#posts i make instead of getting up the courage to go wake my mother in the middle of the night because my eye randomly started hurting

[boredqueerbitch]

hot take meet the robinsons is scifi addams fanily

[autumnslance]

FFXIV Write 2024: 21 Shade

(You can all blame @voidsentprinces and one of their posts for inspiring this one cuz I sure as heck am. Spoilers through Dawntrail.)

-

In the colorful forests of Kozama’uka, a strange movement of light green catches my eye. For a moment, I imagine.

“This one finds this forest so lively! Will these ones feast soon with the bright feathered ones again?”

It was a trick of the light on banana leaves. The shade of our little courageous one is gone again.

-

We’re still in Kozama’uka, but the roar of the waterfalls is below instead of above, and we’re trying to reach out to the bandits harassing the Potsworn.

I think of a boy with gold hair and an eager smile, no longer wearing blue. “You gave me a second chance, and I’ve never regretted it. We’ll find a way to help them, too!”

I blink, and realize the only resemblance in the bandit before me is that he’s young and blond. The shade of our foolishly brave boy is gone again.

-

I cross the bridge to Shaaloani, with its hot, dry plains rolling into the distance, eventually leading to grasslands in the northeast and craggy hills in the west, toward what was Yyasulani.

A Landsguard officer speaks an order, but in familiar tones, a comrade to his men. His voice stirs a memory, and my mind wanders again.

“We’re a long away from Quarrymill, but this reminds me in some ways of home. I bet you still hear thanks enough whenever you go back.”

I look at the soldiers laughing with each other before dispersing to their duties. The shade of our revolutionary captain is gone again.

-

The sky always seems so close in Worlar’s Echo. The Yok Huy see a few more traders these days. I’m watching the moon cross the sky when someone lights a pipe, the smoke wafting past my nose. Comfortable as I am, I’m halfway to dreaming already.

“Foolishness. We know what it is now, hardly deserving the veneration bestowed upon it for so long. And you surely have better things to do than mourn the likes of me.”

I turn to protest, but now I am fully awake and see the pelupelu merchants smoking and haggling. The shade of our spiteful witch is gone again.

-

There’s a sense of responsibility to the people afflicted with levin sickness, especially the children. I make sure that Oblivion is getting the families everything they need. I visit the first boy we met with this illness, and offer a treat of real fruit juice from the farms. It’s a good day, and he smiles as he sips, his mother smiling through her tears as he manages the straw.

“You learn to take what moments of happiness you can get. You figured out how to help the light afflicted and the tempered; this too will be defeated in time. But find the little victories where you can meanwhile.”

I look up from the boy’s bed. It’s just him, his mother, and me in the room. The shade of our fierce carer is gone again.

-

I’m still awake in the pre-dawn hours, so take a mug of mate with me to the end of the boardwalk to watch the dawn. The endless blue of the water, with the light piercing into my eyes, makes me remember a similar sight at the end and start of everything.

“There is no true challenge in this land. ‘Tis a wonder you are not bored. But you always have found meaning and pleasure in people and their small matters.”

The sun continues rising and the city wakes. The shade of my antagonistic mirror is gone again.

I finish my mate, return to my cabin, and go to bed.

-

They come and go, these ghostly memories. Some not as much as they used to, since that journey into the aetherial sea. Perhaps their aid and that last chance to say goodbye made a difference.

Maybe I am simply sentimental.

“The burden of heroes and leaders,” one of my newer ones says. “We spend all our time fighting for their lives and happiness, and feel it keenly when we fail them. Yet they helped to shape us, and so stay with us. And we strive to do better by those who come after them.”

I look up, but the shade of that heroic father is gone, the echo of his boisterous laugh ringing through his city’s streets, in his daughter’s own laughter. She waves to me now, her brother, her nephew, and our comrades with her. They are all exuberant and bright and alive, with so much possibility ahead.

I laugh as I wave to my friends.

[chaoticallywriting]

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter Four

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader, Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Warnings: Violence against women, choking, angst, vaginal fingering, female receiving oral, p n v sex, unprotected sex (i mean she’s already preggers guys)

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N:  I originally posted this series on TheGreensWhore. Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on there so I’m reposting all of amk onto here and will be posting further chapters on here instead of there.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

Previously || Next

It’s a month and a half later when everyone finds out. By now you're three and a half months along and all you want is to devour sweets (and any fruit) you can get your hands on. You wake up without blood on the sheets for another month, your handmaidens eye each other suspiciously before one finds the courage to speak up.

Marial fiddles with her hands before meekly asking, “have you gone to a maester, your grace?”

“What for?” You know you aren’t the best liar in the family, but you're decent. Furrowing your brows, you tilt your head and eye Marial. You play dumb brilliantly apparently because Myra speaks up next.

“You haven’t bled in months, your grace.”

Your eyes widen as you pick up a small honey cake. Your other hand comes to your stomach as you feign shock.

“Really? Oh my, we should definitely call for one then.” Lila turns her back to the others as she fills your cup with grapefruit juice. It’s another thing you’ve been craving. There’s a knowing look on her face that she hides from the rest.

Marial leaves soon after to fetch one while Lila and Myra do your hair. You softly hum to yourself as they do, thinking about the night before. Almost every night, Aegon has come to you through a secret passage in your wall. You didn’t know about it and find it slightly frightening, but Aegon assured you no one used it. Sometimes he would fuck you, which you’ve grown to like and even sometimes seem to crave. While other times he just holds you. Almost always he falls asleep with his head on your chest and leaves before you wake.

You’ve come to like his presence and find yourself unable to sleep when he doesn’t come. There’s only been two other times besides last night that he did not grace you with his presence. You never asked where he went because you had an idea of what his answer may be.

You're yawning into your hand when Maester Grant and Alicent come waltzing in. The queen mother is grinning from ear to ear when she enters and stands beside the maester throughout his questioning. His questions are simple and you answer them quickly. After only a few minutes, he announces you must be pregnant. Alicent slaps her hands together to look like a prayer and brings them to her mouth as she smiles.

Her reaction makes you sad. At this moment, you wish for your mother and are reminded of how she’ll never meet your child. Suddenly this pregnancy, the one you've been hiding and pretending doesn’t exist, finally becomes real. Alicent distracts your melancholic thoughts by telling the maester he may go before turning back to you.

She walks over and takes your hands in hers, a bright smile on her face. “Motherhood will suit you well, my dear. I already see how well you take to it with your brothers.”

You smile, hands gripping hers. “Thank you, your grace. I am extremely nervous, though.”

Alicent brings her hands up to cup your cheeks, you rest your own against your stomach. She’s never been mean to you since you married Aemond. At first, she tried to have tea with you every day, but as your depression grew you tended to seclude yourself. One day during tea she had said something that stuck with you, something you think of every time you look in the mirror.

“You look just like her. Your face is the exact same.”

You knew she meant your mother. You also know they used to be childhood friends. You can only assume that she finds comfort with your presence, maybe she can pretend your mother is still alive. That everything is fine and everyone survived.

“Do not fret. I believe once you give him a babe, he’ll start to see you in a new light. If he’s so obsessed with his other child, then imagine how he’ll be with yours.”

You imagine he’ll be indifferent, but you don’t tell her that. You only nod and let her have her useless hope. Alicent requests you spend the afternoon with her and shows you fabrics for gowns that must (according to her) be made for when your belly grows.

There’s tea and many sweets are scattered across the table as she fingers a deep green fabric with lace detailing. Everything is green, that much you expected, but still find yourself disappointed.

After a long discussion on which fabrics to choose, you find yourself walking to the library. You have two missions that require heading there. One, you wish to find any Targaryen names that you may like for the babe. You have a vague idea of ones you already like, but want to skim some old history books to see if there are any others.

You’ve read almost every book about your family's history and old homeland. Your childhood consisted of you obsessed over texts and becoming entranced by such grandiose stories.

Number Two is a bit tricky. You know, Aemond spends most of his time there when he’s not training. Since Ser Cole is with Alicent you can only assume he’s in there. As you weave around the shelves, books in your arms, you keep your eyes open for the one eyed prince. It doesn’t take long to find him lounging by the fireplace, long legs elegantly crossed as he leans against the arm rest, book in hand.

You place your books on a desk not far from him and grab the first one before taking the seat across from him. He eyes the spine as you open it, brow raised.

“Any particular reason for the history lesson?”

“A maester visited me this morning.”

There’s a beat of silence. His cool expression doesn’t change, but he clenches his book between his hands.

“Okay.”

“Are you going to keep avoiding me?”

“Mhmm.”

“Do you really want this baby to grow up with two parents who can’t stand to be in the same room as one another?”

He sighs, closing his book and staring at you. He doesn’t look like he used to. Aemond seems defeated, you can tell by his stature and the look within his eye. He’s slowly becoming a shell of himself, which scares you. It seems everyone has lost themselves due to that useless war. You only wish it never happened.

“ I do not, but I can’t help feeling like I’m betraying her when I’m near you.”

“Look I… I was raised with an interesting family situation regarding my father or fathers. I also know that when we were little, you told me Viserys didn’t care about you.”

Aemond scoffs. The one eyed prince stands, tossing his book onto the table beside him before walking over to the window. His hands are clasped behind him as he peers out of the glass. He can never stand to be near you for long, something that stabs your heart.

“I don’t want that for this babe. I don’t want confusion on who to love or look up to. I don’t want them to feel like they have to fight for your love, either.”

Tossing the book aside, you stand as well, walking over to him and peering up at Aemond. He’s much taller than you, if he looked away from the window he’d have to look down to meet your eyes. But he doesn’t move, you only know he knows you're beside him by the tick in his jaw.

“Do you want to subject a child to the way you felt as one? Is your son going to be your Rheanrya? For someone so smart, I find it unbelievable you’ll willingly repeat the mistakes of your own fath-”

Aemond’s hand wraps around your throat before he can stop himself, his cool expression transforming to one of unbridled rage. Your body smacks into the wall behind you and your vision swims with small black dots.

You wheeze as you fight to keep your hands by your sides and not grip at his own. You won’t look weak to him anymore. Not only that, but you now have the upper hand. You’re done being ignored.

“Say another word about me and I’ll squeeze harder” he threatens. It’s empty though because if you die his son won’t be safe. The realm won’t be safe. Your life is the only thing keeping the ever weakening thread of peace from snapping. He knows this. Aemond is a smart man, one you sometimes admire. Killing you would be a massive mistake. One that might cost him both his families.

“You’re a coward and a kinslayer. You owe me this after you murdered my little brother in cold blood.” He squeezes harder, your words come out in gasps. “Perhaps I’ll name my son Lucerys and teach him how to wield a knife, just as my brother did!”

Aemond’s eye widens in a mixture of shock and rage. He squeezes you hard enough to have you finally begin to panic before he finally lets go and tosses you to the floor. You fall to the floor in a gasping heap, hands smacking against the stone upon impact. One of your wrists stings while your other hand comes up to softly clutch your bruising neck.

You glance up at your husband, eyes filled with the hate you slowly find seeping into your bones. You’ve tried so hard to be agreeable, to be pretty and nice. To be the perfect wife or friend, and yet he still hates you.

Still clings to some fucked up honor code like he’s the epitome of the perfect man. He almost killed you and your babe. The war has changed the smart man you once knew. But also what did you expect? Killing your brother was just as stupid, and yet he still did that.

Aemond glances at you with an unreadable expression before quickly striding away. Leaving the library and never looking back.

“I could have him hanged!” Aegon is the picture of rage as you sip on the tea the maester gave you. Your throat is bruised, and you find it hurts to speak or swallow.

Maester Orlo said to drink this horrid concoction morning, noon, and night and your throat would be better in a few days. Nothing could be done with the bruise on your neck or your sore wrist, but at least you’d be able to talk again without being in pain.

“Nothing good would come of that,” you rasp out. “You’ve bruised me before, too.”

Aegon stops his pacing and walks over to where you sit, placing his goblet on the table and kneeling before you, one hand softly grazing your bruise. You flinch when his fingers touch the sensitive skin and eye him curiously.

“You liked it when I bruised you, I saw it in your eyes. Are you telling me you liked this?” You’ve seen this look before, at the consummation. He looks angry, but also something else. Lips pursed and brows furrowed with that look in his eyes you can’t place. “Do you want him touching you like I have?”

Jealousy, that’s the only thing you can think of. There was a hint of it that first night when he ranted about Aemond getting everything. He breathes heavily as he watches you, hands holding your hips.

“I never said that, Aegon.” You place the teacup onto the table beside you before cupping his cheeks. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes, letting out a content sigh. When he’s not fucking you, all Aegon seems to want is your affection, constantly. It’s a lovely change from being ignored. “You saw how I was that night with him.”

He kisses the palm of your hand before resting his head on your lap, lashes fluttering against his pale cheeks as he contently sighs.

“Mother will set him right tomorrow. She’s the only one he listens to” he murmurs before wrapping his arms around and pulling you closer, nuzzling your stomach. “Aemond better not have hurt my child though, or all will know he’s mine by the way I’ll publicly punish him.”

You warm at his words, a small smile spreading across your face as you card your fingers through his hair. This is all so wrong, but you’re tired of being lonely and Aegon is actually rather sweet to you.

“The babe is fine, my darling.” He practically preens at your words, squeezing you tighter and humming. “I’ve never seen you like this about Jaehaera and Maelor.”

Or Jaehaerys, but you don’t say that. No one mentions him, and you understand why. It’s easier to forget the dead than to constantly remember them, to think of them every day. It eats you up until your only bone and sorrow, no happiness, joy, or even a soul left. Grief can destroy you. It’s easier for you to pretend your mom and brothers are alive. That Baela and Rhaena are back on Dragonstone or Driftmark. It’s just easier to pretend.

“They don’t like me. They won’t talk when I’m around or even look at me, it’s better if I leave them be.”

You pull his face away from your stomach, so he can look into your eyes. Your hands cup his cheeks and your thumb strokes his cheek bone. He smiles and closes his eyes, eating up your affection like a child with cake.

“You are their father, Aegon. Please try with them, if not for me, than for the babe. They deserve your love and attention as much as this baby does. I would like him to have siblings who have a loving relationship with their father.”

He merely nods at your words, his smile turning into a frown as he thinks of all the ways bonding with them may go wrong. He’d try for you though, tomorrow morning he’ll march into the nursery and give it his best shot.

“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning up on his knees and kissing you. It’s delicate and sweet, you find yourself sliding your fingers into his hair and sighing into the kiss. He smiles against your lips and deepens it.

Ever since you’ve started reciprocating his affections, he’s become giddy to see you every day. All thoughts revolve around his nights with you, he finds himself distracted during small council meetings or interactions with anyone. Thoughts plagued with you and only you.

“I love you,” his words slip out without a second to think them over, his lips grazing yours. You feel him tense underneath your hands as you stop raking them through his hair. You're frozen at his confession, having no clue how to feel.

He pulls away from you upon hearing your silence, eyes burning with betrayal and hurt. Aegon looks like a wounded puppy as he stands and walks over to the door. He stops as his hand grazes the knob and storms back over to you without a second thought.

“Do you not love me?!”

You jump at the volume of his voice and quickly stand, trying to shush him as you panic. You both are usually so quiet in case anyone passes by your doors. If they hear him, everything will be over. Unfortunately, your panic only serves to fuel his anger and scowls, tears swelling in his eyes.

“Don’t try to quiet me! Let's tell the whole castle of your trickster ways, letting me into your bed just to use me… What even for?”

“Aegon…” You shake your head as your voice finally finds you. Hesitantly, you take a few small steps in his direction, stopping in front of the broken man. You raise your hands to cup his cheeks, but he flinches away from your touch. Your heart burns at his rejection, your own eyes beginning to tear up.

“We are playing a dangerous game, why can you not see that? You always assure me everything will be fine, and yet we’re both married! With everyone thinking this babe is his, there will be no way to annul our marriage. How can I say those words out loud when I know tragedy lurks around the corner, it edges closer every time we meet.”

“I could kill him.”

You shake your head, the tears now racing down your cheeks. His cheeks are streaked with his own, eyes turning red as he continues to cry.

“You would never, and I would never ask that of you.” Once more you try to touch him and this time he relents. Your fingers delicately wipe away his tears before cupping his cheeks. Aegon leans into your touch as he always does, always starved for any affection. “How can this end with us happy?”

“I have never loved someone as I love you. I love you more than my own family, you’ve shown me a kindness and patience none of them ever have. I…” He presses his forehead against your own, taking a deep breath in as if it's his last one. “I have loved you since we were children, I was denied your hand and forced to marry my sister. I’ll burn everything to the ground to keep this happiness. After all this suffering, I will not lose the sweet taste of your lips against my own.”

His words chill you to the bone. This declaration is enough to start a war, and you can’t figure out if you're terrified or overjoyed. You’ve felt for so long that you are unlovable. That your existence will be one of misery and loneliness, and yet the most unlikely person has stepped up to show you otherwise.

“Just say it… please.” Your heart breaks at the crack in his voice, at the desperation he’s displaying. You can’t help but cry harder as you feel for this man in front of you. Both so desperate for love that it eats you alive.

He must mistake your tears for rejection, and you feel him begin to pull away, physically and mentally. Shaking your head rapidly, you crash your lips onto his to keep him near you, it’s nothing romantic. Teeth clash against teeth and tongues slide against one another.

You pour your nearly broken heart into this kiss, trying to show him how much you need him to stay. How you’ll finally break if he leaves. All the cracks within your beating heart have been glued by him, you find if you're alone again everything will fall apart. It’s only when you feel yourself grow lightheaded do you pull away to try to breathe. You're both gasping for air as you press your foreheads together, noses bumping one another and lips nearly touching.

“I love you too,” you whisper. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Aegon pulls you back into a kiss, gripping your waist to try to pull you closer. Your bodies practically meld into one as his arms wrap around you to keep you close. Your arms wrap around his neck as you kiss him back, moaning into the kiss. It’s desperate and hungry, begging for everything you have. You give it to him without second thought, your mouth opening as you moan. His tongue slips inside without a second to spare.

Your knees hit the back of your bed, and he pushes you against it, falling onto the cushiony mattress with you, lips never leaving yours. Your hands pull at the ends of his curly hair, invoking a moan from deep within his chest as he pulls away from your lips. His hands slide to the bottom of your nightgown which has bunched around your waist and pulls it off of you. Your hands find his shirt and help him pull it off before he’s momentarily pulling away to take his pants off.

You find those few seconds without his touch unbearable and reach towards him while whining. He smirks at you, eyes lidded before climbing back between your legs, leaning down to press kisses up your thighs. You impatiently groan and try to tug him back up your body, thighs trying to rub together for any chance of friction. By now he’s fucked you enough to have you used to the feel of his cock within you, and you want it now.

“I can’t possibly fuck you yet, I haven’t even tasted you.”

You keen at his words and watch as he teasingly licks a slow strip through your folds, making you groan as you both maintain eye contact. He continues doing that for a few moments before kitten licking your bud. You feel one of his fingers pressing at your entrance before slowly sliding inside of you, he quickly adds a second one after a few slow thrusts and watches you impatiently grind your hips against his tongue and fingers.

The feel of him chuckling against you only makes you more aroused. Aegon stops his teasing and latches onto your bud, sucking the sensitive bundle before adding a third finger and making a come hither motion inside of you. Your head rolls back at his motions, and soon your moans fill the bedchambers, overtaking the crackling of fire and the sound of your wetness. Your hands delve back into his hair, and you tug on the stands as you continue to grind against him while whining.

“C-Close… So close.” Your words only spur him on, his other hand goes to press against your hips to keep you still as he speeds up, rapidly hitting your sensitive spot inside. You find yourself at a loss for words as you arch your back and squeeze your eyes shut, coming against his fingers and tongue. He continues through your orgasm and only stops after you’ve calmed down.

Aegon pulls his fingers out of you and moves up to your face, pressing his fingers against your lips. You greedily accept his offer and moan around his long digits as you taste yourself. He groans at the sight and quickly pulls them away from you, so he lined himself up with your entrance.

Your mouth falls open in a breathy moan as he slowly thrusts inside you, his eyes briefly closing as he moans at the feeling of you squeezing around him. You always take him so well, and he can’t help but feel that you were made for him.

“Say it again” his voice is raspy as he makes his demands, keeping still inside you as his eyes meet your own. You look so pretty beneath him, eyes half lidded and pupils blown. Lips bruised from his kisses and cheeks flushed. He decides he wants a commission of you like this, but also doesn’t want anyone else to see you the way he does.

“I-I love you,” you moan. Your hands cup his cheeks and pull him down for a bruising kissing. Aegon begins to fuck you at a brutal pace that you're loudly moaning within his mouth. His thrusts are hard and fast, and he’s hitting that sensitive spot inside you that makes your toes curl. Your tongues messily slide against one another as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him even closer.

If someone were to talk in right now, they wouldn’t have a clue as to where you begin, and he ends. You're consumed by him, completely and irrevocably. His scent fills you and his kisses leave you thoughtless. His own thrusts make you obsessed with him, and you find that you never want this to end.

One of his hands slides down and begins to circle your nub. He barely pulls away from your lips to watch as you groan. He can feel how close you are by the way your walls convulse around him, and he finds himself close as well. You move your hips in time with his thrusts as your nails claw his back, turning him on further.

“Fuck!” You cry out as you come around his cock, back arching and legs shaking, eyes squeezed shut. Aegon thrusts a few times as he tries to fuck you through your orgasm once before his hips stutter, and he spills inside you. His head nestles into the crook of your neck as he moans, cock twitching inside of you.

You both stay like that, wrapped around one another, while you catch your breath. He begins to pepper kisses down your neck, making sure to avoid the hand shaped bruise around your neck. You blissfully sigh as you feel sleepiness begin to overcome you.

“I will find a way to make us have a happy ending.” His words do little to calm the anxiety that's always lurking in the pit of your stomach. But you nod anyway and pull him away from your neck to peck his lips. He smiles into it and wraps his arms around you. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And you really do, which you find terrifies you. Love has no place in the dangerous game you both play, and yet it’s blossomed between the cracks and made itself at home inside the both of you. It’s shocking to know that this is the man who makes you feel safe and happy. Who brings a smile to your face and makes you think the future doesn’t look so bad.

But you also don’t believe in fairy tales, and you find yourself far too jaded to believe his words. You only hope this ends with you all alive and not another mindless war. You’d rather end yourself then deal with another one. But you won’t tell him any of that, it’ll only hurt him, and you don’t wish to do that. So instead, you brush your fingers through his hair and listen to his soft breathing. You stay like that until eventually sleep takes you too.

[aerodynamic-acephalic]

wait did I ever post that school-sanctioned Wuthering Heights fanfic I wrote?

yeah lemmie just

In the Middle Ages, much of an edifice’s being lay beneath soil. Of course, smaller erections, such as the chapel near the folk of Gimmerton, ne’er hold much more than one level, if at all, but the manor’s of Thrushcross Grange and Wuthering Heights, with how old they were, surely must have touched the cusp of said bygone era, for even with no torso stretching below the ground, the manor’s themselves feel as if the should be connected t’one another through their bottoms. I know not of the date of the creation of this wretched place, though, at least by what Father claims, it was in the middle 13th century when our home was built.

Home.

Oh, how dearly I miss my home.

How I yearn to descend the flights of Wuthering Heights to be brought back to the entrance gates, or the parlour. Nay, even if I could find myself at the kitchen entrance I could quite nearly cry myself dry. How I yearn for the paler, cleaner walls of my own room, instead of this grey, dirtied room, scratchings of Mother’s name carved on near’ every surface. That is not even to mention Father, whom I fear I may never see again. He must be scared for my life while writhing on his own death bed by now.

No.

No. I shan’t think this way.

I am not the only one kept here. Ellen, too, has been confined to the walls of this prison. I must be demure, I must be like the calm of the sea. We shall be all right once I find Ellen and head home. If I could only figure a way to unfasten the lock, I may be able to wake Ellen and sneak horses back home while the moon is still out.

The faint ringing of a huge slam reverberated through the walls. That usually meant that someone had returned.

Angry.

I near’ guarantee that none of the house servants owned even half the daring to make sound loud enough to reach these walls, and I think little on the idea that Linton could do so.

Mr. Heathcliff had returned.

Angry.

Any impropriety done to loosen the door should be kept to a minimum. I sat still, praying for more time, and hoping that His angels could hear even from up here.

Not even minutes had passed before I heard thumping from outside the room, before it was slammed open by Mr. Heathcliff, draped in a cloak he most likely wore on his way here. Pinpricks of water nestled into the lower lid of his eye, and there were even traces of dried tears glistening on his cheek.

Mr. Heathcliff was… crying?

The man looked almost as stunned as I was, the air of a mutt drenched in the rain surrounding him. I could scarcely believe my own eyes.

“C-Catherine?” He seemed almost shocked, scared even, as he spoke. Never have I seen Mr. Heathcliff act in this way before, without his staple demureness and poise. I had not the mind to even utter a sound. Was he drunk? Was he mad?

“I-I…” He could barely get even five words out, “Do you want anything?”

Seeing him act this open felt terrifying. As if the Earth itself could collapse at any moment in order to correct this inherent wrong. It occurred to me that he was expecting an answer,  so with all the courage I could muster, I curtly responded.

“I want to go back. I want to see my father. I want to not be here.”

“Then you are unhappy?” asked the man, after a silence. Was he daft? Was it not obvious that being detained for days would make me “unhappy”? Would I not feel “unhappy” after being deprived of my already sick father and any form of connection that wasn’t with Linton? Even then, do my wishes of wanting to go home leave any room for doubt that I feel “unhappy”? I took a breath. It would not do me good to show tone with Mr. Heathcliff. What he could do if I did, I daren’t even imagine.

“I am cold, I am afraid, and spiders are lurking in every corner, crawling. I want to go home.”

“Hold my hand.”

He extended a forearm from the slit between the two halves of his cloak. It stuck out not unlike a gnarled branch, enticing the weary bird to rest on its withering bark, dropping the bird the minute weight is pressed against it. The inner palm had smudges of dirt smeared around the fingers and buried into his nails.

The hand felt imaginably cold, as if it were death himself, holding his hand out to drag me even further into hell, even further up the floors of Wuthering Heights. We both flinched away seconds after contact. How he managed to feel even colder than I was, in this dark room in the middle of the night, I have no clue.

He looked directly into my eyes, with the very face Linton holds when he realises that he’s told me a little more than he intended to. On young, frail Linton, the features made him seem a little foolish, pretty even. On Mr. Heathcliff, the features felt foreign and unnatural, as if the act itself distorted his character as much as it distorted his face.

“Your hands are much warmer than I expected, Miss Linton.” It was as if he pulled a theatrical mask over his face. And like that, any action to read any expression other than contempt and sick joy was obsolete. “If you truly wish to return home, Miss Linton, you should reconsider our offer. Both things immensely benefit you, might I add.”

Mr. Heathcliff almost ran out of the room, the door audibly clicking several times, locked, unlocked, locked, unlocked, then locked again. I was once again left alone in the room. Water dripped down my face onto the sheets well into dusk, but not a sound left my lips.

Heathcliff avoided that room for months, but upon the return of Linton’s wife, Heathcliff let himself find comfort in its recesses once more. He found every iteration of the name “Catherine Earnshaw” juxtaposed to a “Catherine Linton”, and the words "ABANDON ALL HOPE", carved into the top of the door frame.