#mama's boy disease

[hiswrlds]

“ Yeah !  I may be a son of a bitch . ” 

“ But only paternally . ” 

[suokokuism]

how do ppl look at dazai and fyodor and not see the mommy issues religious trauma material

[circeyoru]

You Think It’s That Easy? = Requested

[Yandere Human!Alastor x Arranged Marriage!Reader]

The Request (1) + (2)

Part 2 is out, please check Masterlist for the link

I supposed that it would be heavily implied that Reader here is female, cause I can’t imagine Alastor’s time letting male and male into a marriage. Sorry to my male readers!

A friendship between families is not something to be happy about. At least, to the children of the two families it isn’t

“Darling, meet Alastor, for now you two aren’t of age yet, but in time, you two will be married.”

That line was what chained you down to another without room for rejection or say. Luckily, Alastor himself wasn’t keen on the idea as well, so whenever you two were out of your parents’ sights, you two were off to do as you please

Your parents ran a successful shipping company, leading them to be absent throughout your childhood. They sent you to live with their friend, Alastor’s parents, later the idea of marrying you two was formed. Alastor’s father ran a factory, producing metal and machinary, so he was well off. There wasn’t a thing out of place, except maybe the greedy he has to money

With the lack of parents, you had to rely on yourself and you had plenty of private lessons to prepare yourself before going to going to school. You saw Alastor’s father as a sinful man that leeched off of your parents’ fame. The idea of marriage was mainly from him as well, since he wanted more compensation on top of what was given to him while taking care of you

Alastor was more of a mama’s boy, as you took notice. Very obedient to her, yet when it came to his father, he was much like a doll. You also saw his father as abusive, though he played the kind and sweet father figure when you were around, when you were out of sight, his switch is flipped. You leaned to Alastor’s wounds when you caught him reaching for a med-kit in the dead of night

The two of you made your peace with the arranged marriage after sometime spending at school. You two also thought of just going through with it since either of you found ‘love’, nor did you two want to disappoint your parents

A glorious wedding day supposed to be the best day of one’s life was a dull ceremony for you and merely a formality for Alastor. Vows spoken with the intent to break, rings exchanged as mere jellewery, and a kiss shared just as a performance on stage. Somehow, the smiles on your respective parents’ face was worth the trouble

You two moved out and lived in a mansion that was affordable. You two slept in separate rooms, nearly nothing was shared. The situation was much like a roommate. Nothing between you two suggested that there was the concept of ‘love’

Though an odd friendship of mutual acceptance and private support was formed. While you both had your fair share of friends and connections, you knew you could always rely on the other for anything because you’ve known the other your whole life and seen the ugly side of the other and accepted it

Like when Alastor’s father was accidentally killed in a factor fire and his mother passed away from an incurable disease not long after. Or your parents that died from a shipwreck while out at sea during a vacation you refused to go. During these traumatic times, while people around you two tried to claw at you, the other would protect and be a source of comfort

That’s why you two agreed to have the marriage stay in tact. It will be broken off when either one finds a partner that was ‘true love’

And that time came faster than imagined. You found that love you wanted, you didn’t tell anyone, opting to keep it a secret. You had a face to put on, so does your love. You knew Alastor would understand, in fact, he’d be ecsatic for you. Since this meant he would be free of this playing house game. You honestly figured Alastor had a lover of his own as well, since he returns home so late and would immediately head to the showers to clean before falling asleep

Everything planned for your leave, you didn’t inform Alastor and thought it was fine for you to just leave with your love. You did and none was the wiser. As a form of curtsy and thanks, you left Alastor a great sum of money, a letter of farewell, your wedding ring and signed marriage divorce papers. If he wanted, maybe you two could do on a double date?

While you were happy and dandy with the arrangement, Alastor found himself unable to go through with it when that time come. His hands crunched up the letter and he shoved away all that money. You see, he never expected it, but he fell for you in a way it wouldn’t be considered normal. You were someone he just want to let go

Starting that factory fire was easy, call it a trial. He hates his father, yes, but he also wanted to see if you’d break off the marriage since his father was the one to suggest the idea. But you didn’t and offered him a shoulder to ‘cry’ on, he realized then, that he prefered your presence other than his mother’s

“Alastor, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, My Dear. Accidents happen all the time.”

“No, it’s not!” You suddenly hugged him out of nowhere, you knew perfectly well of his aversion to touch, yet you hugged him tight and provided your shoulder, “Don’t hold it in, Alastor. It’s not good for you. I’ll be right here for you.”

Slowly, Alastor returned the hug. His arms wrapped tightly against you, he let his face bury between your neck and shoulder and forced tears out. When he felt your hands patting the back of his head and soothing his back, a sickly grin formed. He likes this.

He realized his love for you when you mentioned some unsatisfactory suitors that approached you even when your wedding day was near. He killed a few and faked some accidents there. Then he had that was your parents that wanted to stop the wedding since his father was dead and you didn’t appear interested in him

So he found some people with a grudge against your family and planned an accident during their vacation. He appeared as your knight in shinning armour when those some people targetted you. He catched them away, but he just had to off them for attempting to harm you. There, after everything blew off, he offered his hand in this staged marriage as a form of support to you. You needed a husband to rely on, even though you have the money, a lady such as yourself can’t last long alone

The moment you accepted, he got to work. Rooms changed to a shared bedroom, you two would appear as a couple in cafes to enjoy meals and breaks. Everything to make it seem like you two were truly a couple instead of what happened before

Alas, his time with you was very limited. With his popular radio shows and nighty activities, he couldn’t keep up with you. But in his eyes you didn’t change much, so he continued. He noticed you were happier, but when you didn’t tell him anything, he didn’t know what was happening. He assumed you had a successful deal made or the like

“Darling! Dear! I’m home!”

But all that returned his greeting was the empty silence of the mansion.

To think you found your love without telling him. He was careful to eliminate any potential lovers of yours. How did he miss this one?! He’ll admit he was busier than usual, but he had been keeping an eye on you. What went wrong?

As dramatic as it sounded, he felt like his life was sucked out of him when he saw the papers on the table. The flowers he brought, which were your favourite, and the ingredients he brought to make your favourite meal were long discarded on the floor. He left work early to celebrate your anniversary with you and you left?

He scrambled up his and your shared bedroom, your personal belongings and stuffs were all gone. He went to his study, your files, documents, and books were all gone. He went to the kitchen, your favourite kitchenwares were gone too. His knees gave out beneath him, you truly left. You left him

“I wish you a happy life with your lover, Alastor! Don’t mistreat her! And it’s not proper to stay out too late into the night, Alastor~” Those inferno words that taunted him. He could practically hear your voice teasing him from the letter. Did you think he had a lover too? How could he when he loves (is obsessed with) you?

Blasphemy! 

The next day, ladies were eager to comfort him and console him. The news of his divorce and that he was a free man was all over town, no doubt something you did to ensure that he and his supposed ‘love’ can be together in public. He was in no mood to entertain them

Alastor buried himself in his work, radio broadcasting and killing. As much as he wanted to hunt you down and kill whoever stole your heart from under his nose, he can’t. The two of you were famous in your own rights and it would cause quite the scandal that both of you might not recover

So he took out his witchcraft book. Binding souls request both souls’ blood and hair, he had collected yours beforehand. A sacrifice, the body in front of him will do well, it was the some person that tried to copy you and earn his love

He’ll see you in Hell and when he does, Alastor will not let you go

Note: Another story that's not {Unwanted Soul}! I'll probably continue that one when all the votes are in. At least, the new plotline will be like that.

Since this request was a long time ago, I went and made it longer than others. Hope you like this one in the meantime!

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

[gamblersdoll]

hihi! idk if you’ve done smth like this , if not could u write like apologetic typa sex w denki after he fucks up or smth, like if he reaalllyy pisses u off and you wont speak to him

js a random thought i had😭😭

ooouuu anon i like you, have a cupcake!

“please, ma— just talk to me!” hes been devastated for about a week, knowing he shouldnt had added someone. it wasn’t a girl, but it was definitely someone who had the hots for him. and knowing denki? he could pull anyone he wanted. “i said i was sorry!”

“and i said i was mad, you know better, you barely short circuit anymore.” you remind him for the eleventh time in person. you had approximately six hundred and fourteen messages from him alone, maybe he was remorseful. “hitoshi is literally the college manwhore, so why did you add him back?”

“i dunno okay? i was just being nice!”

“and where does ‘bein nice’ get you? dead in a ditch, a kid, or some kind of disease.” you remind him one of your golden rules, being nice didn’t necessarily mean you get that back. “you might as well have texted hitoshi, since you wanna be so nice.”

what you dont necessarily expect is him to stop you in your tracks— in your own apartment, to get on his knees and bow to you. “boy, what the hell—“

“please,” he starts, his head low and he looks back up to you, puppy dog eyed. “ill let you do anything you want, whatever you want, ill be some toy or something even if you want to use me— just please, talk to me! ill make everything right again, please mama.”

“stop with all of the little pecks, you know better.” you pull his hair, showing his forehead and he nods.

“yes maam.”

you finally let go of your vice grip, his head going back down and you roll your eyes in pleasure. he finally realized what kind of timing you were on, and fuck, did he love it when you get mad. “yer squeezing my— fi-fingers, baby..” he says, “god, youre so tight..”

“less talking, more eating.” you remind, shoving his face in between your folds. “there you go.. did you just want to get used? is that what it was?” you ask, biting your knuckle to keep a moan in. “thats it.. use your tongue, baby.”

“so sorry..” he moans with your enlarged clit in his mouth. “sorry i followed him back..” he looked cute, his eyes heavy with lust and having your arousal up to his eyebrows. “ohmygoddd— you taste so good when you hate me..”

“such a dirty boy..” you moan, feeling his tongue lick up to your throat and his fingers press past your ring of muscle. “fuck— baby youll make me come already doin that..”

“the least i could do right..? fuckk—“ he moans with you, thrusting his fingers inside along with his hips. he was weird, pressing his hand against his groin and thrusting his fingers inside as if a cock. “forgive me, pleaaasee?” he draws out the moan, along with his thrusts.

“forgive you, baby— fuck, im comin!” he squeal, kissing his jaw and he licks at your cheek trying to catch your lips.

[romaevelizz]

Thinking about dad!Tenya UGH IVE HAD THISNIN MY MIND ALL DAY!!

Blkfem!reader not proofread!

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

How when Tenya gets home he sees her holding their son Elijah as she cooked breakfast. The normally loud and bubbly 3 year old sulking in her arms. His little girl sitting Elani sitting at the counter,

“Hi Daddy!” She said.

“Hi Princess.” He spoke kissing his daughter’s face.

Walked around the island giving his wife a kiss then asking “Elijah what’s wrong?” He spoke his hand rubbing his sons back giving his a kiss in the back of the head.

“He bumped his head.” She spoke leaning her head in her sons.

Tenyas gave her a look only shaking his head. “Are you okay Elijah?” He asked after earning a glare from his wife.

He shook his head. “Alright buddy how about you go sit up at the counter with your sister.” He said garbing him from under the arms setting him in the floor letting him go sit next to his sister.

After he looked at you, “you have to stop babying him my love..” he whispered his hand touching her waist softly.

“I can do what I want he’s my baby, plus he ran into a wall twice…” she said.

“He ran into a wall?”

She shook her head flipping the pancakes.

“I think we should get his eyes checked Tenya.”

“He to young to tell.” He said standing close to her. His hand still touching her, as she cooked.

“Pfft- how old where you when your mommy put you in glasses?” She smiled looking up at her husband who adjusted his glasses.

“Well..”

“Exactly, Ten I can’t have my baby running into things and look at him he keeps rubbing his eyes.” She spoke.

She looked at her husband who was still beat up from work. “My love what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want him getting made fun of at school just because he inherited on of my poor genetics.” Tenya spoke quietly watching the twins talk back and forth as they ate their pancakes and banana slices.

She only smiled softly “baby there is no such thing a poor genetics, is his ill? Is he deaf? Any diseases? no he’s just fine he a healthy little boy who has his daddy’s red eyes and the sight that comes with them.” She spoke her hand trailing up his arm.

He chuckled lightly bending down kissing her softly.

“Ewww.” The twins said in unison.

“Oh you don’t like that? Are we ruining your chocolate chip pancakes?” She teased giving Tenya another kiss.

“Mama stop that!!”

Tenya watched as his wife leaned back letting her finger tap on her chin shrug her shoulders “mmm, no.” And gave him another kiss.

“Was none for us..” Elani spoke her little lip poking out.

“You guys want some kisses?” Tenya sake moving around the counter with his wife as the both attacked the twins faces with kisses.

The Twins gigglled manically as Tenya and her kissed them.

[beausling]

pov: you’re jensen ackles’ controversially young gf (alt!musican!reader) part iii

read part i here, read part ii here

youruser 12m

jensenackles

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jensenackles Fun morning in NYC. Thanks @/goodmorningamerica and @/livekellyandryan for the chat. Sorry for the explicit spoilers 🤭!!!

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theboystv Hope the coffee was iced

gibson_g1rl i think i know what’s going on hereee🤭

pearlzier i think we’re thinkin the same thing🤭🤭

youruser you did so good superstar🌟🤎

jensenackles Thank you, honey. I’ll see you soon☺️🤎

caswh0re @/jensenackles @/youruser music stuff??👀

gibson_g1rl @/caswh0re don’t be delusional

caswh0re @/gibson_g1rl 😭😭😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/caswh0re @/gibson_g1rl nonono she’s right, they’re probably abt to fuck nasty

pearlzier @/vamps4y/n BYEE☠️

j2texas OMGG why tf is #She here😭

gibson_g1rl girl why don’t you #kys

youruser

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youruser *taps mic* is this thing on? resurrection coming out october 13th🐈‍⬛🧙‍♀️🦇🧛‍♀️

(note: absolutely no graves were defiled, and not a single dead soul was woken, in the making of this project !!! and big shoutout to st. louis cemetery no.1 for existing and being so cool n morbidly beautiful🤞)

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jensenackles So fucking proud of you, sweetheart. I feel incredibly honored to have been apart of this beautiful project, and I really hope that the world loves it just as much as I do.🖤🖤🖤

youruser hey bro wtf !!!!! you’re abt to get a very tearful phone call here in a minute😭😭 thank you so much for everything, i love you🖤🖤🦇

vamps4y/n AWWW JENSEN THATS SO SWEET !!! OKAY NOW SAY “vamp life til i die”

hrtsy/n @/vamps4y/n NOT THE TIME GIRL😭😭

gibson_g1rl @/youruser YOU GUYS ARE SO DISGUSTINGLY CUTE !!!! ITS NAUSEATING !!!!!

jasvtsc ANYONE ELSE CRYING AND THROWING UP AND BANGING THEIR HEAD ON THE WALL RN😭😭😭

suicideleopard i see that mausoleum we used to always make out behind

youruser you tryna run it back??

suicideleopard @/youruser Pause…

youruser @/suicideleopard nah nah nah it’s good dw i got socks on😼

gibson_g1rl @/youruser @/suicideleopard ?????😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/youruser @/suicideleopard you guys are fucking insane, just make out already

youruser @/vamps4y/n i Really wish i could thumbs down instagram comments…..

suicideleopard liked your comment

jensenackles liked your comment

vamps4y/n @/youruser 😭😭 you literally started this

youruser @/vamps4y/n blaming everyone but yourself…

hrtsy/n OMGOGKFMFO NEEWWWWWW ALBUMMMMMM ON THE FUCKING WAYYYY OMGGGG😭😭😭😭😭😭

gibson_g1rl WE USED TO PRAY FOR DAYS LIKE THESE🙏🙏

y/ngirlies MOTHER IS FINALLY FEEDING US AGAIN

archiveofvirtue THE DROUGHT IS FINALLY OVER😭😭🙏

pearlzier WE ARE SO FUCKING BACK YOU GUYS!!!!!

jasvtsc THE SUN HAS FINALLY COME THE RAIN IS GONE🙌

youruser

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youruser when you gon’ fly me in private so i can land on that dick🧎‍♀️ #oldpics

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gibson_g1rl i beg your finest fucking pardon⁉️

pearlzier THE SECOND PIC?????

jensenackles Hey, nice coat!☺️

youruser OH THNX😸 yeah i actually stole it from this random white boy, he was super chill abt it tho

jensenackles liked your comment

archiveofvirtue @/youruser you two aren’t fooling anybody anymore, just hard launch already so we can be crazy in peace

y/ngirlies @/archiveofvirtue @/youruser RETWEET !!!

jackleswife that should be me

vamps4y/n we should take you out back and shoot you like a deer with chronic wasting disease

deanluvr i’m obsessed with seeing you guys in this era, i don’t ever want it to end🙏

jasvtsc this might be their best era yet

deansluvr @/jasvtsc it is fr

hrtsy/n mama y papa liked🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

caswh0re @/hrtsy/n iktr they’re just like us

youruser

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youruser CHICAGO I HAVE SO MUCH TO THANK YOU FOR

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yourbffsuser baby came back home for awhile guys😸😸

youruser you can take the girl out of the midwest, but you can’t take the midwest out of the girl fr🙁

hrtsy/n the sixth pic is so real, like i felt that🤞

youruser we revisited the trap that day☠️☠️

hrtsyn @/youruser OH?????

youruser @/hrtsy/n ☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

gibson_g1rl your silly ass was getting more train flattened pennies huh😭

youruser you know it babe🤭🤭

jasvtsc i love it when y/n in chicago🫶

pearlzier ykyk we always get some of the best music when she goes back🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

jasvtsc @/pearlzier EXACTLYYYYY

archiveofvirtue WELCOME BACK JUNE ADVENTURES !!!!!

youruser I FINALLY GOT TO FLICK THE BEAN AGAIN!!!!!

y/ngirlies @/youruser excuse me???💀

youruser @/y/ngirlies the giant stainless steel bean in millennium park☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

y/ngirlies @/youruser OHHHHH!!😭😭😭

vamps4y/n @/y/ngirlies @/youruser tf did you think she meant😭

jensenackles Hope you had fun sweetheart!!😊

youruser i did lovey, thank you🫂🤎

pearlzier @/youruser SWEETHEART AND LOVEY?????????😭😭😭😭😭😭

jasvtsc @/youruser LOVEY??? THATS SO FUCKING CUTE OMG????😭😭😭

gibson_g1rl @/youruser YOU GUYS ARE SO ADORABLE IM THROWING UP!!!!!!

deanluvr @/youruser PLS JUST GO CANON ALREADY OMFGG😭😭

caswh0re @/deanluvr @/youruser “go canon” 😭

youruser 3m

꩜ thank you so much !!! i hope you guys enjoyed reading this😸 all feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 💟

꩜ SOOO much happening here, this part didn’t go the way i originally planned but i still like it🙏🏼

꩜ tags : @gibson-g1rl @pearlzier @jasvtsc @archiveofvirtue 🎀 lmk if you wanna be tagged and/or featured in the next part !!!!!

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

You're Babying Jaune

Jaune: I had my own discrete birthday-

Mama Arc: Yep, you didn't need to share your birthday.

Jaune: People loved that about me.

Mama Arc: You came down - *Dreamy sigh* He was like a little shaft of light from heaven! he came down, with his head full of golden curls-

Saphron: If he didn't have- If he looked the Faintest bit Ill, like- if he got winded on the stairs, it was "you look too sick to go to school today, Jaune!"

Anna: There was a time-

Jaune: Sickly boy-

Anna: There was a time when I thought he secretly had, whatever the kid in Secret Garden has, where it's like, "he can't go outside" Because You'd be like "No not our wee baby boy Jaune!"

Saphron: Yeah, I thought he had like, Glass Bones Disease, and he couldn't be outside or else He'd shatter.

Anna: We had to- no joke, Saph and I staged an intervention for our parents-

Saphron: Like we had to talk to you guys about how easy-

Anna: Like you're babying Jaune.

Saphron: You're babying Jaune.

Anna: You're still babying Jaune.

Mama Arc: But here he is!

Saphron: Yeah! With his Weak, glass bones!

Mama Arc: *Turning to Jaune* You- you okay? OYu need something to drink or anything?

Jaune: I could use some Appy slices, actually, if you wouldn't mind.

Mama Arc: And a little Peanut butter to dip them in?

Jaune: FUCKING OF COURSE I WANT PEANUT BUTTER, PRISMEYA!

[anonimusunnoaniswriting]

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑴𝒚 𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝟐

(𝑺𝒆𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

⚠️MDNI. 18+ ADULTS ONLY⚠️

🎀Age in bio or blocked🎀

Rating: Mature

Category: F/M

Fandom: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler

Relationship: Sebastian Michaelis/CielsCousin!Reader

Characters: Sebastian Michaelis; Reader; Ciel Phantomhive; Elizabeth Midford

Summary: After spending the day with your cousin and his fiance, the night air makes for pleasant company, as does the butler who reveals a dark secret...

Additional Tags: Fluff and Smut; Eventual Smut; Neck Kissing; Kissing; Gentle Kissing; Surprise Kissing; Making Out; Implied Sexual Content; Phantomhive manor; Reader-Insert; Victorian

A/N: not beta read. We die like men. Again.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 2: 𝕿𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕭𝖚𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗; 𝕴𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙

The day passed without much incident. A wall seemed to have broken down, between you and the butler after your morning rendezvous. Throughout the day, he looked after both your needs and his young master’s as well. You had spent some time with your cousin today as he hadn’t had too much on his schedule like he usually did. Breakfast, luncheon and supper were all had with the boy who kept your mind occupied with discussions on business and society. And Sebastian served you while also making sure to linger longer than necessary by your side, whether it was him pouring wine into your glass, or brushing against you while bringing you your plate. Surreptitious movements that luckily went unnoticed by your young cousin.

Lady Elizabeth joined the two of you for supper. Though she was from your side of the family you had never met the child personally. The girl had a lot of energy. She loved dressing up as was evident from her clothing. You had heard of her mother being a fearsome lady, one who could fight a tiger barehanded and win, but the daughter carried no such resemblance. 

“ –And then, Mother let me make two more dresses to match with the jewellery she bought me!” You had missed the initial conversation but gleaned from the few lines that she had an affinity for fashion and clothing. It was not unlike a lady of her stature. 

“Oh when I was your age, I loved getting new dresses made!” You smiled at her. “After I fell sick the first time, however, I started to dislike it a bit.” It was true. You used to have dresses made by the dozen. The seamstress saw your home more than her own shop! But your repeated illnesses have changed this. Every measurement taken anew showed how your body had changed. Warped into the form of the disease. And standing for the tape was exhausting. You found comfort in the clothing you already owned and preferred to have less made. 

Elizabeth frowned. “Perhaps, Lady Phantomhive, you can come with me and we can have the tailor take your measurements too for a gown. I’m sure your mama and papa wouldn’t mind!” You blushed and shook your head. Perhaps your parents wouldn’t and even if you did have the energy to stand tomorrow, you would have to cover up the innumerable marks Sebastian left on you from your morning's tryst. 

You laughed a nervous chuckle and replied, “Perhaps for the next season, I seem to have plenty of splendid dresses in my armada for the moment…” 

Ciel retired to bed, soon after Elizabeth left to go back home. You sometimes forgot he was only 12 – his mannerisms far beyond his age.  You walked out to the balcony. The garden was painted silver in the moonlight. Despite being quite clumsy, Finnian did a good job of maintaining it you thought to yourself. 

“After all I did today to make sure you didn’t catch a cold, my lady, here you are inviting it yourself.” Sebastian’s voice came from behind, startling you. You turned your head to look as he emerged from the shadows draping a warm cloak over your shoulders. “Would you like to go for a walk my lady?” he asked. Once again, you thought you saw a flash of red in his eyes, but it was gone as soon as you took another glance. You nodded at him. 

Sebastian took your hand and in one swift cat-like movement you found yourself in his arms flying through the air. You clung to his shoulders the night air whipping through your hair and biting at your cheeks. “Sebastian! Where are we going!” But the whistling of the wind drowned out your words. 

When he finally landed, you looked around you, the garden was far, This was a denser shrubbery, almost like the maze Finnian so religiously took care to grow. “Should you be so far from the manor?” You asked him breathless, even though all you had done was be carried from one place to another. “Ciel might call for you or something.”

He shook his head. “You needn’t worry about that, my lady. The young master doesn’t wake till morning – when I wake him and I’m sure the manor will be fine without me for a bit.” 

He smiles, reassuring you, and takes your hand, clasping it in his gloved ones. You begin to walk alongside him, his stride is shorter, making sure you can keep up, even in your bedroom slippers. Soon you come across a gazebo. The butler then invites you to sit and takes a seat beside you. “I do hope this isn’t too forward of me, my lady but I wish to continue where we had left off this morning.” You blush and avoid his gaze. You know that society would never approve of the relationship the two of you had. If anyone ever found out, it would bring shame to you and your family. You would be looked down upon for the longest time. “My lady?” Sebastian inquires after not hearing anything from you.

“Sebastian…” you start. But you don’t know how to form what you are feeling. “I- I-” you stutter. Then sigh. He puts his hand on your cheek and makes you look at him.

“My lady, if you want this to stop—” he begins but is cut off when you place your hand over his mouth.

“Believe me that is not what I want.” You say to him. “You are different Sebastian. I don’t get what you want. Your feelings are not of love. They aren’t for my money. And I feel you lust after me but that doesn’t come out too clearly either. I suppose, in a way, I am confused.” You get up, take a few steps forward and turn to look at him. “I have had men who have come to me for all the things I mentioned before. I have had those who might have actually loved me, those who merely wanted me as another trophy to claim, and even those who have come only to try and gain my hand in marriage but in reality who want to marry my father’s wealth. But you Sebastian, something about you is so different. I suppose it may be because you are the first man I have felt attracted to.” Your following chuckle is hesitant. “I am—afraid of you.”

Sebastian smirks. “Your way of seeing things is so intriguing my lady.” He says. “I can assure you my lady that I am not here for your money. I have no need for the material things that humans treasure so much.” He spits. “As for lusting after you; you have deduced almost correctly, but what I feel for you is more...” You don’t know when he got up, but turning to look you find Sebastian flush against your back. His eyes are red, the same red you tried to convince yourself you hadn't seen, but it was unmistakable. Your eyes widen and you try to take a step back, away from his imposing figure, only to find yourself trapped between him and the gazebo. 

 “You see my lady,” he continues, nose nuzzling against your neck, “Demons and humans have very little in common, but there is one thing we do share; the feeling of lust is very strong in us both. Humans can feel love. All demons can feel though; is lust. But you, you make me feel something different from just lust. Something more—burning. Is it love? I don’t know... I’ve never known that feeling.”

You don’t know what to say anymore. You should be frozen in fear, What did Sebastian mean, saying he was a demon? A murderer? Or a biblical fantasy? His lips were now on your skin, inhaling your scent, and you felt a pool of warmth in your lower belly. “D- demon? What does that even mean?” you falter.

 “What I mean, my lady, is that the only reason I am here is because of a contract I have made with your dear young cousin. You should thank him for our very meeting.” He tells you.

“You mean you’re a demon. Like – from legends and stories?”

“I can assure you. I am no story” he says, planting a searing kiss on your neck. That was all it took to set you on fire. It made sense. The inhuman capabilities. The absolute perfection of his being. He was a demon! “You aren’t running from me my lady?” he asked as you melted under his touch.

“Surely, you jest Sebastian!” You say. Your voice quavers but you stand your ground.

“About what my lady?”

“About this demon nonsense!”

“I never lie to my lady.” He says. “You said yourself, there is something you find different about me.” He kisses you. “I am simply a demon, and a butler.”

***

Since you were tired from being out for so long, Sebastian swiftly carried you back to the mansion and took you to your room where there was a cup of hot chamomile tea waiting for you. He really took everything into account. There is no doubt about it in your mind now. Sebastian had to be a demon. His speed is inhuman. His eyes are reptilian, gleaming in the darkness. And then those teeth that scraped against your neck. Whatever he is, he definitely isn’t human.

As he helps you get ready for bed you realised that you didn’t mind. Sebastian may not have been a human, and he may have been a butler, but the way he made you feel surpassed all of that. “Sebastian…” You turn to him as he undresses you. You take off his coat. “I don’t care what you are.” You take off his vest. His eyes widen, and he stares at you. He can smell your arousal. Here you are half naked before him, taking off his clothes. Telling him you don’t care what he is. You want him. You feel things for him. Your scent drives him wild and he doesn’t even register you undoing his necktie and then his shirt buttons. When you try to take his shirt off and he doesn’t move to allow you to slip it off him, you suddenly think that perhaps he doesn’t want this. “I’m so sorry!” You say. “I thought you wanted this.” Sebastian finally wakes from his stupor and looks at you.

“I do want this. I just can’t believe that someone as beautiful and lovely as you truly wants something as vile and cruel as me.” He says and softly kisses your head. Then without warning he pushes you onto the bed and says, “But, my lady, who gave you the permission to take my clothes off?” He growls. The change in demeanour startles you. 

“Sebas—” you start, but he does not let you finish. In a moment, his lips are upon yours. He swiftly and rips off your underclothes, while still kissing your mouth. His hands glide along the curves of your body and he holds you closer while plunging his tongue into your mouth. 

He has never tasted anything like you before. He cannot fathom how in all the years he has lived he has never tasted anything like you. “I guess it’s something Phantomhives have in common eh? A taste like no other. I could feast on you all day.” He mutters half to himself.

“What–?” you ask breathlessly.

“You taste, sinful.”

He winks at you and pulls his glove off his left hand with his sharp teeth. His nails are black and on the back of his hand is a pentagram inside two circles. The outer, made of pointy diamond shapes. “My contract seal— nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about, my lady.” he says, seeing you looking at it. 

Sebastian trails his hand down your stomach. His black tipped fingers enter your folds which are already moist with your arousal. Lowering his head, he nibbles on your neck. You breathe in deeply and wish he would take off his clothes to allow you to see him but he had made it pretty clear who was in charge of the taking off of the clothing. His hand playing around with you down under barely ghosted over your skin. You involuntarily bucked your hips trying to get him to touch you. The move immediately made the demon smirk and say, “Look at you, so eager to be fucked.”

You feel your cheeks heat much like your core. His words are so unexpectedly crude. “Please,” you moan, “please touch me…”

To be continued…

A/N: hahah don't hurt me. Likes and reblogs are appreciated. Comments get you kissies.

Masterlist

[hctsummernights]

faith in love ༺☆༻

summary: in which alt!reader support matt through thick and thin and life with celiac disease (part of the kissing in cars universe!) warnings: autoimmune disease

You frowned as you rubbed Matt’s back, hating how small he looked, despite the fact that your bed was a twin XL. “Can I get you anything?” You asked gently. 

Matt shook his head, clutching the heating pad that you’d loaned him closer to his stomach. “No. ‘M okay.”

You curled up behind your boyfriend, allowing him to be the little spoon as you always did. This was the fourth time this week that this had happened, and it was only Wednesday. Matt would go about his day, only to end up curled in fetal position in either your or his bed less than an hour later. He had tried what felt like everything; smaller snacks instead of large meals, no greasy food, no dairy, and nothing seemed to help the awful stomach pains that would render him debilitated. 

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well, baby.” You mumbled, tucking a curl behind Matt’s ear. 

“‘S not your fault,” he groaned. “Fuck this shit. Can you hand me my phone?”

You nodded, sitting up and plucking Matt’s phone from the bed caddy that hung on your lofted bed. Matt whined at the pain in his abdomen as sat up, pressing the phone to his ear. You were curious for a moment until you heard the soft “hi mama” fall from his lips. Matt had always been a mama’s boy, so it didn’t surprise you that he was calling MaryLou while he wasn’t feeling well.

You continued to lay next to your boyfriend throughout the conversation, rubbing his knee softly. Finally, Matt hung up and tossed his phone towards the end of the bed, curling back into your side. He whimpered for a moment, clutching his stomach before he looked up at you with teary eyes. 

“Mom thinks I have celiac,” he mumbled. “So I have to get tested for it.”

Now that you thought about it, that would make sense. Matt’s stomach problems seemed to arise after a wheat-heavy meal; like today, when he had downed a plate of pasta for lunch. You hated the fact that he was dealing with all of this while, especially when the two of you had just moved away to college a few weeks ago. 

“That could explain it, sweetheart,” You hummed softly, carding your fingers through his hair. “Besides, getting tested might help you figure out how you can help yourself feel better.”

Matt groaned but nodded, shoving his face into the soft fabric of your System of a Down hoodie. The boy whimpered as his stomach let out a long, low grumble. “I hate this.”

You kissed his forehead, your hand snaking under the soft knit of his green sweater to rub his warm, bloated belly. “We’re gonna find a solution, babe. It’s not gonna be like this forever.” You promised. 

-

That’s how you found yourself standing over the stove four years later, stirring a pot of gluten free pasta. Matt had ended up being diagnosed with celiac disease over Christmas break of your freshman year of college. It was rough at first, having to find swaps for all of his favorite foods, but when you had made the pact to go gluten free with him, things had become a little easier. Obviously, he still had to worry about the risk of cross contamination and accidentally getting “glutened”, but the brunette’s quality of life had drastically improved since then. 

You both had graduated college with honors, Matt receiving a degree in social work and you in music education. There had been rough patches of course, including a break up for a few months somewhere in there, but things had worked out for the better. The love you and Matt shared for each other was stronger than anything else.

As your Spotify flipped from the previous song to “Kissing in Cars” by Pierce the Veil, you couldn’t help but to smile. That had been your and Matt’s song for years. Despite being quite literally polar opposites, you both loved the lyrics. As if on perfect cue, you heard your fiancé’s keys jingling in the lock of your front door. A few moments later, Matt appeared in the kitchen, shedding his flannel and tossing it over a chair.

“You’re still playing this song, huh?” he murmured, coming around the island and wrapping you in a hug from behind. 

“Don’t even play with me,” You joked, kissing his cheek. “You know you love it too.” You said, smiling as you noticed the vampire-red lipstick stain you’d left on his soft skin. 

“Gluten free?” Matt asked, peering into the pot of pasta. 

“No.” You said deadpan. 

“Oh,” Matt feigned sadness. “I guess you want me to die then, huh?”

“Not until we’re married.” You giggled. 

Matt smiled, taking in your beauty as drained the pot and plated the food. People were shocked about you two as a couple, but to Matt, you were the most perfect person in the world. You had been there for him through thick and thin, supporting him through his journey with an autoimmune disease, and even going as far as to still be kind to him when his mental health had gotten so bad he had broken up with you for a few months. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts as the song playing from your phone ended. Rather than sitting down for dinner, he hit the rewind button and grabbed the plates from your hands, setting them on the counter. 

“May I have this dance?” he joked, smile lopsided. 

“You may.” You smiled. 

Matt pressed his forehead to your own, swaying softly. “I love you.” he hummed. 

And he meant it. He would mean it every day until he died, and then every day after that. You had saved him in so many ways and continued to do so. No matter how different the two of you were, he was sure that you were his soulmate. He'd find you in every lifetime if he had to.

“…Cause there's faith in love”

a/n: me when i google "how to make fictional people real" so kissing in cars matt can be my bf

[honeybeebytheseaa]

Cheese

A fun short story and piece for @encantober-official . I have two more prompts I plan to do, but due to my busy schedule I’m not sure if I’ll get them out on time. For now, enjoy these small pieces!

——

Bruno knew he’d get in trouble for having the rats inside of Casita. Technically, he was an adult now and could make his own decisions. But even at twenty, Bruno struggled to openly speak out against his mother.

Upon noticing their furry bodies along the windows, Bruno’s mama swooped in with her broom and demanded they leave her home. Which was frustrating, because if she didn’t want them inside Casita, mama could just ask them to leave. They are very intelligent creatures, despite what most of his family thinks.

Eventually, try as his mama might: they’d find a way inside Casita. Which was certainly the fault of Bruno. He may have scaled a few walls in the middle of the night (with Casita’s aid, of course) to shift the gutters in just the right direction so the rats could sneak into his room.

Although it might sound odd, Bruno was quite flattered that a few select rats often sought out his comfort. Granted, it was likely because he was the only person in the encanto who welcomed them inside his home with open arms, but it was nice to have some company during his particularly bad nights.

Bruno first met the rats when he was around sixteen. It was three or four in the morning. He was in the kitchen, shuffling through that night's leftovers. He reached out for a thinly sliced piece of mozzarella when he noticed a little ball of gray fur had already taken it.

Bruno wouldn’t lie: he screamed.

He then proceeded to fling the rat across the room. Which he did not mean to do! He meant to fling the cheese and the rat happened to latch onto it.

His reaction was somewhat justified. To his knowledge, they carried rabies and other fun diseases.

But when he realized the creature looked more frightened of him than he did… he felt really bad.

So, he did something that would quickly devolve into a bad habit.

He gently picked it up, set it by the window, and tried to usher it outside. It didn’t leave right away, so Bruno offered it the piece of mozzarella it had been chewing.

He took it from his fingers and quickly scurried into the night. It had worked.

Oh, he means for that one night. For that one night, it had worked. The rat brought back friends the next day.

And of course he fed them, he didn’t want to be a bad host.

Over time, the visits became more frequent. Sometimes they were subtle about it, only coming at night or into Bruno’s room specifically. Sometimes, they didn’t think it through and would visit in broad daylight where Pepa would let out a loud, shrill scream and their mama would come barreling through with her broom.

But as time went on, they’d often visit him during the colder months, seeking shelter from pelting rain storms or the extremely short-lived snowstorms always caused by Pepa. A few of them would show up randomly. As if they just wanted to say hello. Due to these frequent visits, Bruno found himself keeping a lot of cheese in his room. The rats loved cheese. Especially the cheese Julieta would make.

Bruno wished he could invite them into the kitchen for a more diverse palette of snacks, though Julieta would certainly lose her mind. So for now, they had to settle for the selection in Bruno’s room.

Bruno had to be careful about how much he brought inside, as Julieta kept track of her ingredients like a hawk. If she ever noticed something missing, she almost always tracked it back to him. Somehow. With her scary sibling powers or whatever.

Occasionally, Bruno convinces her to slip him a few treats under the excuse of being a ‘growing boy.’ Every time he nearly gets called out on his bluff. Julieta knows he eats like a bird.

Though she won’t turn her little brother down. Bruno knows that.

It all works out. He can bring something nice for his furry friends, and Julieta doesn’t have to waste as much food.

And to be fair, it wasn’t Julieta he had to worry about.

Finding them around Casita was bad enough, but if his mama found he had them in his room of all places she’d likely ground him til’ he was thirty.

And she’d also be able to track the rat infestation back to him. Which would then further his grounding til he is forty.

So for now, they’d stay in his room and only his room. With all the cheese they could ask for.

———

[classiccowboy]

instagram j.b.

summary: follow joe and his fiance evie as they go through his football career.

*face claim is Yasmin Quintana*

series masterlist.

breezyevie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, bengals, and 367,972 others

breezyevie: pics i sent my mom this week

view all 9,736 comments…

user: im sorry what did we do to deserve this?

> breezyevie: i want to post more life stuff!

eviesmomma: i love you two!

> breezyevie: we love you mama!

user: not the love note 😢

> breezyevie: jb is the best.

user: someone needs to take away your ig. i’m sick of seeing ur bf.

> breezyevie: fiancé

joeyb_9: you look pretty everyday.. fyi.

> breezyevie: you are the loml.

user: my dream

millyg: you make me sick.

> breezyevie: envy is a disease. 🤪

user: i’m blocking you.

breezyevie

liked by millyg, joeyb_9, eviesmomma, and 736,820 others

breezyevie: GameDey! me and mills are ready for the divisional round

view all 10,837 comments…

user: i’ll be there tailgating atleast

user: seriously how much orange do you own

> breezyevie: i don’t think i can answer.

user: let’s get it! WHO DEY

joeyb_9: make sure you bring your helmet.

> breezyevie: i’ll be ready to save the day if needed.

user: yaaaaasss my fav!

millyg: i just want to make it clear that i am an eagles/chargers fan and i don’t own cincy merch.

> breezyevie: i tried to get her to wear some of mine. she says she’s no bandwagon.

joeyb_9

liked by breezyevie, lahjay10_, joemainmixon, and 492,936 others

joeyb_9: King in the North

view all 50,736 comments…

user: i know a gangster when i see one

user: you’re a pos.

bengals: 👑

user: the hardest post of all time

breezyevie: king of my heart. 💗

> user: the tswift reference 😭

> user: i knew i could count my queen to be a swiftie

> breezyevie: all of the best people are.. except joe. 🫠

user: joe is so fine tbh

user: joe cool.

lahjay10_: my boy 💪🏽💪🏽

breezyevie

liked by bengals, joeyb_9, millyb, and 927,062 others

breezyevie: there is nothing i love more than watching my joey do the damn thing. #whodey

view all 6,397 comments…

user: i love him

> breezyevie: he’s just the best

user: him not posting pics of you is a red flag

> breezyevie: i’m not sure why this bothers y’all so much.

millyg: i’m obsessed with you

> breezyevie: nooo. i love you.

user: queen of the afc

> breezyevie: stop it right now!

user: be honest did you pick joes game day fit?

> breezyevie: 👀

user: how does it feel to be dating the best qb in the history of the nfl?

> breezyevie: my joey. 🧡

joeyb_9: always supporting me 🤍

user: you’re like obsessed with him.

> breezyevie: i am.

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, lahjay10_, and 1,639,388 others

joeyb_9: “Cartier glasses I won’t even peek at you”

view all 27,672 comments…

bengals: Icon

user: if you’re ever feeling down with ur busted gf let me know

> millyg: let’s respect my girl. they’ve been together for almost six years, he don’t care about you.

> user: they are engaged now, get a life.

user: jacket goes HARD

lahjay10_: you bad ass!

user: work it joe

breezyevie: best dressed qb in the league?

> joeyb_9: with a little help. 👀

user: this guy has no clue 🤣

user: i was unaware of the swag

millyg: drip

breezyevies ig stories

[froody]

There’s this TikTok trend about seeing yourself in the lives and photographs of relatives who passed before you were born. I look a lot like my grandmother’s brother Robert who suffered a traumatic injury at birth and died of the measles in 1950 when he was only 11. We have the same eyes, same big dark brown eyes with long eyelashes, same round face, same thick and wavy dark hair. We looked exactly alike when we were babies. He never gained the ability to walk or talk but great grandmother loved him so much and was so devastated when he died. My grandma told me how much I looked like him. Apparently when I was a child, I’d see photos of him and say “Is that me?”.

He never got the chance to grow up due to a disease that wouldn’t have a vaccine for another 13 years. Due to the medical malpractice at his birth, he was robbed of the chance to do a lot of things boys his age in his era loved to do. Run, holler, catch frogs, climb trees, play cards. But for every day of his 11 years on this earth, he was with his mama who loved him so deeply. He got to meet his baby sister, who loved him for his gentleness and quiet comforting company. He got to eat delicious home cooked meals everyday. He got 10 Christmases, 10 beautiful Virginia summers.

He lives on in me. His memory lives on in me. His face, so like my own face, smiling at me from photographs.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 10: Through The Dark] [Series Finale]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, pregnancy, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, AND NO OTHER CLUES, HAPPY READING!!! 🥰

Selected Chapter Quote: “What made you want to be a therapist?”

Word count: 6.4k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody

Thank you for loving the insane and incomparable Comet fam. I hope you enjoy the series finale. 💜

Night sky, string lights, reverberating bass, warm wet verdant air like the earth the dinosaurs knew, swampy and thick with beasts. With his lazy, dreamlike smile—a kind contagious glow, pink sunburned cheeks that match the clinking Salty Dog in his hand—Aegon says: “What made you want to be a therapist?”

You won’t tell him the whole truth. But you’ll tell him part of it. “Sigmund Freud.”

Aegon is intrigued, raised eyebrows and a crooked grin. “The guy who thinks everyone wants to fuck their mom?”

“You would have liked him. He did a lot of coke.” You take a swig of your Salty Dog: rosemary, grapefruit, the singeing bite of gin. “He was the founder of talk therapy. And, yeah, some of the things he wanted to talk about were…unorthodox. Misguided. But still…”

“He just wanted to talk,” Aegon says softly, understanding now.

“This was the turn of the century, okay? This was back in the days when they were pulling people’s teeth out, locking them up in asylums, injecting them with diseases, cutting off parts of women that made them unruly, ungovernable, immoral.” You shudder. “And Freud said no, just talk to them. Just figure out what demons they have chained up in their skulls, dark dusty corners buried way down deep, and help them figure out how to move forward. It’s not about having a cure, a pill or a scalpel. I mean, how ludicrous would that be, thinking I was walking around with some failproof silver bullet to make all the pain of existence vanish? That’s insane. It’s about listening to people, and caring about people, and shining a light on what part of them already knew was there. I don’t have a cure for anybody. Not a single goddamn person on this planet. But I can help them find their own.”

Aegon watches you, contemplates you, studies you like something rare and fleeting. “You are going to be one hell of a therapist.”

“I don’t know about that. But I hope so.”

“I’ll find you. Maybe when you’re done with school you can work on me. I’d keep you busy, I guarantee it. I’m like Disney’s Haunted Mansion. Ghosts everywhere you look.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You are never going to remember me.” He is never going to remember this place, this time, the way he shared his light with me like a long-lost comet clipping by Earth.

“I might,” Aegon says. He sips his Salty Dog with his elbows propped on the table, his blond hair whipping in the indigo wind, grains of salt on his lips, reflections of string lights like stars in his eyes. “I really think I might.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Your arms thrown around his neck, your face buried in his black t-shirt, inhaling smoke and dust and the coppery sharpness of his spilled blood. You are sobbing uncontrollably, gasping, shivering, wild prideless tears and clawing fingers. Jace’s words circle in your skull like a moon around its planet: Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret. Aemond is trying to calm you, to quiet you. His hands—large and dangerous and bloodstained and careful—are on your back, in your hair. You have to explain, to repent. You have to make him understand.

“I didn’t get pregnant on purpose,” you moan into him, a jagged rush like a hemorrhage. “I swear to God I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you. I wasn’t trying to trap you or fix you or use you. I’m in love with you, Aemond, I wanted you, and I still want you, and I thought you would hate me and I was terrified and I didn’t know how to tell you—”

“I don’t hate you, I could never hate you,” he’s saying, and more that you can’t catch; his words are a tide, flowing in and fading out. Now there is pain, deep and sharp and collapsing. Aegon is standing a few yards away, tears flooding down his sunburned face; they clear tracks in the dust that coats him, that coats everyone, that sticks to the blood on your legs. Cregan has pushed the others back, but still, you can hear their incorporeal voices: Jace asking what’s going on, Rhaena explaining, Baela shrieking, Criston shouting orders. Now Aegon has a rough hand on Aemond’s shoulder and is telling him something—insisting upon something—but you don’t know what. Language escapes you; language abandons you.

There are sirens and flashing lights the color of rubies, roses, tangled arteries. Aemond scoops you up and carries you towards them. There is only enough room for one person to ride in the ambulance with you; there is no discussion of who it will be. The rest of Comet has to wait for the Escalades to arrive at your parents’ farm. You do not try to steal a glimpse of the damage, felled trees and scattered fence posts, dead cattle and pillaged earth. You are filled with enough wreckage already; you are built of it, bones made out of bent nails, nerves of barbed wire.

Needles into your arms, chemicals into your bloodstream: something that deadens the pain and muddies your thoughts, makes them slow and heavy and unpanicked, like you are watching this happen to somebody else. In an exam room, nurses strip your clothes away and wipe the red from your skin, routinely, absentmindedly, as if it is of no consequence, as if the future you had taken for granted has not just been drowned, immolated, eradicated from existence like a dying star. They give you underwear fitted with a bulky postpartum pad—the same used by mothers of living children—and a hospital gown that Aemond marks with bloody fingerprints when he touches you. Then the nurses leave you to wait for the doctor with your IVs and your fogbank mind and your glazed eyes that stare blankly at the sterile white walls.

Aemond is smoothing back your hair from your face, and you are reminded of how he held Aegon when he was dying on your bedroom floor in the MGM Grand. You remember once thinking that Aemond is like storms and rogue waves, and that’s true; he turns lethal and then goes kind again, strikes and then soothes. He says once you are alone, each word painstakingly chosen: “I’m sorry that because of how I’ve acted, you felt you couldn’t tell me.”

“I’m sorry I lost the baby.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I must have. I’m bleeding too much.” You can feel it, blood and clots that ooze, gush, drain away leaving you cold and hollow.

The exam room door opens, not a nurse or a doctor but a man in khaki cargo shorts and a filthy neon green tank top and matching Crocs, clop clop clop. “Hey, Stargirl,” Aegon says, sad and gentle. He holds up a venti-sized plastic cup. “I brought you a Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino.”

You blink groggily, not knowing what to do with it. Aegon puts the clear cup in your hands, the green straw between your lips. It’s sugary, cold, rich, topped with a swirl of whipped cream and chocolate syrup. It brings you back a little bit, a few unsteady steps towards the real world.

“Where the fuck is the doctor?” Aemond asks him.

“The nurse said she’s on her way. They’re understaffed.” Aegon shrugs apologetically: Missouri bullshit.

“You get somebody in here, right now.”

“What do you want me to do, threaten to stab medical professionals?! How about you punch some of their teeth out, I bet that would help.” Then Aegon sighs shakily and covers his own face with his hands. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t mine, you know?” Wasn’t, isn’t, will never be. “We haven’t…not since…it’s not…” He looks at Aemond with large, shining, ocean-blue eyes. “It’s not possible. You have to know that. You can’t be the way that you are sometimes. You don’t get a few weeks to come around to doing the decent thing. You have to believe her.”

And Aemond says softly: “I do.”

The door opens again and a doctor steps through it, mid-forties, thick black-rimmed glasses, dark hair secured in a businesslike low bun. Aegon ducks out of the room; the doctor gives him a brief quizzical glance before introducing herself to you. You can’t seem to latch onto her name. You answer the questions she asks you as she readies the ultrasound machine: ten weeks along, blunt force trauma to your back, where and how it hurt before the pain was drugged out of you. She unfastens a tie on the side of your hospital gown and opens it just enough to spread the cool gel across your belly and then glide the transducer through it. She peers at the grainy screen. She’s checking for a heartbeat; she’s checking to see if you’ll need a D&C to help expel a partial miscarriage so you don’t go septic.

“I lost it,” you sob, breaking down again. “Aemond, I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t. Please don’t.” He kisses your temple and then rests his forehead against yours, tears glittering in his river-clear right eye.

“Well,” the doctor says with practiced, vaguely sympathetic composure. “You lost one of them.”

You look to her, not understanding. “One of…?”

She angles the monitor so you and Aemond can see. “Fraternal twins often have separate amniotic sacs and placentas. So depending on the positioning of the fetuses, it is possible to miscarry one but not the other. This one on the left here…” She indicates it with her index finger. “It’s…it’s no longer viable, unfortunately. You’ve already passed most of it. But this one on the right…” She squints at the screen, repositioning the transducer. “From what I can tell, it seems to be holding on. Let me see if I can…” She moves the transducer around, pressing it into the yielding flesh of your belly. And then you hear it: a fierce defiant drumming, a whistling like wind through leaves. “I thought so,” the doctor pronounces, smiling. “There’s the heartbeat. The pulse is approximately 155 beats per minute, which is typical.”

One of them? I didn’t lose one of them? “Aemond…?”

When you turn back to him, he’s staring at the flickering black-and-white whirls of bones and blood flow on the ultrasound screen. And the expression on his face is one that you’ve never seen from him before, serene like when he’s with animals, awed like when he studies the galaxy, and something else too, a great shifting, a clicking into place, tectonic plates and ocean currents and storm clouds unraveling into clear skies. “It’s alright?” he says, not taking his eye from the screen.

“It is,” the doctor confirms. “Measuring a little bit small for ten weeks, but that’s to be expected for a twin. I don’t think you’ll be able to tell the sex for another month, but it’s alive and well.” She freezes the image on the screen, sets the transducer aside, and cleans the gel from your belly. “Based on my experience, in cases like this, I’d say there’s a better than 50/50 chance the surviving fetus can be carried to term.”

You say: “What can I do…? I mean…there must be something I can do to help it…to help it live…”

“We’ll give you medication to stop any residual uterine contractions and antibiotics to prevent infection. I’d like to admit you for observation, just for a day or two. And I would recommend bed rest for several weeks. Until you’ve reached your second trimester, at least.”

“Yes. Anything. I’ll do anything.”

“And sir, you’re…” The doctor peers at Aemond through her glasses, really scrutinizing him for the first time, his brutal scar and his blind left eye and his stillness and his wonder. “You’re the father?”

Aemond nods, still gazing at the screen like a constellation in the night sky, like a comet only glimpsed once in a lifetime. “I am.”

The doctor beams. “Congratulations,” she tells both of you. And then she leaves to arrange for you to be admitted to the hospital.

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says. “When the band flies to New Orleans tomorrow, I’ll stay here with you.”

“No, Aemond.”

“I’m staying. I’m not going to leave you. You need me, the baby needs me.”

“No,” you say again. “What we have now is wrong. It’s painful and volatile and doomed.” You lay your palm against his scarred face, and he doesn’t finch away. “You have to figure out who you are after Comet. And so do I.” Tears in your eyes, tears on your cheeks; but on your lips is a soft, patient smile. “Aemond, I don’t want me and the baby to be a distraction from the work that you still desperately need to do. I don’t want to be a temporary fix. I don’t want to be your life raft. I want to be…if I’m going to be anything to you…” Your thumbprint ghosts across his cheekbone, tender, reverent. “I want to be your home.”

He shakes his head, but he doesn’t speak; drops like rain spill down his right cheek, dyed pink by blood from the fresh lacerations that riddle him, new scars and ancient pain.

“What are you thinking?” you say.

“I’m thinking that you’re right. I fucking hate it, but you are.” He swipes away tears with one bloodstained hand, then he settles it on your not-yet-showing belly, a place of ruin, a place of hope. “When can I come back?”

“When you’re ready. And only you’ll know when that is.”

The exam room door opens again, and your parents rush in like water through a cracked dam. They are frantic and fretting, peering around bewilderedly.

“Lord almighty, what the hell happened?!” your dad booms; and your mom doesn’t even think to chastise him.

“I’m okay, Daddy.”

“You got hit by somethin’? Are they gonna do an x-ray? Your mother and I finally made it back home from church, trees and power lines down all over the place, and that boy was waitin’ on the front porch to tell us where you were. You know, the big one. The one with the godawful ponytail.”

“Cregan,” your mom offers.

“Cregan,” your dad says.

“It’s a man bun, Daddy. How’s the farm?”

“We ain’t too bad off. A couple cows dead, half the herd out wanderin’ since the pasture fence blew away. Me and the dogs gotta bring ‘em on back, but your mother and I had to see you first. Did they check you over good? Can you come home today?”

“Sweetheart, there’s…” Your mom’s voice is alarmed. “There’s blood on your gown, on your face, what happened?”

“Well, I, um, the thing is…” You try to tell them. You begin crying again instead. As you sniffle and avert your eyes—afraid, ashamed—Aemond stands and extends one large, scarlet-streaked hand. Your dad shakes it tentatively. And then Aemond explains for you: the child you’ve lost, the child you’ve kept, what has to happen next.

“I am responsible,” Aemond says as they gape at him, half-ecstatic and half-horrified. “And I know that this didn’t exactly happen in the traditional way, and I know that there is a lot of work left for me to do to prove myself worthy of your daughter. But I hope in time you’ll be able to forgive me. Because it seems that we’re going to be family.”

Your mom squeals and hugs Aemond. Your dad hugs you. They stay until you are settled in your own private room—small bed and clean sheets, drugs trickling into your veins—and only then do they listen to your insistence that you’ll be okay until morning, that they need to go home to take care of the farm. They leave with their arms around each other, exchanging murmurs like vows. Then Aemond asks if you feel well enough to see the band. They want to say goodbye.

“You’ll miss me,” Jace says confidently, then swoops in to smack a kiss on your forehead before anyone can stop him, bouncing dark curls and smirking mouth. Aegon jabs him in the ribs, Criston rolls his eyes, Aemond glowers like he’d enjoy putting Jace in need of another 28 dental implants. “If you ever get sick of mentally ill blonds, just let me know. The kid doesn’t change anything. I dig MILFs.”

“Thanks, Jace. I guess.”

“We’ll still see you around, right? You’ll visit us, we’ll visit you?”

“Yeah. I won’t disappear.”

“Good.” And then again, more somberly: “Good.”

Rhaena is dabbing at her gentle, doe-like eyes with a Kleenex, leaning into Luke for support. Criston is gallant. Daeron is optimistic. Baela is exasperated that you told Rhaena you were pregnant but not her.

“I didn’t tell Rhaena,” you counter. “She just happened to be the person who accompanied me on my ill-fated adventure to procure Plan B in Tokyo at like 2 a.m.”

“Which did not work,” Rhaena adds, sniffling into her Kleenex.

“A cautionary tale,” Jace says to everyone. “You hear that, fellas? When in doubt, wrap it before you tap it.”

Baela nods at you. “Luckily, she doesn’t seem too disappointed.” Her eyes flick reticently to Aemond where he sits in the chair closest to your bed, a presence in the room like skies that could turn in an instant, quiet, preoccupied, protective, dazed. “And neither does he.”

“I’m not,” Aemond confesses. He laces one hand through yours and brings his lips to your knuckles, willing the baby to live, willing himself to be better for you both.

“We’re going to talk later,” Cregan tells him sternly. Talk about what it means to be a father.

“Yes,” Aemond agrees.

And then Cregan says goodbye to you too, his cool greyish eyes growing peculiarly warm, his steely exterior chipping away like flecks of old paint.

Aegon is last, the only person left in the room with you and Aemond. Grinning beneath sad eyes, he presses a hand to his heart, and then to yours, and then to your belly. Starboy, Stargirl, Starbaby. Then he says: “Do you want me to hide under your bed so they can’t kick me out when visiting hours end?”

You smile tiredly, exhausted and in pain, pain of the body and pain of the soul. “You have to go, Aegon. Thousands of screaming fangirls will be waiting for you at Arrowhead Stadium.”

He is stunned. “I can’t perform tonight, obviously.”

“Yes you can.”

“No, I definitely can’t.”

“You can,” you say. “You have to. And more than that, you want to. You’ll regret it if you don’t. You live for being Comet’s disaster playboy. I’m not going to take that away from you.”

And then Aegon whimpers: “You can’t leave me.”

“You’re leaving me first.” You beam up at him, caressing his sunburned face, threading your fingers through his disheveled hair. Aemond observes this with curiosity but no suspicion. “This isn’t goodbye, Aegon. I’ll see you again. You can add me to the long list of girls you FaceTime.”

He laughs. “Okay, Stargirl. Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“For more than a day, right?”

“For all of them. Forever.”

And then he’s gone, riding that elliptical orbit out into all the corners of the world that he will glow for: New Orleans, Miami, Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Aemond swears to you: “I’m coming back.”

“I hope so.”

And he tilts up your chin and kisses you, tasting like smoke and dust and blood and desire, and it takes every atom of you, every string of muscle and rusty speck of bone marrow, not to crumble and beg him to stay. You are still at war with the part of you that wants to surrender as he stands and walks out of the room. He does not look back; he can’t without losing his nerve.

In the night, he returns to you, long after visiting hours have ended. Perhaps hundreds of millions of dollars have a way of making formalities disappear. He is only a silhouette in shadows like dawn, dusk, midnight. Aemond climbs into the hospital bed and catches you as you fold into him, whispering to you that everything will be alright, telling you how sorry he is, lulling you into a fitful sleep against his chest, his warmth, his heartbeat. And in the morning when you wake up alone, you wonder if any of it was real.

Did I dream that he was here? Did I dream that I ever met him at all?

But no, he has left you proof, something tangible, permanent. On the nightstand is Aemond’s small square vintage lighter; Targaryen is etched into one side. And there is something else too, a single piece of black paper with two sentences of starlight-colored ink:

I’m coming back.

I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October, and the leaves are turning from emerald to topaz, garnet, tiger’s eye. You carve pumpkins with your parents on their front porch. You bake apple crisps and sweet potato pies. You feed the pigs, brush the Australian cattle dogs, buy baby supplies with Aegon’s Amex Black Card. You decide to let the grad student and her Giant Flemish rabbit keep your apartment downtown until your lease is up in the spring. You’d rather be here on the farm, even when you’re not on bed rest anymore. You’d rather be home.

You listen to Comet Donati, The Script, Coldplay, One Direction. Rhaena and Baela mail you boxes of crochet comets and stars and planets for the baby’s room. Aegon mails you boxes of Comet’s new donut-themed merch. Now your dad sometimes tends to the beef cattle in boy band t-shirts. Aegon FaceTimes you two or three times a week, sends WhatsApp messages nearly every day. But you rarely talk about Aemond. It’s too painful, it’s too much of a temptation. You cannot imagine others seeing him, hearing him, speaking to him without needing to do it yourself in the same way that you need oxygen and gravity.

The week before Halloween, you begin spotting. You sob hysterically as your mom drives you to the hospital, convinced that you’re losing this baby too, that everything you touch is damaged and defenseless and doomed. You’re fine, as it turns out, and the baby’s fine too, but even after you’re back at the farm you can’t stop shaking, can’t stop imaging the wet heat of blood on your thighs.

You break down and call Aemond. And you talk for five hours until the sun rises, you in a rocking chair on your parents’ front porch, Aemond on a hotel balcony in Santiago, Chile in the shadow of the Andes Mountains. He says he’s working on something, but he’ll come back now if you ask him to, he’ll board the jet and land in Kansas City in time for supper at the farm, and you can hear the backsliding desperation in his voice: Please ask me to come back. Please just fucking ask me.

But it’s not time yet. He’s not ready, and you both know it. You agree not to call each other again until Aemond returns to you. If he returns to me. Neither of you can sleep for days afterwards. Neither of you can open the door a crack without the other rushing through.

One morning you shuffle downstairs in your Cookie Monster pajama pants and oversized NSYNC t-shirt to find your dad eating a heap of homemade pumpkin waffles in front of the television in the den. All five Australian cattle dogs are perched expectantly at his feet. “Them boys of yours are on Good Morning America.”

“What? Really?”

Yes, they are; they’re celebrating the conclusion of their record-breaking world tour and teasing a new album with an interview and two songs. You catch the end of the first one, their new single called Magic, during which the boys run haphazardly around the neon-lit studio, Jace tears off his donut-themed tank top in protest, and Aegon flubs no less than three lyrics.

Robin Roberts is saying: “Now stay tuned for a very special performance coming up next after a commercial break. We’ll be moving to our outdoor stage in Times Square where a sizeable crowd has formed, and we’ve been told that Comet has a surprise in store for us! What do you think it could be, George?”

“I don’t know, Robin,” George Stephanopoulos replies gamely. “But no matter what it is, I’m sure it will have all those young ladies out there screaming!”

Lara Spencer chuckles. “And not just the young ladies either. I’ve been known to attend Comet concerts on occasion.”

Robin says: “Oh no, Lara, are you a Cregan girlie?”

“Okay, yes, I confess, I am kind of a Cregan girlie…”

You get yourself a plate of pumpkin waffles and return just in time to see the camera panning over the crowd outside: shouting, cheering, waving posters and showcasing their homemade t-shirts.

Robin Roberts announces: “And now, with a cover of One Direction’s Through The Dark, here is the illustrious, incomparable, incredible Comet Donati!”

“No way,” you murmur, staring rapturously at the screen.

“You like that one?” your dad asks, tossing pieces of waffles to the dogs.

“It’s my favorite.” And Aemond knows that. I told him in Singapore.

The stage is empty as the first acoustic notes ring out. Then Daeron trots into view—radiant and cheerful in his donut merch—to sing the first lines:

“You tell me that you’re sad and lost your way

You tell me that your tears are here to stay,

But I know you’re only hiding

And I just wanna see you…”

Aegon appears next, clopping in his sparkly pink Crocs. He flips his hair around and winks mischieviously into the camera as he sings:

“You tell me that you’re hurt and you’re in pain

And I can see your head is held in shame,

But I just wanna see you smile again

See you smile again…”

And now the crowd is not just loud but deafening, and you’re so shocked the plate of pumpkin waffles tumbles out of your hands and onto the floor for the Australian cattle dogs to devour, because who bolts out onto the stage next is not Cregan or Luke or Jace but Aemond Targaryen, wearing Aegon’s beloved donut merch and his Adidas sneakers and his scar and blind eye bare for the world to witness. They don’t seem to take any notice of his maiming at all. They screech and hyperventilate and reach for him, awed, ecstatic, touching his outstretched fingertips and his sneakers like the relics of a saint. He is focused, perhaps nervous, but he is smiling. His voice is velvet-smooth and pitch-perfect.

“But don’t burn out

Even if you scream and shout,

It’ll come back to you

And I’ll be here for you…”

The others arrive, and now all six of them are singing the chorus in harmony as they traverse the stage, dodging each other’s chaotic spins and leaps, waving to the crowd, checking on Aemond with encouraging furtive grins and squeezes of his shoulders. Luke is beaming. Jace shoves Aemond playfully and almost gets flung off the stage in return.

“Oh I will carry you over

Fire and water for your love,

And I will hold you closer

Hope your heart is strong enough,

When the night is coming down on you

We will find a way through the dark.”

“Huh,” your dad says. “They ain’t no Johnny Cash, but they’re pretty good, I reckon. I thought Aemond wasn’t on stage much anymore.”

“He’s not.” And you smile wistfully as you watch him, right here with you and yet a world away, real and yet intangible, facts and myths and faith. “But now he knows he has a choice.”

On warm nights, you sit on the wraparound front porch and flick Aemond’s square metal lighter to life, shut it, ignite it again, a lonely golden spark in an ocean of darkness, a star in the night sky. And voices circle in your mind like satellites:

I think history is important.

Whoever you are when you’re in high school…that’s sort of who you are forever, you know?

I’ve never met anyone like you.

Aemond would want to be involved.

What the hell do I know about being a decent father?

Our father never cared about us.

It’s not just for me. It’s never been just for me.

“Please come back,” you whisper to the infinite emptiness of the universe, so softly you can barely hear yourself.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November, and you are finally showing more than you can hide beneath hoodies and sweaters. The attendees of your parents’ Southern Baptist church—who glimpse you at Walmart or McDonald’s or Freddy’s Frozen Custard or 7-Eleven—gossip about you ceaselessly, venomously, with pity but no compassion. And your parents, who have been politely ignoring jibes about you for a decade, do more than just ignore it this time. They clear out their church mailbox and walk out the front door together and never go back. They’ve been shopping around for a new place of worship. Your mom says they might get really experimental and try out the Methodists.

Rhaena sends you pictures from her and Luke’s trip to the Mammoth Site in South Dakota. Baela has you on speakerphone when she tells Jace she wants to take a break. She’s completed two ballet school auditions already, and has scheduled two more; at least one acceptance seems imminent. You call Cregan to ask him how to prepare for parenthood. You call Criston to ask if he’d be willing to serve as a reference. He writes you a five-page recommendation letter and tells you prospective employers can contact him any time, day or night. You are hired as a therapist by the University of Missouri. For now, to accommodate your high-risk pregnancy and copious doctor’s appointments, it is a part-time remote position. Your parents are at last forced to get internet for the farmhouse. Your dad starts watching beef cattle raising tutorials on YouTube. And oddly, when you begin taking appointments with college students struggling with breakups or parental pressure or substance abuse, you don’t feel nervous at all. You feel like you’re doing exactly what you were made for.

One morning, you receive a WhatsApp message from Aegon: I wonder if bumblefuck Kansas has the Rolling Stone…

Missouri, you reply, and then you go to Walmart to check. Sure enough, there are numerous copies in the magazine aisle, and that’s a good thing, because a plethora of teenage girls are scrambling for them. Aemond is on the front cover, smiling faintly; his scar and cloudy blind eye are neither centered nor hidden. And he isn’t wearing black. His suit is a deep, lush green like jade, summer grass, ivy. The title reads: Aemond Targaryen is Out of Hiding.

You begin reading. He talks about exactly what happened at the Budokan. He talks about the label’s unilateral decision to excise him from the band. He talks about feeling lost, humiliated, pitied, ignored, unlovable. And then he shares what changed him. He says that he met with other survivors of facial trauma: soldiers, professional athletes, people involved in car and motorcycle accidents. He says that he sat down with half a dozen different therapists until he found one that he really liked. He chronicles the process of finding purpose again in a way that is truthful and inspirational and yet—to you, anyway—conspicuously vague. He is still somewhat involved with Comet’s songwriting and will likely perform with them once or twice per year, he wants to advocate for people living with disabilities like his…but what else? What else?

I think what I want people to know is that progress isn’t instant, and that nobody can do it alone, Aemond writes. I’m only where I am today because of the support of a lot of extraordinary people. I want to thank Comet Donati—Luke, Cregan, Aegon, Daeron, and Jace—as well as our tour manager Criston Cole, who is like a father us. I am immensely grateful to my mother Alicent and my sister Helaena. I am indebted to the fans for the unconditional love they have shown me.

But most of all, I owe my recovery to a therapist from the American Midwest. She can be a little pretentious sometimes, but we don’t fault her for that. She’s earned it. Thank you, Stargirl. I hope this planet is treating you well.

Smiling, glowing, you close the magazine, take it to the checkout counter, purchase it along with five KitKat bars. The baby can’t seem to get enough of them.

Two days later, you have another ultrasound done—your fourth—and at last you are able to give Aegon the answer he’s been zealously hounding you for. You message him on WhatsApp: You’re going to have a niece!

!!!!! he replies almost immediately. And then: Name her Aegonella.

Probably not!

As if you have any better ideas??

You share a few from your list: Celeste, Luna, Aurora, Halley…

Aemond literally just said Halley, Aegon types back. Like right before you did. And then: He’s very excited, omg, omggggggg it’s so cute. Thirty seconds later: Wish you were here :(

“Me too, Starboy,” you murmur as you sit on the couch in the den with Belmont sprawled across your lap. Then you send: I’m scared he’s not coming back.

He is, Aegon replies. He’s working on something. You’ll like it.

And you have to believe this, blindly, faithfully, trusting that something is real even when you can’t see it. You have no other choice.

You beg your dad not to slaughter any of the pigs for ham, and he reluctantly agrees. At Thanksgiving dinner, half the dishes on the table are vegan. You’re trying out new recipes. You jot down the ones you like best in a notebook Luke sent you: black pages, white ink.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December, and there are stockings hung by the fireplace and a blanket of snow on the ground. You and your parents pick out a Christmas tree at a local farm, and your dad chops it down and throws it in the back of the Ford F-150. Inside your mom’s CD player in the kitchen spins David Archuleta’s Christmas album. As your bump grows, you keep running out of clothes that fit; Aegon is always happy to mail you more donut-themed merch. Thanks to his persistence, they stock nearly every size known to humans. Baela gets her acceptance letters. Aegon gets to make out with Taylor Swift in the Colosseum. They are photographed together in Rome by paparazzi one day and then never again. A week later he’s with Selena Gomez in Ibiza. A week after that he’s spotted with Camila Cabello in New York City. The wheel keeps turning, his route through the solar system long and meandering.

Emergency! Aegon texts you one afternoon as you’re sipping hot apple cider at the dining room table and assembling a 500-piece puzzle depicting the sinking of the Titanic.

You know better than to take him too seriously. You reply, in no hurry: ?

Aemond says I can’t hang out with Starbaby unless I stop taking so many drugs?!!?! Fascist?!??!?!?!

Hang out. Like they’ll be going to clubs and Crocs stores together. You grin and reply: I mean yeah, that sounds accurate.

Well fuck, Aegon says. Guess I better start doing those substance abuse education modules again!

On Christmas Eve morning, your parents are at their slightly-less-judgmental replacement church. You are trying out a new recipe in the kitchen: vegan snickerdoodles. The whole house smells like cinnamon and vanilla. Beyond the window over the sink, snow falls in fluffy white bundles like rumpled bedsheets, like clouds. The Australian cattle dogs follow you around hoping for dropped cookies, their claws clicking on the hardwood floor. David Archuleta is singing O Come, All Ye Faithful. You keep bumping into things; you forget how big you are. Your belly seems to grow by the day.

Your iPhone buzzes. It’s a WhatsApp message from Aegon that puzzles you: Hey, I promised I wouldn’t bother you guys for the first few days but I really need the Netflix password and he’s not answering my texts, rude, so could you ask him for it please??? And then a few seconds later: Please. I just really want to watch Grey’s Anatomy.

You stare at his message, not understanding. You reply: Ask who…?

After a moment, Aegon sends back: …Never mind :)

“Really?” you gasp to yourself in the hushed peace of the kitchen, not wanting to believe, not wanting to be disappointed. You peek out the window. Nothing.

You open Google and search Aemond Targaryen. One of the first results is an article from the Kansas City Star published one hour ago. The headline reads: Comet Donati Heartthrob Opens Farm Animal Rescue Outside of Kansas City.

“Oh my God.” You scroll madly, skimming the text. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

One of Aemond’s quotes reads: I wanted to go where the need is. A sanctuary like this in San Francisco or Boston wouldn’t be anything special, wouldn’t be as necessary. But here in Missouri, at the epicenter of industrial animal agriculture in the United States? There’s a lot of important work to be done here. There are a lot of lives I hope to be able to save. We’ve been purchasing animals from auctions and taking in others that have been seized from situations where they were abused or neglected. In addition to our own efforts, I’d like to help launch similar rescues throughout the Midwest, and increase public access to vegan alternatives…

There are photos of him posing with animals: a towering, scarred, ancient mule named Vhagar, a three-legged goat called Sunfyre. In all the pictures, Aemond is smiling. And here in the kitchen of your parents’ farmhouse, so are you. Without thinking, you reach back to touch your fingertips to the black-ink words beneath your Comet Donati crewneck sweatshirt. You hear the lyrics— I’ll come back for you if it kills me, Comets clip by again after eons and so can I—and you know them to be true like space, time, gravity, love.

You look out the window again and he’s here, speeding down the winding path of the driveway, snow dust streaming out behind his Gold Star like the tail of a comet.

[darrowfire15]

Medic headcanons please? :3c

also ilyy !! ❤️

Alrighty, let's get some Medic HCs! And I love you too! <3

In his office, Medic has every known disease stored away in his cabinets. He's injected those with known cures into the mercs that piss him off the most and makes them suffer. If they promise to stop bugging him, he'll give them the cure. If not, Respawn deals with their deaths.

Medic attempted to name each of his doves after different Greek Philosophers, but only a handful stuck. Archimedes is one that was successful.

He has, and will continue to, down two entire pots of coffee after pulling an all nighter (which happens a lot). No, it doesn't help him on the battlefield. No, he won't admit that he has a problem. If you mention it, prepare to be missing a spleen after your next check up.

After long days of paperwork, Medic always has a headache from staring at paper all day. No one but Heavy can really coax him to relax for the night, he can and will stay up to 2AM.

Medic is giving out free top and bottom surgery for trans people because he needs the parts for... Research purposes (Please don't give in, he'll take any other organs during the process).

Very much a mama's boy when he was younger, and still is today. He got a lot of her looks from her while most of his brains came from his father. Though, to be fair, both parents were equally mad. Medic says it's a family trait passed down for generations! (Do not go to the family gatherings)

Medic paces a lot when he's thinking. One time, he was stuck on an idea for an experiment for hours, pacing back and forth. He worn down a line in the floor of his operating room because of it. His doves found it funny, the Administrator not so much. They had to replace the floors, which came out of his paycheck.

If being a doctor never worked out (or in another timeline), Medic would've been involved in music, maybe a conductor. Music was always a secondary passion, thanks to his father making him learn a handful of instruments, but his bloodlust overcame everything. So, doctor it was!

Medic still has the patient's skeleton that he stole, it's hanging in his private quarters. He named it Carcass, not to be mistaken for his fake skeleton in his operating room named Cadaver.

A therapy group consisting of Medic, Sniper, Demo, and Heavy meet every other Saturday. Medic knows most participants won't open up easily, but there's some progress with each. He has invited Spy before, but he refused and cloaked away.

Medic tried on a dress once as a dare in his college days. He liked the feel of it flowing behind him, so when he got his mercenary job, he made sure to wear his coat in a particular way. It flows with how he moves!

During Scream Fortress, Medic began experimenting in Lycanthropy on some of the mercs, most notably Sniper, Demo, and Scout. None have been successful yet.

Reblogs > Likes

[annecoulmanross]

A Song from Swept Away for (not quite) Every Character from The Terror (2018)

In my ongoing quest to drag every terror fan into my obsession with Swept Away, I give you: a character from The Terror (2018) for every song from Swept Away: A New Musical Tale, Broadway’s new shipwreck cannibalism musical. Listen along here! Characters & select lyrics below the cut.

1. Go To Sleep = James Fitzjames

I spit a tooth in the palm of my hand Lay back, lay back, go to sleep my man Wipe the blood from you face and your hands Forgive yourself if you think that you can

2. Hard Worker = John Morfin

I got way down on my knees Sayin’ “Lord, can ya help me, If ya please, please, please— Can ya’ save me from this workin’ man’s disease?”

3. Nothing Short of Thankful = Henry Peglar

Do you think they’re listening To a thing? (No!) I wonder what’s On their mind; we all should (Go!) Break down the walls being built around us

4. Swept Away = James Clark Ross

Life is ever changing but I can always Find a constant and comfort in your love With your heart my soul is bound And as we dance I surely know that some kinda heaven will be found

5. Lord Lay Your Hand on My Shoulder = Sir John Franklin

Note: This one’s not on the playlist because it was written specially for the musical and it hasn’t formally been released yet! You can listen to a clip from it here though!

Lord lay your hand on my shoulder And guide me to our home

6. Ain’t No Man = Solomon Tozer

There ain’t no man can save me There ain’t no man can enslave me Ain’t no man, or men that can change The shape my soul is in

7. May It Last = Jane, Lady Franklin

There is a sea and I am a captain Of something unknown, waves high as mountains There is a key and there is a lie Here’s to times that I catch it

8. Murder in the City = John & Tom Hartnell

Make sure my sister knows I loved her Make sure my mother knows the same Always remember there was nothing worth sharing Like the love that let us share our name

9. Complainte d’un Matelot Mourant = HMShips Erebus & Terror

[Instrumental]

10. A Gift for Melody Anne = Harry Goodsir

Lord, I just want my life to be true And I just want my heart to be true I just want my words to be true I want my soul to feel brand new

11. Through My Prayers = Francis Crozier

Every night after and every day since I find myself crying when the memory hits Sometimes it knocks me down Sometimes I can just put it away

12. Satan Pulls the Strings = Cornelius Hickey

Mama’s cooking something up, serving to us all Satan’s ringing in now and I gotta take the call Gotta take the call, boys, gotta take the call Satan’s ringing in now and I gotta take the call

13. No Hard Feelings = John Irving

Will I join with the ocean blue? Or run into a savior true? And shake hands laughing, and walk through the night, Straight to the light, holding the love I’ve known in my life And no hard feelings

14. The Once and Future Carpenter = Thomas Blanky

Forever I will move like the world that turns beneath me And when I lose my direction, I’ll look up to the sky I’ll be ready to surrender, and remember, well we’re all in this together If I live the life I’m given, I won’t be scared to die

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

It takes a mob part 3

Part one 

previously

“This place is a dump Bill.”

“Hey! Excuse me if I wasn’t expecting company!”

Bill grimaced as he pushed a couple takeout boxes of the kitchen island. Renting alone was difficult enough; maybe he hasn’t swept or scrubbed in a while. He’s been busy, sue him!

The kid didn’t seem to mind, he was too busy chewing on a rabbit ear to complain.

Ken grimaced as he bounced the squirt,

“Forget company Bill, you got an entire war in your kitchen.”

“It you’re going to complain so much about it then lend a hand?”

“Oh no man, you forget. I’m holding Danny, this is an important job! Can’t have him crawling around here and picking up diseases. This is much more important than being your busboy.”

Bill raised a brow, watching as Marv snuck up behind Ken and scooping up the kid with a chuckle.

“Oh yeah? Looks like you’ve been relieved. Hop to it bus boy.”

“Marv!!”

“Didn’t want Danny to pick up your garbage attitude.”

Bill held back a groan as the two dumbasses started a game of keep away with the boy.

He was tired. What was supposed to be a quick beer on a night off has turned into a four am game of house.

The chaos paused when a whimper broke into the air.

“Look what you did Marv!”

“Me!? Ken you didn’t have to-“

The kid was fully bawling his eyes out and the two jackasses where too wrapped in their pissing match to notice.

Grabbing the boy from the two of them, Bill leveled the with a glare as he gently bounced the kid on his hip.

“He ain’t a toy you bozos! Be glad you didn’t drop him and crack his head open!”

Not breaking his glare Bill made his way to his couch and lowered himself to the cousins with a weary sigh,

“I’m cashing in the IOU’s. You two idiots get to clean the apartment.”

Bill raised his unoccupied hand at Ken’s sputtering,

“I’m not fucking finished numb nuts. You two are goin’ to clean and think about what you did. The tyke is barely old enough to raise his head! I don’t care if he’s a meta or not. The only reason he’s here and not at the Wayne foundation is because it’s safer with us than in the goddam system! The second that changes I’m not afraid to pack him up and take him there myself. Am I clear?”

Ken let out an annoyed “yes sir.”

Marv for his part looked properly chastised.

“Alright, now get.”

Letting out another sigh, Bill turned his attention to Danny.

“Let it out kid, just let it out.”

With a little bounce Bill brought his feet up and tried to get himself comfortable leaning against the arm rest.

‘The kid has a set of healthy lungs at least...’

“I’m really sorry you got to deal with a couple lugs like us. If it makes you feel any better, Kenny’s 19 and Marv has only handled older youngin’s before. There’s a learning curve.”

Bringing the squirming tot to his chest Bill began to run his palm up and down his back, mildly marveling at how much he could cover in one small swipe.

“Truth is, I’m probably no better. At least those two have excuses. If I fuck up don’t hold back on old Billy alright? Lord knows I can get my head up my ass at times.”

Danny let out a little hiccup as his crying petered out. Glancing down, Bill switched to rubbing a small circle with his thumb as the baby’s eyes began to droop.

‘Huh.. I thought his eyes were blue?’

Bill gave a mental shrug. It probably had something to do with his meta-abilities. God forbid if he drew the line in the sand over an eye color change.

The kid was fighting to stay awake; it was kind of adorable watching him try to keep his eyes open.

That being said a sleeping baby was easier to deal with than awake one.

‘Ok, think Bill, think. What would old man do?’

Glancing around, he made a face.

‘They won’t hear me over their own swearing...’

Clearing his throat, Bill hummed as he tried to recall some old words.

“Go to sleep you littl’ baby.. Go to sleep you littl’ baby. Your mama’s gone away and your daddy’s goin’ to stay.. Didn’t leave nobody but the baby..”

Bill kept humming as he tried to recall the next verse.

He hadn’t heard the song since he was a tyke himself, sue him.

He could almost feel the moment when the little man lost the war with sleep.

“Honey on a rock and sugar don’t stop.. gotta bring a bottle to the baby..”

Bill was pretty sure he got that lyric wrong, what Danzo didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

Bill kept humming as he listened to the sound of Gotham outside. The early bird would be just starting their commute by now.

Actually, why weren’t the numbskulls making any noise? If they think he was going to accept any half ass cleaning for two favors than they had quite a bitching to look forward to.

‘Not right now.’ Bill felt his humming slow down, ‘can’t risk waking the kid,’

He was aware he was joining Danny in Dreamland at this point; the fact of the matter is he been up for almost 24 hours and is supposed to go in tonight anyways.

He deserved some sleep after all this shit.

Gently laying his arm over Danny, he let his body relax as the first rays of dawn entered the apartment.

Hoodlums:

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