#like hes uncomfortable with how it likens back to it

[spookberry]

Idiot to Idiot communication

[torchwood-99]

Can you please develop more on what in your opinion makes Éowyn originally doomed by the narrative? I agree with the idea, I'm just curious as to what traits or parts of her narrative makes her doomed according to you!

In her first scene, she comes across as almost spectral.

First time we see her, she's stood in the shadows behind a decaying old man and his creepy, snake like advisor. Her nickname, the White Lady, conjurs images of phantom "white ladies", which are staples of supernatural mythology, and are usually found in rural places, and are associated with tragic histories and unrequited/doomed love.

When she is dismissed, she leaves, she doesn't speak, but goes silently from the room, and she passes judgement on those she passes. She looks on Theoden with "cool pity", and recognises the power in Aragorn. A pale, voiceless, woman, dressed all in white, passing judgement on those before her, before silently gliding from the room, like a wraith or spirit.

To further reinforce the ghost like imager, she is cold; "thought her fair and cold, like a morning of pale spring that is not yet come into womanhood." She looks on Theoden after his recovery with neither joy or love but with "cool pity".

Whereas warmth usually holds connotations with life, the cold conjurs images of corpses and the grave. Even the use of "spring" in her description, a season associated with life, birth and new hope, is described as "pale". The combination of "spring" (life) and "pale" (death), conjures an image of something that is at once living and dead.

A lot of our view point characters look on her with unease. She is repeatedly described as "stern", and the only time that stern façade cracks is when she shows emotions that are discomforting for other characters.

Her hand shakes when she serves Aragorn the cup, and Aragorn senses her attraction and is deeply concerned about. The intensity of her desire, and Aragorn's unspoken unease, makes for an aura of discomfort and dread.

The only time Eowyn shows "life" is when she's trembling with passion for Aragorn, a passion unrequited, or when her eyes are sparkling with visions of war and death.

The first time her stern face truly cracks, and she lets the feelings show, is when she breaks down in tears, begging Aragorn to let her ride with him. She's either frozen or weeping.

Everyone who observes this is deeply distressed. They find it painful to watch a proud and stern woman break down in tears and beg, a sensation the reader shares with them.

Aragorn himself is deeply pained and troubled by his concern for Eowyn. 'Only those who knew him well and were near to him saw the pain that he bore.'

Aragorn later admits in the Houses of Healing that his concern for her haunted him after their parting, and that nothing caused him so much fear on the Paths of the Dead as his fear of what may come to her.

In the same chapter, Aragorn likens her to a lily. Lilies themselves have connotations of death, and also harken back to Elaine, the "lily maiden" who died of heartbreak after being forsaken by her love, Lancelot.

So Eowyn is a figure of death, despair and tragic love. She is white, cold, lily-like, and is looked on with grief by many who perceive her. And not just grief, but discomfort. They don't just notice her distress, but are distressed by her.

When Merry meets her, he notices she seems to have been weeping, an image that is uncomfortably at odds with her stern manner.

Even Theoden, who cannot be credited with being that tuned in to Eowyn's feelings, notices she is unhappy, asking her how she is, and commenting twice on her obvious distress.

When Merry meets her in her guise as Dernhelm, he shivers, because he feels he is looking at someone with neither hope nor will to live. Their journey to the Pelennor passes in silence. Eowyn is a solitary figure, cut off from all those around her, riding to her death.

This culminates in Eowyn laughing at the Witch King, who brings despair to all who face him, because at this point she has literally nothing to fear from him.

The scene in which she faces him is written as a death scene. She fights him valiantly, but his destruction seems to be her own, and the consequences of her apparent death (Eomer's reaction) are severe.

Her tragedy appears compounded when Theoden bids her farewell, unaware she was with him the entire time, which rather sums up his fond, yet blinkered attitude towards her. She gives her life defending the dignity of a man, who is only half-aware of her existence.

Eowyn is mourned. Eomer rages against the heavens at her passing, and the riders of Rohan speak of their regret that she followed them without knowing. She is carried alongside Theoden, and it is only Imrahil's sharp perception and respect for her beauty that causes him to notice she is still alive, taking them all, and us, by surprise. Up until this point, Eowyn has been doomed, and she seems to have met her doom, heroically so.

But there's still a spark of life in her, still a weak breath in her lungs, and that's enough for her to be saved, and taken to the Houses of Healing. It's just a faint sign of life, barely noticeable, but it's life, which means there's hope.

As we look into Eowyn's mindset, we begin to see why she is such a tragic figure.

The first time she is addressed by name, she is being sent from the room. Her orders to take charge of the people of Rohan, which should be something of an hour of triumph and honour for her, feels almost insulting, in how her uncle would rather throw his crown to the people to take for themselves, than name her as an heir after Eomer, and then forgets she is even a part of their house, until Hama reminds him.

Our final scene of Eowyn in Two Towers is of her as a solitary figure, left alone to guard an empty hall, watching as the men ride away beneath their sparkling spears, a striking contrast between the camaraderie and fellowship we witness between the men riding out together.

That Eowyn is loved and respected by many, as revealed by Hama and her ability to safely lead the people to Dunharrow, despite their reluctance, compounds the tragedy, because she is not entirely alone and overlooked, but the people she wishes to been seen by, the people she holds in esteem, Theoden and Aragorn, rejects. Theoden, unthinkingly, by forgetting her worth until it is spelled out for him, and Aragorn in being unable to accept her love, or her offer of service.

Eowyn's driving conflict, the one that seems central to her character, is not even with the villains who everyone else is banding together to fight. She is part of that fight against them, but her personal struggles stem just as much from her conflict with her own family, her own people and her own society, as they do with the threat of Mordor. Victory over the Mordor does not necessarily mean victory for her, we know for Eowyn to be spared her doom, she can't just be rescued from the enemy that everyone else is fighting. She is trapped, caged, and would rather ride out and die, than live to see herself fade.

“What do you fear, lady?" [Aragorn] asked. "A cage," [Éowyn] said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”

That whole exchange between Aragorn and Eowyn reveals that above all else, beneath her stern facade and dreams of valour, Eowyn is absolutely seething. She is burning up with rage and frustration, and it is not just her enemies she is raging at, but her allies.

Her narrative starts to turn in the Houses of Healing. Not only is Aragorn able to bring her back to life, but it's clear that despite her unhappiness, Eomer's love for her is still a comfort and a source of happiness. When she wakes up, her first words are joy of seeing her brother there. For a character who until this point has been a figure of sorrow and loneliness, for her to speak so instinctively of joy at the presence of another is momentous.

This joy seems well justified, as not only do we witness the extent of Eomer's love, we also see a change in Eomer, and his perception of his sister.

Her sufferings, and the causes of her sufferings, are finally acknowledged. But they aren't acknowledged as some ephemeral, intangible thing, caused by a broken heart and some vague sense that she's just "doomed", but as the result of a set of specific circumstances that naturally caused her great feelings of despair and hopelessness. Eowyn isn't tragic because "she's Eowyn and she's doomed", but because of Grima's manipulation, and the constraints inflicted on her because of her sex.

That Gandalf compares Eomer's lot to Eowyn's, and points out to Eomer the freedoms and opportunities he had which she did not, further emphasises that it was Eowyn's circumstances that made her so tragic.

Eowyn wasn't "just doomed" and Eomer wasn't "just not doomed". Had their roles been reversed, Eomer could have ended up in similar straits.

Eomer hears this explanation, and a change occurs. He looks on Eowyn differently, and starts rethinking their whole lives together.

In the causes of her suffering being recognised, there is now some hope for her recovery. Her "ailment" has been "diagnosed", and it's much easier to find a "treatment" and a "cure", when there is a "diagnosis". There's a practical solution to Eowyn's suffering, and the person closes to her is brought one step nearer to seeing it.

Eowyn remains in the Houses of Healing, something she sees as frustrating, unnecessary and pointless. She doesn't want to live, she doesn't expect to heal, she thinks herself fit enough to ride and die, and that's what she wants to do.

Eowyn still sees herself as doomed by the narrative, but the narrative and the cast no longer see her as such. She is kept in the Houses, she is encouraged to rest and to heal, she is encouraged by Faramir to have hope, and gradually she starts to thaw.

She also becomes more gentle and vulnerable. Her youth is dwelled on, and her former concerns about living forever in a cage for a moment lapse as she focusses on a more trivial worry that Faramir thinks she's childish. When she scales down her request from permission to ride to battle, to be allowed to walk the gardens and look east, she speaks as a "maiden, young and sad."

In becoming more vulnerable, she becomes more approachable. She is no longer the ice maiden, a spectre, but a living person, with worries large and small, and Faramir is able to smile at her and offer her consolation.

The requests she makes during her "thawing", to look east and not be confined to her bed, signals a slight, perhaps unnoticed by her, return to hope. East is, as Faramir remarks, where their hopes lie. In looking east, she is looking towards hope. Furthermore, her second request, to not be confined to her bed, is something that Faramir can provide a practical solution for. She can have a chamber facing east, and she can have freedom to walk the gardens.

He almost speaks to her like a conciliator, or a negotiator. He talks her down from asking for death, to having a chamber looking east, and freedom to walk the gardens and take in the sun, in return to her agreeing to 'stay in this house in our care, lady, and take your rest," . That he phrases it gives the sense she has agency, he isn't saying "you will stay, and you will have a chamber that looks east, and you will walk in the sun", but instead he says if she agrees to stay, this is what they can do for her.

Therefore, the choice to stay, the choice to walk in the sun, the choice to heal, is put back into her hands, and in accepting Faramir's offer, she accepts the chance to heal.

Both Faramir and Aragorn are struck by pity when they meet Eowyn, but Aragorn's pity makes him hold her at arm's length. He maintains a distance between them, he turns from her and rides away. When he does try to "reason" with her, he only makes things worse, twisting the nail into Eowyn's frustrating circumstances.

Faramir feels pity for Eowyn, but he also feels kinship. She isn't some strange, removed creature. He doesn't look at her and see someone who is doomed. Nor does his treatment of her isolate her, as the treatment of so many others have.

He speaks of the pair of them as a unit, right from the start. He notes that both of them are "prisoners" of the healers, he tells her that both of them will be able to fight the end, if it comes to them, if they rest, and that the hours of waiting are something both of them must endure, and that both of them have passed through a shadow, and in from kinship, he expresses a belief that he might find comfort in her presence.

Eowyn's isolation and lack of agency are key causes in her despair, so it is understandable how this man, who makes efforts to understand her, to get to know, to befriend her and to make a connection with her, is such a balm, and manages to cause such a turn around in her arc.

Through her friendship, and later romance, with Faramir, she opens up, and arguably becomes more emotionally resilient, neither freezing her emotions, "cold and proud", or breaking down, weeping or begging. She shows uncertainty and fear in more moderate, casual ways, instead of pushing them down until they burst out of her.

However, she is still Eowyn. She is still proud (Faramir describes her as looking queenly), she is still proud, strong willed and sharp tongued. Even in her happiness, when she agrees to marry Faramir, she teases him for his people's snobbery, and she refuses the Warden's attempts to "release" her into Faramir's care, by instead asking to stay at the Houses of Healing.

She doesn't go from Ice Maiden to Fragile Flower. Instead, in grasping her future by the hands, in choosing for herself what she will do and where she will go, in deciding her own fate, her own role (that of healer), she shows that she is as strong willed as ever, and Faramir, who re-iterates twice; when speaking of his plans to marry her and go to Ithilien with her, that they will only do so if she is willing.

Eowyn also makes it clear to Faramir that while she will return to him, she has other duties and priorities that will keep her. That is, the rebuilding of the Mark. She has to go, she will come back. A striking contrast to her first introduction, when Eowyn is told "go", then told "stay", as it pleases those around her. She now has freedom of movement, she now chooses when to go, when to stay and when to return.

That Eowyn speaks of how she must go back, must look on her country and help her brother, also indicates that Eowyn sees her own worth and importance. She values herself and feels valued.

At Theoden's funeral/Eomer's coronation, Eowyn plays an integral role in the ceremonies. She presents Eomer with a golden cup and gives the signal for the cups to be raised to drink to the new king. This in itself indicates the esteem in which Eomer holds Eowyn. However, she has arguably been a cupbearer before, and it hasn't been a role that has brought her much joy. While it is a position of prestige, and shows she is a valued member of the household, it's not enough. Luckily, here, she isn't just there to oversee the celebrations of others, but to be celebrated herself.

Eomer ends the ceremonies by announcing her betrothal to Faramir. His justification for doing so is because of Theoden's love for Eowyn, which he uses to argue that Theoden wouldn't begrudge Eowyn's announcement being made at his funeral. He also notes how great the gathering before him is, greater than has ever been seen before. That Eomer wants to announce his sister's happy news before such an assembly, speaks of how much he wants to honour her.

Eomer certainly appears to have taken Gandalf's words on board. When he makes the announcement of Eowyn's betrothal, he says that Faramir asked for her hand, and Eowyn granted it, full willing.

He doesn't say anything about whether or not he gives his permission, (as her king and head of family, he probably was asked, but considering Eowyn and Faramir made their plans to wed with total confidence, you get the impression this was a matter of form, they were going to marry, Eomer disagreeing would be a complication, not a defeat), but instead emphasises how Eowyn has agreed to marry Faramir, full willing.

The final image we have of Eowyn can be a foil of that image of we have of her at the end of her first chapter in Two Towers. Once more, she is bidding farewell to a loved one as they depart Edoras. However, this time, she is embracing Merry before he leaves. She gives him a gift, that speaks of the bond of friendship that is now between them, and a remembrance of the time they rode together to battle, comrades in arms.

Compared to her formal parting from Theoden in Two Towers, this parting is full of warmth and intimacy. She and Eomer both hug Merry farewell, and when Merry leaves, Eowyn is left with both Eomer and Faramir, the two people she loves best, Faramir himself putting off his own duties in Gondor, to be near to Eowyn as she does her duty in Rohan.

Even the parting of Eowyn, Eomer and Merry, which could be a sad thing, is softened with Tolkien concluding "and so they parted for that time".

Their parting isn't forever, it's just for the moment. They will see each other again. Compared to the jarring juxtaposition of the brotherly army riding out, to Eowyn left alone to guard an empty hall, which created a sense of dread and foreboding, the final lines here at this parting fill us with warmth, with them all embracing, and leaves us with a promise that this parting isn't forever, and that the friends will all be reunited soon.

So, to summarise, Eowyn at first appears "doomed by the narrative." She is cold, stern, ghost like, and carries an aura of tragedy and dread.

Her doom she seems to carry through to fruition, and she is mourned accordingly, but the smallest spark of life remains in her, and in the causes of her despair being acknowledged, in the people in her life reaching out to her, making an effort to understand her, and in her and those around her making practical changes, the characters actively defy the narrative that has apparently doomed her, and together, through their combined efforts, Eowyn escapes her fate

Eowyn feels hopeless and trapped, and the people around her struggle to relate, and in fact many of them contribute; some un-knowingly, some knowingly (fucking Grima), to her depression. It first looks like a force greater than herself (the narrative) is causing her despair, and it cannot be overcome, but will instead lead to her destruction.

But actually, there is hope, and there are practical measures that can be put into place, to help her overcome her despair. Medical treatment, a support network, and a greater understanding from herself and from others of what she is going through, enable her to defy the narrative and find happiness.

[ddarker-dreams]

Which one of ur yanderes take care of you way too much that it's suffocating to you <3333

oh boy.

geto and gojo from the golden girl yan au are suffocating in ways that'd make your sanity wane. separate, they're semi-tolerable. heavy emphasis on semi. geto hides his obsessive tendencies better but gojo barely bothers.

geto's self-aware enough to know you won't appreciate your privacy/autonomy being blatantly violated. he's careful, always gauging your body language to see what he can and can't get away with. he paints himself as the more reasonable one (which gojo finds funny, considering geto's need for control exceeds his). geto eases you into this new reality of their heavy involvement in your life. it's gradual, starting off with him casually asking where you were or who you were with.

the way he phrases and times his questions won't have you thinking twice about offering the information up. should you ever hesitate, your instinct swearing that something's just off, he can handle that too. he'll get quiet, almost solemn. geto professes to knowing it's a bit much and apologizes. the last thing he'd ever want to do is make you uncomfortable, he'll say. you're dear to him and he doesn't know what he'd do if anything happened to you. by the end of the spiel, guilt festers in your chest for doubting his intentions.

then there's gojo.

he's always finding excuses to be in your vicinity, soaking up all your attention like a sponge. from his perspective, there's no point in you talking to anyone besides him, geto, and shoko. nanami and haibara are on thin ice but he can tolerate them, so long as your interactions remain short. gojo ramps up his obnoxiousness to a blinding degree, ensuring yours eyes never wander from him. he's always draping himself over you, cracking jokes, prodding for reactions, or otherwise invading your personal space. shoko made an apt comparison, likening him to a parasite 'that doesn't know when to stop feeding.'

while his fussing over you might seem melodramatic, he's very in tune to your emotions and overall wellbeing. you couldn't hide anything from him if you tried, he knows you like the back of his hand. it never hit how observant he is until he picks up on something troubling you before you were aware of it yourself.

they both see how easily exploitable your kind disposition is. hell, it's how they're able to get away with half the things they do. the world would devour your sweet qualities, spitting out whatever pieces of you remain. certainly, your naïveté could be taken advantage of, but, ironically enough, in 'protecting' you from this, they're participating in what they've set out to prevent. they both kinda know it too. ultimately, their greed outweighs any guilt they might feel for monopolizing your attention.

[pomefioredove]

mea culpa

I'm stressed and overstimulated and can't focus on matchups tonight. need roro to decompress

summary: "it's not my fault" type of post: short fic characters: rollo additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, angsty as hell (pun intended), some suggestive visuals

Rollo is an eloquent man. He understands the art of words, how to weave them together in all the right ways to create a shimmering tapestry of illusions- it's lying without dishonesty, and it's his specialty.

He knows many words, in many languages, in many forms, on paper and on tongue. He knows their definitions, their synonyms and antonyms, and their origins. He knows how to hide behind them as if they were a suit of armor, shielding him from the depravity of the common folk's unwashed tongues.

There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of words in which to express this feeling now, both saccharine and bloody, addictive and revolting, and yet, despite all of his knowledge, Rollo can only think of one.

Bad.

Very, very bad.

Those three simple letters, one syllable which so easily rolls off the tongue, have festered in his mind and spread throughout his body like an infection, making him feverish and mad with obsession over this disease of the soul.

This... is not him. This is not who he is.

This virus is not a natural part of his body. It does not belong there. And yet, it is dragging him by the back of his neck, forcing him to kick and scream and claw against the dirt in a vain attempt to escape its gnarled grasp.

It's a sickening reminder that his heart is still beating warm blood throughout his body. How he detests being reminded of his corporeal existence. As if he is more of a body than a person.

Rollo already had enough trouble sleeping.

What one might liken to butterflies or fireworks, he would to needles and flames. It's an uncomfortable, itchy feeling, one that makes him wish he could simply pull his aching heart out of his chest and run it under cold water until the burning washes away.

This isn't him.

He's not one to be distracted by restless thoughts, or the uncomfortable feeling of having hands. He hardly thinks of himself at all.

This is not his fault.

It's as if he is being interrogated and tortured for a crime he did not commit. Certainly, this is some sort of cruel and unusual punishment? A test of wills?

Or is it truly just a sickening, aching obsession which consumes his mind until all that is left is an empty room, in the center, your image draped in red?

A fire which swallows all it can reach, crawling up every inch of his body, touching him in places he had long forgotten about. A furnace burning within the center of his chest.

He cannot help but stick his hands directly into the flames.

Every time it's windy, he thinks of you.

[cupids-archives]

We had Yan! Sun wukong with a breeding kink, could we perhaps have Yan! Macaque with a breeding kink now? 👀

reference post…!

cw: breeding (lol!), non-con/dubious consent, unsafe sex, cockwarming, cum play, blood (mention).

The air in the room is heavy.

your white night gown feels awful on your skin, sticking to your sweat uncomfortably. It feels like it’s been days since you’ve been out in this position. Your body contorted to your captors personal likening, your poor vagina split open by his cock.

At first, you whimpered. The tears always came whenever macaque attempted to intimate with you, but despite his cocky behavior you can tell he disliked it. So you tried to save your tears until he was deep inside you and can excuse them for tears of pleasure. But this- this was torture.

The pleasure you felt by his movements were starting to mix with pain. You felt almost disgusting. Your hands scratched at his broad back, your head digging into his shoulder as he pushed himself deeper, and deeper until you. Closing his eyes and letting out deep groans as he tried to get closer to your cervix.

You attempted to move but you couldn’t, no screaming wouldn’t help either, and the tears have already reached its peak. All you could do is scratch and scratch and pray it made a difference, maybe he’d slow down, maybe you’d draw blood and he might stop. All you could do is wait as the force of his cock left smears on your already cum-stained thighs.

“macaque”.. you whispered- or more like whimpered out. You haven’t heard your voice in a while and it seemed so different. softer… raspier, “macaque please?” you barely understood what you were saying, but his thrust soon slowed, resting his heavy dick against your cervix. Before he responded he looked down and you followed his gaze to where your bodies connected, your legs resting on both sides off his toned torso.

Blood, mixed with a creamy white substance pooled below you, making a complete mess of what remained of your dress.

“Guess I went too hard, huh?” He picks a piece of your hair between his fingers and tucks it between your ear in an act of normalcy. This was the first time he’s ever made you bleed, but it didn’t even register in your tired brain yet. “I think that’s enough for tonight.” Macaque lifts your dress up with a heavy sigh. Removing it from your sweaty body. You finally relax once he slips out of you. Your body being laid out on the bed below.

“How about we just lay here for a moment?” You shakily nod as a response. Macaque, never being a truly sentimental one. Showing his undying care for you in ways that don’t show in the unwatchful eye . But when he lays next to you, tucking your naked body against his, even your cum filled brain realizes how he rubs two fingers against the tip of your pussy, scooping up the leaking cum and gently pushing it back inside you.

Unfortunately your too tired to care.

[bl0rbohandbag]

– some vampire the masquerade x changeling the lost concepts that will not leave me alone.

"but vtm and ctl are from different settings–" shhhhhh :)

— part 2.

before i begin: i have been dabbling in vampire the masquerade and changeling the lost content for a while, i am not a fan of changeling the dreaming and vampire the requiem is unfamiliar to me. anyway! buckle up, enjoy the ride, this is kind of long.

trigger warning for abuse/unhealthy parental relationships because vamps i guess.

first of all: i recently read vtm: bloodstained love. while it focus on the more romantic and sexual aspects of kindred relationships with a lot of references to obsessive/posessive behavior and grotesque acts of love, it also made me wonder how those would translate to platonic or familial relationships. add some changeling shenanigans to that and we have some interesting concepts to play with! and with that being said...

– you're a changeling. kidnapped into arcadia and trapped there for who knows how long. in your durance, you dream of going back home, of reuniting with your friends and family, escaping your keeper to finally, finally enjoy freedom in the world you were born in.

– and one day, you do escape. back into your world, never feeling completely safe with your keeper looking to get you back and huntsmen being a very real threat, but you're ready to rebuild your life and enjoy your newfound freedom.

– there are various mentions throughout the ctl books on how unsuspecting or heedless changelings might have their freedom stolen again, this time by kindred. so, as it turns out, you'll have to deal with creatures other than the true fae who are more than willing to keep you caged!

the angst potential in a changeling reuniting with ther parent(s) only to find out they've become something inhuman, and not all that different from their keeper is unmatched.

maybe you watch them from a distance first. maybe you excitedly seek them out. maybe you just randomly bump into your parent by complete chance, after presuming them dead or deciding to abandon your old life. maybe they find you.

but the point is: they're kindred. so different from when you last saw them, as a teenager, as a child, before you were taken. as if having huntsmen and your keeper after you wasn't trying enough, a vampire parent comes (back) into your life to make it even more complicated.

a ventrue dad will make his ghouls your bodyguards, following you day and night. it makes you insanely uncomfortable, as you liken them to changelings serving true fae back in arcadia. he says it's because of his own dangerous kindred affairs that might affect you, but after an unplesant encounter with the huntsmen he might just decide you shouldn't be out and about at all.

your parent is either a neonate or an ancilla by the time your return from arcadia. your fetch is dead for whatever reason, expired, after living a life in your stead, automatically making the vampire believe their child is dead– now imagine their surprise and confusion when they see you– real you, living and breathing. and maybe you're distraught, too, seeing that they haven't aged a day or should, depeding on how long you've been gone, be most definetly dead.

(this is absolutely NOT going to send the vampire parent into a mental breakdown and spiral into obsession upon discovering the child they have lost and buried was literally a soulless copy of their real child who got kidnapped by faeries. a clone made out of twigs and a cat's eyes that stole their child's place and they never noticed. everything is just fine. it does not them affect them mentally at all :3)

(bonus points if the fetch was killed by the vampire parent's enemies after being entagled in their mess. they feel like they are getting a second chance and will absolutely not screw it up! cue you, poor changeling, being locked away or put under heavy surveillance.)

on the other hand, a kindred parent who currently has a living fetch of their child just being EXTREMELY distraught when they keep spotting someone who looks exactly like their kid at random places they definetly shouldn't be at is very funny and kind of unsettling!

(a vampire mom just feeding on mortals at the club, socializing with other kindred, perhaps dealing with some unresolved issues with her sire, etc. Then she spots you, her real kid, unbeknownst to her, just chilling, among all those dangerous vampires, when you're supposed to be in your dorm room at least a thousand miles from there. she calls the fetch's phone, expecting you to pick up and start explaining yourself. your fetch answers the phone, talks to her, sleep-drunk and confused as to why she's calling so late, but the person she's looking at has made no motion at all. they're not talking. they have not picked up the phone. but that's her kid's face, she's sure. what the fuck?)

for low-humanity ancillae/elder kindred, having their child back might bring about long-forgotten mortal feelings of genuine parental love, although they might express in the very unorthodox way kindred would. they simply do not understand why their child does not want to be around them. they just want to bond with you and keep you safe where kindred and fae can't get to you, make up for lost time. what do you mean they're "just like your keeeper"?

i think a lot of kindred parents will leave you be, mostly brujah or gangrel, knowing you'll be safer if they keep you away from their world. provided there was no fetch to replace you, they think it's amazing enough you were found alive and well after years of being a missing person. you don't like talking about what happened in your... "durance"... fine, they'll keep the investigators off your back, too. they might not even know you're no longer human. but they are going to check on you once in a while, or keep tabs on you, or even have some of their people watch you from a distance. just to make sure.

(just don't let them catch wind of all the changeling shenanigans or huntsmen attacks on your person. that might just change their mind...)

kindred parents might believe you're safer away from their world, yes, but they can just as easily bring you into the mess of kindred society without a second thought.

not very fun being a fairest when your toreador mother insists you show your mien to impress her fellow clan mates and other kindred with your overwhelming beauty. she's always been a pageant mom, so this shouldn't surprise you. there's several layers of wrongness to this, from having your changeling identity exposed to multiple vampires to further your mother's social status to this very situation bringing back so many unpleasant memories from your durance, and it's bound to end badly.

(the toreador pageant mom could very easily be a nosferatu pageant mom, a cleopatra now living vicariously through your fae-given beauty.)

(she will realize how terrible a mistake that was when vampires start really paying attention to you. or not. who knows.)

(gifts that could easily have come from a true fae lord start pouring in. letters written in excessive passion, bouquets of bloody roses, dresses made out of human skin, all delivered by equally dazed-looking ghouls. perhaps your mother will know, then, she fucked up severely. or maybe she'll just tell you to be grateful for those wonderful gifts.)

on another hand, a nosferatu parent taking one look at their fairest child's mien and deciding "oh. no kindred can see you like. ever. stay away from toreador specifically". you don't know what a toreador is, but you'll try to heed the advice.

your ancilla mother meets your motley and proceeds to show them baby pictures of you, taken in the 1870s shortly before your abduction to Faerie. they are very well preserved and you look most proper in your little sailor outfit.

you have a beast/ogre seeming and your gangrel parent thinks you're pretty rad :) you go hunting together.

your tzimisce dad has living furniture made out of human skin, but it's nothing you haven't seen in arcadia before. he's a little disappointed by your lack of enthusiasm, and very offended when you tell him your keeper had better taste in couches. trying to evade a tzimisce dad after he's been made aware of your existence is a difficult task, and you will get caught and held captive at one point (for your safety, of course!). if there is a fetch currently living your life, they will be immediately killed or horribly tortured (read: vicissitude) for the crime of decieving the tzimisce and impersonating you, regardless of you already having decided to leave said fetch alone.

(tzimisce dad thinks you should be thankful. he dealt with the imposter. shouldn't you be happy?)

(if he’s got cash and has some land within his domain to spare, he might let you build a little home not too far from his own to give you a semblance of independence to try and settle you down. might.)

(on the other hand, you have the chance to become a really good escape artist. take your time in captivity with your tzimisce dad to practice your escaping and running away skills, after all, every good changeling needs it! you also get the bonus of reliving your childhood/teenagehood with all the sneaking out.)

(quick intermission: all of these concepts might result in low-clarity for the changeling?? i'm not too sure how clarity damage works yet.

update: it absolutely might!)

your malkavian mother thinks she's plagued with visions of her missing child, glimpses of what they might look nowadays, wherever they are. this is actually you, visiting her in her dreams through oneiromancy.

(everyone thought, back then, that it was just a scare. you wandered into the forest and for ten hours people searched for you, only to find you safe and sound, without a scratch in your body or a speck of dirt in your shoes hours later. but she knew better. she knew that wasn't really you. it haunted her for the rest of her life, and it haunts her unlife even now. she never made it to the hedge.)

you can't take your tremere parent ANYWHERE. you give in after endless nagging and take them to a goblin market, but their arrogance will get them roped into terrible deals if you don't keep your eyes on them full time. you do take this as an opportunity to show off your changeling capabilities. you're in your element.

(you also drop life-altering bits of Faerie lore at random or inappropriate times. it sends them spiraling. you just hope they won't share it with anyone...)

darkling changeling just chilling with their nosferatu dad in the sewers, sharing rats.

and that's all for today, folks.

[poprock-gangsta]

𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖗

☆ ☆ ☆ 𝑩𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 ☆ ☆ ☆

Summary: If life's hardships can be likened to a living hell, then your existence seems to have plunged into a realm of double torment. The perpetrator of this suffering? None other than Smiley, a figure who paradoxically claims affection for you.

Kinks: Degrading, Impact Play, Breeding (ofc), Humiliation, Sadism

Tw: Gaslighting, Manipulation, Bullying, Violence, Weird Ran

Word Count : 3.7k

Enjoy!

As you sat in class, your mind struggled to focus on the lesson at hand. Despite your best efforts, the minutes dragged on, and it seemed like time had come to a standstill. But just when you thought you couldn't take it any longer, the bell finally rang. You gathered your belongings, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid the gaze of your personal executioner.

As you stepped out of the classroom, you were suddenly enveloped into someone's embrace. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was - the familiar scent and uncomfortable pressure of their arms were unmistakable. "Not now, Nahoya," you protested, attempting to squirm your way out of his grasp .

Disgrauding your protest, he tightens his hold, pulling you closer into him until every breath is a struggle and you have to look up at him just to breathe. A wicked grin spreads across his face, as he maneuvers you forcefully towards the rooftop. Your attempts to resist prove fruitless, despite your desperate struggle. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes you both, and you find yourself on the ground, positioned between his legs, while he leans against the fence. As time passes, you endeavor to turn around and catch a glimpse of his face, only to have him thwart your efforts by wrapping his arms around your waist, and burying his chin in your shoulders.

"Come on, Nahoya I’m going to be late!” you urge loudly however he persists, nuzzling his chin deeper into the hollow of your shoulders. The pleas and appeals for understanding continue to fall on deaf ears, until, at last, he grows weary of your entreaties. Letting out a protracted sigh, he concedes, albeit in a sadistic tone that sends a shiver coursing down your spine. "Fine, fine, if you're so desperate to make it to class,give me a kiss," his words echo with an unsettling edge. Caught off guard by his proposition, you hesitate momentarily, but knowing how he was you knew this was your only way of getting out so summoning all your courage you turn around.

With your eyes locked, you reach out to hold his cheeks, gradually leaning closer, only to have him retreat at the last moment, denying your advance. Undeterred, you persistently make subsequent attempts, each ending in the same frustrating manner. Exasperated, you decide you've had enough, and turned back to gaze upon the solid expanse of the cemented rooftop floor. "Aw Snowflake I knew you wanted to spend some time with me " he remarks, in a playful yet theatrical tone. Determined to disregard his comment, you shift your focus to your phone, and text your friend in hopes to get their notes for the day.

Hearing you type causes Nahoya to resolutely rest his neck on your shoulders, drawing you in even closer. “Who are you texting Snowflake?” he says while his once playful tone takes a sharp turn, exuding an air of rudeness and dominance. Attempting to disregard his intrusive question, you find yourself at his mercy as he begins peppering your neck with delicate butterfly kisses. Your instincts compel you to squirm away, but his vice-like grip renders any movement futile, leaving you trapped in his embrace. The incessant teasing reaches its breaking point, and you assertively confront him, stating, "I'm texting my friend to ask if I can borrow his notes since you refuse to let me go."

Abruptly, Nahoya ceases the trail of kisses down your neck and swiftly rises to his feet, simultaneously tugging you up with him. Not uttering a single word, he forcefully presses you against the fence's edge on the rooftop. A sense of confusion lingers in your gaze, yet he perceives it as an invitation, seizing the chance to engage you in a passionate, consuming kiss. As you lean back against the fence, attempting to find stability, Nahoya remains unfazed, wholly consumed by the fervent clash of your tongues.

As your lungs start to sear, you surrender the power struggle. Nahoya detects the intensity of your grip, and after what feels like an eternity, he gradually releases himself. Helplessly, you witness the thread of saliva snap, and just like the thread you collapsed to your knees. Nahoya proceeds to depart, leaving you with a final remark. "Talking about another man while I’m right here is such a turn off, so let's give this another shot after school." And don’t try to run away cause I would rather not have to punish you.

He descends the stairs, his laughter resonating throughout, while you remain seated, lost in contemplation over the recent events. Nahoya had wreaked havoc on your high school existence, tarnishing your reputation through spreading rumors that kept potential relationships at bay. He even went as far as capturing images of himself on your phone, to falsely portray you as a stalker. Moreover, he coerced you into a forced kiss with a guy in the presence of his girlfriend, branding you as a pervert and subjecting you to relentless bullying. So why did a single kiss from him set your heart racing, and why did you find solace in his discomfort? Nothing seemed to align in this bewildering haze.

After regaining composure, you composed yourself and made your way to class. As you took your seat beside your best friend, you noticed your teacher shooting a skeptical glance in your direction. Unlike the rest, your friend saw past the rumors and odd perceptions, never deeming you strange. You made an effort not to burden him, knowing his genuine character, yet his expression betrayed his concern. To alleviate his worries, you hastily jotted down a message on a piece of paper and handed it to him. With a quick read, he responded with an affirming thumbs up. The note simply explained that your tardiness was due to a visit to the nurse's office.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of yet another class, you retreated, this time infused with a newfound fervor compared to earlier. The weight of impending consequences loomed over you, threatening harm to either yourself or someone dear if you dared to be late for your rendezvous with Nahoya. With a hurried motion, you hastily stowed away your last pencil, neglecting to bid farewell to your friend or fully zip up your backpack. Without delay, you bolted out of the classroom, driven by an urgent sense of purpose.

Returning to the rooftop before Nahoya arrived, you gently placed your book bag on the ground, allowing your gaze to descend upon the sprawling campus below. Surprisingly, from this elevated vantage point, the view revealed a captivating beauty that had eluded your perception from ground level. It struck you as paradoxical that a place which inflicted such profound anguish could possess such resplendence in the afternoon light. Regrettably, this allure only served to deepen the painful scars etched within you.

After a brief interval, Nahoya materializes, prompting you to turn your gaze towards him. Yet, his countenance lacks the usual exuberant smile that earned him his moniker. Evidently, he must have detected your suspicion, as he proceeds to explain, "Mikey insists we attend a party to celebrate his sister, and it's crucial that we bring along a companion of the opposite gender to maintain a balanced guest list as we’re Emma's exact words." As he finishes his statement, his anger becomes even more apparent. Drawing nearer, he enfolds you in a tight embrace, before confiding, "Every girl I contemplated inviting was either doused in a cheap ass perfume or concealed beneath layers of fake personalities." In that moment, you discerned his true intention.

Firm and resolute, you assert, "No, Nahoya, I’m not going " emphasizing your words with an air of authority. However, when he retorts, "Well, Snowflake, it would be a shame if something were to happen to your dear friend," a wave of fear and anger overtakes your countenance. Aware of Nahoya 's propensity to act upon his threats, you choose to remain silent, releasing a sigh of resignation before reluctantly conceding, "Fine, I'll go." In that moment, Nahoya finally relinquished his grip on you, planting a hasty kiss on your cheek. "Good. I'll meet you there at 6," he remarks before abruptly dashing off.

After casting one final glance at the enchanting vistas of the campuses, you swiftly made your way back home. With a sense of purpose, you stepped into the refreshing cascade of the shower, commencing your preparations for the evening. At first, uncertainty plagued your choice of attire, until a recollection stirred within you — the prom dress you had purchased but never had the courage to wear, apprehensive of the potential consequences. Determinedly, you locate the dress and carefully slip into its elegant embrace. Adorned with a pair of exquisite earrings and a delicate mist of perfume, you step out the door, embarking on your journey towards the address Nahoya had communicated while you were amidst the shower's rejuvenating waters.

Beneath the seemingly ordinary facade of a vacation setting lay a realm of sheer magnificence awaiting your entry. Stepping inside, you were instantly immersed in its resplendence. The air pulsated with energetic music, and the surroundings teemed with a vibrant tapestry of people engaged in various pursuits—some lost in passionate embraces in secluded corners, while others reveled in the liberating consumption of drinks. In this moment, everything seemed to align, and you found yourself truly enjoying the experience. No judgment or mistreatment weighed upon you; you were free to embrace your authentic self, basking in the brilliance of your existence.

Yet, the euphoria was abruptly shattered when an unfortunate misstep caused you to stumble, resulting in a twisted ankle. Gradually, the pain escalated, prompting you to seek respite in a place of solace. Thankfully, an unoccupied couch beckoned invitingly, conveniently positioned outdoors by the pool. As you reached the couch, you gingerly removed your heels, settling onto its comfortable cushions. Tenderly, you began massaging your ankle, seeking to alleviate the throbbing ache that had encroached upon your otherwise joyous affair.

After a few fleeting moments, you yielded to the impulse of closing your eyes, granting your mind the freedom to wander. Yet, your tranquil reverie was abruptly interrupted by a soft voice interjecting, "May I join you?" Startled, you opened your eyes to find a tall boy with a distinctive hairstyle, his hair twisted into two braided strands of contrasting blonde and black. Respectfully, you removed your feet from the couch, gesturing with your hands for him to take a seat. Obliging, he settled down beside you, and a conversation ensued. "It seems you were seeking some respite in the open air as well," you acknowledged with a nod, seeking to establish a shared connection with your newfound acquaintance.

Amidst the lively atmosphere, a sense of camaraderie blossomed between you and your intriguing new companion. Ran, as you discovered, hailed from a different gang, but had secured an invitation due to his brother's friendships within this circle. Expressing his aversion to the revelry and libations that pervaded the gathering, Ran confided that he sought solace in the fresh air, a sentiment you wholeheartedly shared. Engrossed in conversation, you and Ran continued to converse, gradually drawing closer until your shoulders nearly brushed against each other. This uncharted territory evoked a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty within you, for this was your first genuine connection with someone beyond the confines of your existing friendship.

Just then Ran's hand ventured onto your thigh, an instinctual reaction propelled you to gently place your hand atop his, a subtle gesture intended to halt any further advances. However, instead of acknowledging your boundaries, Ran's tone shifted, his voice acquiring an edge as he urged, "Come on, Doll. You're an enchanting girl, and I wouldn’t mind sharing something more precious with you." His words dripped with a demanding intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Attempting to extricate yourself from the uncomfortable situation, you mustered the courage to rise, only to be forcefully pulled back down by Ran, intensifying your fear and confusion.

Just when it seemed like things were spiraling towards an even darker path, a sudden appearance disrupted the unfolding turmoil. Nahoya materialized before you, but his countenance betrayed a sinister transformation. A grin adorned his face, but it was not the customary playful smile you had grown accustomed to; instead, it bore the malicious smirk he wore every time he succeeded in orchestrating the ruin of a significant aspect of your life. In this unexpected moment, despite the fear gripping you, an inexplicable desire for Nahoya 's intervention surged within you, magnifying the complexity of your emotions.

In that harrowing moment, a devastating realization struck you with unrelenting force—this was all part of Nahoya 's twisted machinations. Tears welled up in your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as Smiley ominously drew closer. The weight of his presence, coupled with the weight of years of torment, caused you to crumble completely. His hand upon you unleashed a torrent of pent-up rage, an outpouring of emotions that surged forth with raw intensity. "Don't you dare lay a finger on me, you sick, despicable bastard! What have I ever done to deserve this treatment? You've shattered my life, you’ve destroyed me!" you exclaimed, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and anguish. Without a moment's hesitation, you fled, racing upstairs and seeking refuge within an empty room.

In that secluded space, devoid of solace or answers, you found yourself sprawled upon the floor, fixated upon the expanse of the ceiling above. It became your silent confidant, a witness to the turmoil consuming your soul. In that vulnerable state, your only recourse was to lay there, hoping that somehow, someway, the mere act of staring at the ceiling would grant respite from the anguish that enveloped you.

As footsteps echo outside the bedroom, you gather your wits, scanning the room to identify the approaching presence. It comes as no surprise when Nahoya appears at the doorway. "What do you want now?" you ask, your voice tinged with despair and desperation. He remains silent, advancing towards you on the floor. In response, you rise from the floor and take a seat on the bed’s edge.

So he joins you, bringing you side by side with the man who has inflicted immeasurable torment upon you. Honesty compels you to admit that the urge to strangle him is overwhelming, yet you valiantly suppress that dark inclination within you.

A tranquil silence enveloped the room, only to be disrupted when Nahoya swiftly seized your waist, pulling you into his lap. You attempt to utter a question, but it is swiftly silenced as Nahoya engulfs you in a passionate, fervent kiss. Struggling against his advances, you vigorously pound your hands against his chest, but he quells your resistance by firmly grasping both of your hands with one of his own. Eventually, he releases his grip, leaving you bewildered, and it is in this moment of perplexity that he utters something utterly unforeseen, catching you off guard.

"I love you," he murmurs gently into your ear, and a surge of emotions floods your being, as if a cherished part of your soul had been brutally torn apart, as if a searing flame had been mercilessly pressed against an open wound. With tear-filled eyes, you lock your gaze upon him, the weight of his words sinking deep within you, intermingling with the memories of his countless transgressions.

"Hahaha, love? Are you mocking me? If inflicting pain upon me is your twisted way of expressing love, then you are even more deranged than I had believed," you retort, your voice trembling with a mix of anguish and frustration. Your tears continue to flow unabated as you vividly recollect the litany of wrongs committed by this man. In that poignant moment, Nahoya abruptly seizes your cheek, his touch both possessive and venomous. "Any man who claims to love you is only seeking to possess your body, and we both know the bitter truth," he hisses, his words laced with a poisonous disdain.

His words struck a painful chord, resonating with a bitter truth. It was an undeniable fact that love had become an elusive concept, forever out of reach for someone like you. He had meticulously orchestrated a web of manipulation, ensuring that you would never experience genuine affection from another. He craved total possession, sparing no one in his relentless pursuit, driving you to a point of no return—a place where he alone held sway over your existence.

Yes, he had succeeded in molding you into his puppet, a mere object to satisfy his whims. However, the scars he had inflicted upon you, both visible and invisible, were etched deep within your being. And now, driven by a seething resolve, you were prepared to exact your revenge, even if it meant sacrificing everything, selling your very soul. Nothing held meaning anymore; your sole purpose had become witnessing his descent into the abyss of moral decay, just as you had.

Driven by your fervent objective, you seized his collar, forcefully pulling him closer until your lips collided in an all-consuming kiss. In that intense moment, a battle for control ensued, as tongues danced and mingled, each vying for supremacy within the confines of your mouths. Gasping for breath, you reluctantly disengaged, allowing the oxygen to replenish your lungs before willingly succumbing to the gravitational pull of one another. The fiery embrace recommenced, an unabated display of ardor, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your veins, awakening a primal desire that stirred between your quivering thighs.

With a swift yet deliberate motion, he gently guides you to recline upon the bed, the weight of his presence enveloping you. As his hands deftly weave through your tresses, your fingers instinctively entwine in his hair, hovering tantalizingly above your supine form. With each deliberate caress, his skillful touch sends electric waves of pleasure coursing through your body, intensifying the growing dampness that permeates your undergarments. "Are you sure ready to give in yet, Snowflake?" he queries, his voice a seductive blend of allure and sophistication, teasingly testing your desires. With a deep inhalation, you nod in affirmation, your breath hitching in anticipation, yearning to experience the euphoric ecstasy only he can bestow.

As he swiftly removed your pants and your adorable ribboned panties, his grin widened. While his fingers creep up your thigh and send shivers up your spine. A trembling moan of surprise escapes your lips as his hand slaps down against your pussy.As he ran his finger along your pouty lips, you melted in his hands. You moaningl arched your back and sank further into the mattress as he drew tight circles on your clit.

He grabbed his cock that was dripping with percum and lined it up at your sopping entrance, slapping his flushed pink tip against it a few times.

I’m He slowly eased his way inside, trying to giving you a chance to get used to his height and bulk. You whimper as you cling to the bed sheets. Just then he slammed himself into your sweet spot , saying, "Your so tight for me , f..fuck." He then dragged his cock back out, leaving only his flushed tip inside.

“M…Naho, too deep…sh~

You began to feel strange and whimpered. He speeds up to a more rough pace. He continued to stuff his thick cock into your cute little cunt. Digging his nail deeper into your love handles every time he slams his cock balls deep into you.

“ M’ mm if I knew y-youu were this goodd I would havvve done thhis years ago f-”

He thrusted hard into you causing you to see stars . It was as if your entire focus was on seducing him into cumming deep inside of you. At that precise moment, he grabbed you by the waist and impaled you on his plump cock, causing his balls to slap against your ass. 10x

He waited for your cunt to begin twitching and spasming around him. Your screams drowned out all other sounds in the room. You’re about to cum for me” Will then you dirty slut go head and cum all over my thick cock? Milk me dry” bet you can’t wait to have my fat load inside.” In a condescending tone, he leaned in and whispered in your ear.

In silence, you allowed him to continue pounding your weeping cunt, groaning into your ear, and biting at your neck. “I want you to cum on my cock like the filthy whore that you are, so "cum for me Snowflake"

After a couple more hard thrusts, you finally unraveled on him, your cunt squeezing so tightly that he started to see stars. Your cum causes a creamy white ring to form on the base of Nahoya cock.

“Fuckkk… I need to be stuffed with my cum. Until it looks like I've used up every last bit of you, but that's fine, because you want me to fuck a cute little baby into you, right?” You nodded absentmindedly as your eyes rolled to the back of your head in response to his meow in your ear. He slammed you against his cock several more times before releasing a stream of warm cum into your uterus. A single step forward felt like it would bring you completely undone.

He held his position so that when he did eventually pull out, as little of his cum as possible would be wasted. You lay there, gasping for air as he gave you gentle thrusts to further embed his cum in your body.

Once he pulled out he got up from the bed and went over to the dresser and pulled out a butt plug. Getting back in bed he opens your legs and places it right inside making sure that not a single drop of his cum was wasted. And with that you pulls you into his embrace and says “ I love you Snowflake, and I can’t wait for a future” you in response braying your chin into his shoulder and whisper mound enough to wear you can only hear it.

“Yep I also can’t wait for are hellish future together”

[ride-thedragon]

Nettles and Alys Parallels.

Finally the mistresses of our polysquare.

1. Witches: Both alys and Nettles are described as witches within the narrative. Both as accusations and explanations for who they are. With Alys, it's both at Harrenhall, and with Nettles, the accusation is at Maidenpool, and the description is in the Vale

2. Undetermined Age: Neither of their ages ar explicitly communicated in the narrative. Nettles is "no older than" 16 appearance wise, and Alys either is 40, looks young, or is an age much older than her appearance would lead you to believe.

3. Unnatural Allegience to Losers: Aemond Daemon mentioned. Yea, they kinda both stay beside their men with uncomfortable and concerning dynamics between them. Hate when bad bitches settles.

4. Wrapped around my Finger: Those men are also on their hands and knees for them. Between Daemon doting and seeming like he'd burn Maidenpool to the ground for her and Aemond torching the Riverlands with a pregnant Alys at his side, they're in their devoted era. The My Alys and Netty nicknames are unmatched.

5. Pregnancy: Both of their narratives uniquely contain pregnancy. For Nettles, a potential pregnancy almost costs her life, and for Alys, it gains her power after the dance. Little Hilbo is the 'rightful' heir to the iron throne at that point.

6. Bastard Daughters: They are both the alleged bastard daughters of House Strong and House Targaryen/ Velayron. In both instances, it's never said their direct relation. That part is left vague. In Nettles case, it's presented so vaguely to imply that she might not be of Valyrian descent at all.

7. Riverlands: Both their stories happen at a point in the Riverlands. Alys is always there, but Nettles specifically comes to the Riverlands and has her plot alongside House Targaryen severed there.

8. I go where you have yet to: Alys is the reason Aemond evades Daemon and Nettles. By whatever means, after flying every day, they never seem to get them, almost as though they are always ahead, and because of the destruction Vhagar is unleashing, Nettles always ends up where they were.

9. Dragons: They both seem to bind themselves to dragons in strange ways. Either actual dragons like Caraxes and Vhagar or in the ties the animals have to them and their riders (one day I'll look back at the dragon reflect your partner narrative) or in Nettles' case with her own tie with Sheepstealer. Alys is also pregnant with the "dragon's bastard."

10.Death to all Men: The men around them either die or have to consider that they will. With Nettles Daemon dies literally once she wasn't around, the Mootons have to contemplate death for protecting her or following orders, Corlys is sentenced for many things but also for defending her and Addam. With Alys, all the men of the house strong are killed, and Aemond dies with her at his side.

11. Older and Younger: They have a power dynamic of being the older and younger ones in relationships they find themselves in.alys as about 40 and Nettles is about 16 to their partners respective 20 and, 49.

12. I come when you go: As soon as Nettles departs from Maidenpool and the Riverlands, Alys returns into the narrative. Nettles' departure is the catalyst for Aemond's and subsequently Alys' return.

13. Power after the Dance: They both come into power "after" the dance. Alys has Hilbo, and as he's the 'rightful heir,' she commands him as such. This is also where we get the most explicit call to her Witch powers. Nettles is likened to a fire Witch and a deity amount the burned men clan of the Vale. Her power also comes from a "dragon" in a similar aspect as the power is most likely her dragon Sheepstealer.

14. Power dynamic: As the women in these relationships and neither of them being Dragon riding Targaryen princes, their relationships have an uncomfortable undertone of how much explicit consent can be drawn. It's not a conversation for this post but one to consider, respectively, and overall.

15. Mistress" Aemond is betrothed to Floris Baratheon at the start of the dance, making Alys his mistress and Daemon is married to Rhaenyra, making Nettles his mistress (allegedly)

16. Allegedly: They are both the alleged lovers of these men, respectively.

17. Fire and Water: Nettles is tied to fire as a dragon rider and the fire Witch. Where Alys' power is tied to water where she sees visions. Alys can also allegedly see visions in fire, and Nettles is thematically tied to water through Driftmark and the one battle she fought in, the Battle of the Gullet.

That's it. I love my girls.

[mx-your-name]

More head canons of Singer!Reader x Yandere Steve Rogers! (+Peggy Carter)

TW: Mention of murder and death, technically kidnapping, yandere behavior, obsessive love, manipulation if you squint your eyes, getting blipped from existence

-Where Steve Rogers would do anything to make you happy and smile to brighten up your day! You’re craving something sweet, sour, spicy? It’s on the table for you, hot and free.

-But he always expects something in return for getting you something as simple as a hug or just a kiss on the cheek, forehead, or the lips.

-Would definitely makes you both a matching bracelet since you used to make them all the time when you were younger

-If you were to ever get hurt like the simplest paper cut, burnt mark, or even hit anybody part on something Steve’s gonna treat it like someone had just stabbed you or something. Even if you keep telling him you're okay, get ready to be on the couch doing absolutely nothing with blankets, pillows, some food on your lap, your favorite movie on, and Steve right by your side cuddling you. Asking if you're comfortable every 10 minutes to make yourself uncomfortable or need the bathroom.

-You being sick would be a whole different story. It’s a sore throat? You can’t talk or sing at all until you're better! It’s a slight cold? You need medicine, blankets, and soup. Do you need the bathroom? Don’t worry he’ll carry you there and back! You're worried about him getting sick as well? He’ll go through the same pain as you so you're not alone through all this.

-When it comes to meeting your family for the first time, Steve is getting ready 3 hours earlier making sure to practice his lines and have a great first impression on your parents. He doesn’t wanna risk them saying that he can’t date you. Not like he’ll listen either way You tell him that he doesn’t need to do all that, oh yes he does he needs your father’s approval on you getting married. He’ll bring your moms favorite flowers to impress both of them. You have siblings? Don’t worry he knows how to get kids to think he’s amazing! You have a sibling that’s a teenager and doesn’t liken him? It’s alright, he just needs to find out what they like and don’t like.

-The first time that he had heard about your ex’s he was a bit angry on why they’d treat you like the way they did. Oh you never talked about your ex’s to him? You must’ve let it slip out when drinking on movie night one time.

-Onto the mention of movie night. Every Friday night he’d come home and spend time with you, eating some dinner with you before heading over to the couch to watch some movies, not like you had much of a choice if you wanted to or not. Though you’d have to explain some movies to him sometimes since he still didn’t understand much about what had happened after he got iced for 70 years after all.

-He killed your ex one night when you sleeping, tired for cleaning all day and totally not the drugged drink

-What do you mean one of your ex-boyfriend’s bodies is on the news? He shouldn’t have stayed out so late, after all there are a lot of killers out there killing innocent people.

-You wanna outside? Why? You have everything you would ever want and need here with him

-He’s a trained super soldier so of course you knew that fighting against him wasn’t gonna do much for you. Did you still try too? Yeah.

Infinity War

-When it comes to the end of Infinity War Steve didn’t hesitate to go straight home to you to make sure you were alive and that you didn’t dust like the rest of half the population

-You were home just watching a movie when you felt something weird happen to your body. Your cat that Steve had gotten you for your birthday by your side. Lifting one hand up to pet for it to go through confused to see your cat - who was named Mittens - let out a meow. You were freaked out by that bowl of popcorn falling onto the ground as you tried picking Mittens up for her to completely vanish. Tears pouring down your fast as you panic on where your cat had gone, looking down at your hand to see it turning to dust just like your cat had done a minute ago. The tears falling on your lap as you dust away into the living room to where your cat had gone

-Steve slammed the door open looking around the room yelling your name. He felt panicked, he had lost Bucky to the snap and he couldn’t just lose you either just like that. When searching the whole house to not only find you but also Mittens, going to the living room to see the bowl of popcorn dumped onto the ground left there untouched.

-When you were dusted into the soul stone the only thing you saw was orange everything. An orange ground, orange sky, and orange everything. But one thing that wasn’t orange was yourself, looking around confused on what was going on

-Venturing through the giant open space, your pajamas still on since you didn’t really wanna change out of warm comfortable clothes, soon running into what seemed to be Mittens who was running over to you

-It'd be an understatement if you were told that you didn’t miss your cat Mittens, it felt like the only thing that made everything alright was your cat.

Endgame

-For the last 5 years that you were blipped he’d be going through a terrible time not only did he lose Bucky but he lost you. And when it was you it felt like he couldn’t at least save the person he so dearly loves more than anyone. Besides Peggy Carter of course.

-So when Tony had finally invented time travel so they could defeat Thanos and bring back half thr population that was dusted. Steve was over the moon happy that they were one step away from being everyone back. Bringing you back.

-Once the second they won the war and were back on Earth Steve didn’t hesitate to take off running back home where the two of you live. He made sure the house and everything in it was kept the same.

-One moment you were with Mittens the next you were both dusting away once again, holding tightly onto your cat not knowing what could happen to either of you after all this. The next you were back at your house, the bowl of popcorn gone but Mittens in your arms once again. As if everything was the simplest dream.

-When Steve came through the front door a bit different than equals you were taken back by how changed he was.

-Never have you hugged tightly or for a whole day. You sat on the couch the entire time, and when you had to go to the bathroom he’d wait outside immediately hugging you once again, also asking if you were okay. When you were hungry both of you were in the kitchen, Steve hugging you from behind not once leaving your side.

-Now when it came to Peggy, Steve would either choose Peggy to come along with him or he’d bring you back into the past but it mostly always ended with Steve bringing Peggy to the future.

-Peggy would be taken back at first and a bit heart broken but understanding. She’d also grow to love you as well just as much Steve loves you. Maybe even more than Steve a bit.

-Back to Steve, he’d make sure that you always came first - which Peggy agreed on - he lost you once for 5 whole years and he wasn’t willing to lose you again. So maybe say goodbye to ever stepping foot outside, not like you ever did before you vanished.

[painted-bees]

reading through your hinote tags it was interesting to learn that Raf still likes preforming and even misses playing large shows, but avoids getting sucked back into it. As an adult, you'd think he could just return to preforming on his own terms and play any stage he wants. Does a fear of success keeps him away from it? Sorry if this was already explained somewhere and I missed it.

Sssorta haha! He doesn't want to gain too much traction and attract media attention, because it'll inevitably liken his current career/his current self to his past...And almost none of the things he had said about himself, very few of the views he presented in interviews and such, none of it was really him, what he believed, what he liked, or how he, himself, wanted to be perceived. He likes playing the character on stage, but hates the notion of that character following him and being projected onto him in day to day life. On one hand, he doesn't want random people to see him and know him accurately--which is why the stage persona is so great. But on the other hand, the media personality his mother curated is too far removed from his own tastes and sensibilities, that it feels like an ill-fitting skin and makes him physically uncomfortable to be identified as and associated with it. Increased visibility as a performer would kinda force him to contend with that in a way he really would rather not. It's not worth it for him. AND he does not want to attract his family's attention. He doesn't want them contacting him about his career. He wants to be as tiny and invisible to them as possible.

Secondly, and more acutely, though--his symptoms after a show--any show--really suck. He gets nervous leading up to a performance, but it's usually perfectly manageable. He's normally in relatively good spirits about it. Then on stage, he gets a nice little thrill and the feeling of "man, yeah! I need to let myself do this more often!" But then, once the show is over, he's in the backstage bathroom vomiting, and spends the next week struggling to recover from a depressed hangover with 0 motivation, energy, or excitement for anything. He hasn't...figured out how to avoid this extremely consistent pattern. It's weird, because he feels fine during the performance, even if there's a break in between or some such. But as soon as it's properly over, the nerves hit him hard--and once the anxiety passes, he's just an exhausted, deflated, apathetic husk with a very, very low mood about it. That's what kinda keeps him off the stage, and prevents him from doing shows on any kind of consistent basis. He can only really commit to doing them if he's feeling really good about things--and if he can afford the inevitable "crash" week that always follows. If that were less of an ailment for him, he might be more inclined to at least humor the idea of reinventing his persona and returning to musical performance on a more serious/professional/consistent basis. Alas.

[dinoshimaaa]

one day, i will stop falling in love with you. (pt 1)

love, oh, love! the unstoppable force of nature, the very thing that makes us human. love is so beautiful. love is the everlasting sky and grass and sea and love is as similarly painful as it is ethereal. love is painful in the sacrifices made and the unspoken words and the unshed tears. oh, love is beauty and love is pain. love is worth everything just as much as it is not. (feat. kazuha, xiao, albedo, gn! reader) (pt 2 here)

or: this silly crush of theirs will pass. soon. maybe.

-

the winds are the sole witness to the poems that kazuha writes in your name (an embarrassing amount, in fact), most of which after completion are crumpled and disposed of, never to see the light of day again. there are some he is slightly more proud of and keeps for rereading on a much, much later date when he misses you. not that you’d know. not that you’d find out.

the first few poems of you were mostly childish, dreamy, and romantic; some of them about you being likened to a deity of some kind, descending upon teyvat to bless it with your otherworldly existence, or a flower that never stops blooming (or at least, that was how kazuha initially saw you: through rose-tinted glasses), but after having spent more time with you, the rose-tint faded away and his writing style develops into something more mature; the promise of an eternal love, enduring of hardships just for you, endless yearning from his side.

recently, the poems kazuha wrote have become more and more melancholic. the yearning stays, but now without the hope that it is reciprocated; the eternal love remains everlasting, but you never once look in his direction. just like his works of literature, the expression he wears everyday becomes evident of his emotions of late, too. many sailors of the crux are jesting about kazuha’s heart being broken by a fleeting infatuation which would explain the bitter smile he shows quite often (but is it really a jest if it is technically true?)

you leave after another visit, only having shown kazuha affection that stays within the platonic boundary. you have shown no desire to push further into something more. kazuha is aware that he has to get rid of his feelings soon, for he has been chasing this unrequited love for too long, and it is time to put a stop to his heart’s suffering.

one day, he will enter his room, pick up his quill, and write the final poem dedicated to you that holds a goodbye with indescribable bitter emotion, and maybe finally move on from you. that day will witness the end to all the days he spent cradling his unsent poems to his chest as he sleeps, teardrops falling onto the paper like a leaky faucet.

but today is not that day, not yet. let kazuha look at your retreating back for now once more.

-

the set of days that bring xiao the most peace is surprisingly lantern rite, despite the bustling atmosphere it fills liyue harbor with every year. to be specific, xiao feels the illusion of never-ending peace at the time when everyone releases their lanterns and they all illuminate the sky with the hopes and dreams of the mortals.

he sits on the grass again this year, positioning himself to get a good view for the lantern-releasing this time round. and this time, he is not alone.

you sit a respectful distance away from him. not too close to make a stranger uncomfortable, not too far to give him a stranger’s treatment. your hands rest behind you, supporting your torso as you lean back slightly, and you face up with your eyes closed and smiling in pleasure. xiao wordlessly watches your legs swing back and forth on the edge of the cliff, not doing anything about it. it felt like it was just supposed to be there, so he let it be. (if it were anyone else, he’d be slightly irritated from the nonstop movement.)

watch yourself, he says anyway. you can’t teleport midair like i do. there’s no guarantee i’ll catch you if you fall because of your flailing.

boo, what are you, my mom? you laugh. i’m just swinging my legs, that’s all. there’s nothing else to do while waiting for the lanterns. besides, i know you’ll catch me.

do i want to? we’ll see about that. he shrugs, earning a pinch from you when you reach over to his arm.

unbeknownst to you, xiao overthinks the words you two exchanged. it’s true he’d catch you if you did fall. he pays too much attention to you, that’s why. too much, in fact, in the way he glances at you ever so often when you’re in his line of sight, in the way he looks for you first when a battle has finished, in the way he thinks of you first when karmic debt creeps up on him.

oh, he’d definitely catch you if you fell. problem is— would you let him?

there is trust in the way you recklessly swing your legs in the air, without a harsh grip on the grass. there is trust that he will save you should you ever fall, and most likely if you were beginning to slip off, he’d prevent that from happening immediately. but that trust is not the same as the trust that xiao shows to you.

you stick flowers in his hair just to rile him up, while he thinks of gathering every flower across teyvat just to make you happy.

the first sighting of lanterns along with your delighted gasp pulls him from his thoughts. slowly, more and more surface from the cliff that both of you are watching from, and it’s not too long before the skies of liyue are dotted with gold.

every other year xiao looks at the lanterns, hoping for true freedom. this year he only looks at you.

it’s a good thing you aren’t paying attention to his staring, gazing only at the lanterns. (secretly, he wishes you would look back at him too.)

-

you are an experiment albedo cannot give a hypothesis to, a variable he has no means of controlling. you are intriguing as you are unpredictable, somehow unintentionally surprising albedo with new behaviour and spunk each passing day.

it doesn’t quite matter if it’s to your liking or not— but albedo is rather drawn to the unknown, the unimagined, the unspoken. you are expressive and yet still an enigma to him, and the desire in him to explore more of you is visceral.

he runs imaginary tests on you in his mind. if he’s fortunate, and if it’s possible, he does physical ones instead. the results that come back surprise him each time, but it would be futile to lie about the growing smile on his face.

the tests draw him more to you. sooner than later, he isn’t just drawn to you through means of experimentation.

it starts when he starts thinking about what you might actually like yourself rather that predicting your reflex behaviour through current data of you. when he starts debating if you would prefer apples to sunsettias. if you’d like to try fish marinated with fruit. if you’d eat anything at all. a couple “if”s later, and he had unknowingly created a sunshine sprat just for you. weird how that just happens out of nowhere, but it can’t go to waste.

(he’s doing this to not waste food, he says, as he gingerly wraps the lunchbox up in his favourite dark blue cloth, using alchemy to keep it warm until you arrive to try it. what do you mean the vegetables accompanying the dish happen to be your favourite? what a funny coincidence.)

the tests become more physical and thoughtless over time. some of them aren’t even planned in advance, too. like that time he subconsciously slid a cecelia behind your ear. or the other time he held your hand to feed himself from a spoon you held, shooting you a sly smirk as he pulled away, leaving you flustered. (haha, take that! who’s the surprised one now?)

he doesn’t remember when it evolves into anticipation of your next visit, or the fluttering feeling in his stomach each time you come over. and then the next thing he knows, the newest experiment involves him wondering if you’d ever let him run his fingers through your hair with gentle intimacy only sweethearts show each other.

albedo stills as he prepares the hypothesis. as always, it is hard to predict. as always, the reason for its unpredictability is…

ah, why’d you have to give such inconsistent results every time he conducts an experiment on you? why’d your reaction have to change with each test he does? don’t you know that consistent results are the basic need to come up with an accurate average to pinpoint the true relationship between the independent and dependent variables?

you’ve ruined it. now it’s going to be hard for albedo to possibly come up with a conclusion for his experiment. he couldn’t possibly spend time on an experiment he knows is impossible to complete, could he? (why would you never seem to reciprocate the interest albedo shows in you?)

not all experiments are meant to succeed, after all. albedo supposes he can let this one be, let it rest. even if the build up to the climax had been too enjoyable to let go. even if it had way too much investment to give up on. even if it ached to see it all go to waste. there was no point in pursuing something that would never give you the results you desire.

-

PLEASE REBLOG IF YOU LIKED IT IM PROUD OF THIS ONE 🙏🙏

[captainwans]

ONLY EYES FOR YOU.

 — B. CHILWELL

pairing: ben chilwell x fem! reader, reece james!platonic x fem! reader

summary: where she was desperate to get ben’s attention—longing for his presence. little did she know that he craved her too.

warning: mutual pining, soft!ben, fluff.

word count:  852 | ( gif not mine! )

masterlist!

…   [Y/N] SAT ACROSS FROM THE STRANGER, uncomfortably shifting in her seat as she watched the latter getting close to Ben—too much for her likening with a slightly annoyed expression. A sharp breath emitted from her lips, her mind wandering back to the awkward encounter with the girl, who happened to randomly show up and show her sudden interest to the football player. She cringed internally, reliving the moment at the back of her mind.

    The strawberry blonde woman simpered, her crimson cheeks glistening from the lights above her as her eyes trailed over to Ben, whose attention was fully on [Y/N], completely oblivious of the signs she gave towards him. He sat beside her, his knee almost touching hers whilst attentively listening to her words.

    [Y/N] gave him a shy smile, biting the insides of her cheeks before continuing with her story. She felt his hand gently brushing against hers, making her heart stutter against her chest. Just as she shifted inside her seat, quickly turning around to grab her purse to bring her phone out, she swiftly turned around, only to be met with her head colliding with a hard back.

    She quietly hissed, her hand grabbing her nose. She groaned, feeling her nose throb at the sudden collision. She looked at the stranger, her back facing and she frowned at the way she brushed her hair away, almost hitting her face.

    [Y/N] clenched her jaw, her gentle feature turning stoic. She titled her head to the side, eyes immediately locked with Ben, who gave her the same expression—his eyebrows knitted together with confusion, wondering how the hell she managed to squeeze in between them.

    They kept sharing another look, both irritated at how their moment was cut off short. [Y/N]’s blood boiled, her laughter filling inside her ears making her eyes turn cold. She clicked her tongue, her head cocked to the side as she watched her body language.

    She watched her turning around, her green eyes locking with hers. [Y/N]’s feature softened, a fake smile reaching her lips making her return the gesture. The strawberry blonde giggled, her flirtatious behaviour making her want to roll her eyes, but she held back. “He’s a real gem, isn’t he?” she gushed, her sweet-honey voice filling her eardrums, causing a tug at her heartstrings, feeling her insecurities bubbling up to the surface.

    Her eyes studied her face, her chest prickling as she had a hard time finding any flaw. Before she could reply back, she was abruptly met with her back facing her. She huffed, her lips forming into a pout, her doe-eyes looking at the pair like a kicked puppy.

    “Frowning doesn’t look good on you,” Reece’s voice seemed to snap her out of her bubble, making her turn her head to him, her scowl deepening.

    She rested a hand under her chin, her lips morphing into a pout as she gave him a blank look. She shrugged, glancing at the side. “She came in between us, I have the right to be bitter.” she simply replied, jaw clenched and gave him another look, not in the mood for his banter.

    Reece chuckled, “Yeah, I saw that. In fact, we all saw that.” he told her, his chest vibrating from laughter, making [Y/N] smack his chest with a glare.

    She rolled his eyes, turning her gaze away from her friend towards her girlfriends. She locked eyes with Sophia, Kai’s girlfriend, who gave her a sympathetic look, hinting at the encounter earlier. She gave her a smile before turning her attention back to Reece, who was balancing three water bottles on top of each other. She scoffed, a giggle escaping her lips as she slapped a bottle away, making him gasp. “Hey, that’s not cool, mate!”

    [Y/N] laughed, her soft giggles echoing across the room. They continued to playfully bicker for a while before Reece broke off their funny moment. “If it makes you feel any better, Ben’s not even paying attention her,” he told her, hiding back the fact that he’s looking at [Y/N].

    She scoffed, “I find that hard to believe—I mean look at her.” she lamented, tilting her head towards her, without looking back at the pair. She was completely unaware of Ben’s eyes on her, making Reece desperately want his friends to admit their feelings to each other.

    Reece gave her a look, his scowl mirroring hers. A frustrated sigh escaped from lips before he grabbed her chin, turning her cheek toward the pair prove his statement. Her startled eyes met Ben’s, his piercing blue eyes staring at her with an amused look. She watched how his lips curved up, a tint of pink dusted across her cheeks at his soft look.

    Her words got stuck inside her throat, his gaze making her knees go weak. She gave him a flustered smile, her eyes quickly averting away from his face toward her friend, who gave her a knowing look. “Do you believe me, now?” Reece cocked, a smirk etched onto his face, earning another slap on his chest.

    “Shut up, James!”

[synokoria]

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone!!! Whether you celebrate or not, here's hoping you've had a good year and wishing you a better upcoming one!!

These images are sneak peaks at images from the upcoming Christmas Otome Fan Book (that we hoped to have finished this year but that's clearly not happening so ...)

As a special treat here's a an unedited extra related to everyone's favourite eccentric doctor from Christmas Otome for anyone interested in reading that:

I glanced at my watch in irritation as I made my way towards paeds. There was still an hour before midnight, but if he wasn’t here then I wouldn’t have time to check anywhere else. Why couldn’t he just stay at home? No, that’s a stupid question - when had he ever made my life easy?

???: “Cantankerous old codger.”

I felt my lips pulling into a fond smile at the thought of him. I’d only been gone for a month but it felt like longer - probably because he couldn’t be bothered to return my calls or texts. He really could turn sulking into an olympic sport. My smile froze the moment I saw him swaying to the festive music coming out of the hospital speakers while belting out the lyrics and stopping only to take large gulps out of a vodka bottle. He hadn’t noticed me yet thanks to my position and I spent a moment just drinking in the sight and his melodious voice.

It was only the reminder of my deadline that had me clapping to get his attention before he could launch into another song. The speed at which he spun around wide-eyed would have been comical if he hadn’t almost toppled over in the process. I was by his side helping him stay up before I’d even registered I’d moved.

Shippe: “You?”

???: “Merry Christmas to you too, Shippe.”

He shrugged my hands off and plopped himself into a nearby seat looking for all the world more like a petulant teenager than a distinguished doctor. I ignored his show of pique and sat down beside him - after decades in his company this was par for the course, really. I took the bottle from his hands and gulped down a swallow only to choke on the unexpected taste. I glared at him through my coughs while he stared at me like I was an idiot.

Shippe: "It's just water."

???: "Why's it in a vodka bottle?!"

Shippe: "It's more fun that way."

That statement was so - so him that I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. God, I’d missed this screwball. He looked away uncomfortably.

Shippe: “Why are you here?”

???: “You know why I’m here - you weren’t at home. Why are *you* here?"

Shippe: "There was no reason to go home."

???: "I'm not a reason to come home?"

Shippe: "You weren't home."

???: "You knew I was coming back to spend Christmas with you."

Shippe: "How was I supposed to know that?"

The sentimental answer was that I always have and always will but I knew that wouldn't be enough for him so I used the practical one instead.

???: "The same way you always do - you check my bills, you phone airlines pretending to be me confirming my return date, you hack my email account. You psycho."

Shippe: "..."

???: "You're telling me you didn't?"

Shippe: "..."

???: "Why?! The one time I expected it of you and you-"

He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing erratically.

Shippe: "I was afraid of the answer."

The vulnerability openly showcased by that admission stunned me. This was a person who preferred to hide behind wordplay and sarcastic jokes, not one that would willingly show his soft underbelly.

???: "You… You had to know I would come back to you."

Shippe: "You went to visit your family without me."

I remembered, then, that we'd argued about it, but then we'd always argued about these sorts of things. It really hadn't struck me as anything out of the ordinary at the time.

???: “I always visit them without you - you hate my family gatherings. You once likened it to giving yourself a lobotomy with a rusty spoon.”

Shippe: “It really does feel like that. Your dad-”

There it was - the jokes he used when things became too emotional. Was he really this bothered by it? Why? As much as I wanted to push the subject, I knew that wasn’t the way to deal with this - not yet anyway.

???: "Your team said you spent your entire vacation time pretty much haunting the hospital."

Shippe: "... I need to assign them more work if all they do is tattle to mommy."

???: "Shippe."

Shippe: "There was work to be done."

???: "There's always work to be done; it's a hospital. You were supposed to be on leave."

Shippe: "I was on leave."

???: "... You do understand that being on leave means *not* taking on new cases, right?"

Shippe: “Well, what was I supposed to do for a whole month then? You weren’t around.”

???: “Okay, I’ll concede that you don’t actually have many hobbies outside of work but you could have gone home at least once. I left you frozen meals in the freezer and the answering machine is pretty much full with messages from me.”

Shippe: “... ”

I waited for an answer - he might have been stubborn but so was I.

Shippe: "I was afraid to find out you'd moved out."

???: “Why would I move out?! I pay the bond! I'd kick you out!”

Shippe: "You're too soft to leave me on the streets even if I deserve worse than that after the things I said."

I tamped down on the urge to tell him that he didn't deserve to be alone; all that would do is make him try to prove me wrong - to push and push the boundaries until something makes me hate him as much as he thinks I should. It wouldn't even be a conscious decision on his part - just his brilliant contrary mind gnawing on what he sees as a fallacious statement.

???: "Since when has this been about what you deserve?"

He made a surprised sound. Good. Any deviation from the script he's spent our time apart simulating in his head was a step closer to bringing him out of the pit he's dug.

???: "I stay because it makes me happy. I can leave you at any time."

Shippe: "No, you can't."

My lips twitched at his automatic response. He'd hate it if he ever realised how much insight our years together have given me into his contrary mind.

I doubled down on my chosen course.

???: "I absolutely can leave. I just don't want to."

Shippe: "No. You -"

There it is - that spark of clarity as he's forced to analyse why he's so certain I can't leave.

Shippe: "You're just as dependent on me as I am on you. I'm the only one you're comfortable enough to be real with instead of putting up that saintly act."

Codependence wasn't the way I'd have chosen to put it but he'd shy away from anything more sentimental.

???: "Is that so?"

Shippe: "It is. I'm your safe space."

'My home - the one place I will always return to - where I can be my truest self' is how I would have phrased it, but he's not wrong.

He leaned his head against my shoulder, seeming a lot more tired now, like he'd taken off a great weight and could finally rest.

Shippe: "You missed the Christmas party. You would have loved it - I had the nurses dress up as Mrs Claus."

???: "I saw the photos in the staff chat. That outfit of yours was something."

Shippe: "I knew you'd enjoy that. Weirdo."

I might not be able to see his face but the grin in his voice was unmistakable.

???: "We're both weirdos."

Even this standing Christmas 'date' of ours seemed to highlight that. After all, neither of us even celebrated the holiday.

But this was just us and I wouldn't have it any other way.

[merakiui]

OHHHHHMYGOD. I loved ur clingy codependent bf azul so much. I literally felt a bit of anxiety reading it, I love azul sm hes baba, but the thought of him being this obsessed ans codependent is so nerve-wracking. you really wouldn't be able to leave him alone once he starts exhibiting signs of mental health issues.. and if this is an au where he has his canon octo form, then hes def the type to cut a tentacle or two of his just to "prove" how serious he is, knowing it will grow back eventually anyway so why not make the most out of it and scare the hell out of darling 😭

UGH AND THE WEDDING TRAPPING. and the fact it only spirals downwards from there. the door and knife scene literally made me pause bc omg.. I was not expecting it to escalate like that.. but it fits SO well!! and darlings realization throughout the drabble is honestly so upsetting because acknowledging that most of their attempts will be futile is so frustrating and hope-killing when they have a slimy and pathetic octo clinging to them 😭😭 and especially now considering how close they and azul are, legality wise. REALLY, I don't know what's so different about this compared to your azul drabbles, but it really had me pacing a little im ngl. maybe it's the fact hes way more blatantly insane and blunt with his obsession or that he's willing to go to more extreme measures? whatever it is, you nailed it and I absolutely loved it!!

and this on a different, more minor note, but are you the same author that wrote the ex scara stuff? reading the azul drabble took me back to this other codependent, obsessed bf drabble i read a few months back. it wad about darling and scara being high school sweethearts, but scara becomes more unstable throughout the relationship, so darling eventually breaks it off with him before going to college. only for ex bf scara to show up, feign innocence and squish himself into darlings friend group as a way to get close to them again, and it ends with scara also wedding trapping them. if u did not write that, I am so sorry 😭 the azul piece just kinda reminded me of it but theyre two separate things and I love each one sm!! srsly, your writing is so addicting I don't understand how you do it. and you pace things so well, like despite the azul piece not being a fully fledged fic, it still has nice pacing. it's not too short or too lengthy, and not too fast or too slow, it keeps you alert and eager to continue!!

AAAAA THANK YOU FOR READING IT!!!! I’m happy you liked it and that you could even feel anxiety from it!! :O I was hoping it could evoke uncomfortable feelings like that, so I’m relieved to know I could succeed in that endeavor!

An Azul who is so dangerously unhealthy and obsessed is always a scary thought. I wanted to write something where it starts seemingly innocent and then becomes something so uncontrollable, much like how most toxic relationships often begin. It’s small and almost cute until it isn’t—until you’re snuffed from the stifling nature of someone’s codependent behaviors. It can be stressful, so I wanted to portray that on both sides. Stressful for Azul because his tendency to panic and overthink when he’s spiraling makes anything like a day out with friends seem like a very stressful thing. Stressful for Reader because they’ve taken on the role of protecting Azul from himself (even though it isn’t a role for them to take on).

Reader probably likens Azul to a glass vase sitting on the edge of a cliff and one strong gust of wind is all it takes for that vase to come crashing down. But then Azul is also highly intelligent and he only takes risks if he knows there will be a reward, so he can peer over the edge of the cliff and he won’t fall. So if he does cut a tentacle or two to prove something to Reader (or scare the life out of them and force them to stay), he does it while fully knowing it’ll grow back. It still hurts, but then Azul thinks this pain is nothing compared to the pain he’ll feel if you leave him forever. “Leave” and “abandon” are so interchangeable for him. They’re somewhat similar words, but “abandon” sounds harsher. You can leave a person and all is well. You can abandon a person and that makes it sound wrong. Hurtful and villainous. It’s such a small thing, but it hooks you every time. Because leaving Azul makes it sound easy. But abandoning him paints you as the bad one—the one who abandoned him in his time of need.

And marriage trapping!!! He’s really so cunning, but Reader’s too busy trying to balance his breakdowns and keep him above the water to realize that beneath all of that he’s actually quite smart. In a marriage, it’s just you and Azul. No one else can truly interfere with that. And for Azul it’s easier to isolate you. You agreed to be his now. You agreed to live with and love him for the rest of your life. You said your vows. You kissed him in front of family and friends. You are a pair now, and that’s unbreakable. Not even divorce can save you because that’s an expensive and lengthy process and even if you did separate in that way you’d still be forced to fret over him and what he might do next. And that’s really scary! The idea of “okay, he’s done this terrible thing…but what’s next?” is always so chilling. What else is this person capable of? is a frightening question to ask when you don’t have an answer. When there isn’t a line to make a clear divide between the crossable and uncrossable or when that line is blurred, it makes it seem like anything is on the table. And since Azul is so codependent, there are always worrying mindsets like: If you aren’t in my world, I shouldn’t be here either. If I can’t have you, no one can. If I lose you, I lose a vital part of myself. My life hinges on you being here with me, so if you’re not in my life there isn’t a life to live. Without you, everything is worthless and meaningless.

Thank you again for liking this piece!! I’m glad it felt different from other Azul thoughts I’ve written. It’s most likely as you’ve said: he’s much more insane and willing to go to extreme lengths for the sake of his obsession. >_< this type of Azul is truly horrifying, but he’s very interesting to write and analyze like this.

And I did write the possessive ex Scara story!!! :D omg for a moment I forgot I had written it until you reminded me! I’m happy you like this one as well. Scara 🤝 Azul: codependent boyfriends who raise your stress meter just by existing. ^^;;;

Aaaaa thank you for thinking my writing is addicting and well-paced!! I’m glad it didn’t feel too slow or too fast as well as too long or too short!! I’m happy it can be an enjoyable, albeit anxiety-inducing, read!!!!

[harryforvogue]

Part One | Chapter Four: Not One To Admit Fault

Greenwich Village, New York

May 1919

The walk back home from the school on Thursday is when I let my mind wander away from Harry and my job. They preoccupy nearly all of my thoughts, I rarely have the time to think about how my day is and if there's anything aside from those two subjects that has been bothering me. My interactions with adults are at an all time low, the last time they'd been this low having been back in France when I'd take care of my siblings when my parents were away at work. I've always had a likening for children, though I've never considered having my own. I couldn't burden myself or Harry with a child.

Thea completely agrees with me. She thinks children only ruin the relationship between two lovers, coming in between and separating them like the plague. While I don't believe this to be true and it's not my reason to not have children, it's a thought to consider. The little intimacy I currently have with Harry would be reduced to nothing. Of course Harry would have to touch me in order for me to become pregnant. And that idea seems laughable enough.

There my thoughts go again, returning back to Harry. I imagine him in bed, reading one of his many books he brought back from the war. When he showed up at New York Pennsylvania Station, his duffel bag was filled with books from places he visited, and I didn't have to pry about them to learn he'd grown very fond of them, reading them even if he didn't understand the language. One of the books is in French. Harry doesn't know French, or at least not enough to string together a coherent sentence, which makes his keeping the book comical to me.

Seeing this particular book in a different language made me realize just the tip of how much Harry changed during the months I didn't see him, transforming into a stranger altogether. Harry would have laughed at books he didn't understand, making fun of the way I read them out loud in certain voices to portray the truth of French nature. Now, he often sleeps with the various books cradled to his chest. On a few occasions, I've tried to remove them from his grasp in an attempt to help him sleep better, but he always rouses and quietly asks me to return his belongings to him.

I don't mind giving into him when he asks for those small things. If it helps him find peace, then I will not be the one to ruin it for him.

When I arrive at home, I sense that the atmosphere is different. I'm not sure what gives it away: the smell of the meat on the stove or the absence of the blanket that's usually thrown over the sofa where Harry naps. Cautiously, I step into the house after removing my shoes and jacket, dabbing at the back of my sweaty neck.

"Harry?"

I find him in the kitchen silently slicing some cucumbers, slowly and deliberately to keep all the pieces uniform. When he hears my shoes, he looks up and lays the knife down, sliding it away. He blinks at me. "I made dinner. Bags are all packed up too."

"Oh. That was quick."

"Just ready to get out of here."

It strikes me that Harry doesn't understand he will be returning to this place in less than three days time. I'm unsure what kind of fantasy he's living in, but this fake world he's made in his head isn't permanent and I'm worried to see the repercussions. One thing seems to be similar between both Harry's and that's his stubbornness. I can tell his mind is made up and everything I say will fall upon with deaf ears.

Luckily for him, I don't have complaints. I've already packed my bags and set them in the living room by the couch.

I eat dinner quietly, looking at Harry. He stares behind me, eyes distanced and hazy as he daydreams about something I've yet to figure out, unblinking.

"Should we buy tickets tonight?" I finally say, putting my wine glass down.

He blinks and looks back at me, eyes slightly wet due to the uncomfortable prick of dryness. He looks at me with an expression that suggests he hasn't thought about getting a head start on tickets for tomorrow. I lay my napkin down and explain, "To make sure tickets don't sell out. After all, it's May. People will be traveling everywhere."

My proposal goes right over his head. "Do you think there will be a crowd tomorrow?"

"Well," I repeat. "It's May. And the weekend. I imagine everyone is going to be traveling."

"Should we go earlier?"

Harry finds large crowds daunting though I'm not sure how I know this given the fact that Harry hasn't had the opportunity to be in a particularly large crowd. And a crowd of children in a classroom doesn't count.

"I'm not sure we can go earlier considering I'm done with work at 3. I can meet you right at the door and make sure we get out as soon as possible, but any time earlier than that isn't possible for me."

Harry nods stiffly, eyes dimming. "Fine, but we'll be there before half past three. That's when the children are let out."

"We don't want those rascals ruining our trip," I say, smiling, hoping for a better response from him, but he doesn't say anything, ducking his head to continue eating.

***

On Friday, Harry's waiting for me outside our house a quarter after three, leaning against the door. He sees me down the street and grabs both suitcases, meeting me halfway.

"You're right on time," he comments, holding my suitcase out for me.

I smile, taking it, purposefully brushing my hand against his. "You know I take punctuality quite seriously." We arrive at the bus stop. Harry checks the paper with the directions and then sits down on the bench, sighing. It only takes us a few minutes to get to the station. We could have walked, but Harry's very adamant about avoiding the children.

I don't expect the station to be busy based on the lack of people on the street. Once we get there, I'm happy to be proven right when the cool station is empty. We descend the stairs and buy tickets to New Brunswick.

One glance at Harry's face tells me what he's thinking of, despite my recent realization that his expression had become nearly impossible for me to read except on occasions where he's beyond uncomfortable. The change is almost immediate as we step onto the platform and I expect him to grab onto something, the railing of the stairs or, possibly, my arm, however the tight hold I so desperately anticipate is never graced upon me. I watch the battle as it becomes more transparent on his face with the on guard expression and the combination of the bag handles being tightly clutched between his fingers. The knuckles crack and grow pink with strain, yet my ever so stubborn husband does not pause to catch his breath or look at me to silently ask if he could have a moment alone. We continue to the platform and stand near one of the pillars.

The train is due to arrive in four minutes, the platform surprisingly empty. I can hear the echoes of my heels as I tap them in place, eagerly craning my neck to see the train as the horn blows in the distance. The platform is empty until the last two minutes before the train arrives and large crowds of late people enter the station, laughing and talking loudly.

A tic forms in Harry's jaw, but he doesn't say anything. Instead of glancing back at the newcomers like I do, menacingly, to get them to be quiet, Harry avoids eye contact altogether and instead chooses to focus on a spot on the track until the train is standing still in front of us.

There is limited space to sit in this train, but Harry continues to lead us to the final car before settling our suitcases in the overhead compartment. As if he's done this multiple times, he tucks them in, secures them, removes his jacket, and gestures to me to sit by the window. Then, he tucks our tickets on the seat ahead of us and finally takes a breath. It's far quieter on the last train.

Our knees brush ever so slightly and I can't help but feel overwhelmed by the sudden touch, reaching out to gently lay my hand over his.

"You're alright," I tell him firmly.

The tic in his jaw returns as he nods. "It's a two hour ride until we change trains in New Jersey. Best catch some sleep if you want. Are you hungry?"

"Not yet."

"Sleep then. Lay your head against the window."

I smile, giving his hand a squeeze. Our wedding rings shine up at us. "Only if you promise me you'll sleep too."

His eyes are dark when he looks at me so I know his next words won't be sincere, but it's his attempt at relaxing me so I take all that I can. It's an effort I'm looking for after all. "Okay," he tells me.

Releasing his hand, I remove my own jacket and bundle it up, pressing it against the window to form a makeshift pillow. The sun shines directly into my face, warming my entire body. I feel Harry's eyes on me. I let myself fall asleep only to briefly wake up for a second to feel the train lurch forward, and then fall back to sleep again.

The sleep, however, only lasts about half an hour and the rest of the trip is spent looking out the window, watching the city disappear and the sparkling ocean appear, making my eyes squint as I try to catch a glimpse of something across the water. Harry once joked with me that if I looked hard enough, I'd be able to see England. As hard as I strain my eyes, I'm unable to make out any buildings on the other side of the ocean, my forehead pressed to the glass.

Harry's still awake besides me, reading one of the books he brought from war. This one is in English, and he seems to be immersed in it because he doesn't catch my eyes watching him for a few minutes.

"It's really beautiful," I finally say. Harry looks up and slants me a look.

"Beautiful?" he asks. "What is?"

You, I think. "The ocean. I'm excited to swim in it."

He looks over my head at the ocean, his own eyes squinting at the shimmering water. "Yes," he says, closing his book softly. "Me too. Did you finish everything at work? I hope you didn't have to rush."

"I didn't. All my students were barely paying attention anyways. Sometimes I wish we could have class outside because they all stare outside the window."

"I'm sure they're glad that you're not a strict teacher."

"How do you know I'm not a strict teacher?"

"I don't think I've ever heard you yell at anyone except me." A flicker of remembrance in his eyes.

I laugh quietly, resting my head back. "You have done some things in the past that required me to yell at you. So you can have some sense knocked into you."

"I can't argue with that." He refuses to look at me. "I used to be quite stupid."

My laughter dies slowly. Harry puts his book away and looks out my window once more, the golden sunlight striking his face beautifully. The scar cutting through his brow nearly disappears, returning immediately when we pass through a tunnel.

I decide to continue in a light tone, wary of jostling him or triggering any ill memories. "It's only been less than a year. Can't say your past self. And how do I know you've become smarter?"

His green eyes finally meet mine, an eyebrow rising in question. "Maybe you can't tell, but I consider myself quite smarter now."

I rest my head on my palm, smiling at him. "Oh, I completely agree, mon chéri. Maybe one day I'll see that, but right now--" I trail off, watching his expression take a dive.

"Please," he says coldly. "Don't call me that."

There are many things that frighten Harry, and the average person would laugh at them. When I enter the house and slam the door a little too loud, when my heels pound against the floor, when I wake him up from a deep sleep, and even my touch, and while I've become accustomed to seeing him becoming startled over these minuscule things, nothing quite settles heavy on my chest as his frightened reaction to the pet name I've called him for years.

It slips out after months of using his name to address him. Under the wrongful impression that he's comfortable, I've called him a term of endearment only he answers to, and I see the alarm on his face, his mouth open as he tries to come up with an answer. His eyelashes flutter with confusion and turmoil, unsure what to say. Finally, he just shuts his mouth.

"Sorry," I say, confused myself, moving back to the window, looking outside again. The pain in my chest is like fire. I want to know why it bothers him, but I'm afraid I'll be offended even more.

He nods once and then reaches for his book, opening it without another word. I look away as if he's burned me, angry and hurt.

***

The New Brunswick train station isn't underground like New York Pennsylvania, so I get some fresh air. It's near a school, though I'm not sure which one.

Our next train arrives. We exchange trains and continue for another two hours.

Due to the tense ride, I'm happy to be in Atlantic City, standing in front of our room. The hot air causes the hair at the back of my neck and hairline to stick to my skin. Harry pushes the door of the hotel room we've purchased open with a rough motion and then lets me enter first.

The room is decorated in a very cliché manner, seashells and pirate anchors on the walls, blue and grey themes throughout. Our room has an oceanside view and a door that leads to a private balcony. The bed is no exception to the beach theme, an ocean blue spread over the sheets and headboard with a framed picture of a baby seahorse above the bed, hanging on the wall oddly. I put my bags down and stare at it as soon as we enter, Harry disappearing into the bathroom to splash some water onto his face. Hands on my hips and head tilted to the side, I inspect the room, my gaze lingering on the seahorse in particular.

"It's an odd choice, isn't it?" I remark, sitting on the bed. "It's massive."

"I imagine it's to add to the beach theme," Harry answers, toweling his face dry. He's taken off his coat, left in his shirt, sleeves rolled up, showing his strong arms.

I nod. "What if it falls on us?"

"Is that what you're worried about? Take it down then."

"No, I don't want to offend the caretakers."

"Leave it then."

I turn around to face him crossing my arms. "Do you think it's ever fallen on a couple when they're having sex?" I laugh to myself, imagining it. "If they're going at it too rough, I mean."

Harry doesn't take my comment as lightly, turning away to his suitcase. He props it on the bed with a big sigh, and unlocks it. "I imagine so."

Dissatisfied with this answer, I drop it. "Can we rest a bit before we head to dinner? My neck is quite stiff."

I suspect he doesn't realize I'm trying to coax him into the bed with me by the way he gives me a distracted nod, pulling out a thinner shirt while unbuttoning the one covering his body. "Go ahead."

Removing my shoes and tucking them under the bed, I crawl over to him, placing my hand cautiously on his wrist to stop his movements. This is when he properly looks at me for the first time since we've arrived and bought a room, a piercing gaze watching me carefully as if to debate my next move and stop it from happening. Noticing his guarded expression, I drop my hand and smile at him apologetically.

"I think you're tired as well. Lay down with me."

He clearly isn't expecting this because his face contorts into a look of sadness and regret, not irritation as I'd imagined and dreaded. He continues unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm not that tired."

"What will you do while I sleep then?"

"I can sit here."

"Well, isn't it easier to lay down rather than sit?"

Harry looks conflicted, the stern lines in his face returning. "Not sure that's a good idea."

I try not to sound too rejected, but it sounds unbelievable even to my own ears. "Is it me? Or is the bed too small? It's pretty comfortable from what I can tell."

He stares at me as if he can't believe what he's hearing. "Annaliese, I'm really not tired. That's all."

"Right. I just thought it would be smart to rest before we continue with the day. You just don't want to admit I'm right."

Now, I can tell his patience is thinning. He rolls his sleeves down. "I've just told you I'm not tired. I will sleep at night. I'm not stopping you from resting."

"Fine," I say, grabbing my pillow and pulling it towards me roughly.

Harry watches me pull the sheets back and lay my head against the pillow. When he removes his suitcase from the bed, the mattress springs back up, only adding to my misery. With the weight of the suitcase, I could at least pretend Harry's behind me, maybe contemplating snaking an arm around my waist to test it and then end up enjoying the warmth of my body pressed to his chest. It seems like a ridiculous idea when he sets the suitcase down, locks it and heads to the bathroom to change into something more summer appropriate.

I hear his heavy footsteps when he departs from the room and then the lock turning behind him. A few seconds later, Harry returns and stands in front of me, his hands stuck in his pockets.

"Don't be upset with me," he says stiffly. "I'm going for a walk." I don't reply and he quietly leaves again.

Once I'm sure he's not returning, I grab his pillow and angrily set it behind my back, creating a small body-like structure against my spine, curling against it as if it's my husband. With frustrated tears in my eyes, I fall asleep.

***

A cool drink on the beach as the sun continues to retreat is the type of vacation that satisfies me and, luckily, Harry as well. I notice his shoulders falling as he lays on the towel beside me, an arm thrown over his eyes, soaking up the sun right before it departs. His own glass rests empty between us. His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the dark blue hue of his towel and shirt. I wonder what he's thinking of, sun blocked from reaching his face, just his lips visible.

His mouth stays in a firm line as usual. I search for the smile lines that were once deeply embedded in his face besides his set of dimples, but I find nothing but clean soft skin. His lips are pink, cupid's bow dipping just the slightest bit for barely anyone to notice except me, whose mouth was once very good friends with him. I know the shape of his lips even if I close my eyes. There's no reason to trace them and draw them in my mind when I can just picture them in the brief moments when I blink. I know their soft touch when he's taking his time and their urgent, frustrated touch when he's a minute from bursting. I can tell when he's worried due to the bites on his lips and I can tell when he's unable to breathe by how swollen his lips are from my kisses. I'm responsible for more than half of the treatment of his lips.

I have to restrain myself from looking back at him as I control my urges to lean over and press my mouth to his. He'll be upset, no doubt, but angry as well. I look at the water instead, focusing on a massive wave that looks big enough to consume me, knowing it won't reach me from my position in the middle of the sand.

Harry stirs next to me and then slowly pushes himself onto his knees. I'm not ready to look at him just yet.

"When do you want to head back? The hotel said late dinner ends at 7."

It's still warm outside, the beach nearly empty. I look at the golden sun. "Soon. I want to watch the sun set."

I see Harry's head nod as he lays back down, arm over his eyes again. "Alright. When the sun sets, then."

***

The sun sets and we return to our room, ordering food there. We sit on the bed, side to side, quietly eating, waiting for the other person to say something striking to start a conversation. It's usually me, so I wait for him to say something first. I wonder if he can feel the awkwardness between us as we eat.

Prior to the war, Harry and I wouldn't run out of things to talk about, whether it be gossip about other people or unimportant things to talk just to talk. If we weren't talking, we'd be arguing. I loved arguing with Harry.

In the end, Harry's the one who says the first thing, though I want to jump him when he does. "I've asked for extra sheets."

I put my fork down to resist the urge to hurl it. As calmly as possible, I reply, "I'm happy to take the floor so you can have the bed."

My casual tone isn't believable. He stands up and puts his plates back on the cart. Instead of returning, he leans against the wall, jaw tight, staring at the floor as if trying to figure out his words. I finish my last bite and put the plate beside me. Harry picks his head up and takes it. He puts it on the cart, wheels it out of the room, and then returns to his place across me.

He finally gathers his strength and looks at me square in the eye, causing a chill to run down my spine. "I wish I could explain it," he says, brows furrowed, crossing his arms. "You asked me earlier if it was you."

I swallow. "Well, is it?"

"God, no. It's not you."

I frown, nodding, twisting the sheets between my fingers. "Is it anything that I can help with?"

Harry looks away, posture stiff. "Annaliese, don't you think I would have asked you to help if it were something you could fix?"

"I don't know, Harry," I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. "You've barely spoken to me so I wouldn't know."

He looks at me blankly. "Do you think I enjoy not being able to talk to you?"

"Do you think I enjoy being far away from you?" I counter, rising to my knees before letting my feet touch the floor, walking to him. He walks back a bit until his body touches the wall. "Do you think I like living in the same place as someone who doesn't want to speak with me?"

"I am not going to argue with you. We're on a holiday. I'm just telling you that there are things I prefer not to talk about and our sleeping arrangements is one of the topics I'd like to avoid."

"I want you to argue with me. I don't care if you get angry or yell. I will take anything from you at this point." I hold my arms out, open and inviting. "Do you see how desperate I am?"

His eyes bounce over my face from my eyes to my nose to my lips and then all over again. His jaw is tight and I'm unsure if he'll even grant me an answer, but to my surprise, he does.

"What do you want from me?" he asks, eyes darkening. "What do you want, Annaliese? Because I'll tell you what I will not do so you better not ask for that. I will not be sleeping next to you. I will not be touched and I will not be interrogated for answers. I don't want to argue with you, so let me have that. I'm not asking a lot from you."

The lack of affection and interaction between us has been an unspoken rule. From the first time Harry flinched from my touch or moved away from me in the middle of the night, I knew touching him too much would be dangerous territory. And it saddened me, but nothing amounts to the feeling in my chest hearing this out loud. This is what he wants. And he thinks he's asking me for something small. As if he's asking me to wash the dishes instead of him because he's too tired.

Stunned and hurt from his words, I take a step back, looking away from him. I twist my fingers nervously, and then nod once. "Fine."

"Thank you," he says, a bit more relaxed.

My eyes sting and I turn away, wounded. "Okay." I swallow and walk to my suitcase on the floor, eager to keep my face hidden from him. I want to bawl until my eyes are dry and my throat is raw, but it'll alarm him even more. "I can still take the floor if you'd like."

"No," he says firmly. "I'll take the floor. You said your neck--"

"My neck is fine now."

"It's alright, Annaliese."

At the sound of my name coming from his mouth, my tears break their barriers. They drip down my cheeks harder, and my fingers begin trembling. I press my palms to my eyes to hide both my tears and my hands, but my voice gives me away. "Okay."

"God, Annaliese," my husband says quietly, apology strung in his voice, automatically stepping closer to me. "Don't cry." He grabs tissues from the side table and holds them out for me. "Don't you dare cry over me, Annaliese, I swear."

"I will cry if I want to," I whisper, yanking the tissues from him, pressing them to my eyes. "If you can say you want your wife to stay far away from you--"

"I didn't say that--"

"Then I can cry if I want. I'm not asking much from you," I repeat his words back to him. "Understand?"

"You don't have to be stubborn about this," he says. "You don't get to cry over me."

Anger nearly makes my veins burst as I glance back at him and stand up, jabbing my finger into his chest. "I will cry if I want to."

Harry doesn't say anything. If he were the Harry I married, he'd do something. Maybe even laugh. But this strange Harry simply watches me with a locked jaw, the defiance in his eyes is as strong as it is in mine. He looks at me as if encouraging me to try again and if I do, he'll make me cry harder, knowing he has the ability to. I drop the tissues and wipe my face with my sleeves, walking around him.

"Why are you so fucking stubborn? I'm trying to have a conversation with you and you're making it seem like I've set the place on fire. Where are you going?"

I shut the bathroom door behind me, eager to put space between us. I need a cold shower. And time away from him.

This is not how I wanted our holiday to go.

[eyesaremosaics]

Limerance

/ˈlimər(ə)ns/

nounPSYCHOLOGY

1. the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings but not primarily for a sexual relationship.

When your heart is heavy from years of unhealed trauma, romantic obsession can feel like the brand new adventure that you have craved for so long. The high can be likened to that of a drug. When reality has so often hurt and disappointed you, the world of your imagination can become a place of refuge. Suddenly, every minuscule interaction can feel profound and deeply spiritual.

I have been both on the giving and receiving end of this phenomenon. Though my situation was tempered with complicated factors, I can honestly say limerance is something I have experienced more than once.

Have you ever had a relationship (or perceived relationship) where the other person rarely interacts with you, but the few times that they do, causes you to fall into this fantasy of what the relationship could/would be like if this person suddenly became emotionally available to you?

My first time encountering limerance, was when I was about 12 or 13 years old. There was a boy in my class, who always stared at me. To the point where it made me very uncomfortable. Another boy in my class, told me they overheard him sexualizing me to other boys in the locker room, expressing explicit things he wished to do with me.

As a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, talking about sex made me vomit. In fact, most of my life I have had to be high or drunk to go through with sexual activity. That is something I still work through, even with a loving and devoted partner.

To return to the point, I was very upset that this person (who I was timidly trying to develop a friendship with) was talking this way and thinking of me like this behind my back. I felt violated. As a result, I was cruel in my rejection of him. Ever since I was a child, I preferred to be in my imagination where no one could hurt me, and found real people as intrusions.

I have regrets about being so unkind. Not just to him, but to many other people who sought connection with me in my childhood. I was too hurt and wounded to trust people easily. My cold indifference to others was the heavy armor I wore.

This boy had an unhealthy obsession with me though. He saw me as his dream girl, and put me on a pedestal, wrote me letters in blood about how I ripped apart his soul etc. —which made me very uncomfortable. I remember even writing him back once when I was 14 or 15 years old, expressing to him that I have never spoken more than a few sentences to him in my entire life, and he can’t possibly feel as strongly about me as he did.

He wrote me back trying to rationalize all the reasons why we were made for each other etc. He went on and on about all that we had in common, and all his predictions about me coming true. “It never stopped. It still hasn’t.” I remember being weirded out, but shrugging it off and returning to my life.

I don’t know what it is about me, but I have had at least 7 stalkers in my life. Men who fell in love with the “image” or the “idea” that they projected on me, and not the reality. I still contend with some of these people trying to contact me from time to time, but knowing that silence is also an answer, has me hoping that silence will be enough to dispel the illusion. What you feed thrives, what you starve, dies.

To summarize this story quickly, I ended up running into the same boy again at a party when we were 18. The creepiest part is that he fashioned himself into a sort of… male version of me. He said he grew his hair out to feel “closer” to me, and used to sit and stare at my picture in the yearbook etc. He wrote all this poetry about me, made all this art dedicated to me. I was overwhelmed by the attention and interest.

I had been in love with a different boy all through high school, one who was also my best friend. The boy I loved, never returned my feelings to the same degree, and this rejection sent me into a spiral of self loathing and deep depression for years to come.

Emotional neglect and abuse in my childhood, led me to fear abandonment, and develop anxious attachments. With all that being said, at 18 years old, having a boy who was seemingly so in love with you and all about you—was very appealing. So I jumped from one unhealthy relationship into another.

After 7 years of pining over me, he finally had me, and once he did—the spell of limerance was broken. You see, what this boy felt for me was not love. It was limerance. He projected a fantasy relationship onto me as a way to escape from his own trauma. Even though this person turned out to be a truly evil person in the end, I will not sink so low as to divulge any of his personal traumas here. Needless to say—there were many traumas that helped create the person he became. He developed a personality disorder to cope with his childhood. Narcissists are made, not born. They are usually born from neglect.

This is where the limerance began for me. Though to be honest, I did experience it with my first love as well. My first love did care about me, I know that for sure as we developed a deep abiding friendship with him afterwards that was totally platonic. However, in the throes of first love, I definitely projected a lot of wishful thinking and obsessive thought onto him.

Going back to this other boy: soon as he had me in real life—he no longer wanted me. He realized that I was a flawed human being, just like everyone else. This shattered the fantasy image he had in his head. The challenge was over, and he withdrew.

Since he is a narcissist, he toyed with my affections for fun. Narcissists have no core self and need to thrive off of others energy. My “love” for him seemed to fuel him (or so ex girlfriends of his have told me). He didn’t want to be with me, because he enjoyed seeing me in pain too much, and also most importantly—because he didn’t love me. Yet I held onto the crumbs, held on to hope. It didn’t help that he kept leaving crumbs (intentionally I’m sure) for me to follow. To keep him on my radar. That’s what abusers do.

It was safe to retreat to my room, to listen to sad songs that made me think of him, to make art to process my feelings, to fantasize and live in the few good moments that we shared. Cradling them like fragile eggshells in my hand. Living in the spiritual realm where we could actually be together and care for each other.

It took me years of therapy and study of psychology to understand what happened in this situation. It did real damage to me for many years. Luckily I came out the other side, and can now look back on this situation with love and empathy for myself—and even for him.

Truthfully, I find him to be rather pitiful. He will never know real love or friendship, and I truly feel sorry for him. I know he wasn’t born evil. I saw these glitches of who he could have been, otherwise I never would have had feelings for him. It’s a shame he chose not to develop his better qualities. He fell hard into evil and destruction. What a waste. Just goes to show you how he really feels about himself, if his greatest joy in life is trying to make others miserable.

His manipulations may have worked in his twenties, but now he’s in his 30s, and it’s getting harder for him to “turn the trick” as they say. He has always had a penchant for manipulating young girls, that shows you his level of emotional maturity right there.

I did the work. I looked honestly at myself and healed all my wounds. I cleaned up my act and got my life together. I have a loving partner, I got promoted at both my jobs, pulling in good money, living in a two bedroom flat in the city, driving a BMW, modeling for famous designers, traveling to new places, making a living off my tarot… I’ve built a beautiful and exciting life for myself. A life full of love, friendship, creativity, and adventure. He has not been able to do that from what I gather from mutual friends and acquaintances. It’s sad.

Looking back I relate this relationship to the moon card in the tarot. The meaning of this card is duplicitous, for the romantic state can be one of inspiration—but also illusion. The true meaning of the card is to be your authentic self, as opposed to being your dutiful self or fulfilling a role in others expectations of you.

His case was very clearly limerance, since we had no relationship and no real contact at the time he was experiencing it. For me it was more complicated, because at the point I was experiencing it, we already had a 7-8 year history. At that point we had been intimate on multiple occasions, and he lied to me saying we were in a relationship and that he broke up with his girlfriend to be with me. Later he dropped me like a hot rock to go back to this underage girl. Real winner this guy, how I never saw the signs, I dunno.

After he broke things off with me, he still tried to encourage my feelings by sending me texts like: “you’re beautiful and constantly in my thoughts”. Or trying to poke at me on social media, message me occasionally etc. He even would come around once in a while and hang out with me or sleep with me, knowing I was infatuated and wouldn’t say no.

So my limerance was based on years of inconsistent interaction, intermittent reinforcement as they call it. The link to my article in intermittent reinforcement can be found HERE. However, the truth of it was, this person is incapable of real human emotions, but worse than that—he didn’t actually care for me at all. He used me to satisfy his own sexual desires, but mainly to stroke his ego, to feed off my energy.

I would have been able to cut ties with him years prior if it weren’t for the dreams. We did seem to share an almost psychic connection, and shared dreams in tandem on more than one occasion. He and I both experienced this, and it’s the only reason I put up with the BS for so long. It caused me to see meaning in every little interaction we had, it had me fantasizing about this great “Dracula-esque” kind of love I thought we both wanted.

The truth was, I found meaning when there wasn’t any, and in my loneliness and unhealed trauma I escaped into my fantasy world. It was safer there. Now I won’t sugar coat it, this guy was downright abusive and cruel to me. Regardless if he felt that way about me or not, he could have let me down gently and then ceased all contact instead of returning over and over trying to stir up my feelings and abandon me again.

However, hurt people—hurt people as they say. I still don’t hate him, even though I probably should. I don’t hate anyone really, it’s just not in my nature to do that. There are people I really dislike because of how they treat me or others, who I don’t want contact with, but I don’t hate them.

He wasn’t the only person I experienced this with, as I said—my first love, along with a boyfriend I broke up with in 2016. It was an old habit of mine to pine and wallow and dream of how it could all be beautiful if it weren’t for this or that. I tended to romanticize relationships after they were over. It took me years to realize what I was doing, and now that I know there is a name for it, I feel suddenly free.

I’ve been in a healthy relationship for three years now, with a partner who actually loves and cares about me. Who sees me and wants to see more. Who loves me in spite of my faults, as I do in turn. It’s my first time experiencing an equal relationship. Usually the power balance was off. In the past I dated guys who were a lot older than me, 4-18 years older on one occasion. Most of these relationships were controlling and abusive, I was just too down on myself to see it. The bittersweet ones were relationships that were simply incompatible abd crumbled apart eventually. In many situations my fear of abandonment caused me to stay in unhealthy relationships waaay too long.

The reason I am sharing my experience today, is because I hope it resonates with anyone out there experiencing this “obsessive love” for another person.

No you’re not a freak.

No you’re not stupid.

What you are is human, a human who has had a lot of trauma in their life, and is experiencing a very common phenomena among people with CPTSD or anxious attachment. It’s very common for children who were neglected emotionally, to escape into their imagination to get the support they are not getting in real life.

I likened the feeling I experienced in this limerant state, to be walking in the land of the dead. In the same way that you cannot actually experience those who have died except in your imagination … it is the same with this person you are projecting your feelings on. Nothing can grow, or truly exist, because you are walking in the land of the dead. Living in the past, sometimes a past that wasn’t even real.

Have compassion for yourself. Be gentle with your heart as it heals. Know that there are real people here on earth, in the land of the living, who want to love and experience you. There are real men and women looking for the same deep level of connection that you are seeking, but you will never meet them with your head in the clouds.

Brutal honesty with oneself is the key to breaking this spell. It will hurt at first to tell yourself the truth. Deep down, you know. You know this isn’t right. You know you shouldn’t be feeling like this. Love is not supposed to hurt. It’s a beautiful, splendid thing that lifts you up and brings out the best in you. Love is magical, and it truly is all anyone needs.

As I said before, change is hard, sitting with the reality of the situation, the cold unvarnished truth, will hurt. You will be disillusioned, and you may even experience an existential emptiness as I did, but you will heal. You will meet others who will see you, who want to know you, and love you. You’ll be surprised how quickly it happens once you start believing in and standing up for yourself.

If something feels off, it probably is, and you have always had the power inside you to leave. It was in you all along. You have the power to say: you know what? This doesn’t work for me. I deserve better treatment than this. I deserve to love and be loved in return. You have the power to walk away and never look back. With practice, you will get there.

After living in this energy for 15 years, I am living proof you can and will survive it. If I could do it, so can you.

Bright blessings, and oceans of love 💕

-Megan