posters advertising long-gone events. Each step felt like an extra effort in his battle against exhaustion.

He had checked his phone, and the clock read 3:34 pm, a constant reminder of time lost and pending responsibilities. He sighed resignedly, wishing to be anywhere but in that school, stashed his phone in his backpack, and furrowed his brow. The incident with the calculator in the last class had been the final straw, and Scaramouche longed to escape it all right now.

The corridors, usually bustling with activity, now seemed empty and silent, as if they were commiserating with his plight. Though they were empty because classes ended at 3:00 pm, thanks to a classmate's fault, he had to stay late with the rest of the idiots from the classroom.

How he hated his day.

However, a sweet, melodic whisper broke the silence and seeped into his troubled soul.

He recognized the tune of a violin, and though at first it was just a distant murmur, it soon became an irresistible echo that drew him in like a magnet.

His sluggish pace halted for a moment as his ears leaned towards the sound, as if seeking a source of relief.

Following the echo of the notes, Scaramouche found himself walking towards the music club, a place he usually avoided due to his tight schedule and lack of interest in extracurricular activities. But this time, the music called to him, like a siren drawing a sailor lost in the stormy sea.

As if the sound of the violin itself were a balm for his weary mind.

Reaching the half-open door of the music room, Scaramouche hesitated for a moment.

Should I go in? What could I find inside? But the melody was hypnotizing him, enveloping him in its sweet embrace, temporarily erasing his worries and frustrations.

With a resigned sigh, he pushed the door open and stepped into the room, peeking inside. And there, in the center of the room, he saw someone standing with a violin in hand, their fingers dancing gracefully and skillfully over the strings.

The music filled the room, weaving a magical spell that enveloped the space, as if it were trying to capture the hearts of future listeners, or simply practicing to portray something.

Scaramouche stood there, silently observing, as the melody transported him to another place, far from the tensions and worries of his day. For a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the background sound, letting his problems fade away in the sweet harmony of the violin, that he took greedily.

But it was shattered by the sudden silence that followed the cessation of the melody echoing in the room, as the boy with the violin slowly lowered the bow, his eyes met Scaramouche's violet eyes. An expression of surprise and slight confusion crossed his face upon seeing him standing there, as if he had interrupted a private moment.

Scaramouche felt like he was under an unwanted spotlight, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, as he instinctively stepped back towards the door, coming out. However, he slammed the door shut with more force than necessary, the sound of the slam resonating in the room like an echo of his own clumsiness, as if he were trying to highlight that he was there.

Adjusting the strap of his backpack nervously, Scaramouche hurriedly turned and rushed out of the room, feeling the weight of embarrassment bubbling in his stomach.

Why did he feel so ashamed for being caught in the music club? He wondered as he hurried down the stairs to the school's ground floor. He internally scolded himself for his exaggerated reaction, but still couldn't help feeling uncomfortable.

He didn't want to face the violin boy's gaze again, nor the awkward feeling of being caught in a moment of vulnerability.

As he distanced himself from the music club, Scaramouche promised himself not to go back in there, determined to avoid any situation that might involve seeing that boy again, even though he had never met him.

However, the image of the boy with the violin and his surprised gaze remained etched in his mind, leaving a lasting impression amid his confusion and discomfort.

He tried to calm the racing beats of his heart and rationalize his exaggerated response.

Why did he care so much about what that violin-playing boy thought? Why did he allow a simple glance to make him feel so vulnerable? Scaramouche felt frustrated with himself for letting the opinion of someone he didn't even know affect his mood.

But it would be alright, because he probably wouldn't see that violin boy again, right?

I had been peacefully practicing in the music club, immersed in the melodies flowing from my violin as I tried to recreate the song I was reading from the sheet music, alone in the room. Then, at one moment, a boy with short, vibrant indigo hair entered.

At first, I barely noticed his presence, but then I felt a gaze upon me and immediately halted my performance, lifting my head.

Our eyes met, and I caught a glimpse of his purple eyes. I watched as the boy's cheeks flushed with a soft blush, likely embarrassed for interrupting my practice. I observed in silence as he retreated out of the room, closing the door with a resounding slam that echoed in the chamber.

I stood there, bewildered by the sudden interaction. How should I feel about it? I had no idea. He was just a stranger who had entered and exited my space without explanation.

I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts from my mind, and attempted to resume my practice, but I couldn't focus after that event.

So, I sighed, deciding to call it a day with my practice.I set my violin aside to hold its case and carefully stored the instrument, feeling somewhat pensive about the encounter with that stranger.

Perhaps I would never know who the boy with the indigo hair was, but for now, I decided to set the incident aside. After all, I'd probably never see him again.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you for the commission, @silcatian! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think this might be the first time I've written a Swap Sans! 👀 I went the true himbo route

---

“TSK! HONESTLY!”

...

Huh. You perked up, at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice- he didn't usually sound frustrated when cooking. Unless his brother had walked in with takeout. You closed your work laptop, getting up off the couch and heading into the kitchen. 

“What is it?” You poked your head in. Sans was wearing his post-workout gear, fresh out of the shower, he looked remarkably handsome dressed in just shorts and a loose white top with ‘AWESOME DUDE’ written on the front in very faded black marker. He was holding a still-sealed packet of gnocchi and glaring at it; the stovetop was decorated by a saucepan of almost-boiling water, and a second shallower pan that contained some kind of pleasant smelling creamy sauce.

He narrowed his sockets at the packet, as he put it back on the countertop. “THIS GNOCCHI IS ENCOURAGING THE CONSUMPTION OF CARDBOARD AND PLASTIC! CARDBOARD AND PLASTIC IS NOT HEALTHY FOR HUMANS. THAT, I KNOW. I SHOULD’VE MADE MY OWN PASTA FOR OUR ROMANTIC DINNER! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WOO YOU IF MY COOKING IS FULL OF CARDBOARD AND PLASTIC?”

“... Erm...” You were trying not to laugh. You hadn’t been aware tonight was supposed to be a romantic dinner. “Explain a bit more...?”

He jabbed a finger, accusingly, at the packaging.

“THE TEXT HERE CLEARLY INSTRUCTS ME TO ‘ADD BOX TO BOILING WATER’!”

...

Oh my Stars. 

You tried not to laugh. You really did. But you couldn’t help it, a little giggle came out.

“Sans...” You said, moving over to the countertop and picking up the offending box. “I’m pretty sure it means add the contents of the box.” 

He glanced over at you, with those beautiful sky blue eyelights. “... REALLY?”

“... Yeah.” You scanned the package, and it just confirmed your suspicions. “You’ve bought a two person gnocchi serving. And you’re reading the part about ‘to serve two’. It just wanted you to use all the gnocchi in the box, boo.”

“HM.” He scratched his chin, but his happy aura didn’t lessen at all. He always took these things in stride. “WELL, I SUPPOSE THAT DOES MAKE A LOT MORE SENSE. I DID THINK IT WAS ODD.”

Your boyfriend was the smartest person you’d ever met, by no stretch of the imagination. But simultaneously, he was one of the most blunt, and easily confused.

He had multiple PhDs. That wasn't a joke, they were framed on the wall, he collected them mostly just for the fun of it. Statistics, mathematics, ‘puzzleology’ or something, a lot of space related stuff you didn’t understand. Numbers went through his head like he was a living calculator, his propensity for puzzles was absolutely unmatched and his eyelights merely had to scan something for him to make the most incredible difficult conclusions with total ease. A Sherlock in his own right. He explained astrophysics, both theoretical and non-theoretical, as easily as if he was explaining the answers to the morning crossword.

... And yet. He once asked you how to spell YMCA. On your first date, he pondered why humans got salmonella from raw eggs, because he thought it came from salmon. The two of you were watching a documentary about a lion pride and he asked if it was ‘based on a true story’.

Honestly? You just loved him more for it. It was funny and endearing. His line about salmonella had made you so giggly (much to his apparent delight) you’d thought about him all day- every Sherlock needs a Watson, right? You were not mathematically gifted, but that was okay. Sans did yours and his brother’s taxes because he just enjoyed crunching the numbers, and meanwhile, you could explain that when the recipe said the steak needed to ‘sit’ for half an hour, it didn’t mean on a chair. The two of you covered each other’s weaknesses.

Your running theory was that he was just too smart. Day-to-day stuff went over his skull, just like academic stuff went over yours. And that was okay. You knew he wouldn’t judge you for struggling with numbers, let alone for not understanding his long enthusiastic tangents about incredibly complex mathematical theories, he knew you wouldn’t judge him when he openly questioned why the plural of foot was feet but the plural of boot wasn’t beet.

...

... To be fair, you didn’t get that one either.

Sans opened the gnocchi and put it on to boil. It only needed a few minutes before it was already done, ready to strain. Sometimes, you just didn’t understand; he was an absolutely incredible cook, on your first date at his place he’d made seared ahi tuna steaks with some kind of delicious sweet lemony sauce, full of complicated flavours you didn’t understand, pulling out all the stops to impress you. It had completely blown your mind, especially when he openly admitted he wasn’t familiar with cooking with human food.

... And at the same time, when he made tacos for his brother, he filled them with glitter. 

Non edible glitter.

You strained the gnocchi for him. It always surprised you, how fast the stuff cooked. He added the pasta to the sauce, tossing it all together and throwing in a little sprinkle of something green, then setting it down to reduce.

You leant back against the counter.

“... You know I’m already wooed, right?” You said, softly. “And not just by your cooking.”

“OF COURSE, BOO.” Confident as ever. “BUT I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH AND IT IS VERY IMPORTANT TO MAKE SURE YOU ARE RE-WOOED REGULARLY, TO ENSURE YOU FEEL APPRECIATED.”

You felt your cheeks get pinker. “Is that one from your dating manual?”

“NOPE.” He winked. “THAT’S A SANS ORIGINAL. MWEH-HEH.”

He held his hand out. You took it, linking your fingers with his bones and giving a gentle squeeze.

“... Well. Consider me feeling appreciated.” 

He beamed. “EXCELLENT! MY DATE NIGHT WAS SUCCESSFUL, AND IT HASN’T EVEN STARTED YET!”

He had you giggling again. He always seemed to. 

“Do you wanna eat on the couch? That new black hole documentary is on in twenty minutes.”

“ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO WATCH IT TOO?”

“Absolutely. You might have to explain some stuff to me, though. Like... the whole ‘time slowing down as you fall in’ thing.”

“WELL, IT’S VERY SIMPLE, ACTUALLY!” His eyelights flared up into stars, infectious grin spreading across his cheeks. “IF YOU WERE AN OBJECT APPROACHING A BLACK HOLE, IT WOULD APPEAR AS IF TIME WAS SLOWING AROUND YOU...”

You let him continue, allowing yourself to indulge in another of his tangents. You just liked hearing him talk about something he was interested in.

... He thought it was his cooking, good looks and dating manual advice that had won you over. And they certainly helped. But really... it was this sort of thing that had ‘wooed’ you, in the end.

[abiiors]

Small Comforts

Hello and welcome aboard the self-indulgence train

cw: blood, reader (and the writer) being a bit pathetic

The second your alarm rings in the morning you know something’s wrong. 

The wetness between your legs feels sticky and uncomfortable, already running down your thighs. The wheels in your head begin to turn, doing mental calculations hoping against hope that this is not what you think it is. But then the first stab of pain hits and you know you’re doomed. You know once you peel back the duvet, what you will see will be carnage. 

And oh god, Ross’s pristine white bedsheets…

You close your eyes tightly as a flush of shame and mortification creeps up your neck. This is the third time you’ve stayed over at his place, the third time you’ve woken up in his bed right next to him. It’s supposed to be romantic and butterfly-inducing, yet here you are, frantically searching for a plan of action. 

He turns around, still half-asleep and puts his arm around you, about to pull you close. And you feel yourself flinch away abruptly. 

‘Good morning?’ Ross cracks an eye open, still sleepy and clearly confused. On any other day, you would have swooned at how beautiful his morning voice is, deep and scratchy from disuse, how cute he looks with his eyes all soft and sleepy. But the panic in your chest compounds. 

What if he’s really squeamish about blood? What if he’s easily disgusted by it? What if he’s mad about the bedsheets? 

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, ‘it completely slipped my mind, I'm so sorry. I—’

‘Hold on,’ he interrupts, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide open, ‘baby, I have no idea what’s going on.’

Because of course, you gave him no context before launching into your apologies. So you scrunch your eyes tightly and wince as another cramp hits. This doesn’t help matters, not one bit but there’s no time to scramble as he goes the push the duvet off both of you. 

‘No, no, no, wait—’ but it’s already too late. 

Ross’s eyebrows fly up into his hairline in surprise and it’s almost comical until his face softens in realisation. ‘Oh, love…’ he sighs and smiles sweetly, ‘come on, let's get you cleaned up.’

So this is not the reaction you were expecting. You thought there would be mild disgust, maybe even some annoyance that he would try to quickly cover up, not…concern. 

‘You’re not mad?’ you ask tentatively, still fully prepared for him to say something snide or even roll his eyes but all he does is tilt his head slightly. 

‘Why would I be mad?’ 

‘Well,’ you point vaguely at the general area, still unable to directly look at the damage, ‘...this.’

He laughs a bit, then gathers his hair up in a bun. ‘It’s just some blood, baby. I do own a washing machine,’ he tries to joke. 

‘I think I got some on your t-shirt too,’ you bite your lip to stop it from wobbling. Pain, embarrassment and hormones is clearly not a fun combination. Your eyes well up slightly, which adds to the humiliation because oh god why is your body betraying you like this today?

‘Hey, hey, hey,’ he moves quickly to pull you into his chest, ‘it’s okay, it’s alright.’ His voice is hushed and soothing, his words quick as he tries to calm you down. 

‘Alright how about this,’ Ross speaks gently, ‘how about you get in the shower and I’ll clean this up, okay? And then we can do whatever you want.’ 

The fact that he’s being so fucking sweet about it chokes you up even more. You nod into his chest, gathering yourself up a bit. ‘Okay, yes.’

‘Check under the sink, okay? I bought some pads and tampons in case you ever needed them,’ he admits shyly, ‘looks like I was right.’

You hug him tighter as you feel your heart melt in your chest. How is this man real? He stays like that for a few moments, giving you as much time as you need, rubbing your back. 

‘Come here,’ you mumble and pull his mouth to yours. He sighs happily into the kiss, caressing your cheek with his calloused thumb. The warmth radiating off of him soothes the pain in your stomach, still the cramps are now hitting you full force. You whimper slightly just as a particularly bad one hits and he draws back immediately. 

‘Are you in pain?’

‘A little,’ you confess, ‘I think the shower would help.’

And the shower does help. The warm water and being surrounded by the smell of mint and lavender makes the pain dissipate a little. Still, you’re in dire need of a heating pad and some painkillers. By the time you walk back into his room, he’s changed the bedsheets and laid out a fresh, soft t-shirt for you. But Ross is nowhere to be seen. Even as you get changed and get back into bed once again. 

You curl up on the bed, desperately willing the pain and nausea away. Ross is somewhere in the house, you can hear him moving but all you need at the moment is to cling to him like a koala and let him baby you. For now, you hug his pillow tightly and groan into it. 

‘Oh, no,’ he coos in sympathy as soon as he opens the door and although just his presence is enough to calm you down, it’s the things in his hands that really bring a smile to your face. 

He starts setting them down one by one; ginger tea because somehow he guessed you might be nauseous, a heating pad that looks simply perfect, a few books and DVDs and lastly, multiple bars of chocolate. 

‘So you just have chocolate stashed around the house?’ you tease weakly and he raises an eyebrow. 

‘Of course, I do, love. I’m not a heathen!’

His tone is so matter-of-fact that you can’t stop the sharp, surprised laugh that tumbles out of you. ‘I should start staying over more often then.’

He laughs and gets in bed next to you. ‘So this is what gets you to stay over more? Not me?’ he makes an exaggerated pouty face and begins placing small kisses on your face until you tug him towards you and give him a proper kiss. It’s a slow, sweet kiss. There’s no urgency to it, no sense of desperate need yet it’s intense in its own right. A kiss full of pure indulgence. His hand comes to rest on your stomach, fingers gently kneading and massaging. Even in the middle of an almost makeout, his first instinct is to provide comfort. 

‘Come on,’ he says eventually, pulls away with much effort, ‘I don’t want the tea to get cold. And I brought us some books if you feel like reading together, or some movies if that’s what you would rather do.’ Then his hands move to his pockets and he produces a small silver rectangle, ‘and painkillers.’

‘You are so perfect!’ you sigh, on the verge of tears once again, because how did you get lucky enough to deserve this man? 

Ross smiles bashfully, turns around to grab the cup of tea but you suspect it’s also to hide the small, adorable blush creeping up on his face. 

‘Come on, now,’ he holds the mug in front of you, ‘flirt with me later. Right now, let’s focus on you.’

[rallamajoop]

Some statistics on Lucy and the odds of surviving (non-vampiric) blood transfusions

Because it’s Dracula-season again, and because I am absolutely that kind of nerd, I spent some time calculating the actual odds of Lucy surviving all those blood transfusions from unrelated donors. To summarise what I found up front: Lucy's odds aren't great, but they're still a lot higher than you might think.

Now, I’m not the first person ever to tackle this question, and having no medical qualifications whatsoever, I'm not the best person either. But figuring out the answer to my own satisfaction was a great excuse to learn a whole lot of fascinating stuff that took some digging to figure out, so (with the caveat that I am entirely open to corrections from real professionals) naturally now I want to share it.

The complete world history of attempted blood transfusions is way beyond scope for us here (you can find plenty of sources on it online if you’re curious). But as Stoker’s text aptly demonstrates, the science of blood transfusion had come a long way by the Victorian era – just not the means for doctors to reliably predict which transfusions would be successful, and which would simply kill the patient. The principle behind the basic A, B and O blood types wouldn’t be discovered until 1900 – 4 years after Dracula was published, and wouldn't become part of general medical practice for much longer – and the additional Rh-factors wouldn’t be discovered until 1939. In Stoker's day, doctors were still so far behind the ball some of them thought transfusing milk into people suffering blood loss was a good idea (yes, really). And though I'm focusing on blood groups here, it goes without saying there are plenty of other risks that come from letting any Victorian-era doctor open your veins.

That said, what the average person knows about how blood types work may not be all that much advanced today from what doctors knew in the 1890s. It’s easy to come out of Dracula thinking, “Wow, they gave Lucy blood from four different people? The odds all their blood types would matched hers must be minuscule!” (and a quick search of the web for this topic will find people asking exactly that). But there are several factors which make Lucy’s chances a whole lot better than they might look on paper.

(Image source)

For one thing, even though there are many different blood groups to worry about, some are much more common than others. If just one blood group accounts for half the population (which is actually true of some countries), then Lucy’s odds of hitting four donors with the same group just by chance would go way up.

But far more important is the fact that blood groups don’t have to be a 'match' to be compatible. If Lucy is one of the 2% of the British population with the blood group AB+, she’d be a universal recipient – theoretically capable of receiving blood from anyone without adverse reactions. Similarly, if any of her donors were O-, she’s in luck again, because that makes them a universal donor. If Lucy herself is O-, however, she’s in trouble: universal donors can donate to any other group, but they can only receive from other O-negs.

Confused? Time to get a bit more technical.

When receiving blood, your greatest enemy is your own immune system. Vital as all those immune cells are, they are not smart, and have no way of knowing that all this foreign blood suddenly flooding your system is friendly. If the don’t recognise those blood cells, they’ll attack them, bonding to their surface and causing cells to clump together and form clots which can clog up your arteries and kill you. Transfusing the wrong blood type can and likely will kill you.

The immune system identifies blood cells as intruders via specific antigens found on the cell’s surface. The most important antigens in blood matching systems are the A and B antigens, and secondarily the Rhesus antigens (marked + or -). Some people have all of these antigens (AB+), some have none (O- with the ‘O’ more literally indicating a ‘0’ or a null) and many have some but not all (A+, B-, O+, etc). Meanwhile, the immune system of the recipient body, much like your racist uncle, will attack most anything with distinguishing features it hasn't seen before (like I said, it’s not smart). A blood cell which is missing a familiar antigen will slip through, but a blood cell sporting an unfamiliar antigen will trigger a reaction. So the immune system of someone with B-type blood will have issues with any A-type blood you try and transfuse in, but will be just fine with B or O, since O lacks any antigens to mark it as an intruder.

Once you know what you’re looking for, A, B, AB and O type blood can be identified fairly easily, just by mixing blood or antibodies and watching the reaction. I’ve seen some suggestions that this may have been understood even to some of the better-informed doctors in Victorian times: when unsure if a transfusion would be safe, they could try transfusing just a small amount of blood, watch for a bad reaction, and continue only if things look good. If you absolutely have to do a blood transfusion without any testing though, an immediate family member is your best bet: blood types can still differ among a family, but there’s a strong genetic component. (Sadly, this wouldn’t have been an option for Lucy, as her mother was already unwell, and would not have been considered a good transfusion candidate.)

Things get more complicated when you add in the Rhesus factor, which wasn’t discovered until some decades later, and for good reason: bad reactions to Rh+ blood develop in Rh- people only after that first transfusion. While A and B types might be like your racist uncle, the Rh factor is more like putting a dog on your basketball team: you’ll get away with it once, because you’ve brought in something so unexpected no-one’s made a rule about it yet (let alone bothered to come up with anti-dog basketball tactics). Unlike the standard A and B antigens, the immune system has to have 1) seen Rh+ blood, and 2) spent some time thinking about a good plan of attack before it’s ready to do anything about it – by which point the donor blood should be out of your system anyway. It's only the next transfusion after that where you can hit problems.

In practice, the Rh factor is of most concern to Rh- mothers carrying Rh+ babies. The first baby should be fine, but the delivery process can result in some mixing of the mother and baby's blood ‒ and that can leave her immune system primed to take offense at any future passengers of the Rh+ persuasion (why this apparently doesn’t also apply to A and B type babies in A or B negative mothers I’m not sure, but obviously the Rh-immune response works differently). With all today’s modern medical technology, this is something doctors can identify in expectant parents and manage with medication, but obviously they're still going to want to avoid transfusing Rh+ blood into an Rh- patient (especially if they’ve already got Rh+ kids).

Regardless, for our purposes, it’s only from the second transfusion that the Rh factor could trip you up. So could that be an issue for Lucy, if she’s getting so many transfusions? It's harder to find good info on exactly how long the Rh immune reaction takes to develop after the first transfusion, but most of what I could find suggests we’re looking at a period of weeks to months at least. So that’s good news for Lucy: we can ignore Rh factors when we’re calculating her odds of survival.

As a minor aside here, the standard eight blood types you can get by combining A, B and the Rhesus factor aren’t technically the only blood types out there. These three antigens matter most because people both with and without them are common in the broader human population, but a small minority of people are missing other antigens that the rest of us get as standard. European blood banks apparently also classify blood by a Kell factor, and people with anaemia and other conditions likely to require regular transfusions may be checked for several other potential Rh-like issues. A handful of people worldwide have blood classified as neither Rh+ or Rh-, but Rh-null – missing antigens common to 99.9% of the human population, and being in that class is a very mixed blessing. Blood donations from someone Rh-null can be used in recipients with rare blood types that would make them incompatible with almost any other donor. But if someone Rh-null ever needs a blood donation themselves, they’re in big trouble.

So, enough theory. What’s all this mean for Lucy’s odds of making it through 4 blood transfusions from unrelated donors?

Unsurprisingly, ratios of different blood groups vary a lot country to country and population to population, so I looked up ratios in modern Britain (Van Helsing is Dutch, of course, but blood groups in the Netherlands are similar enough to those in the UK that we’ll ignore that, just for simplicity). It’s possible these ratios have drifted since Victorian times, but figuring out how is so far beyond scope here we’re not going to worry about it. As discussed above, we’ll also ignore Rh factors – Lucy’s almost certainly never had a blood transfusion or a baby before, and everything happens far too fast for an Rh-immune response to kick in.

Alright. It’s statistics time!

We don't know Lucy's blood group, so any are possible. For each potential Lucy-blood-group, we can generate a list of blood groups which will be compatible donors (we'll call that list C(x)), and from that, we can calculate the probability that she'll be compatible with any randomly-selected donor. For Lucy to survive, we need her to survive 4 successive blood transfusions, so we’re raising that survival probability to the power of 4. Then to calculate her overall probability of survival, we multiply the survival rate by the odds she’s in that blood group, and add them together (no need to divide by the total population, that’s an easy 100%). So if we let n = number of transfusions and P(x) = probability a person is in blood group x, we get the following lovely equation:

(Yes, I know, I'm sorry ‒ someone out there is going to want to check my working, and I like to be transparent.)

And with that, (assuming I’m not just talking out of my arse with all those calculations), that suggests Lucy’s overall chances of surviving 4 different blood transfusions is about: (drum roll)... 27%. So, roughly 1 in 4.

The really savvy reader might notice that Lucy does not, technically, survive all four transfusions – she dies shortly after the fourth, so it’s conceivable that last transfusion was a mismatch. If we take the requirements down to where Lucy only needs to survive 3 transfusions, her odds go up to 34%, or closer to 1 in 3. Still not great, but given the sorts of crazy one-in-a-million coincidences all fiction is built on, that’s actually pretty reasonable. Even if you do factor in Rh compatibilities, we're still looking at around 21% survival rate after 4 transfusions, which are pretty decent odds in the world of Victorian medicine.

Do those odds sound a little high to you? Here’s something to keep in mind. On paper, Lucy’s odds of surviving even a single random-donor transfusion are only 65%. But given she survived that first transfusion, the odds go up that she’s in one of those near-universal blood groups, and they keep going up. Sure, every new transfusion has a new chance to kill you, but statistically speaking, every transfusion you survive marks you as someone who’s a little more likely to survive the next. So someone who's already survived 2 transfusions has a 76% chance of surviving a 3rd ‒ and if they do survive that 3rd, an 80% chance of surviving a 4th.

As another aside though, even after surviving four successive transfusions, the odds Lucy’s in that lucky AB universal-recipient category are still only about 10% (compared to 3% of the base population). Statistically, it’s still far more likely she’s in the A-group ‒ the second largest group in the UK, and who can receive blood from the other largest group (O), letting them receive blood from a whooping 86% of the population without issue. Aren’t statistics wonderful?

Oh, all right – I’ll stop with the maths. We’ve made our point here.

Now, we could still point out that, for a supposedly-experienced physician, Stoker's Van Helsing seems pretty blase about the possibility his blood transfusions could backfire horribly ‒ but then, Lucy's already on death's door each time he resorts to asking for volunteers. He's doing the only thing that might save her life (and it does, until it doesn't).

To conclude, no-one is going to tell you Dracula makes sense. This is a book which offers no explanation for why Dracula should just happen land in England on the same town where his solicitor’s fiancée just is taking a holiday, let alone the rest of it. And Stoker had no way of knowing Lucy’s actual odds of surviving such a very Victorian procedure. But that whole blood transfusion sequence is far from being the least probable thing in the book. 

[alphyser]

Shinsou in my DR 🌘; (This has a few sensitive topics like ASD, that I'm not really knowledgeable about. So if I approach anything in a way that is in any form disrespectful, please correct me, I want to be able to talk about it in a respectful light. These are just the things that I was told by the character himself in my DR.)

He has ASD. It was one of the first things I learned about him. He has high functioning autism, but most people don't know. They look at him only as this quiet guy that seems to be looking down on other people because of how much advantage his quirk gives him. He doesn't try to hide it really, he just doesn't make an active show of telling everyone. Besides, in his perspective, even if he does tell anyone, they all tell him that he definitely doesn't have it like they know better because he doesn't act like what they think people with autism should. (I don't really know much about ASD and am still learning. These are just things that I learned from the people in my DR.)

He was diagnosed for it when he was 4, about the same time when his quirk was supposed to kick in. But he was actually a late bloomer. His quirk manifested when he was 6 years old. He used to have(?) apraxia when he was a kid but he went to speech therapy a lot and now he speaks "normally" (I say in quotation because it's just what people define as normal.)

He's a genius in math and logic puzzles. Everything seems to connect for him and it comes easy. He has this app on his phone called Calcudoku, which is like sudoku but with calculations. I don't really know how to play it but he enjoys it. He also loves playing games like flow.

He loves the stars. He loves tracing the constellations and graphing out the phases of the moon. He has these charts of how the planets move across the sky. And his graphs span across years now. He also knows how to build a telescope and has a few laying around his dorm room. He also has paper mache creations of some planets, diaramas, and this globe that shows star patterns.

His tired appearance and heavy set in eyebags was actually something he was just born with. He sleeps just fine, in fact, he sleeps pretty early and takes care of himself very strictly. Although he is a little dehydrated, leaving him with chapped lips a lot of the time. He actually peels his lips a lot, leaving it with a lot of wounds.

He loves to read. Once he gets started on a book, it's hard to pry him away from it. I was surprised to see that he read absurdist literature, like Camus, but as I got to know him he turned out to be a really philosophical guy. He's very self aware and acknowledges that he's immature but he always strives to be the best version of himself.

He speaks in poetry. Not in like the confusing rhyming way, but more in the metaphorical deep sense. He once described time as a river and how everyone was just a rock. "It just keeps running endlessly and the rocks are all affected in different ways. Some get pushed off the edge, others never move, some change courses half way through. But the river just keeps on going even if all the rocks eroded and gone."