#im tearing out my hair thinking about this

[starlighttsv]

I’m not fine - p.b

Sum: R is struggling bad and Paige comes to the rescue

Warnings: bad mental health, depression, grief, talks of cancer

Notes: this is my first time writing like angst/sad stuff please tell me how it is and what to change 🙏 requested by @melpthatsme

Pair: paige x bsf!reader

Wc: 1.9k

It’s now been 9 days since your mom died, although it feels like it’s been a lifetime. Your mom was diagnosed with breast cancer about 2 years ago and 2 years ago she said she would fight to the end…and she did.

When you got the call that she wasn’t doing to great you immediately booked a plane ticket to Minnesota and left, forgetting to mention anything to your professors, Geno and CD, or any of your teammates including Paige.

You received calls and texts wondering where you were and what happened for days the only one that didn’t message for days was Paige - and that’s because she has your location.

When you didn’t respond to her 10 messages and 20 missed calls she knew something was up and checked your location to see you heading towards Minnesota, immediately knowing something was going on with your mom.

Paige thinking responsibly in this situation went and talked to Geno, telling him what she thinks is wrong and where she knows you went. Geno ended up giving you and her a week off telling her to find you, make sure you’re ok, and then to get you back home safely.

When Paige got to Minnesota that night she went to check your location while at the airport to see your step dad had texted Paige - basically telling her that your mom has an hour maybe two left and that she needs to get here as soon as she can because he’s worried about you.

That confirmed what Paige was thinking was happening and made her rush to the hospital getting there in around 35 minutes from Uber. When she walked in she went to the front desk telling them your moms name with them giving her directions to the room.

Walking into room 305 she saw your step dad leant against the wall with one of his arms crossed over his chest and the other covering his mouth, looking around she saw your older brother trying to comfort your guy’s kid siblings, and you laying on your moms hospital bed with your head on her chest holding onto her tightly, sleeping.

Your step dad noticed her first getting off the wall and walking towards her - bringing her into a hug “thank you for coming, im just- I know this is gonna hit her hard and that she’s gonna push us away. I feel like you’re the one she won’t be able to push away and if she does you’ll still be able to get to her.” he whispers to her while they both watch you sleep on your moms chest while she slowly plays with your hair

“How long has she been like this?” Paige asks him “I called her at around 11am she got here around 6:35pm so since then.” He replies sadly “she’s been just hanging out in the corner watching all of us but the doctor told us to start saying goodbyes a little bit ago. She decided to go last and she hasn’t moved since.”

Paige nods setting her suitcase that she filled for both of you knowing you weren’t thinking when you just up and left, by the door and carefully walked over to you and your mom

“Hey, mom” paige says to your mom as you guys grew up with each other so you call each other’s mothers mom. “hey Paige, how are you?” She replies weakly while still slowly playing with your hair “Been better, what about you?”

“Ohh you know, been better” she replies a little sarcastically chuckling a little bit, making Paige fake laugh a little with her eyes welling up with tears

“Oh Paige don’t cry, it’s ok! I promise!” Your mom try’s to backtrack “Its not ok. You don’t deserve this. This shouldn’t be how your story ends.” Paige says wiping the tears that escaped

Your mom didn’t say anything just opened her other arm for Paige, letting p hug her.

Your mom sadly passed about 25 minutes later with you waking up because you didn’t hear her heartbeat in your ear anymore.

Ever since you got home from the hospital you locked yourself in your room. You stayed laying sideways on your bed facing the wall for days without moving. The day of your mom’s funeral was probably the hardest day to get through, getting up from bed was painful because of you not moving around, standing made you dizzy because of the not eating, you also had a headache and stomach ache from not eating.

During the funeral it was like ‘the lights are all on but nobody’s home’ you were smiling and greeting everyone, having multiple conversations through out the day with different people, you also spoke at her funeral, you didn’t cry once. You stayed smiling through the whole day.

Until you weren’t.

Getting home from all of the funeral duties you guys did at around 8pm, everyone was tired and everyone was upset - but they all still noticed your behavior at the funeral and now.

“Hey why don’t we all watch a movie in the living room? I’ll make popcorn?” Your step dad say’s trying to keep you from going to your room without you noticing that’s what he’s doing.

Your siblings and Paige all agree but you don’t “I’m tired. I’m just gonna take a shower and head to bed.” You say starting to walk upstairs “hey wait up, I’ll go with you” paige says starting to walk closer to you “no it’s fine P, just watch the movie like you wanted. Im just going to sleep.” Paige looked like she was going to argue “P seriously, I’m fine. Im tired and I want to go to bed.” You say trying to convince her and yourself

Paige looked hesitant but ended up letting you walk upstairs with her sighing and turning around to go to the living room where all of your family went during that conversation

Your step dad looked at Paige in a way of asking if you were joining making her shake her head sadly and him sigh.

Since coming back home from the funeral, you went back to hiding. You locked yourself in your room laying bundled up in your blankets, you ignored everything and everyone. Your family and Paige knocked on your door multiple times a day either to try and get you out or to try and get you to eat something, but you just ignored them everyday.

It’s also now been more than a week meaning you and Paige were supposed to be back in Connecticut 3 days ago. Luckily Paige is your knight in shining armor right now and called Geno, telling him everything. He gave both of you another two weeks excusing both of you from any games that would take place in that time frame.

Paige has been talking through your door for the last 25 minutes trying to get you to open the door, no luck so far.

“Your dad went back to work today, said they couldn’t figure out how to do somethin. Your siblings also went back to school today, the school knows what happened so they’re offering counseling to them.” Paige says sitting against your door listening for any movement but sighing when she didn’t hear any “please open the door. Im worried about you.” She starts “remember when you first found out about her diagnosis? You came to me crying saying you didn’t want to lose her and that you were scared. Do you remember what I said?”

“I said that I would always be by your side, that I would never let you be alone. No matter what, and I’m gonna stick by that even if you’re trying to push me away. Your moms not in pain anymore I promise.” She continues before starting again “your mom wouldn’t want you to be locked up in your room over her. You and I both know that. please just open the door, you don’t even have to leave your room just let me come in there.” She says and try’s listening for movement again but gets disappointed all over again

Right when she was standing up from sitting against your door to go back to the living room, your door opens making her immediately turn around and look at you

You look disheveled. Your hairs messy, you have dark circles over your eyes with tear streaks still on your face, your eyes are red and puffy, your favorite hoodie is now a little baggy on you, and you look like your about pass out

Paige immediately walks closer to you and brings you into her chest, letting you lean all of your weight onto her. She has one hand holding your head to her chest and the other wrapped around the middle of your back while you have your arms wrapped around her waist

“You don’t have to go through this alone, You know that right? Paige mumbles into your hair with you staying quiet.

After a few moments of silence Paige feels something wet on her shirt already knowing that you’re crying, making her hug you tighter. That triggered the waterfall making you start sobbing into Paige’s shirt

“It’s ok, it’s ok. Let it out, it’s ok” paige says staring to rub your back and hold you tighter. “I can’t do this” you sob out “i can’t live without her”

“Shhh shh it’s gonna be ok. You’re never gonna be living without her, she’s always gonna be right next to you watching you and being your guardian angel I promise.” Paige say’s keeping up with her movements on rubbing your back and scratching your head

You don’t answer just cry a little bit louder. Your knees buckle under you but since Paige was holding you still she was able to catch you and decided to just help you sit on the ground so in case you do pass out you would be able to lay down.

She sits against the wall and has you sitting in between her legs still holding onto her waist, with her hands still in the same spots they were in before.

“Please stop trying to push me away. I wanna be here for you.” Paige mumbles into your hair, you just nod into her chest gripping the back of her shirt in your fists

Paige kept her promise and stuck by your side, helping you with everything. You needed groceries? She’s already driving to the store. You don’t have the energy to cook? She’s making it or she’s door dashing, depends really. You can’t get out of bed? She’s getting in your bed beside you and you guys are having a movie night sleepover. You don’t feel the best because of your depression? She’s drawing you a warm bath with a bath bomb, candles, and scents and making your favorite food while you’re in the bath. And so much more - paige has been your rock during this whole nightmare making it feel not as dark and difficult as it actually is.

You both have gone back to Connecticut, and you talked with Geno and CD when you got back with them requesting that you also see some type of councilor or therapist. After that the team decided to have a team night where you do anything and everything - wanting to show that they are in fact there for you and you don’t have to go through the grief process alone.

And eventually after some time you realized that on your own.

[noirsdoll]

-> pretty please?

pairing: curly x reader

words: 4.2k

tags: rape, drugging, implied/referenced abuse, mentions of baby trapping, mentions of jimmy being an asshole, reader is so much worse, no crash au, anya hate (im sorry), poor curly

notes: um… first post ever? so nervous but uhhh wanted to write a reader who is literally jimmy but hates everything jimmy is and wants to fuck curly. parallels!! i want curly so bad oh my godddd

writing style + some ideas inspired by @rimqueen !! go check out her stuff she is amazing!!

read it on ao3

Dumb, blond and pretty. Tears bead along his waterline, the prettiest sobs choking from his throat. Blond hair curls on his chest, frames that perfect cock. He looks like a picture, the type of fantasy you’d cook up with your hand between your legs.

Curly gazes up at you like he’s been stabbed, but he’s the one stabbing you. He stuffs you full of cock, it’s impossible not to prod at your cervix with the angle you’ve gotten him in, seated in his lap. He winces when he feels it. You moan.

The quiet hum of the Tulpar displaces your sound and that soft slide of skin on skin. Curly’s eyes are so far gone, so distant. The sharp points of your nails drag along the doughy parts of him. You salivate thinking about the muscle hidden underneath it all— muscle he could use to fight back, but he’s far too kind for that.

The perfect captain, reduced to a mess, reduced to nothing, reduced to fat tits and big hands and meaty thighs. You smile, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips. You go back in for seconds, he lets you because that’s his responsibility.

Delicate like tripwire, you’ve walked circles around him, poked and prodded at him. He keens like a dog when you scratch behind the ears. Poor thing, it’s not his fault. It’s you who kept thinking about it. Getting filled up by his fat cock till it bulges out of your belly, seeing his fingers wind in the sheets to stop himself from moving into you.

His pretty eyes are glazed over, you tap his cheek and he comes to. Curly looks at you, he’s really crying now, big globs cascading down his face. You wipe them away, shush him like a baby, stretched so impossibly on his dick that it’s hard to focus.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you whisper, fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

He sniffles and says nothing, leaving you to stew in your guilt. You’re not guilty, you were just too eager. He’ll forgive you for this once you’re done.

Curly doesn’t meet your eyes at the morning meeting. He addresses everyone else with that worn smile of his. The one that had heat coiling in your stomach, the one you had to ruin. Split open on your fingers, the shine of spit on his pouty lips.

Swansea, Jimmy, Daisuke, that bitch Anya. She says something and he laughs, that perfect glimmer of pearly whites. Not that same pretty shade of white his cum is, you remember the way he went red as it dripped out of you. You hope it got you pregnant, then he’ll have no reason to talk to her.

You approach them both, unable to hide your grin when Curly locks up like a sore muscle. “Anya, good morning!”

She turns to look at you, a bashful smile on her face. “Oh, good morning!”

“I was doing inventory on our stock, there’s a bottle of sleeping pills missing. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?” Absolute bullshit on your part, you just need her gone.

To your surprise, Anya’s face drains in colour. Seems there was some truth to your words. “There is? I’ll go check on that right away.” She turns and leaves immediately.

You glance at Curly. “Looks like she’ll be missing the meeting. I don’t mind filling her in afterwards.”

He glares at you. It’s a new expression, but it gets you soaked all the same. “What are you doing?”

“Did you have fun last night?” You’re giddy just thinking about it, replaying every moment of it in a pornographic loop— you don’t know why Curly chose to be a captain when he’d fare much better in front of a camera.

He crosses his arms, looking away. “It’s not happening again.” Curly’s eyes are more sunken than normal.

“You didn’t like it? Not even a little?” Despite everything, your heart sinks a little. Not enough to discourage you, of course, but you like to think you’re fairly pretty. He must be a narcissist, one with a type for airheads like Anya.

“I have work to do. Go help Anya.” He leaves to pilot the ship.

Jimmy takes that as an invitation to sidle up next to you. “What’s up with him?”

You glance at him in disgust. There’s something leering about Jimmy’s gaze, the way he oversees the rest of the crew with an air of superiority. Not to mention how he looks at Anya like he’s mentally undressing her. You might hate her, but you hate Jimmy more.

“Sleeping pills, really?” Curly already told him off when Anya originally came forward about Jimmy— you’re surprised he didn’t do something rash like crash the ship. Seems like now he’s employing new techniques on her.

“Keep your voice down,” he hisses, glancing over at Swansea and Daisuke, who are clearly much more engrossed in bolts and nuts and whatever engineers talk about.

“I’m telling Curly.” To help him feel less alone.

Jimmy scoffs. “He already knows.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He’s got the resilience of pillow fluff.” He shrugs, “so I’m using sleeping pills on her now, so what?”

“You’re a monster.” You grimace.

“I’m a man with needs. The Pony Express should give us fleshlights or something if they really cared.” Jimmy glances down at you. “Or dildos, I guess.”

What a prick. You’re surprised he hasn’t been put in a holding cell yet. You head down to the medbay to check on Anya. She’s sitting at the table, staring down at the inventory list.

You take the seat across from her. “Everything okay?”

She jumps at the sound. Anya quickly scrambles to put away the list. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

You’re unsure how to gently breach the subject, so you just flat out say it. “Jimmy told me.”

She stops what she’s doing, her eyes trembling as she looks at you. “Oh, he did?”

“That’s where the missing pills were from. Not sure how you want to record that on the log, but uh…,” you trail off. “Curly isn’t going to do anything about it, trust me.” You also just want her to back off from him.

Anya sinks back into her seat, forlorn. “I know… I just, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Hey, I’ll keep an eye out for you, yeah?” You say, softly. “It’s the two of us women on this ship. We should look out for each other.” You’re not sure where this is coming from. You think you’d rather foil whatever Jimmy plans to do to her than actually help her.

She nods, a hopeful smile on her face. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

“No, really,” she insists. “You’re a good person.”

Your smile falls. “See you around, Anya.”

You slip the sleeping pills out from Jimmy’s pocket when he isn’t looking. You drop a couple in Curly’s evening coffee. He drinks one at the same time every night. You don’t know why he bothers– the beans are all stale and it tastes more like cardboard than anything. He’s a man of habit, you guess.

When he starts nodding off at dinner, it’s your cue to help him to his quarters. You make a few teasing remarks about your tired captain to displace any suspicion. Jimmy gives you a knowing look.

Curly’s big and heavy, just like his cock. Curse of the sleeping pills— it’s soft. You settle for dragging your slit down the length of it, coating it in slick. This isn’t as fun as seeing him cry or seeing any of his reactions, but you’re not one to complain. You grab at his tits, sucking a pretty bruise into his pale skin. It blooms like a flower underneath his collarbone.

His cock twitches as you finish the hickey, nudging your clit and pushing you over the edge. You finish yourself off, getting up and off of him and doing up his clothes as best as you can. You dip out of his room like nothing happened, a pleased grin on your face.

It’ll be up to him to notice what you did.

It’s the weekend. Daisuke’s brought out his gaming console— a retro one that probably costs a shit-ton of money. You envy his ability to not have to care about finances. This freighter is like a summer camp to him.

He’s beaten you a handful of times now, but you’ve made peace with the fact he’ll always be better than you at video games. Gotta let the guy have one thing going for him in his life.

You hear the sound of the automatic doors opening. It’s Swansea. “Alright, kid. Playtime’s over. I got a motherboard with your name on it.”

“What?” Daisuke whines. “But it’s literally the weekend!”

He stops by the back of the couch, hands on his hips. “Learning ain’t pause for nobody. Meet me in the Utility Room after you’re done with that round.”

“Ugh, fine.” He sighs, turning back to the screen with much less enthusiasm.

“It can’t be all that bad,” you say, eyes on the screen as you button-mash to no avail.

“Swansea’s super smart but like, it’s impossible to see what he’s doing ‘cause his hands are so big. Then he gets upset when I mess up.”

“Have you tried telling him that?”

He nods earnestly. “I have, I swear! Swansea just doesn’t care.

Daisuke looks like he wants to say more, but he’s stopped by something on your right. You turn away from the game, ignoring your character dying, to see Curly standing there. He looks livid.

“Meet me in the cockpit. Now.”

On your way there, Jimmy bumps shoulders with you, you feel him take the sleeping pills from your uniform pocket, lacking any sort of sleight of hand. Joke’s on him— you swapped them out for Tic-Tacs. Anya’s going to have minty fresh breath.

As you step into the cockpit, Curly starts to unbutton the collar of his uniform, swivelling in his chair to face you.

You pause in the doorway. “Woah, not even gonna say hello first?”

He huffs, exposing the bruise you left on his chest. “What is this?”

You plop down in Jimmy’s chair, propping your feet up on the dash. “I dunno, what is it, Captain?”

He leans back in his seat, running a hand down his face. “I said we had to stop, you didn’t listen—”

“You didn’t listen when Anya came forward about Jimmy.” You shrug.

Curly turns to look at you. “That’s what this is all about? Anya?” He asks warily.

“No,” you lean toward him, over the little partition separating both your chairs, “I think you’re cute.”

He grimaces, doing his uniform back up. “And I think you’re a pain in my side.”

“You don’t like me back, Curly?”

“Captain,” he corrects you.

“Captain,” you bat your eyelashes, “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. I meant it.” You reach over and put a hand on his thigh. He freezes up. “I just want you to feel good. That’s it.”

He looks away toward the display. His eyes are watering. “You’re just like him.”

That makes you pause. “What?”

“Jimmy. You and him, you’re the same,” he repeats, turning to look at you, his jaw set.

You frown, he can’t be serious. “Him? I’m nothing like him, I would never.” Curly’s just trying to distract you.

You get on your knees in front of him. “Are you trying to tell me that you have a thing for your best friend?” Resting your cheek on his thigh, you run your fingers along his stomach. He’s so warm, he could be your own personal space heater if he let you close enough to snuggle in his lap.

“God,” he sighs, spreading his legs wider. “You don’t give up, do you?”

You shake your head, grinning. You knew he was gonna give in eventually. You’ve always been praised for your resilience, and it’s really paying off. Curly’s cock is heavy in your mouth, weighing down your tongue.

You play with your food, circling the fat head with your tongue before you take it all down your throat. Curly’s hips shift, he knocks the back of your throat and you gag.

Glancing up at Curly, he looks almost conflicted, lips pulled in a thin line as he looks on. You sink deeper down then, his passiveness splits into a moan. That pretty face of ecstasy.

You watch every minute shift in his expression, drooling slick into your panties. Fuck, he’s hot, in the way men shouldn’t be. The top button of his uniform strains against the size of his tits, they’re bigger than yours.

Trailing your mouth down, you run your tongue along the seam of his balls. Curly’s dick rests on your brow bone as you try to fit them in your mouth. Your lips split and your eyes roll back at the taste. He smells like musk and something so Curly that has your thighs rubbing together.

Eventually, you get to your feet, fumbling with the myriad of buttons on your uniform before you seat yourself in his lap. Your cunt’s leaving a wet spot on the fabric, you can’t help it.

Leaning closer, you kiss Curly soft, slow. He lets you do it more than he reciprocates, but every soft movement of his lips has your heart going in your chest.

You pull away, his forehead against yours, and if you close your eyes, you can pretend like this is some form of romantic, because it should be— that’s what you deserve for your hard work.

“Do you like me now, Curly?” You smile shakily, one hand on his shoulder and the other on the base of his cock.

He looks like he’s two seconds away from crying, but at this point he always does. You kiss away his brewing tears. You can be gentle, you could be so good for him. He just needs to see it.

You throw your arms around him and kiss him harder, trying to show your sincerity. Your pussy’s pressed right up against his cock, your heartbeats match.

If he doesn’t understand, you’ll make him.

It’s nighttime when you finally finish up with your work and you’re able to head back to your quarters. On your way you hear noises of a struggle. You stop and peer out from around the corner.

It’s Jimmy. He’s got his hand around Anya’s throat. She’s got two hands on his forearm, trying to pull him off. Then he shoves her back against the wall, her head meets the metal with an ugly clang. Anya goes limp in his grip, sobbing.

As the automatic doors close behind them, the sound abruptly cuts off. Are the quarters sound-proof? You leave with your newfound information.

Daisuke would’ve been so much better for you, you think as you watch him. He’s soldering something, you don’t know what. You’re sitting far enough away to not need goggles. Daisuke’s so simple. Nothing to worry about in his life, bouncing around from this internship to his video games and back again. If you came onto him, he wouldn’t complain.

Curly’s making himself choose between you and authority when he could have both. You’ve never made him choose either. He’s got no one else on this ship that would care for him the way you would, the way you’ve been trying to show him.

He doesn’t get it, you lament, that’s why he said you were like Jimmy. You’re not like him. You’re good. That’s what Anya said. Anya, who got her brain knocked around while you just watched.

It wasn’t any of your business. You did help her. You didn’t let Jimmy get the sleeping pills. Though that might be the reason she was walking funny. Whatever, she probably deserved it. At least she’s staying away from Curly now.

The buzz of the soldering iron stops and Daisuke slides up his protective mask. “Wanna see what I’m working on?”

You nod and get up to look. It’s a tiny metal Polle. The shaping is a little crude, but it’s very impressive.

“How long did that take you?”

He shrugs. “I dunno, like, a couple hours? I make stuff like this when Swansea gives me free time.”

“Maybe you’re better suited for this than engineering.”

Daisuke looks at you. “You think so? My mom wants me to be an engineer.”

“Who cares what she says? Do what you want.”

He blinks for a moment before he nods, resolute. “Okay.”

Heading out of the Utility Room, you see Curly and Anya in the hallway. Curly’s got a hand on either side of her, the illusion of a comforting embrace.

“I’ll fix this, don’t worry.” He whispers, but you hear it all the same.

“Are you cheating on me?!” You exclaim, rushing towards them. You shove Curly away from her and get in between them, he staggers back in confusion.

“I’m not— We’re not—,”

You glance at Anya, pleading your case. “He made me do things. Things I didn’t want to do.” You glare at Curly. “And now what, you’re gonna try it with every girl on the Tulpar?”

“What are you talking about?” Curly asks.

“Don’t play dumb, Captain. Anya, I told you I’d look out for you. I told you that you should’ve stayed away from him, he’s a jerk, he’s—“

“I’m pregnant.” She says, eyes downcast.

You fall silent, blinking at her. “What?” You turn to Curly. “How could you—?”

“It’s Jimmy’s.” He says. “I’m going to talk to him. Again.” Curly leaves, glaring at you over his shoulder.

Something shatters inside you, and you don’t know why. You ignore it, because all you can see is Anya. Anya with a little rape baby growing inside her, Anya with a court case and Anya with money and all you can think about is how goddamn lucky she is.

She sniffles, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Her makeup never runs, despite everything, but her eyes are bloodshot. Tentatively, she hugs you. Your heart stops, confusion and what your body mistakes as guilt running through you.

Anya wraps her arms around herself, staring down at the rusted floors. “We’ve got each other’s backs, right?”

You nod, fighting everything in you that makes your face want to wrinkle with disgust. “Yeah.”

“I have… enough painkillers to…,” she winces, burying her face in her hands. “Please. I want you to tell me not to do it.”

You stare at her for a moment, so long that she meets your eyes again. “What else would I say?”

“I don’t know… you and I, we’re the same, aren’t we?” Anya smiles shakily. “You’ve got Curly and I’ve got Jimmy. You’re okay, right?”

You’re lying to her. You keep lying to her. She’s too airheaded to know the truth. You nod. “Yeah, it really shook me up though.”

“I’ll look out for you too.”

“Thank you.” But inside, you want to laugh. She can’t even protect herself and she wants to help you?

“After what you told me about Curly, it seems like you’re the only person I can trust,” she admits quietly. “I’m grateful you’re here, y’know.”

Your words are lodged in your throat. You can’t say it back.

You’re not sure what exactly to do now. You’ve been informally declared the midwife of Anya’s moneybag, and Curly’s doing everything in his power to put space between you and him. Like he can try. There’s no restraining orders in space.

And there’s no locks on the sleeping quarters.

You dip into his room, the automatic doors opening at your whim. You expect him to be sleeping at this hour, but he’s sitting at his tiny desk, the warm light of the incandescent lamp on his golden features. Curly’s pretty like a sculpture, he barely offers you the generosity of a glance as you walk in.

You sit on his bed, his back to you. “What do you want?” He says, scribbling something in his captain’s log.

You rest your hands on your lap. You’re wearing nothing but a sheer nightdress, no point in underwear when you’re gonna take it off anyways. “I just wanted to talk.”

“You never just want to talk.” It’s an accomplishment, really, that you’ve pushed the kind-hearted captain to this level of bitterness. You’ve been breaking him down—persuading him to see your side of things, and it seems to be working.

He turns to look at you now, and that ever-present filter of exhaustion looks so good on him. “They think I assaulted you.” Curly can’t say rape, it’s kinda cute.

“A girl can dream,” you sigh. “Jimmy’s the real rapist.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m trying to hold this ship together and you and him just keep fucking things up.” He looks exasperated.

You scowl. You and him, it’s always you and him. “Don’t drag me into this. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

He shakes his head. “You and I, we…,” he cuts himself off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Curly can’t say it.

Nodding, you say, “we did. I remember you dragging me down to the cockpit and telling me to ‘get on my knees if I want to keep my job.’ That’s not very workplace appropriate, is it, Curly?”

His face pales. “You wouldn’t. That would ruin my life.”

“Anya’s life is ruined now,” you shrug.

“You don’t give a shit about Anya.”

“I don’t.” You get up, walking over to him. Running your fingers through his hair, you cup his cheek. “She’s got a suicide plan ready to go. How about I tell her to go through with it? Put the blame on both your poor leadership and Jimmy’s wandering dick, would you prefer that?”

“What the fuck are you trying to do?” Curly looks up at you, bewildered.

“You. That’s all I want, Curly. You make it so difficult.”

—

You are the hurricane that has blazed through his life. You are what brings out the worst parts in him, what makes him sink into himself and hide. Not Jimmy, not Anya, not Pony Express’s termination. You. It all comes back to you.

Curly thought you were just another Jimmy, he attracts them like a magnet. That’s what he told you, hoping to spark an ounce of self-realization. But you’re something much worse. You don’t hide, you don’t need to. Every fault will end with the blame on his shoulders.

You have made him so many things he never imagined himself being. A rapist? He’s not– he would never hurt someone, especially not a woman. But here he is, his hands balling into fists, rage blurring his thoughts as much as his vision.

Curly gets up out of his chair, he towers over you because he is a man and you are nothing. He is the captain and you are a subordinate who gets off on biting the hand that feeds you. He hates punishment in every form, he much prefers talking, but words don’t work around you.

And this is the thing that finally scares you. Because he knows that you know that no one can hear you in these sound-proof quarters.

Curly tosses you onto his mattress, you yelp and your eyes go wide, you push at his chest but he is more muscle than he isn’t. Under your dress is your leaking chasm of a pussy. Of course, you’re turned on even now, because every wire in your brain is so dutifully crossed.

A hand around your throat is sufficient work for holding you down, your blunt nails drag along the corded muscle of his forearms. You look so small, so negligible.

Maybe Curly understands Jimmy just a little, just enough to not actually be like him. Fortunately for you, the look of fear in your eyes is enough to satiate him. He lets go of you, sitting back on his heels and staring at the mess between your legs. No blood, he wouldn’t do that to you. Jimmy would, and he is so far from Jimmy.

It’s sobering, this feeling, much better than any attempt at therapy. He feels sane, like he’s been given something tangible to latch onto and it’s you, what he can inflict on you.

You’re not crying, but you’re visibly shaken. You drag your knees up to your chest, crowded against the headboard in a sorry attempt to put distance between you and him. You swallow, your eyes never leaving him, as you come to the realization that he could be so much more than you give him credit for.

“Hey, come here.” He pulls you closer because that is the easiest thing to do. It’s Curly who apologizes, Curly who strokes your hair and makes love to you the way you have been begging him to.

Because that is his responsibility.

[cupidscastle]

So Sensitive...ᐟ

pairings -gorou x dom!fem reader

summary: who knew the great and courageous general of the watatsumi army was into collars.. content warnings: pussy drunk gorou, piv sex, use of collar/leash, overstimulation, mocking, cowgirl position, sort of ooc gorou(?), this is kinda short(will post longer fics in the future) ⸺minors dni .ᐟ

꩜ A/N: hihi! this is my debut post of my account since I’ve decided to start posting my work on tumblr! I’ve always loved writing fics for my interests but they never left my notes app until now. I hope you all enjoy ❤︎⸺nsfw below the cut

Gorou stared up at you with tears in his glassy eyes, leaning back on his elbows. A pathetic whine bubbling up in the back of his throat as you rocked your hips lower, his cock sinking deeper inside of your soft pussy. His head tilted forward when he felt you tug on the leash connected to the studded gold collar on his neck, his eyebrows furrowing in confused bliss when you pulled on the rope hard enough to rocket him into a seated position. 

“Huh?” 

All he could manage to let out was a disorientated huff before you giggled and rolled your hips in a motion that made him sink even deeper inside of you. He shuddered and moaned, his head lulling back from the sensation of your sopping cunt bearing down on his oversensitive cock.

“Haah-!”

“Im really fucking you stupid, aren’t I? What, does the cat got your tongue?”

“Ngh!- N-no- I’m-“

His voice wavers and he whines as you suddenly raise your hips and drop them. The his tail smacks the sheets as he attempts to buck his hips up to meet yours. You click your tongue mockingly and move your weight to where his navel is pinned completely beneath you. Your hands splay out across his smooth stomach. His dilated eyes are boring holes into where your arousal is dripping down onto his erection. 

It’s cute, he seems utterly entranced by what he sees. You have complete control over the general of the watatsumi army. A thin line of drool rolls down from his swollen lips when you tug on the leash to his collar again.

“Mmn..~”

Gorou’s eyes are starting to droop shut from the liquid lust coursing through his veins and to his brain. He’d do anything for you, you’ve fucked him so dumb to the point where all he can think about is your sex squeezing his needy cock.

“What, you can’t even form a full word like you could earlier? You even look like you’re falling asleep while you’re in me, Gorou. I have to say I’m disappointed. I thought you’d be more in charge since you’re the general to an entire army. What would they think if they saw you like this, whining like a bitch in heat?”

You audibly laugh at how his long lashes frame his eyes as they shoot open in shock. A bead of sweat rolls down the skin of his cheek.

“You’re looking at me like I’m a criminal, Gorou, I’m hurt.”

You punctuated your sentence by pulling on the leash to his collar. His dog ears pressed flat against his messy hair.

“You- you wouldn’t, nnn~ you wouldn’t act.. actually tell an-anyone, r-right?~”

He couldn’t even form a full thought without stuttering. You giggled and felt his nails dig into your hips. You really didn’t know how desperate he was for you..

You decided to ease up him and start giving him some relief. So, you began to bounce on his cock, gaining a rhythm. Each whimper and moan the general beneath you let out fueled you to fuck yourself on him faster and so much harder. Gorou became more and more loud. You looked down at his fucked out expression, you were really giving this poor boy a work out..and had no intention of stopping.

꩜ A/N: again i know this is pretty short but this is my first post </3 i will be posting longer fics in the future though, i have an idea for my next work though so i’ll be posting that when i finish it since i only have a rough draft, thank you for reading !

reblogs and likes are always appreciated !

cupidscastle──dec.30.2024──plagiarism, modification, reposting, and translating is NOT tolerated

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

have a bunch of tbs prompts actually!

-something that fills in a little bit the space between tama and tct since i feel like a lot was skipped in the podcast that you could dip into (all the developing relationships and moving ons)

-joan cutting marks hair after he comes back from the roadtrip with damien

-sam/mark dancing together when their relationship is still new

im happy if anything even gets written, this fandom is sadly so dead and i love any and all additions no matter what they look like

thank you for these prompts! Hoping to get all of them written eventually, but have this one for now. Hope you enjoy!

TW for canon-typical PTSD/depression, Mark post Tier-5, etc.

Mark’s first few weeks back in Boston are a fun amalgamation of Good Things and Bad Things.

Good Things include but are not limited to: Sam. Really good Scotch. Drinking really good Scotch with Sam that he stole from his sister. His sister.

Bad Things include but are not limited to: Nightmares. Damien. Knowing Damien is just Out There getting his ability back. The way Sam looks at him sometimes like she’s not quite sure who he is. The way his sister looks at him sometimes, like he’s just the broken mess of a thing who took her baby brother away. His sister.

Joanie, despite her best efforts, fits neatly into both camps. She’s always been special like that.

The days blur together in a haze of booze and bad dreams, interspersed with all too brief moments of light. Sam drags him out of the house– he has a panic attack at the grocery store. She takes him out to dinner– the waiter tells her she needs to “fatten him up.” She curls up next to him on the couch, warm and real and living, and he feels hyper-aware of every way in which his body fails to live up to the ghost she fell in love with.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been when his hair starts to bother him more than anything else.

“Mark?” Joanie calls, rapping her knuckles against the half-open door of her closet turned guest room. Mark was supposed to be getting ready– because Joan refuses to leave the house if he’s still in bed or pajamas, but then she never lets him hear the end of it if she has to cancel on patients, so he at least has to make himself get dressed each morning, even if he falls back into a depressed stupor on the couch the second she walks out the door– but he got stuck at the mirror. He’s wearing jeans, slung low and loose on his hips because Joanie keeps insisting he’ll “grow into them” like he’s five, a t-shirt in his hands. He hasn’t managed to work up the energy to actually pull it over his head yet, but it’s not his scrawny, scarred chest that has him stuck in his own head.

It’s the hair, clean but unruly, reaching almost all the way to his shoulders.

He hates it.

“Mark!” Joan says again, sharper this time, and he startles back into action, mutters, “Hey, sorry, what” as he finally puts his shirt on, his reflection disappearing behind the fabric for a moment.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.” He tugs his jeans up a little. Fixes his shirt over top. Runs a hand through his hair and then shakes it out like he’s touched something slimy.

He still can’t quite tear his gaze away from the mirror, not even to give his sister a more convincing proof of life.

“Okay, well…” Joan hovers in the doorway. “I’ve got a nine o’clock, so I’m gonna get going…”

“Okay.” Mark gathers his hair up into one hand, turning one way and then the other to try and see how it would look short again. “Have fun.”

Joan still doesn’t move. After a beat, she says, “Is Sam coming over?”

Mark sighs and pats his hair flat again, giving up on trying to make it how it used to be through sheer force of will. “No, she’s got plans with Chloe. And frankly, I think she needs a break from my bullshit.”

“Do you want me to cut that for you?”

He was expecting a big sister/therapist response along the lines of now, Mark, if you say all those negative things about yourself, you’ll just end up believing them, so the question startles him enough that he finally looks at her. “What?”

“Your… hair,” Joanie says, gesturing a little awkwardly. “You keep fussing with it. Is it bothering you?”

Mark grabs a belt from his bed and starts looping it through his jeans– anything to not have to look his sister in the eye. “It’s fine, I just gotta get to the barber.”

They both know perfectly well why he hasn’t yet. The idea of sitting in a chair with restricted access to his hands while a strange man brings sharp objects close to his neck just about makes him wanna fall back into a coma.

But he hates looking like someone who lost autonomy over his own life for the better part of five years. He wants to feel like himself again, and the first step in doing that is to look like himself again.

Joan looks at her watch, shifts her weight from foot to foot. “I really have to get going… but when I get home, we’ll talk about this some more, okay? Maybe we can figure something out.”

***

Joan calls on her way home from work (because she’s an insane person who still has a landline) to say “Meet me on the porch. If you’re wearing something nice, change your clothes.”

Mark is not wearing something nice. He changed back into sweatpants before noon, and he’s pretty sure this t-shirt once belonged to Joanie’s college boyfriend Derek. And part of him wants to see the annoyed look on Joan’s face when she gets home and he has not, in fact, met her on the porch, but honestly he’s too curious about what tricks she has up her sleeve to want to waste time pissing her off.

So he’s leaning over the porch railing when Joan’s car pulls into the driveway. She gets out of the car and calls, “Good! You listened!” and Mark becomes painfully aware of the differences between the two of them– Joan in her neat blouse and pencil skirt, heels in hand as she runs barefoot up the drive, versus Mark in ill-fitting hand-me-downs and Crocs.

“Wait here,” Joan commands, rushing past him into the house. “I’ll be right back. Did you have a good day?”

Mark rolls his eyes, not even dignifying that question with a response.

A few minutes later, she emerges, having changed into shorts and a t-shirt, carrying a folding chair under one arm, her other hand clutched around a handheld mirror and a pair of kitchen scissors.

Mark blinks, the pieces falling into place. “Wait, you were serious? You’re gonna cut my hair?”

“Why not, right?” Joan plops the chair down in the middle of the porch. “Either I do a great job and it gives you the confidence to leave the house more, or I don’t and Sam dumps you, but at least the length won’t bother you so much anymore.”

Mark glares at her, but there’s no heat to it. “It has… been bothering me,” he reluctantly admits.

Joan snips her scissors in the air. “Sit, then.”

He sits. Joan plays the Roman Holiday soundtrack on her phone, for some ambiance. Mark closes his eyes, and then, when that paired with Joan’s fingers brushing up against his neck brings back bad memories, stares into the mirror Joan brought so he can see each clump of hair fall away.

He watches as the broken boy who was imprisoned, and then trapped, and then kidnapped disappears, leaving in its place… Mark.

The Mark Sam met in 1810. The Mark Joan spent years working to save. The Mark he wants to be.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “for this.”

Joan combs through his newly shorn hair with her fingers. “You can ask next time, you know. You can ask me for anything.”

Mark’s still not sure about that just yet, but he is sure of one thing: Joanie has a firm spot on the Good Things list today.

--

Taglist (lmk if you'd like to be added or removed):

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@genericgirl420

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[myllovellybones]

WOOO WE'RE BACK HERE WE GO IM SO SCARED AND EXCITED

Erryk and Arryk stare at Otto's distressed face. The former speaks, " 'he did not wish that I see him off, I should not see to his return'. "

Oo yes girl!!

"I cannot forget even if I wanted," Erryk looks off, "it my shift when she miscarried," he grits his teeth, "mine, when she tried to fling herself off the eastern tower."

My heart dropped omg

"Oh!" Viserys smiles, turning to Daemon, "you should go to the gardens and fetch them then. Your wife has brought forth new life to the Keep. I encouraged her to write about it to you, but she did not think you would find care to learn it through letters."

LMAOO VISERYS NO WHY WOULD YOU WORD IT LIKE THAT LMFAOO

"Don't be silly, Alicent," Viserys squeezes her hand, "Daemon is not that slow-witted. Besides, does your sister not write to him everyday?"

He actually is that slow-witted

"Do you deny the boy is my flesh and blood?"

Well technically yes but not in the way you think

Daemon witnesses the moment the babe reaches for your curls. You brown hair is completely undone, spilling all the way down to your waist. A gentle breeze makes your tresses and skirt flow. His lips part at the beauty of you.

This is so simple but I love the contrast of how her hair got longer but his got shorter

"Daor kirimvose naejot ao." you snap, pulling Aegon away from him. No thanks to you.

OMG SHE KNOWS HIGH VALRYIAN NOW!!

It is easy for him to fall back into his old ways once he is in his princely garbs. He openly and unabashedly flirts with all the ladies he can set his eyes upon and eagerly annoys and offers backhanded compliments to all the lords present.

YOU FUCKING DUMBASS SOMEONE HAS TO SLAP SOME SENSE INTO YOU

Rhaenyra laughs. It goes dry when she realizes he was being serious. Her face contorts, "Daemon."

The way I could picture this so clearly lmao I love how you write rhaenrya!!

You scratch your eyes and shake your head, "the bodies of my babes remain unburied, wrapped and sealed in a crypt, because I insist that they be given but one respect due to them in the tradition of their house, and you would deny me-" your voice breaks. Tears run down your cheeks as you try to compose yourself. You clear your throat, "you would deny my son and daughter this?"

Oh. My. God. She's been waiting for him so Caraxes can burn them in their tradition. There no words to describe how that just hurt me.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫,

𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶,

𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

Oh... the titles going back to formalities....

His face falls at your sentiment. You think this? He wonders for a moment what he and Laenor argued over, but he cannot recall anything for the life of him. The next letter he opens makes him sit up straight.

You IDIOT!! Thank God your actually reading the letters

Daemon's stomach rolls. He cannot bare to read any more, and yet his guilt urges him to drink up this pain, as if it would make it go away, as if it could make up for what he had done.

Those letters broke me. The way you so clearly write her pain and anguish is devastating

He knits his brows and sits up. All the remaining letters are about Aegon.

I love so much how Aegon basically saved her like that's so important to me

Neither of them find sympathy, only disgust and irritation. Erryk particularly despises how readily he refers to you as his wife; he was just a stranger, an evil-doer you had tragically married, "do you see that she's awake?"

LMAOO ERRYK PLEASE

You moan as your arms reach out, "stay."

......I can't. She so desperately wanted her babies oh my poor girl

You speak those names again and he pulls back, deciding he's had enough. He repeats it, mutters under his breath what he thinks he heard you say, "Arryk and Erryk." After all, how would he know the names Alyrie and Alaeric when you couldn't bare to even think of them, let alone mention them?

Oh no he's about to do something isn't he?...

Before either brother can react, one has a pitcher bashed to the back of his head, and the other is kicked from behind. Shrieks pierce the air; your incoming servants witness the brutal onslaught.

OMG YOU JACKASS WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING

"Gaomagon..." Daemon lowers his head, "ao ēdrurys yno?" Do you dream of me?

Are you kidding me. Slap him, punch him, DO SOMETHING

You slap him before he can finish his words.

OOOO YES GIRL WOOHOO!!!! HAPPY NEW YEARS!!! LMFAOO

"Drag him with you," you blurt, turning to your open door, "I will be there shortly after dressing."

Love how she said drag instead of take

Bro this chapter was awesome. Love how Daemon finally realized what she thought and that he finally read his letters and actually felt bad for the pain he unknowingly caused. How reader refers to Aegon as her beloved is so cute like that babe really saved her🥹

Tormented Spirit | 13

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i have realized i dont link the polls to the fics. here's what won last time!! bask in your decisions <3 once again, the high valyrian might be wrong so roll with it and leave comments/reblogs ok!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Caraxes was never fond of being holed up in the pit, and yet, as King's Landing became apparent on the horizon, the dragon found himself beating his wings faster than normal. When the stench of the pit the creature's nostrils, he knew then, he was home.

Perhaps it was still because he was in his armor, but for Daemon, it was not until Viserys looked upon him, first warily then happily, and embraced him that he felt the realness of it all.

As the entirety of court watched the brothers' affectionate exchange, most thought the display touching... then there were the Hightowers. The only reason Alicent was here in the throne room to greet him was because she was queen and it was expected of her. And Otto did not want to look upon the dastardly prince's face, but he had to see what state he was in for the sake of his eldest daughter.

"My brother has returned!" the king announces, enticing cheers from the onlookers. Lord Hand promptly leaves after this, intent on going to you.

Otto asks the first servant he sees where you are, and is immediately directed to the garden. He is unsurprised to see that not one, but two of your wards are there, evidently on high alert. The moment they spot him, they freeze to greet him in unison, "Lord Hand."

"Does she know?"

The twins share a quick glance, and again, in unison, "everyone knows."

Otto releases a sigh. You know of your husband's return and yet you chose to remain in the gardens. He was about to ask the twins step aside, but then he hears the sound of giggles. He peers past the two, finding you laughing with your nephew in your arms. He rubs his forehead and clenches his jaw, "what did she say?"

Erryk and Arryk stare at Otto's distressed face. The former speaks, " 'he did not wish that I see him off, I should not see to his return'. "

Otto sighs deeply and wipes his face, "Seven save us."

Arryk almost pities your father for how worried he looked... but almost is not enough; he'll never forget the tears you shed because of him. No one in your family seemed to grant you grace.

"As it is," Lord Hightower raises his hands, "the prince is in good spirits, and I am sure he will not so soon look for her as he would the cups of wine he wishes to share with the king. Do not impose upon the prince if he does come around," Otto raises a finger, "but do not let his entitlement get into his head."

The Cargll twins not in sync, "my lord."

With that, Otto walks off.

Once he is gone, Erryk turns to his brother, "I would sooner fall on my sword than have her husband ruin the happiness she's so delicately built for herself."

Arryk gives him a look, "do not forget yourself."

"I do not," he snaps, "but perhaps you do."

Arryk does not take kindly to his accusatory tone.

"I cannot forget even if I wanted," Erryk looks off, "it my shift when she miscarried," he grits his teeth, "mine, when she tried to fling herself off the eastern tower."

"And it was mine when she locked herself in her bath," Arryk quips, "and when she threw herself at Caraxes, only to have the beast take her under his wing. Do not feel self-righteous in your suffering, for it is not yours," he points, "it's hers."

Erryk clenches his jaw so hard it's a wonder his teeth do not break. He spare his brother a glance.

Arryk turns forward and sighs deeply before repeating, "do not forget yourself."

"Do not forget yourself," he counters.

All three of them are wrong, Arryk, Erryk, and Otto. Otto was wrong to think that Daemon would not look for you before anything else. The prince notices is your absence the very moment he notices your sister. He asks Viserys, "where is my wife?"

Viserys looks over to his Alicent, who clutches her belly and finally approaches, "ah... she's probably with her boy."

Daemon pulls his head back.

"My prince," Alicent smiles half-heartedly to her good-brother, "I trust your travels home were smooth."

He completely ignores her, "her boy?"

Viserys thinks nothing of Daemon's words as he takes wife's hand, "where is your sister, dearest."

Dearest? Daemon's expression curls.

Alicent turns to the king, rubbing her swollen belly, "last I saw her, she was in the gardens with Aegon."

Aegon? Daemon's eyes narrow.

"Oh!" Viserys smiles, turning to Daemon, "you should go to the gardens and fetch them then. Your wife has brought forth new life to the Keep. I encouraged her to write about it to you, but she did not think you would find care to learn it through letters."

Daemon's face falls. New life? You brought forth new life? Without a word, he sprints off to the gardens.

Viserys is momentarily taken aback by this. Alicent is agitated by it, especially because she catches on to the ambiguity of his words. She she squeezes his arm, "do you think this is a good idea?"

"What?" he pulls his head back, "that he see his wife and nephew?"

"He might not take kindly to Aegon. You called him her boy."

Viserys chuckles, "but he is. She loves him so dearly."

"I know, but you made it sound like my sister had a babe."

The king pulls his head back and chuckles. When he realizes Alicent's worry was apparent on her features, he thinks about what he said and shakes his head, "I was talking about the flowers she planted in the garden."

"I know," Alicent repeats, "but does Daemon?"

"Don't be silly, Alicent," Viserys squeezes her hand, "Daemon is not that slow-witted. Besides, does your sister not write to him everyday?"

She clenches her jaw, "yes."

"So," he shrugs, "why would he be so sorely mistaken?"

Except he was; Viserys is also wrong. And as Daemon makes his way toward the gardens, it becomes apparent why Arryk and Erryk too are wrong. Both of them immediately forget themselves upon seeing the approaching prince. They block his path instinctively.

Daemon stops in his tracks, "out of the way."

Erryk stares blankly at him. Arryk shifts on his leg, "allow me a moment to announce your presence to the princess."

"Why would I need to be announced? She is my wife."

"She is with Prince Aegon," Arryk raises a hand and steps forward, "it is in her best interest that I ensure you are welcome while he is present."

Daemon is flabbergasted. He clenches his fists, "why wouldn't I be welcome around my own flesh and blood?!"

"My lady has only recen-"

"Do you deny it!?" Daemon snaps.

They do not reply.

"Do you deny the boy is my flesh and blood?"

The twins know the prince is riled up. If they persist, a fight will surely break out. Though they cared little for the consequences of quarrelling with the newly returned prince, they did care greatly for your peace of mind. This was why Erryk replied, "no, ser."

"Then get out of my fucking way," he snaps.

Arryk and Erryk stare at him. Eventually, they reluctantly step aside.

Daemon, in all his rage and pettiness, makes sure to knock into them as he passes. It was good he was still in his own armor, or else the collision against their steel shoulder pads would have hurt.

"Right, shall we go back now?"

The sound of your voice makes him stop in his tracks. How was it that he was so angry to be denied going to you just now, yet he now can't seem to move from his spot.

"No, my love, we do not pick roses so carelessly."

"Flower!"

Daemon's breath hitches at the sound of the boy's voice.

"You want the rose?" your voice is soft but audible, "you want to pick the rose for mummy?"

Mummy? Daemon slowly inches foward.

"Mummy?" the small voice repeats.

Daemon witnesses the moment the babe reaches for your curls. You brown hair is completely undone, spilling all the way down to your waist. A gentle breeze makes your tresses and skirt flow. His lips part at the beauty of you.

You chuckle when Aegon tries to eat your hair and pull it away before he manages to, "silly boy. Shall we ask Ser Arryk to pick the flower for us?"

"Flower for mummy!" he bounces in your arms.

You bounce him back, making him giggle as you repeat, "flower for mummy!" You flip your hair back, "Ser Arryk, could you-"

Your mouth goes dry when you see Daemon staring back at you. His hair is short and his eyes shine. You nearly choke on your breath, feeling your knees buckle as he slowly walks over. Your hold on Aegon tightens as he reaches out.

You step back. It takes him off-guard. It feels just like when an arrow was shot to his chest. Daemon moves towards the rose bush, picking out a flower, carefully removing its thorns.

"Flower!" Aegon coos and reaches out.

Daemon turns to him, handing the blushing bloom, "rūklon, ñuha tresy." Flower, my son.

You freeze. You freeze because you understand him.

Aegon gives a gummy smile; he shows all his teeth but he only has two at the bottom. He happily groans and grins at you when he has the flower in hand, "FLAWOW!"

You turn to the boy. His shining face instantly shatters the tension and unease you feel. You huff and brush his silver hair back. You freeze again when Daemon's hand comes upon yours.

You turn to him with wide eyes. His eyes are fixed on Aegon, "Rūklon, Aegon. Kostagon vestrā rūklon syt kepa?" Flower, Aegon. Can you say flower for father?

Daemon takes Aegon's chin, making him look to him, "rūklon, Aegon. Rūk-lon."

Your initially shocked expression melts into molten anger.

Aegon looks at his uncle, "rūklon."

Daemon is surprised but immediately pleased. He lets out a rich laugh as he turns to you, "he is good."

"Daor kirimvose naejot ao." you snap, pulling Aegon away from him. No thanks to you.

He pulls his chin back. He watches in shock as you turn to move the prince away. You glare as you do so, eyes beady and pink. His forehead wrinkles.

"Eman gūrēntan Valyrio Eglie sīr bona kostan bodmagho zirȳla. Emā daorun naejot jiōragon zirȳla." I have learned High Valyrian so that I can teach him. You have nothing to offer him.

Your frosty words make him pull his head back again. "daorun?" Nothing.

"Kessa," you nod, "daorun" Yes. Nothing.

His eye twitches as he shakes his head in disbelief, "iksan se valītsos kepa." I am the boy's father.

The severity of your laugher is haunting. His eyes widen and his skin pricks with goosebumps. You throw you head back, feeling a tear run down your face. You sigh and shake your head as you turn back to him, "you are completely devoid of both heart and mind, aren't you?"

Daemon too stunned to do anything but stare.

You turn. Daemon finally sees Aegon playing with the flower. You catch his attention by brushing his hair back, "my love," you start, "qilōni iksis aōha kepa?" who is your father?

Aegon looks up at you with little interest.

"Kepa, Aegon, kepa."

"Kepa?" he repeats.

"Kessa, skoros gaomas kepa gaomagon?" Yes, what does father do?

Aegon raises his rose, "dārys!"

King? Daemon's face falls.

You smile and bounce the child in your arms, "rōvēgrior!"

He tenses at the sound of the word. Rōvēgrior. Excellent. There was a time where you could not say that word at all. He taught that to you. And yet as you turn to him, your face destitute of any happiness that you had offered Aegon, it felt at though it was a memory he just conjured up.

"You are no more related to the boy than I am," you quip, "she is my sister's first born."

"Viserys said you brought for new life in the Keep," he mutters, as if he was afraid he heard wrong.

Your jaw feathers, but as the wind blows, you catch sight of the flowers, "he meant the roses," you turn to the said blooms. You laugh, bitterness pulling out a mocking smile from you, "how could you expect a son from me?"

Daemon shifts in his spot, ready to argue, but he quickly finds he had nothing to say to that. He thinks of all the seed he's spilled on your skin. He thinks of his persistence in leaving your womb empty. He thinks of the discipline he employed to ensure he would never finish in you. He clenches his jaw.

You turn to him; tears begin to fall from your eyes. Aegon notices and reaches for your cheeks; his flower falls to the floor, forgotten.

You and Daemon stare at each other. You feel your breath begin to shorten the longer you do.

Your expression falls when you hear Aegon begin to fuss. You immediately steel yourself away as you turn to your nephew; the boy looks like his on the brink of tears. You sniffle and shush him, "no, no, no-"

It's too late. He begins to cry.

You push past Daemon with little regard. Your wards turn to you upon hearing Aegon's cries. You say nothing to them, your full attention on Aegon as you rock him in your arms, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red..."

Arryk and Erryk follow after you.

Daemon is left alone in the middle of the garden.

He has no word to describe what he felt in that moment. He was stunned, hurt, saddened, torn. He was angry. How could you do this to him? You had begged him not to go, and now that he's returned, you treat him like... like you hated him.

He laughs dryly under his breath. Was this a game? Was this your way of getting back at him? He laughs louder as he walks off. He could hate you back better.

Daemon joins the luncheon the king throws in honor of his return. He does not waste his time and makes a show of himself.

It is easy for him to fall back into his old ways once he is in his princely garbs. He openly and unabashedly flirts with all the ladies he can set his eyes upon and eagerly annoys and offers backhanded compliments to all the lords present.

It gets so bad that Viserys has to intervene. Even Alicent and Rhaenyra, who had not spoken to each other since the king's wedding, find each other's company just to momentarily agree that Daemon is being completely callous and tactless.

The king pulls him by the shoulder and Daemon manages to snag a cup of wine as he is pried away from the offensive conversation he instigated.

"I understand that you are overjoyed to be home," Viserys leads him off, "but please, control yourself."

Daemon pouts, facetious, "kessa, kepa." Yes, father.

He bristles, "iksan issare dokimare. Emagon mirri iotāptenon syt aōha ābrazȳrys." I'm being serious. Have some respect for your wife.

Daemon immediately shoves Visersys's hand off him at the mention of you. He snaps, "gaomagon daor ȳdragon naejot nyke hen bona aspo!" Do not speak to me of that bitch!

The queen and princess, along with the rest of the people present, turn to the brothers upon hearing raised voices.

"Uncle!" Rhaenyra calls him out, offended by the conversation only she and they could understand.

Daemon turns to her, chucking his drink to the side before storming off.

Viserys rolls his eyes and sigh, "Daemon."

Alicent walks over to her husband.

"Daemon!" the king snaps.

"Leave it to me, father," Rhaenyra says, following after her uncle.

Daemon is back at the gardens. He snaps over his shoulder, "fuck off!"

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, "what has gotten you so sour?"

"HER!" Daemon whips back around, eyes red and glassy, "THAT HIGHTOWER BITCH!"

Rhaenyra recoils and pulls her head back in shock. She carefully mutters, "you can't possibly mean Alicent, can you?"

"Her and the whole lot!" Daemon throws a hand out, "they can all drop dead for all I care."

The princess watches him pace around. Her brows knit, "I would say I am comforted that you share in my offence over my father and Alicent's union, but I cannot say I do. I know you have long hated Otto, and Gwayne, as he's bested you in tourneys—"

Daemon steps forward, "have you followed me to further spur-"

"But what has -"

"Don't you fucking speak her name to me!"

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. The two stare at each other, and as Daemon heaves. Her face hardens, "what could you possibly be angry about?"

"She did not even greet me!" Daemon points to nowhere.

Rhaenyra laughs. It goes dry when she realizes he was being serious. Her face contorts, "Daemon."

He looks away.

Her lips curl, "she just got better"

His brows furrow.

"You do know that?" she tilts her head, "right?"

Have you been sick?

"Seven hells," Rhaenyra's face falls, "you don't know."

"..."

"She writes to you everyday," she motions vaguely, "I have not been in King's Landing for many moons, but even I know this."

"War makes time for-"

"Then why are you angry?!"

"..."

Rhaenyra raises her brows at him. Daemon remains unable to respond. She rolls her eyes, "welcome home, uncle."

Daemon is left alone in the garden for a second time. He goes back to his personal quarters.

You see him from across the hall just before he enters but he does not see you. Before you can take another step, Arryk and Erryk each take hold of your arms.

"Release me."

"Why should you be the one to go to him?" Arryk asks.

You turn to him, "you know why."

"If he does not want to go to you, do not waste your grace on him," Arryk says, just as you pull away to turn to them.

"He does nothing to understand you," Erryk adds, "and he will misunderstand you so long as it suits himself."

Your eyes immediately water, "why are you turning against me?"

"We are-"

"You think I want to live like this?"

Erryk speaks your name, "he is not ready to face you."

"It's been three years!" you chuckle dryly.

"Let him come to you," Arryk adds.

You scratch your eyes and shake your head, "the bodies of my babes remain unburied, wrapped and sealed in a crypt, because I insist that they be given but one respect due to them in the tradition of their house, and you would deny me-" your voice breaks. Tears run down your cheeks as you try to compose yourself. You clear your throat, "you would deny my son and daughter this?"

The twins do not speak.

You wipe your face roughly with your hands, "well? What say you?!"

Arryk lowers his head. Erryk cannot look at you, but he cannot keep his peace either, which is why he says, "I say they would not want their mother to suffer at the hand of their father."

"Damn you, Erryk!" you shove him back.

Erryk looks at you in shock.

"You dare presume to know my children when I-" gasp, "did not-" gasp, "even-" gasp.

Your guards reach out for you when you begin to topple. They keep you upright and you find yourself too stubborn to faint. You wrangle out of their grasp and lean on your knees as you struggle to catch your breath.

When you straighten up, you look and see Erryk's teary eyes. You feel terrible. It nearly makes you lose your breath again. You groan and sink your face into your hands, "I can never win, can I?"

"Princess," Erryk mutters, "forgive me, I-"

"Enough," you raise a hand to him, "I will not have my children be the cause of conflict."

Erryk nods and keeps his head bowed. Arryk turns to him before doing the same.

You sigh, belly churning with sadness and guilt, "come," you take their hands, "my twins waited this long for their father. They can wait a little longer."

Daemon, through in his adamant refusal to read your letters, kept every single one of them, even the ones he trampled on in his anger. Three sacks of letters, there were three sacks that contained all of the letters you sent him, one for every year he was gone. He empties them out on his bed. He walks to his trunk of clothing and grabs the only one he ever read and rereads it.

He walks back to his bed and sits a the floor. He flattens out the parchment beside him, then haphazardly reaches for another one.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔬. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢.

Daemon flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰, 𝔶𝔢𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔏𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔏𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔙𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔰𝔬. ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔶 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℌ𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣𝔱, 𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔡𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔰. 𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔪; ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶, 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows, flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔏𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℌ𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔬 ��𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔢𝔫𝔳𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔶.

His face falls at your sentiment. You think this? He wonders for a moment what he and Laenor argued over, but he cannot recall anything for the life of him. The next letter he opens makes him sit up straight.

ℑ'𝔪 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢.

This letter drives him mad, because it is the only one like it. He rips open more than a dozen letters, yet all of them are like all the rest. He reads some more about Laenor, some of Gwayne and Alicent, some of Otto, some of Arryk and Erryk, some of Viserys, but most of them are about the mundane things you busy yourself with. Mundane things you do to distract yourself from him.

He does not know what to make of it.

Then, he unfolds a piece of paper with hastily written script.

𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫, 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱ℯ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹, 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒷ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓃 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈ℯ ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓉ℴ, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒟𝒶ℯ𝓂ℴ𝓃, ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹. ℐ 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓅ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓈 ℐ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓇 ℐ 𝓂𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃ℊℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝓂ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝒶ℊ𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒞ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ. ℐ 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊, ℐ 𝒷ℯ𝓈ℯℯ𝒸𝒽 𝓎ℴ𝓊— 𝒸ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ.

"I was with child?" Daemon repeats to himself.

He frantically grabs a bunch of letters and skims through them, desperate to learn more of this. He goes through 5, 10, 20, 50, 100 letters, but none of them ever mention such a thing ever again.

At some point, the letters become singular.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔱. ℑ 𝔭𝔥𝔶𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔯 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔞 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔰𝔢. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔪𝔟 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

They all speak of your apparently imminent demise.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔦𝔱. 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

It goes on for far too long.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔫𝔲𝔪𝔟. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢. 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔟𝔶 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢. ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

Daemon's stomach rolls. He cannot bare to read any more, and yet his guilt urges him to drink up this pain, as if it would make it go away, as if it could make up for what he had done.

The moon begins to fade as the sun begins to rise. He reads hundreds of letters that speak nothing but your pain and desire for death. His face is wet with tears and bitterness linger in his mouth. He no longer is on the floor. He lies on his bed, surround by his wife's misery.

He wails. He can do nothing else as he takes in your words.

Then, for the final time, the tone changes.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔢. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

... mine own son or daughter. Daemon wipes his face.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ𝔣 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡, ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔧𝔬𝔶. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows and sits up. All the remaining letters are about Aegon.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔰 𝔞 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔙𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰; ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℜ𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔶𝔯𝔞. ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔣 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯; 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩, 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔡𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

You speak of nothing else save him. You do not mention your affliction, you do not mention your everyday life, you speak only of your affections for Aegon.

The sun rises.

Daemon did not realize he fell asleep until a voice of a servant wakes him. It did not feel like he slept at all; he is still exhausted.

He groans as he sits up. He sees a servant girl staring at the thousand pages scattered across the room. He comes to a stand and begins pick up the papers, "do not mind this. Prepare me a bath. I will break fast with my wife."

The servant watches the prince clean up after himself. She curtsies and does what is instructed.

Daemon had stacked the letters by date as he read them and now tiptoed around the room, gathering the papers in chronological order. He grabs his trunk and files the papers there. By the time he is finished, his trunk is stuffed and his bath water is barely warm.

Neither did the bath wake him fully, nor did it refresh him. What's worse was the scent of his soap broke forth dam of memories for it smelled like you. Resentment for his own folly began to choke him with tears.

His face scarcely resembled him. His angular features were softened with woe, namely his eyes. He cared little for the puffiness rendered him by his tears as he made his way over to your room.

Arryk and Erryk instantly spot him, both of them raising their brows and curling their lips at the look of the prince.

"Is my wife awake?" Daemon asks once he is before them, voice telling of how he had clearly been crying.

Neither of them find sympathy, only disgust and irritation. Erryk particularly despises how readily he refers to you as his wife; he was just a stranger, an evil-doer you had tragically married, "do you see that she's awake?"

Arryk's jaw tenses at his brother's response. He slowly turns to him with knit brows.

Daemon is numb to their hostility, too wrapped up in his self-loathing, "it is nearly noon. Doesn't she wake earlier than this?"

"Yes," Erryk instantly responds, "she did three years ago."

The prince stills. He now recognizes the twins' acrimony. He takes in a breath; he has no desire to start a fight, not when he's freshly just read about your affections for them and how they cared for you in his absence. Daemon wipes his face then raises a hand, "alright. Let me pass. I will wait for her to rouse."

The twins' shoulders hit each other as they block the prince's passage. Arryk tilts his head, "rest does not come easy to her. It would be best if she is not disturbed."

"I will not disturb her," Daemon quips, "I said I would wait for her to rouse."

Erryk raises a brow and motions, "of course, my prince. Feel free to wait for her out here with us."

Daemon stiffens. He grinds his teeth as he debates the truth of the sentiment. He stares at them.

They stare back.

He shakes his head and storms off.

Erryk scoffs in disgust, clutching his scabbard. Arryk scowls at the prince then his brother, "you dunce. This is what we want, for him to go to her."

"Yes," Erryk eyes Daemon hotly, willing his body be burned by his glare, "yet watch how easily he retreats. He wants only to go to her for his own sake, not because he wants to see her."

"Erryk," Arryk places a hand on his arm, "you overstep."

Erryk turns to his brother, "I step my foot is exactly where it should be." He looks forward, "if he really wants to see her, he would come back."

And he was right. Daemon really wanted to see you. Why then would he waste his time and patience in quarrelling with your wards when he could simply take the hidden entrance to your chambers? He knew the passages well, after all; this was his home.

Daemon's senses are flooded as he emerges from the darkness.

Your fragrance is nearly tangible to him. He walks towards your vanity and takes a vial of your body oil. He inhales deeply, feeling warmth cascade through his body. He smears a bit on his philtrum. He missed this.

He sets the vial down and brushes his fingers over your jewelry. He takes the robe hung on your vanity chair and smells it. His eyes begin to water. He hangs it back in its place and finally, finally, he turns to you, throat uncomfortably tight.

Your brown hair is fanned out behind you. Your skins glows with invitation to be caressed.

He kneels beside you the way you did before your beloved statue of the Mother. He scratches his eyes when his tears begin to fog his vision. He strokes the back of his hand down your cheek. He fixes the blanket around you.

He watches you intently. He so badly wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to feel you, to smell you, to kiss you, but even he knew it was selfish; even he could admit he was undeserving.

The memory of the very first time he had ever beheld your sleeping form plays in his mind as you act it out in real life. Your lips and forehead curl; you stir slightly in your spot. He sighs when the corner of your closed eyes begin to water.

Daemon wipes your tears away, speaking the same words he spoke you then, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep. He strokes your cheek and hair, "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He cannot help himself any longer. He shifts on his knees and moves in to press a kiss upon your temple. He leans his forehead on you, closing his eyes to savor your presence.

All is still.

All is solemn.

That is, until you begin to fuss.

You mutter incoherences and begin to moan.

He squeezes your shoulder and kisses you again, "gīda ilagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." Calm down, my love.

You moan out in response.

He pulls his head back with and opens his eyes. You moan again and it becomes clear that you were moaning a name.

"Alyrie."

A line forms between his brows.

"Alaeric."

He feels his chest tighten. What?

You moan as your arms reach out, "stay."

Daemon pulls back, eyes burning with tears. You repeat those names and a pit forms in his stomach, deep and dark. You whine as you embrace your pillow. He watches you press your lips into your pillow. He hears you mutter, "love you."

His throat constricts and he clenches his jaw. He does not like this dream.

You speak those names again and he pulls back, deciding he's had enough. He repeats it, mutters under his breath what he thinks he heard you say, "Arryk and Erryk." After all, how would he know the names Alyrie and Alaeric when you couldn't bare to even think of them, let alone mention them?

And just as he did moments ago, he wastes no time.

Daemon storms away, grabbing a pitcher of water on his way. He is upon them the moment he throws the doors open.

Before either brother can react, one has a pitcher bashed to the back of his head, and the other is kicked from behind. Shrieks pierce the air; your incoming servants witness the brutal onslaught.

All that was not enough to wake you, nothing would.

You startle awake, terrified out of your mind. Not only did you wake from a melancholic slumber, you wake to the sound of screams and battery.

Daemon would have managed to knock out the brothers had they not worn helmets. Still, the blow to the back of Arryk's head left him in a daze and Erryk, who was kicked from behind and shot off to the parallel wall, was no better.

The prince focuses on the closer twin who managed to face him. He kicks Arryk on the chest, knocking him down. He quickly climbs upon his felled body and removes his helmet before splitting his knuckles on his face. He manages to land two punches before he is throttled to the ground by the other Cargyll.

Erryk did not mean to merely subdue him, he was eager to retaliate. He crushes his knee into the prince's back, squeezing the air out of him before flipping him over, intent on breaking his nose at the very least.

Erryk underestimated the raging sense of betrayal that fuels his opponent.

Daemon manages to grab Erryk's neck and squeezes it with all his might. The latter begins to choke but he thrusts his shin-guard into the prince's side, giving him little choice but to scream and loosen his hold due to the the pain.

Erryk finds the upper hand in no time. He pries Daemon's hands off him and launches a right hook. The prince shields his head, still, the knight manages to land some nasty punches.

"ERRYK!" Arryk shouts, prying his brother off. He drags his brother away, and in that moment, you emerge from your room, running barefoot in nothing but your shift.

You notice the twins first, for they were closer to your door. You release a horrified sound at the sight of them. They look at you with hard faces as you walk over, "what is the meaning of this?!"

Erryk shrugs his brother off and points an accusing finger, "the prince attacked us from behind!"

You turn to where he points.

Blood trickles down Daemon's face as he struggles to get on his knees. His lips are busted, nose ruptured, eye swollen. Your face falls at the sight of him. He looks horrendous, even worse than what Gwayne looked like when he fell from his horse during the tourney. A dozen horrible memories begin to flood you. You clutch your chest as you feel it tighten.

Erryk continues, "we would not let him disturb your sleep, but he managed to sneak into your bedroom-"

"What?" you turn to him.

"- then he attacked Arryk with a pitcher," Erryk points to the pitcher on the floor that laid beside a puddle of water, "then he kicked me on the back."

You turn to Arryk, finding his hair, neck, and armor wet. You whimper and wipe your face. You snap at Daemon, "what is wrong with you?!"

You watch your husband come to his feet.

He clutches his side and grunts out your name.

Goosebumps shroud you.

Daemon shudders as he walks over, "gaomagon ao jorrāelagon nyke?" Do you love me?

You instinctively step back where the Cargylls step forward. Your face curls in mortification. Your lips wobble and you shake your head in disbelief. You repeat, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Gaomagon..." Daemon lowers his head, "ao ēdrurys yno?" Do you dream of me?

You knit your brows tightly. You grit your teeth and clench you fists. You take a step towards him.

He lifts his gaze when you do.

A shiver runs down your spine as he speaks your name.

"Īlē mirre hen ēdrurys nyke mi—" You were alll of the dreams I ev-

You slap him before he can finish his words.

The blood from Daemon's nose sputters to the wall. The action hurts more than the act. He does not look back at you.

You are trembling, neither from your affliction or fear, but out of pure, blinding wrath. You do not tear your gaze from Daemon though you do not speak to him, "the both of you go to the maester's ward."

Arryk and Erryk nod and regard you, "princess."

"Drag him with you," you blurt, turning to your open door, "I will be there shortly after dressing."

[bucketofchum]

"I want you to raise this child with me... not as a servant or a slave, but as a co-parent..."

--

"Atumu, could you bring an egg over?"

"Yes, Master"

"Atumu, I don't want you to call me 'Master'...not in front of Wadjet"

"Yes...my love."

[starjunkyard]

Sorry i genuinely feel like im going fucking crazy What do u mean wilson's ex-wife named their dog after an anagram for Doctor Greg House What do u mean she'd resented house since the very beginning of their marriage solely because wilson was always there for him but never for HIS OWN WIFE "You always needed him, and he was always there for you." "You knew he had a wife waiting at home; you didn't care." "I'm not saying you broke up the marriage, but you didn't help." Is anyone else hearing this .am i going crazy

"When we had people over, he'd nip at their ankles." Ohhhhhhhhhthefuckiiinnggggggg THEFUCKING That statement being a metaphor for how house drives every prospective spouse of Wilson's away Theway house growls and snaps and bites and lashes out at anyone who even shows a single shred of romantic interest towards wilson. Allof wilson's ex-wives canonically actually fucking hating house's guts because of how close he was (and is) with wilson in a way that he was never able to be with them

House gives out bribes so he can acquire confidential personal information about and to blackmail wilson's girlfriends Willgo to their workplaces so he can Talk AboutWILSON Will bark and snap at anything and everything and protect wilson from NOTHING Willscare away anyone who even tries to get close to wilson instinctively intrinsically irrationally Almost AnimalisticallyKILLS YOU KILLS YOU KILLS YOU KILLS YOUUUUUUUUUU))/!!:):):7/)£:);6:£7:7:

Animal motifs OHHHHHHHAnimal motifs FUCK . Fuck. House loves wilson like a dog. Masters will abandon their dogs in the middle of dirt roads and drive off and their dogs will chase after them until their paws are oozing bloodied raw and numb Masterswill shun and kick and starve their dogs and maybe the dog will fight back. Maybe the dog will bare its teeth growl and bite But a dog's loyalty isn't something you can ever beat out of it . Loyalty is hardwired into a dog's dna Loyalty that is blind irrational and suffocating that transcends logic and reason that is Branded and Burnt into their genetic makeup until it becomes their achilles heel; the thing thatwill end up killingthem The thing that keeps them crawling back to their masters no matter what no matter what No Matter What

[shakingparadigm]

I'll honestly still be mourning the ROUND 6 that we could have had. The first sketches where Ivan and Till are hugging... Ivan with his arm around Till's shoulders.... The friendly teasing...

I fully understand why they had to change it, but it's still sad to think about all that we missed out on.

[skunkes]

🧿🧿🧿

[casualavocados]

We agreed that I'm in charge of the bars. But you come here all the time to watch me. How am I supposed to lead my people? Use your head, okay? Suit yourself.

KISEKI: DEAR TO ME Ep. 04

[cockringhoratio]

i know everyone sees him as second fiddle to knives bullshit but legato is Everything he is the reason the manga Works do you understand. wolfwood alone is not an adequate foil to vash bc he wants to be saved. he sees himself as guilty and recognizes the “wrong” in himself and wants to overcome it (nightmare of the orphans, eyes screaming in pain). his arc is more How can someone be better and still survive, not Should someone be better bc wolfwood ultimately does believe what vash is selling. by comparison, legato asks vash what if i dont want to be saved what if im happy here in the death and misery and cruelty what if i want this and vash’s answer is To Kill Him. he is the only person vash intentionally kills. he doesnt even kill knives bc knives’s plant bullshit is not actually vash’s ideological opposite. legato is. knives is kinda incidental to vash’s ultimate struggle against humanity’s ~dark side~ and how to reconcile that with their ability to grow and be better. i am shaking you by the shoulders do you understand do you fucking get it he is load bearing he is EVERYTHING DO YOU GET IT!!!!!!

[chilpilled]

i dont mean this in a shipping hate kind of way and i hope it doesnt come across like that but i personally think l/abru is 100% funnier if its one sided. i feel like kabru having some kind of weird crush on laios is pretty much canon but i just dont really see laios having any strong feelings about him in return. kabru is like a work friend to him.

theres just something very special to me about the concept of dunmeshis most eligible bachelor developing an obsessive one sided crush on a weird guy he never talked to and then getting steadily further obsessed and mentally tormented by said weird guy and then eventually the weird guy becomes king and now kabru has to stand by his side every day and pretend hes normal about this dude. hes actively vibrating out of his skin with lust and rage about said lust and meanwhile laios is like man i wonder whats for dinner today

[just-another-colin-kinnie]

Zane’s greatest fear is losing his humanity And they did That to him in the movie

[gorespawn]

also while we're here i would like to share the two iterations of tumblr user gorespawn that have existed since i abandoned this blog back in like early 2021. Who wants me

[nicky-jr]

you wanna know one thing about the trial verdict that really gets me. that i dont think ive ever heard anyone really talk about. is just the implications of morgan being alive in this new timeline at all. like theoretically the only significant change made to the timeline was morgan ending up with jodie instead of glenn. specifically keeping morgan alive wasnt part of the ultimatum. so wouldnt that imply that glenn being in morgans life eventually butterfly-effects into her death? that her being with someone other than him would keep her alive, whether through a series of actions or just one decision? of course, its hard to blame someone for causing something like that. its not like they couldve known, or really even do anything about it. but technically, its true. the evidence is right there. the love of his life was better off without him. so is that fucked up or what

[angstflavoured]

long rant about wheatleys fandomication and how much i despise it vvv

like sorry, i dont understand how you can play this game and make Wheatley anything BUT a stupid, pathetic incel. HE was the one that woke Chell from cryosleep to save HIMSELF. it was never about her, he didnt know who she was or that she was important. hed killed 10k+ ppl cus he sucked as his job and he didnt fucking care, he just needed some human somewhere who could do puzzles and use the gun to help him get out. and then chell fucking helps him and the worst she ever does is simply NOT SPEAK TO HIM. she isnt even rude or mean or do anything to endanger him. she just doesnt give him attention. and then when they are both about to escape HE BETRAYS HER !!! and then has the AUDACITY to turn the wholeee thing around like he was a malipulated victim. he acts like chell was going to leave HIM when she LITERALLY LEFT NO INDICATION OF DOING SO !!! SHE DIDNT DO SHIT DAWG, and people who make an argument of him being "underappreciated" are fucking insane. he was doing the whole thing to save his own ass, and was rude to chell the entire time. he sounds a little polite bc hes british, but dude. the very first thing he says to her face is that she looks terrible. he very obviously despises humans and doesnt care about them, its shown throughout the entirety of the game. he talks down to chell like shes stupid the whole time. when he does betray you and try to kill you, its VERY relentless and without remorse. hes not doing it for attention, he just wants you fucking dead.

and then even at the VERRYYYYY END OF THE GAME !!!! when theyre are both being pulled into space. he asks for HER to let go and get herself killed so he can fix things.

AMD THEN EVERYONE JUST FORGOT ABOUT EVERYTHINNGGGG THAT HAPPENED IN THE FUCKING GAME BECAUSE HE SAID SORRYYYY??? HE SAID SORRY ONE TIME ???????????? AFTER HE LOST EVERYTHING like theres a huge pattern of him only being nice and apologetic when he KNOWS that hes weaker and cant win. hes a coward.

and like 70% of the fan content i see of him is him being so nice and polite and complimenting the person he's with and showering them with love. like BRO IS NOT RESPECTABLE !!!! HE SUCKS !!!! HE WOULD NOT BE A LIKEABLE PERSON !! or worse people make him really cool and sexy which like 😑 CMON BRO HES A LOSERRRRRR !!! LOSERCORE HE IS NOT COOL IN THE SLIGHTEST HE SUCKSSSSS

i just will never understand why ppl who love a character so much will strip them of everything that makes them who they are just to fit their comfort needs. like just ?? go consume different media with nice characters??? 500% of the reason i love wheatley is how much he sucks. if you dont like that, i dont understand why youd even gravitate towards liking someone like wheatley.