#so it makes him happy if he can make you happy by being interested in what your interested in (like how you do with his games)

[rpfofficial]

imagine your little brother gets married to a beautiful and wonderful woman that makes him a better version of himself and you and her become really good friends and the four of you including your husband become a unit and you're close and you like each other and your little brother is so happy and fulfilled and then his wonderful wife dies horribly and leaves him stricken and permanently changed with grief and he sinks so low that he permanently cuts his mind in two just so he can make the days go by faster and get work done without being haunted by his dead wife who he still loves and you also still love her and you really love your brother and you can't stop him from making the decisions he makes but you can keep reminding him you love him by being someone he can lean on and never letting up your affectionate teasing of him and in general being a "way better sibling than him" and you never agree with how he's handling his life and you're never trusting of his employers but you still haven't found a way of telling him you disapprove without pushing him further away and that's the last thing you want because he's your brother and you're all each other has and you can't help but love his stupid annoying ass and then one night his alternate self shows up to talk to you and ask you for help and he's so different and earnest and vulnerable and interested and bright-eyed and he smiles at you and you so badly want to help him but then he's gone and you're left exhausted and overwhelmed and there you are you're nearing middle age and you're life has wound up in this fucked up place where you're caring for your strange and awkward but loyal and loving manchild of a husband, your actual child who has just been born, and your fucked up grieving suicide risk of a little brother who has gone and got himself caught up in some kind of dystopian corporate conspiracy just because he'd rather let himself be exploited for labour through ethically dubious brain surgery rather than face up to his feelings which are too grotesque and intense for you to ever fathom or understand and that scares you because you want to understand him but you can't. and he's never been more out of reach. okay you've successfully simulated what it's like to be devon scout and that's why she's the best character in the show

[queer-obsession]

Just a small drabble. Kenma has a high maintenance girlfriend and has no idea (read: he doesn't care and thinks you're way too amazing for him). Song below makes me think of the dynamic

Warnings: Kenma x Fem!Reader, she/her pronouns used for reader, you're into your appearance and typical "feminine" things (by heteronormative standards) in this one, you are just mentioned in this, not actually in it. it's more of a conversation between kenma and kuroo, sorry. really short, i could expand the concept into a fic in the future.

Kuroo looks over Kenma's shoulder to see what's distracting him from Kuroo's riveting story of his last business trip and is surprised to see Kenma confirming an online order. "Buying a new game?" Kuroo asks with a grin.

Kenma rolls his eyes and leans away from him in response. "No. I ordered a new bag for ____ ." His tone suggests it's nothing out of the ordinary, and it isn't, but it still causes Kuroo to raise an eyebrow.

"She's kinda high maintenance, huh?" Kuroo comments his thoughts out loud.

Kenma scrunches his face up as he looks at Kuroo like he's stupid. "No."

Kuroo pauses for a moment and just blinks because Kenma is not naive or oblivious. In fact, he's able to read people almost freakishly well because of his anxious obsession of staying a head of people so they can't catch him off guard and humiliate him or something. There is no way Kenma is oblivious to your tendencies. "You're buying her another handbag..." Kuroo says slowly.

Kenma grunts in response and looks back at his phone. "A tote bag," He mutters the correction. "And I'm buying her it because she carries so much shit in her bag it hurts her shoulders. This is supposed to be internally padded without it being noticeable."

"And...you don't think that's...high maintenance?" Kuroo inquires as if speaking to a child.

Kenma huffs in annoyance and looks up at Kuroo again. "No. She's easier to please than my cat."

Now Kuroo is seriously confused. "What?"

Kenma looks at him like he's stupid again. Kuroo feels like he's on the outside of some inside joke. "I bought her a year's worth of nail sets for valentine's day and she was skipping places for the next week," Kenma tells him bluntly. "She's so easy to please, it's ridiculous."

Kuroo looks at him in bewilderment. "Kenma, she gets a new nail set every month and she hardly ever wears the same outfit twice. She gets embarrassed if someone sees her when she's not fully done up."

Kenma purses his lips. "Yeah. She likes when people admire her," He tells Kuroo as if it's obvious. Kuroo is genuinely so lost right now. "That's not high maintenance, it's easy to understand. If she was super complicated to read and clingy, and nothing pleased her then she'd be high maintenance. She's not any of that."

Huh, Kuroo never really thought about it like that, but he supposes it makes sense for a guy like Kenma. He likes things straightforward and he appreciates people who understand him and his need for solitude. You're straightforward in what you want, you don't expect Kenma to make himself uncomfortable to please you by demanding he takes you places or anything, and you're fine to give him alone time since you like alone time too. Kuroo supposes you being a little materialistic and into your appearance doesn't bother Kenma since it's simple and he seems to be able to understand it, which is all he cares about.

And, now that Kuroo thinks about it, it's not like you ask for Kenma to do any of the things he does. You were into fashion and being done up long before you met Kenma, to the point that Kenma didn't believe you were into him for a while because you seemed so out of his league. It's not like you sought Kenma out because you wanted a guy to pay for your nails. Ever since Kuroo has met you you've had a new nail set every month, happily showing it off. Now, Kenma pays for it though, and he almost looks as happy as you do when you show off your new set to him. Maybe that's what Kenma meant. You are pretty easy to please in that regard and maybe Kenma likes pleasing you, and seeing remnants of it whenever you wear something he bought you or have a new hair style he payed for. Kenma isn't good with words, but he's decent with actions. Maybe he likes that he can please you so easily with actions.

Kuroo smiles at his friend and chuckles to himself. "Well, whatever you say, Kynma. She's your girl."

Kenma scrunches up his nose and turns back to his phone. "Don't call me that."

[ilostthewar]

I feel like one of the earlier things that Simon has to learn in your relationship is that not only is he allowed to have opinions, you want him to have them.

It’s not to say he’s indecisive. That’s not really something he’s capable of being. But in the depths of him he really just doesn’t… care. That sounds a lot worse than how he actually feels. But he doesn’t particularly mind one way or the other if you makes mashed or baked potatoes for dinner, or what shoes you wish to wear, or what candle scent mixes best in the bathroom, of all things??? You took him in, feed him and give him every part of yourself. He doesn’t care if you decided to give him a spoon and a can of beans every night, or wore nothing but granny panties and your worn out shirts from high school. He simply cares that it’s you doing it.

He’s in the military. Deep self expression isn’t exactly what they’re known for. Not to mention, he remembers the way his dad ruled his childhood home with an iron fist. His way or the highway; picked every meal, activity, and emotion they were allowed to have. And he’ll be damned if he replicated that in your shared space.

However, he’s not immune to that little disappointed look you have on your face when he brushes off your questions. Nor does he understand why when he does give you an answer after you pester him, you don’t seem as happy with it. I imagine it takes Price having one of those great Teaching moments for Simon to actually get it. Divorced John Price for the win.

Price has to explain that it’s about Simon showing interest in the things you care about. You don’t actually care about the outfit or whatever, you care that he is interested in you. You care that he helps create a house that he enjoys being in with you.

So He tries to outbrain you by picking the option he thinks you want him to pick. He thinks he’s being clever, but you catch that shit a mile away, probably have a small disagreement about it. After that he decides trying to outsmart the person who sleeps in his bed probably isn’t the solution he originally thought it was.

It takes him a bit, but he does eventually get it right. Actually considers the options you give him and he realizes that he does have preferences. He does like certain colors on you, does like picking colored tea towels out with you, does like sniffing candles to put on the coffee table, does like deciding what size and heft the utensils should be. If for no other reason than to watch you beam and nod, or playfully argue over something so simple. Something so simple that won’t end in death or tears, something so simple but he understands to be important because you want this with him.

He does, however, get this incredibly exasperated look when he gives you his opinon and you choose the opposite. He actually thinks it’s pretty funny, cause he knows you’re being difficult to spite him. Doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna side eye you.

[five-rivers]

Soft body horror makes me think of the soft parts of the body - maybe something happening to his human internal organs would be interesting? Vanishing, mutating, or becoming something Other perhaps

(This is also inspired slightly by Black Hole Son, which is a good fic and a fun read.)

.

The Fenton Fantom Freezer (and, wow, Danny had sure frozen when he saw that name written down on a scrap of paper on the kitchen table) did not, quite, work as advertised.

The weapon looked and acted like a handheld spotlight more than anything else, but it actually did something with energized beams of ectoplasm that Danny hadn't quite been able to follow when his parents had been gushing over it at breakfast. It was supposed to paralyze ghosts. It was, in fact, supposed to paralyze one ghost in particular. Phantom, as the name suggested.

However, as Danny could currently attest, it did not do that. Not completely, anyway. Instead, it made every movement weak, small, uncoordinated. They were still movements, however, so if he could just manage to move fast enough--

Danny felt the 'spotlight' of the Fenton Fantom Freezer fall on his legs and destroy the little coordination he had managed.

"Mads! I found him! Wow, that Fenton Fantom Freezer worked like a charm!"

Danny tensed - as much as he could, anyway - as his father approached and then dragged him up by the back of his collar, away from the trash he was trying to hide behind.

"Oh, excellent, Jack!" said Maddie, running around the corner. She was carrying a smaller weapon. Danny didn't remember what, exactly, it did, but he knew it was one of the restraint-type weapons. A net gun? No, it was more complicated than one of the net guns. He remembered that much-

He didn't have any more time to think about it. Maddie pressed the muzzle of the weapon against his back and pulled the trigger. Something solid thunked into him, and when Maddie pulled away, it expanded, wrapping around him, forming a... Well, it was a net gun. It was just a complicated net gun. Regardless, once it had fully deployed, it only left his head exposed.

Even if his powers were working properly, instead of responding as weakly as his muscles, Danny could tell getting out of this would be hard. There was a slight buzz through the filaments of the net that told him it was either slightly electrified or energized with ectoplasm. He couldn't tell which one right now, and it didn't really matter. He wouldn't be able to phase through either way.

It reminded him unpleasantly of Vlad's... cube thing. Had he ever gotten the name of that? He didn't remember.

At least this wasn't shocking him. Yet.

Jack heaved Danny over his shoulder, annoyingly careful about keeping the 'spotlight' on him. Spotlight. More like a stoplight. He'd have to use that if he ever had the misfortune of encountering this thing again.

"Can you believe we finally caught him, after all this time?" asked Jack as they started back towards the GAV. Danny could hear the excitement and happiness in his voice, and the same part of himself that had driven him to let his father capture him, once upon a time, fluttered, weirdly pleased to be the object of that excitement. "What should we do to him first?"

"A thorough examination," said Maddie, promptly. "We'll also need to build a dedicated containment facility to better study its capabilities - assuming it survives the examination, which it certainly should, considering."

As his parents started to talk about the experiments they were going to run on him and what they expected the results from his dissection to look like, it occurred to Danny that he should probably... stop this. Somehow. Probably by turning human. That would be good.

Not in the middle of the street where anyone could see, but in the back of the GAV, maybe after the doors were closed and only his parents could see.  They would understand.  They had to.  

Not being able to see where they were going due to being slung over Jack’s back, reaching the GAV was a bit of a surprise.  Jack put him down on a fold-out gurney that Danny had only barely been aware of despite being in the vehicle all the time, and started strapping him in before Danny could even formulate what he was going to say.  By the time Jack got halfway through, Danny decided that words didn’t matter because the stupid stoplight would probably still be affecting him after he transformed.  His luck was bad like that.  

He reached for his transformation, and found it out of reach, just like the rest of his powers.

It was a strange experience, to panic mentally without being able to panic physically.

Jack buckled the last strap, cinched it down, then strapped the light overhead, so it would shine on Danny during the whole ride.  Then, with a satisfied nod, he shut the back door and went up to the front with Maddie.  

The light - the weapon - was also a weird experience.  It was oppressive.  That was what it was meant to be.  It was a weapon.  But it was also… gentle, almost.  Like a very heavy blanket draped over his whole body.  If that blanket had a sheet of lead in it.  And also a whole gym’s worth of weightlifting equipment.  

His parents were still talking in the front.  The actual content of their words flowed through his ears like water down a drain, lost in the buzz of panic, but the mood of it, the excitement…  They were giddy.  Like kids at a birthday party.  Like Danny and his friends at the premiere for the latest Dead Teacher movie.  

They were… they were really looking forward to this.  To cutting him open.  

They’d be so disappointed when he got away.  Because he would get away.  He had to.  

He just… wasn’t sure how, yet.  

The car pulled to a stop.  “I’ll go ahead and get the lab set up,” said Maddie, unbuckling herself.  

“I’ll be right behind you, Maddie!”

Danny tried to tense, tried to prepare himself to escape, but the forced lassitude of the Fantom Freezer didn’t give him any openings.  He was unhooked from the gurney and bundled up, just as tight as before, and carried to the front door.  No one stopped them.  Fentonworks didn’t really have neighbors, for obvious reasons.  

From there to the lab was something of a blur.  Danny didn’t even remember being carried through the kitchen.  But he must have been.  

“Oh, good, Jack,” said Maddie.  “Just lay it down here.”  She gestured at the flat, shiny, clean examination table.  Above it a copy of the Fenton Freezer was installed, like a spotlight.

“Great thinking!  The battery on this baby was about to run down.”  

“I thought so.” 

“So, what’re we starting with?” asked Jack.

“Cataloguing the subject’s anatomy,” said Maddie.  “Its behavior seems to diverge from other ghosts, but does its body?”

“Ooh!  I’ll get out the dissection kit!”

“And I’ll get the recorders!”

His parents split up, running to opposite sides of the lab.  This would really be a good time to escape.  He wouldn’t even have to go far.  The portal was right there.  

Painstakingly, he shifted himself to the side of the table.  

“Hm,” said Maddie, returning.  “It looks like we’ll have to use the restraints after all.  It has some movement.”

“Huh,” said Jack.  “Maybe we’ll tweak the Fantom Freezer after we see what this guy is made of!”

Maddie put the recorders - already lit up green - to one side and shifted Danny back to the center of the table.  “I think that would be a good idea.  Having such a simple and safe weapon is a real game-changer.”

Yes.  Danny would agree with that statement.  This whole situation was certainly a change.  

With a press of a button, metal cuffs rose up out of the table top and latched around Danny’s wrists and ankles.  “There we go,” said Maddie.  “Now, let’s get this suit off of him.”  She picked up a pair of scissors.

“What about that zipper, Mads?” asked Jack.  

“Oh, interesting,” said Maddie.  She squinted down at Danny’s suit.  “There is a lot more detail here than I would have expected.  You can see the weave.”  She took a pinch of the fabric between her fingers and rubbed it back and forth.  “It’s fairly similar in texture to standard Fentonworks hazmat fabric, but it’s much colder.  I wonder if there is similar detail on the skin.”  She reached up to the grab the zipper of Danny’s suit, just under his chin, and started to pull it down.  

With a zipping sound, Danny opened up.  His ribs pulled back, slowly, gently, like the petals of the flower.  He gasped, and he could see his bare lungs inflate.  Parts of his intestines, no longer held back by suit-skin, started to bulge and spill out.

Danny’s first thought was that it didn’t make sense.  He’d taken his suit off in ghost form before.  He’d seen his skin, in all its detail.  He could feel his skin right now, his hands resting against the insides of his gloves.  

His second, slightly hysterical, thought was that he’d never heard his mother swear like that before.  

His third thought, though, was that it made perfect sense.  

Ghosts, he knew, didn’t have one set shape, one set composition.  Technus went through different versions of himself regularly.  Bones were optional for most ghosts.  Sometimes they had them, and sometimes they didn’t.  Spectra liked turning herself into fire.  Frostbite had told him that a ghost’s appearance could change based on their power levels, feelings, desires, and self-perception.  Bertrand and Amorpho were outright shapeshifters.  Danny himself deformed to dodge attacks.  

What was this, if not a way to dodge an attack he’d seen coming for years?  

His parents wouldn’t have to cut him open.  He’d already done it for them.  It hadn’t even hurt.  

He wanted to laugh.  He couldn’t.  

“... is actually the outer envelope of the subject, part of its body.  There is no ‘skin’ underneath it, although there are a number of pseudo-bones and pseudo-organs.”  Maddie paused to touch one of Danny’s ribs.  “While the organs appear remarkably anatomically correct based on cursory observation, the rib analogs detached from the sternum and spread outwards, almost as if presenting the organs to us - which is ridiculous, but still…”

“So, specimen jars?” asked Jack.  

“In a moment.  We need to document where all of these pseudo-organs are.  It probably doesn’t matter, but–”

“Right you are!  I’ll get the camera!”

They were going to cut him up anyway, then.  Danny wondered how he’d do with missing organs, seeing as being split open from throat to groin wasn’t giving him much trouble.

“You know,” said Jack as he took pictures, “the way these are colored, it reminds me of something.”

“Not human organs,” said Maddie.  

“No, no,” said Jack.  “Of course not.  But–  I’ve got it!”  He put down the camera and ran up the stairs.  

“What is he off to now?” muttered Maddie before going back to speaking into the recorder.  “On closer inspection, with other light sources, the surfaces of the organs appear to be matte… perhaps suede?  The lungs are inflating - to what purpose? - but the heart does not appear to be beating.”

Jack came thundering back down the stairs, triumphantly holding a… doll?  No, was that–?

“Jazz’s anatomical model!  D’you remember making this with her, Mads?”

“Oh, fascinating,” said Maddie.  “I wonder if the base organism for the ghost was familiar with a similar model.  It would explain why it seems to have both male and female internal organs.”

Well, that was sure an embarrassing mistake.  Not one Danny could fix right now, or maybe ever, but if he could ever get away, he’d be sure to work on it.

“But,” said Jack, “is it time?”

Maddie smiled, and the overhead light glinted on her goggles.  “It’s time.  We can start on the pseudo-organs.”

Jack squealed in delight and tossed the model onto a side table.  “Let’s do the intestines first, since they’re all spilling out like - Oh.”

Danny closed his eyes as his fathers hands closed around the pink rope of his intestines, bracing for the pain, because there had to be pain at some point.  There wasn’t.  In fact, it felt sort of… pleasant.  Like hands squeezing his shoulders, only… inside.

“What is it?” asked Maddie.  

“I don’t think this is actually attached,” said Jack, “and it feels…  I dunno, like a stuffed animal.”

Danny opened his eyes in time to see Maddie reach over to feel the organ.  “It does,” said Maddie.  “Like a plushie.”

“Weird plushie,” said Jack.  “But that gives me an idea for a new product!  How’d you feel about a Fenton Dissectomatic!  For Kids!”

“I’ll put a pin in it,” said Maddie as she helped Jack wind Danny’s intestines around Jack’s arm, as if it was a rope.  “Should we examine these in detail now, or later?”

“Later, I think!  I want to see what else is in there.”

Maddie nodded, then unscrewed a specimen jar and held it out to Jack so he could drop the intestines in.  There was a dilute ectoplasm already inside the jar - to better preserve the samples, he’d heard that lecture a million times - and it felt weird when the organ - when his organ - hit the liquid.  Like drinking, but backwards.  

“That was the small intestine,” said Maddie.  “Large, next?”

“Let’s do the whole abdomen!” 

They continued, organ by organ.  The large intestine, the liver, the pancreas, his kidneys, his diaphragm.  Danny… laid there.  Because that was all he could do.  The vaguely pleasant sensation persisted, but it was just too intimate for him to fully disconnect with– with everything.  

“Weird that his lungs are still working without the diaphragm, isn’t it?” asked Jack, excitedly.  

“It does show a fundamental lack of understanding,” agreed Maddie.  

And– How?  Had Danny forgotten some connection between the diaphragm and the lungs?  What did the diaphragm do, anyway?  Something about hiccups?

“Should we try the lungs first,” said Maddie, running her hands over the organs, “or the heart?”

“Lungs!” said Jack.  “Gotta wonder if that movement is just some kind of mimicry thing, or if it’s functional, somehow.”

“This is all mimicry.”

“Well, yeah, but is it actually taking in air, or is the movement totally ectoplasmic?”

“Good question, Jack.  Let’s find out.”

Danny’s lungs slipped free just as easily as all of his other organs.  His rib cage, mostly bare, quivered, as if shivering.  

Danny did feel cold.  

He kept breathing.  His lungs kept inflating.

“Last one,” said Maddie, “then, we can start looking at some of that musculature.  It–”

An alarm went off.  Not anything big, like the Ecto-Exodus alarm, but something small and tinny.  

“What’s that?” asked Jack. 

“Oh,” said Maddie, “I put on an alarm to do dinner.”  She sighed.  “I want to finish this but… We are trying to be better about eating as a family.”

“Yeah!” said Jack.  “Hey, I’ll help, and it’ll all go super fast!  It’s not like the ghost is going anywhere, huh?”  He patted the Fantom Freezer fondly.  “We can even show the kids, after we eat!”

“I don’t know if they’ll want to right after they eat, Jack, it is a bit gruesome for the layperson…” 

Still idly talking, they washed their hands in the sink and went up the stairs.  One of them shut off the main lab lights on their way out.  

Danny blinked at the ceiling, at the light of the Fenton Freezer, slowly.  He was alone in the lab.  His suit– his skin was loose.  

He really hoped that this wasn’t a permanent change, because this was… disturbing.  His still mostly human brain didn’t want to process the sensations it was receiving at all.  

But that was fine.  He had to put all his focus and the little movement he could accomplish on getting out.  

With the minuscule amount of force he was able to bring to bear, he pulled his arm out of his skin bit by bit, slipping naked fingerbones past the cuff of the restraints.  The limb flopped out, muscles ropes of green.  Just as slow, he reached over to one of the equipment tables and grabbed a tray.  With one burst of strength, he swung it overhead, smacking the spotlight of the Fantom Freezer off of him.  

Then he laid there, exhausted by his exertions.  His parents could come back at any minute, but he just…  He had to rest.  

He picked up the edge of his suit skin and pulled it out from the restraint before slipping it back on.  He was already moving easier.  He did the same trick with his other arm, this time trying not to look at his bare muscles, and then had enough range of motion to hit the release button.  The rest of the restraints retracted into the table.

Feeling dazed, he reached down and pulled up his zipper.  

Then, after a moment’s thought, he pulled it back down, revealing his skin and chest.  He touched it.  He could feel it rise and fall.  He reached down.  He could feel his stomach and everything else under his belly.  

Then, bracing himself for disaster, he turned human.  He didn’t die instantly, so he phased his hand inside his body.  It felt exactly the same as it had all the other times he’d done this, looking for things he’d swallowed by mistake or for shrapnel from a fight.  It was– Everything was there, from the diaphragm (what did it do, anyway?) to his beating heart.  

He looked at the specimen jars lined up all around the lab.  

If his organs were still in him, where had all of those things come from?  If those were his organs, what was inside him?

He shuddered.  

Then, he went ghost.  His zipper was already pulled up under his chin, and he could feel the suit slide loosely back and forth against his skin.  His fingernails caught slightly against the stitching of his gloves.  

He breathed.

Then, he flew up through the ceiling, towards his room.  Dinner was going to be soon, after all, and he wanted to be in his room when his parents called him down. 

[lauraneedstochill]

this fic sparked my interest instantly when I read the premise for the first time and I’m so happy I finally got to it! first thought after reading — damn, that friendship between the three of them will crumble in the most heartbreaking way 💔

I really enjoyed watching the well-known events from the show unfold from someone else’s perspective, and you made it very easy to sympathize with Lia. as witty as she is and even with how sly she can be, there’s also this lonely part of her that comes from the experiences a lot of us had to face in life: feeling out of place, struggling to find where you belong, trying to mold yourself to other’s expectations in hopes that it will make things better.

you managed to add even more depth and emotions to the already sad parts of the story, and I felt so bad for Lia for being the one who doesn’t have any family by her side to offer her actual support 😭

She was being treated as though she was a lady, when she had never craved more to be comforted as though she was a little girl.

Otto is very intriguing in this — he’s clearly manipulative and always thinks two steps ahead but it is endearing to see that he sometimes has his moments of weakness, however small (for now hehe). it makes me wonder if she can manage to push him to make a bolder move. or maybe some other man should take an interest in Lia to motivate that cunning old man to interfere 👀 hmmmm.

If she did not know him better, she would have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 😏

(also, I peeked into the comments — “she is going to wrap that crafty old man around her finger”? CAN’T WAIT)

Fire on the Mountain - Chapter One

Pairing: Otto Hightower (House of the Dragon) x OFC (Lia Costayne) Warnings: Canon typical death and mild angst. Word count: ~8.4k

Chapter summary: Lia suffers bitter disappointment at the king's tourney, and finds herself uncertain of her future in the wake of an unexpected shift in dynamic.

Series masterlist

Author's note: Header by @vampire-exgirlfriend who also beta read this for me - this story would be nothing without you. Thank you for the care and attention you have put in both myself and my writing. I love you.

The wheels of the carriage squeaked and rattled over the bumpy roads of King’s Landing, accompanied by the thumping of the horses’ hooves that pulled them towards their destination. Lia shifted uncomfortably, repositioning against the plush cushions that she sat upon. It was not the instability of their short journey towards the Dragonpit that irked her, however.

Click. Click. Click.

She cast her gaze down towards Alicent’s fingers, the sound of her nails moving against her skin was audible even over the din of the wheelhouse. The flesh was red, raw and bloodied, and Lia had to force herself to suppress the way her lips attempted to curl in disgust, instead leaning forward to place her own hand over top of Alicent’s, squeezing gently, a comforting gesture that halted her friend’s nervous habit.

Alicent smiled softly at her, but Lia could tell from the way she lowered her eyes that she was embarrassed at having been caught outwardly expressing her anxiety. Lia could not help but pity her, she had plenty to feel worried about herself, but had never allowed it to manifest itself in such an unseemly manner.  House Costayne was sworn to the Hightowers, and so it was no question that Lia, youngest daughter of Lord Owen Costyane, would serve as a companion to Lady Alicent, the young daughter of the Hand of the King. Whisked away from the Whispering Sound at the age of six, the two years in Oldtown had been extraordinary—the largest port in the Reach, full of bustling excitement and things to see, all temptations to a precocious and formerly sheltered little girl. When King Viserys took the throne, Lord Otto called his daughter to the capital to be a companion to the young princess and of course, Lia joined as part of Alicent's household.

At the age of fourteen, she had spent more of her life away from her family than with them. They were leagues away, and the memory of the castle in which she was born was but a distant memory. The silver chalice and black rose that adorned the Costayne House sigil felt more tangible to her than the faces of either her mother or father.

She could not pretend that she had suffered in their absence though; she had had every luxury she could ever desire at her disposal, and though her family were far away, at least they still lived. Alicent had suffered through the loss of her mother, and had to keep her composure through all of it. The royal court was no place for the weeping and wailing of a young girl. Lia supposed that if she had been forced to endure that, then she would likely have taken to picking her nails bloody too.

The death of Alyrie Florent had brought Lia and Alicent closer together, and with it their shared bond with Princess Rhaenyra had blossomed too. Lia helped to bring Alicent out of her shell, allowing her an outlet for behaviours that were otherwise considered unseemly for a young lady at court; they gossiped, laughed loudly, and did so with the unspoken bond of secrecy that runs like an invisible thread through the fabric of friendship. Alicent had a calming influence on both Lia and Rhaenyra, serving as the voice of reason that helped to keep them out of trouble–most of the time. Oftentimes, it would take but a look from Alicent for both girls to know they had gone too far, a trait she had doubtless inherited from her father. It had taken just a simple widening of those big brown eyes to halt Lia and Rhaenyra’s ascent up through the branches of the Heart Tree in the Godswood; a foolish attempt to gain a vantage point in order to spy through the higher windows of the Red Keep, that would likely have resulted in broken limbs. Rhaenyra shared Alicent’s knowledge of propriety, though not her love of it, and the wild, adventurous side of her played well with Lia’s, her status as The Realm’s Delight allowing them a margin more leniency than most would be afforded. 

The three girls were inseparable, yet in the unwavering foundations of their bond, Lia had never felt more uncertain about her own future. Otto clearly had plans for Alicent, and Rhaenyra’s comfort was secured in her position as the King’s daughter, however, no such fate awaited Lia. She was every bit the spare part, aware of the fact that her destiny is one she will have to build on her own. As such, she delights in being Otto’s confidant, sharing news of the movements of Rhaenyra and Alicent in exchange for his favour. It had begun innocently enough, a fatherly figure taking an interest where the patriarch of her own family was unable to. She had taken pride in recounting her lessons to him, beaming up at him with girlish exuberance as he had listened carefully, amusement glittering in his eyes. It had never occurred to her that he had any ulterior motive, and so the unspoken vow of secrecy she afforded Alicent slipped in front of her father, allowing him to be privy to the gossip they indulged in and the adventures that they embarked upon with Rhaenyra within the walls of the Red Keep. As Lia had grown older, she had started to suspect that Otto’s questions served a deeper purpose than simple interest, however, it did not deter her; acting as a confidant to the King’s Hand would not be without its advantages. She hoped that when the time was right, the loyalty of both her and her family would not be forgotten.

The wheelhouse pulled to a shuddering stop just outside of the Dragonpit, and Lia moved to push the door open, stopping as they were plunged into sudden darkness. A forceful gust of air shook the carriage. They had arrived just in time for Rhaenyra’s return on Syrax. Lia and Alicent hovered apprehensively by the door, waiting until they heard their friend’s dragon thump heavily against the earth, before tentatively peeking out. Lia was brave enough to descend the small set of wooden steps to the ground below, while Alicent opted to remain in the safety of the wheelhouse, standing in its doorway.

She could not help but feel envious of Rhaenyra, watching as she slid gracefully from the back of her golden dragon, pulling her riding gloves off with her teeth, staring up at the great beast in admiration as it was coaxed back to the pit by the dragon keepers. Lia longed for the sense of adventure and freedom that the princess experienced high above the clouds of King’s Landing, the walls of the Red Keep felt as much a cage as they were an extravagance at times.

Though as Rhaenyra drew closer, the sulfurous stench of dragon radiating from her leathers, Lia wrinkled her nose in repulsion, deciding that if she were to experience freedom then she certainly had no desire for it to be atop the back of a dragon.

“Syrax is growing quickly,” Alicent commented, nodding towards the dragon’s retreating form. “She will soon be as large as Caraxes.”

“That’s almost large enough to saddle two,” Rhaenyra replied with a grin.

“I believe I am quite content as a spectator, thank you,” Alicent quipped, the gentle smile reserved only for Rhaenyra spreading across her mouth.

“And you?” Rhaenyra regarded Lia with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I prefer to keep both my feet firmly on the ground, I am afraid.”

Rhaenyra tutted. “Cowards, both of you,” she jested, stomping up the carriage steps.

The three of them huddled together on the same seat on the way back to the castle, talking excitedly about which knights they expected to be in attendance for the tourney being hosted by King Viserys in honour of the impending birth of Queen Aemma’s second child.

Their laughter carried through the Keep’s corridors as the three of them walked back towards Rhaenyra’s chambers, linked arm in arm, Rhaenyra sandwiched between Alicent and Lia.

While Alicent and Lia reclined comfortably on couches, nibbling on candied lemon slices, Rhaenyra went to change out of her riding gear. The two exchanged a surprised glance as she reappeared in a yellow gown, much too quickly to have bathed. Lia could not imagine being allowed to conduct herself at court smelling quite so pungent; it was a privilege only afforded to royalty. Her and Alicent had to always present themselves as clean and well groomed, a necessity that Lia did not mind at all. She was well aware of her own beauty, and took a level of care with her appearance that bordered upon outright vanity. She would never dream of being seen outside of her chambers without her long, dark curls having been meticulously brushed and styled. Whereas Rhaenyra, Lia often thought, could have been mistaken for one of the scullery maids were it not for the finery she dressed it. She was lucky she was pretty.

Rhaenyra swept into the Queen’s apartments, leaving her friends to stand awkwardly in the doorway, looking in on the queen and her ladies. They both greeted Aemma courteously, and she responded with a polite hello and a strained smile. 

A sense of unease crept over Lia’s flesh at the sight of Aemma, fanning herself as she lay on the settee by the open balcony windows. She looked more uncomfortable every time she saw her. It was not a state she wished for herself, though it was an inevitability. Such was the role of a woman, though Lia hoped her fate would be one more fortunate; she was all too aware of the fruitless pregnancies that Aemma had endured prior to this one.

“Take a bath, you stink of dragon,” Aemma gently scolded her daughter.

Lia bowed her head, concealing the way her lips curved upwards in amusement, suddenly pretending that the golden stitching of her ivory coloured gown was the most interesting thing in the world. She kept her blue eyes fixed upon the cuff of her sleeve, her fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the delicate golden rings upon the fingers of her left hand. At last, someone was saying it aloud. A statement only a queen could get away with saying to a princess.

Rhaenyra ignored her mother, settling beside her. “Did you sleep?”

“I slept.”

The princess huffed. “How long?”

“I don’t need mothering, Rhaenyra.”

“Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you.”

“You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm.” The queen’s voice was tired, though of the pregnancy or of this oft repeated conversation, Lia could not tell.

“I’d rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory.”

“We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”

Lia lost herself in her thoughts as Rhaenyra conversed with her mother, continuing to twist the rings upon her fingers and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, as her mind conjured scenarios she would prefer not to dwell upon. She wished for a secure position in life, but did not want to be confined to the birthing bed. She longed for power, to have authority, over herself, surely, and perhaps over others, yet did not share the princess’ desire to fight in battle. Her days of climbing trees and skinned knees were well behind her.

She was roused from her thoughts as Rhaenyra hurried past her.

“Where are you going?” Alicent called after her.

“I am late!” She replied over her shoulder, running in the direction of the Small Council chamber.

Lia propped herself up on her elbow, lying on her side as she watched Alicent carefully stitch delicate powder blue flowers into the fabric suspended within her embroidery hoop. Her own lay discarded beside her, she had given up when the thread had become knotted, in no mood to attempt to fix it.

“Alicent…” she began slowly, “do you ever think about why your father wanted to bring you to King’s Landing?”

Alicent kept her eyes upon her needlepoint, her tone matter of fact as she continued her work. “To instruct me in what is expected of a highborn lady.”

Lia huffed, leaning across and tugging Alicent’s sleeve to get her full attention. “Yes, but why?”

The other girl sighed, lowering her embroidery hoop into her lap and fixing Lia with an exasperated stare. “To give me the best possible opportunities in life, so that an appropriate match may be made for me.”

“And that is enough for you, is it? To simply be married off to a man who is not of your choosing?”

She lowered her gaze, her voice soft. “My mother did not choose my father, and yet they were very happy.”

“But is that what you want?”

“What is it that you are trying to get at?”

Lia hummed, flopping down onto her back against the plush rug that they sat upon in the solar, clasping her hands across her front as she stared up at the vaulted ceiling. “I am unsure of my own purpose, what it is that I want.”

Alicent nodded in understanding. “Well, there will be plenty of eligible knights at the upcoming tourney. Gwayne is going to be there,; he is competing in the jousting.”

She scoffed, recalling the gangly boy of ten, a mop of hair the colour of rust, that they had left behind in Oldtown all those years ago. “Ah, yes, how fares your older brother?” she asked, turning her head to the side to look at her friend.

“He is a knight now,” Alicent said proudly, “and quite handsome too.”

“Handsome?! How would you know?”

“He tells me so in his letters.”

The pair burst into peals of laughter, stopping abruptly as Otto stalked into the room, casting a disapproving glance at both of them. “Do the pair of you not have lessons to attend this afternoon?”

“We were waiting for Rhaenyra, so that we might all go together,” Alicent said apologetically, scrambling to her feet and smoothing the skirts of her dress down.

Lia rolled her eyes, knowing their fun was over, and rose to her feet too, running her fingers through her dark curls, rumpled from having laid upon the floor.

“Well, the Small Council has concluded its business for the day, and with it Rhaenyra’s duties as cupbearer, so run along. Do not keep your septa waiting.”

“Yes, Father,” Alicent said quietly, making her way out of the solar. The skirts of her pale blue gown swished behind her, the cascade of her auburn hair down back appearing as Autumnal leaves against a cloudless sky.

Lia readied to follow suit when Otto reached out, gently grasping her forearm and halting her movements. “I trust you are behaving yourselves?”

“Always,” she said with a saccharine smile, moving to pull away from him.

He tightened his grasp, and Lia lifted her eyes to meet The Hand’s, his gaze steely and unblinking, apparently unaffected by the mischief that glittered within her own. “The Princess is…spirited. Do not allow her to lead you or Alicent astray.”

She slipped away from him, pausing once in the corridor to look back over her shoulder at him. “You have raised a well mannered young woman, Ser Otto. She will heed your wishes, though I cannot say the same for myself.”

Lia did not know why, but she had always enjoyed testing how far she could push Otto Hightower. He seemed to have more patience for her misdeeds than that of Alicent’s, and there was a certain thrill to watching his features pinch into annoyance. Perhaps it was because she allowed him to be privy to the secrets of her and her two friends, and he did not wish to sever that connection with too harsh a scolding for misbehaviour. She still remembered when he had taken it upon himself to instruct her in the art of handwriting, claiming that hers looked as though “a spider had fallen into the inkwell and then scurried across the page.” She had taken her quill and flicked the end at him, watching as spots of black had splattered across his doublet. He had scowled, snatching up her wrist, but then she giggled. His grip on her had loosened and his expression had softened. If she did not know him better, she would have sworn she saw the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Rhaenyra did not turn up for lessons, leaving Lia and Alicent to endure the presence of the stern Septa Marlow without her. Lia would not have minded, except for the fact that that day’s lesson was history, her least favourite subject. She endured a scolding for not remembering that Princess Nymeria departed Rhoyne for Dorne, and by the time the hour was over she felt tired and irritable.

Alicent had always been more studious than she was, her ability to focus surpassing Lia’s, who was far too easily distracted by the world around her. The comings and goings of the Red Keep’s staff was far more interesting to her than what was contained within any book. She preferred to focus on the whisperings found within darkened alcoves of the castle, than the monotonous drone of Septa Marlow.

“Come,” Alicent said, pulling a thick historical tome from the library shelf. “We shall study in the Godswood, the fresh air will help you to remember.” There was no heat in the subtly pointed look she directed at Lia, so she followed without complaint, merely returning a glare of her own.

They had been seated beneath the heart tree in the Godswood not five minutes when Rhaenyra arrived, quickly settling herself between them, as was her customary place within the confines of their group. She placed her head in Alicent’s lap, and her legs across Lia’s, letting out a sigh as she gazed up at the clear blue sky through the branches of the tree.

“You did not attend lessons today,” Alicent said to her, hefting the book onto the grass beside her.

“I did not,” Rhaenyra replied simply.

Lia spied the Valyrian steel and ruby necklace that now rested around Rhaenyra’s neck. It had not been there earlier. She leant over, lifting the pendant delicately between two fingers.

“A gift from your father?”

Rhaenyra furrowed her brow, as though she found the idea ridiculous. “A gift from Daemon.”

“He’s back then?” Lia’s interest is piqued. Daemon had never paid her much attention. As a ward of House Hightower, she was of no consequence to him. However, he was endlessly fascinating to her; his volatility and reckless behaviour served an endless supply of gossip.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, “to take up his position as Lord Commander of the City Watch, and compete in the tourney.”

“And give you gifts,” Lia teased with a smirk, letting the pendant drop softly back against Rhaenyra’s clavicle before settling back against her palms upon the grass.

A look of worry flickered across Rhaenyra’s face, her mouth turning downwards as her gaze grew distant. She studied her fingers for a moment, then asked “So what did I miss today?”

“History,” Lia said bitterly, “Princess Nymeria’s escape from Rhoyne.”

“Have you read it?” Alicent asked her.

“Of course I have read it,” Rhaenyra said, “there was no need for me to be there.”

“Then when Princess Nymeria arrived in Dorne, who did she take to husband?” Alicent silenced Lia as she opened her mouth to answer. “Not you, you actually turned up today,” 

Rhaenyra groused, shrugging her shoulders as she continued to lay across their laps. “A man.”

Alicent scowled, her tone clipped with annoyance. “And what was his name?”

“Lord something,” Rhaenyra replied petulantly.

“Gods, if only you had been there today,” Lia giggled, “you would have made me look good. Septa Marlow was furious.”

Rhaenyra smirked, playing with the rings upon her fingers. “She is funny when she is furious.”

“You are always like this when you are worried,” Alicent commented softly.

“Like what?” snapped Rhaenyra.

Alicent did not hedge her words, the only one to speak to their princess in this way. “Disagreeable. You are worried your father is about to overshadow you with a son.”

“I only worry for my mother. I hope for my father that he gets a son. As long as I can recall, it is all he has wanted.”

“You want him to have a son?” Lia asked.

“I want to fly with you both on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake.”

Lia snorted as Alicent clicked her tongue. Lia did not mind the idea of seeing the great wonders, or existing solely on cake, however, the notion of taking flight on Syrax made the prospect seem far less exciting.

“We are trying to be serious,” Alicent protested, glancing warily at Lia, “well, at least I am.”

“I never jest about cake,” Rhaenyra said with a smirk.

“You are not worried about your position?” Lia asked, her curiosity piqued, masking the envy she felt that Rhaenyra possessed a position that could be threatened in the first place.

“I like this position,” she told Lia, wiggling her feet in her lap, making her laugh aloud, “it is quite comfortable.”

“Rhaenyra! Lia! It is impossible to have a serious conversation with either of you!”

The princess groaned, moving out of their laps and sitting cross legged in front of them. “Princess Nymeria led her Rhoynar across the Narrow Sea on ten thousand ships to flee their Valyrian pursuers. She took Lord Mors Martell of Dorne to husband and burned her own fleet off Sunspear to show her people that they were finished running.”

Lia raised her eyebrows, impressed by her knowledge, glancing over at Alicent to gauge her reaction. Before Alicent could respond, Rhaenyra leaned across and tore the page free from the book, letting it flutter into Alicent’s lap.

“So you remember.”

Alicent chewed her lip nervously. “If Septa Marlow sees this book–”

“Fuck the septa!” Rhaenyra interrupted.

Not for the first time, Lia felt envy burn acrid in her chest. Only a princess could get away with defacing a book from the Crown library and not have to suffer the consequences. She wondered if Rhaenyra had any awareness of the power she yielded over both her and Alicent. And if she was aware, would she even care?

Lia meandered through the halls, slippered feet quiet on the stone floor as she made her way to the library the next da She looked up, her attention stolen by Otto walking in the direction of the Small Council chambers. Changing course, she fell into step beside him, taking in the way his features were furrowed into annoyance. There could be only one explanation for it.

“So, you have heard that Prince Daemon has returned to the Capital?” she asked with a wry smile.

Otto paused, eyeing her carefully before ushering her into a nearby alcove. “What do you know?”

Lia shrugged. “Little and less. He gifted Rhaenyra a necklace, Valyrian steel.”

“An empty gesture,” he remarked bitterly, an exasperated sigh escaping him as he adjusted the collar of his forest green doublet. He cast a cursory glance over his shoulder to ensure they were not being watched, before fixing her with a heated stare.

“Oh, I am not so sure, you would be surprised at what people are willing to share if one is generous.” She reached up, tapping the bronzed hand that was pinned to his breast, as if to punctuate her point.

Otto’s much larger hand clutched hers, enveloping it, though it did not pull hers away. Her eyes shifted to where their hands now rested upon his chest, the gesture stirring something within her that she could not quite identify, filling her with both warmth and unease.

“I know a girl as clever as you cannot be swayed by trinkets,” he said softly, the low timbre of his voice vibrating through their connected hands.

Lia swallowed thickly, slowly pulling her hand back and letting it drop to her side, though still able to feel the place where his palm had rested. She felt an overwhelming need to push back against whatever had transpired, and so doubled her efforts to be cheeky. “If you are not feeling generous, perhaps Prince Daemon may have additional trinkets to spare.”

Otto straightened, his expression turning stony.

There it was, the annoyance that she felt much more at home with.

“You should not covet the actions of that brute of a man. Keep away from him.” He glared down at her, a silent warning before leaving her alone in the alcove, as he continued on his way.

Lia smiled to herself. Provoking Otto suddenly seemed much more appealing to her. If she could capture the interest of Daemon, then perhaps the Hand of the King would be more forthcoming in furthering her position at court, and making clear his plans for her.

“My dearest Lia, 

It is with deep regret that I must inform you that your mother and I will be unable to attend the King’s tourney. Your mother is suffering a fever and we did not wish to risk the journey to King’s Landing when our efforts must be spent upon ensuring her recovery. Your mother has requested that your brothers stay here at the Whispering Sound, as she fears her worry over them both competing will worsen her condition.

We have passed along our apologies to the Lord Hand, however, please send him my regards. I hope that life in the capital is treating you well and that you are behaving as befits the royal company that you keep.

Warmest wishes,

Your loving father, Lord Owen Costayne”

Lia gripped the parchment tightly between her fingers, having lost count of the number of times she had read it since it was brought to her by the maester two days prior. She lost herself in the words, the din of hoofbeats and roar of spectators fading to nothing as her eyes flitted between the letter and the lists, as though if she concentrated hard enough she could will her brothers into attendance.

Rhaenyra sat beside her, equally morose, her brow pinched in worry. Shortly after the tourney began, King Viserys had announced to all in attendance that Queen Aemma had begun her labours. It was obvious that Rhaenyra would rather be at her mother’s side than watching this display. However, it had not been allowed.

Sitting on the other side of Rhaenyra, Alicent had picked her nails bloody once more. A combination of worry for both the Queen and her older brother, Gwayne, who would be competing in the tourney.

Lia crumpled the parchment between her fingers, stowing it up her sleeve as she leaned forward, looking out across their elevated position on the stands, eager for a distraction.

“Who is that?” she asked, nodding towards a young man she did not recognise.

“The Tarly squire?” Rhaenyra responded, clearly as keen to focus on something else as she was.

“Mmhmm,” Lia affirmed, glancing back at her.

“Lord Massey’s son, I think. He is promised to Elinor Stokeworth, they are to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.”

“Best get on with it,” Alicent chimed in, leaning forward conspiratorially, “I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.”

Lia and Rhaenyra gasped, the three of them quickly falling into fits of giggles, though she was pulled out of her mirth when she felt a firm hand upon her shoulder. Looking back, she saw Otto seated directly behind her. He leaned in close enough that both his breath and his beard tickled softly at the shell of her ear as he spoke quietly, isolating her from the huddle of her two friends.

“I thought you might offer your favour to Gwayne.”

She pulled back, regarding him impassively, before speaking much louder than he had to her. “Actually, I intend to offer my favour to Prince Daemon,” she said with an amused smirk, “I have not yet had the pleasure to welcome him back to the capital.”

Otto’s nostrils flared in obvious annoyance, his gaze unblinking as he exhaled heavily, sitting back against his seat beside the King, though his focus remained upon her. His eyes raked carefully over the delicate manner in which she had pinned up her ringlets, revealing the slender slope of her neck. Lia suppressed a laugh as she turned back towards Rhaenyra and Alicent, pleased with her efforts, and the three of them continued to share gossip about those participating in the lists.

She eyed the knights carefully, wondering to herself if any of them would be a suitable match for her. There was no denying that Daemon cut every bit the imposing and extravagant figure, the plume of his dragon shaped helmet blood red and striking against the grey of the stone walls. It was a pity he was already wed, albeit unhappily, to Lady Rhea Royce. Daemon’s presence within King’s Landing had always been so sporadic, coupled with Lia’s being too young to appreciate what a handsome man he was, that she supposed he was never destined to be a suitor for her anyway. A pity, but it would not stop her from expressing interest, if only to incite the look of irritation on Otto’s face that she had grown to enjoy so much.

So engrossed in what was going on, she did not notice when King Viserys slipped away from his seat. Daemon rode towards the stands, a cocky grin upon his face as her, Rhaenyra and Alicent rushed to the railing to greet him.

“Lady Lia,” he drawled with a courteous nod, “a fine young woman you are growing into.”

She felt her skin flush at the compliment, glad of the fact she had opted to wear her house colours for the occasion; she knew that the gold and black of the gown complimented her complexion. It was an effort to resist the urge to both giggle and look behind her for Otto’s reaction.

“You flatter me, my prince,” she responded sweetly, “I wish you luck, though I am not sure you will need it.”

“I am confident that I can best my opponent, but I would ask for the favour of the Lady Alicent Hightower to ensure my victory.”

Lia’s face fell, her heart sinking in disappointment. She watched Alicent move sheepishly back towards their seats, meeting her father’s eye as she took the intricately woven band of flowers and ribbon. She knew from Otto’s sour expression that it was merely a ploy from Daemon to further upset the King’s Hand, having already beaten his son spectacularly in the lists. However, the rejection stung all the same. She wanted it to be her favour that Daemon had asked for.

As she took her seat again, she grasped her own hoop of feathers and twine, half turning to toss it haphazardly into Otto’s lap. “Here, you might as well have it,” she muttered sullenly, “I have no one else to give it to.”

Misery clung to Lia like a black shroud as she leaned back in her seat, visibly sulking and crossing her arms, as she watched the tourney, but did not really see it. She had hoped that the day would prosper a potential match for her, though, with Alicent’s favour already given away, Rhaenyra was her only rival. There was no way she could compete with a princess.

Her lips twitched with smug satisfaction when the mystery knight with the red and black spotted shield bested Daemon; a small retribution in Lia’s eyes for having snubbed her favour for Alicent’s. She did not bother to join her friends when they rushed back to the railing, both eager to greet the man who managed to unhorse The Rogue Prince, not even swayed by Alicent’s gasp of “he’s Dornish.” What was the point? She saw the way his dark eyes glittered with interest, but it was not interest directed at her; no, they glittered only for Rhaenyra. 

Lia knew that she could be the most comely of maidens in all of the Seven Kingdoms and it would do little to sway a suitor when presented with a Targaryen Princess. She could not help the jealousy that swirled like a maelstrom inside of her as she watched Rhaenyra throw her favour down towards him.

The smile that graced the princess’ fair features as she returned to her seat only faltered as Otto touched her delicately on the shoulder, the colour draining from her face as he whispered to her. As the news spread throughout the royal box, Lia’s eyes remained fixated upon the floor of the stands where her favour now lay, trampled under foot as people rushed back towards the Red Keep. It was crushed, and with it her hopes for the day.

Queen Aemma was dead.

The wind whipped Lia’s dark curls around her face as she stood upon the clifftop, the bite of the icy sea breeze nipping at her cheeks. The wrapped bodies of both Aemma and her short lived son, Baelon, laid prone upon the pyre that stood before the modest crowd gathered for the funeral. Syrax looked over them from her perch, awaiting Rhaenyra’s command, her neck undulating with discomfort under the feeling of her rider’s grief.

She could not imagine a more brutal death; cut open like livestock in the birthing bed, and for naught. The babe that had been tugged from the Queen’s womb had lived but for a few hours after her passing. Her heart ached for Rhaenyra, who choked on the command of “drakarys!”, the word faltering with unshed tears as she ordered her dragon to engulf her deceased mother and brother in flames.

Lia knew she felt pity for Rhaenyra, but was she truly sad that Aemma was dead? She did not know. She knew it was proper to express condolences, but she did not think she was experiencing grief. Would she feel sadness at her own mother’s passing? She was as much an acquaintance to her as the Queen had been, considering how many years had passed since she had last seen home. It was a disquieting thought, and one she was eager to push from her mind.

She desperately wished she had a hand to hold, to squeeze for comfort, and could not help but notice the way that Alicent gripped her father’s with such intensity that her knuckles were white. Stood to the other side of him, Otto had ensured that Lia’s arm linked through his, a gesture which she found oddly mature in comparison to the childlike manner in which Alicent’s fingers entwined with his. Perhaps it is just because she is not family, she pondered, though memories of the intimacy with which he had held her hand to his chest just a few days prior linger at the back of her mind. She was being treated as though she was a lady, when she had never craved more to be comforted as though she was a little girl.

A cavernous void opened between Lia, Alicent, and Rhaenyra in the weeks that followed, filled only by loss. Lia spent much of her time alone, not knowing how to comfort Rhaenyra in her grief, for it had made her angry. Her tone was curt whenever Lia attempted to engage her in conversation and she had withdrawn so far into herself that she did not know how to coax her back out. Deep down she knew that her friend was justified in her bitterness towards her father, for he had killed her mother in his desperate attempt for an heir, an heir that barely lived long enough to draw his first breath.

Lia wondered what her own expression of such grief would look like, had the circumstances befallen her.

Otto had become more protective of Alicent. He sought Lia’s company less often, instead looming over his only daughter like a shadow, summoning her to his quarters to speak to her of things that Alicent would not allow Lia to be privy to. In all of her years in King’s Landing, despite missing her family, she had never felt lonely. Now it was a feeling that overwhelmed her with such potency that she had picked up a quill more than a dozen times, hurriedly scrawling a plea to her father to allow her to return home. Each time she had thought better of it and tossed the balled up parchment into the fireplace. She had yet to find her purpose within King’s Landing, but she knew in her heart that her fate was not to run away like a mewling child, simply because her friends were preoccupied.

Deciding she could bear her own company no longer, Lia emerged from her quarters, seeking the comfort of a familiar face. She found it in Alicent, but as she was about to call out to her, she faltered, thinking better of it. There was something strange about the way her friend carried herself, her gaze downcast, trepidation in her step. Lia slipped into an alcove, peering out discreetly from behind the wall. Alicent was not dressed as she usually was, the royal blue gown she now wore was much too grown up. She narrowed her eyes as she studied the fabric. It was a dress that had belonged to Alyrie.

Curious to see why Alicent had suddenly taken to wearing her late mother’s clothes, Lia quietly followed behind her, mindful to keep her steps light and maintain her distance, so as not to get caught. She froze as she saw Alicent slip through the door of the king’s apartments, a feeling of dread forming a pit in her stomach. Rhaenyra had not spoken to her father properly since the passing of the queen, so what possible reason could Alicent have for keeping such close company with him?

It was with this question in mind that she stormed into Otto’s quarters the next day, a seething and lingering anger bolstering her. She did not knock, though her intrusion was met with only the slightest raise of an eyebrow by the king’s Hand as he looked up from his writing desk.

“Lia, to what do I owe the interruption?” he asked, his tone friendlier than she had been anticipating, causing her courage to waiver as her outrage quelled slightly.

She opened her mouth to speak, stammering over her words as she struggled to get them out. Why on earth was he not annoyed by her just bursting in? She had been prepared to be met with resistance, and it completely unraveled what she had planned to say. Closing her eyes and exhaling heavily, she shook her head as if to clear her mind and tried again.

“Alicent has been visiting the king.”

Otto pursed his lips, carefully placing his quill back into the ink pot, before he leaned back against his chair. “She has,” he said matter of factly, “the king is alone in his grief. Alicent has been of great comfort to him.”

Lia blinked rapidly, a wave of nausea churning her stomach, as she realised that this was not only information that the king’s Hand was already privy to, and he did not have an issue with it, but he was also the one that has arranged these visits in the first place. She narrowed her eyes as her shock and disgust turned to sudden anger, simmering hot beneath the surface of her skin.

“So it would not be an issue were I to offer him comfort also?” Lia asked, her jaw jutting out defiantly.

Finally, a flicker of annoyance passed across Otto’s face, his brow furrowing as he clasped his hands upon the desk. “You shall do no such thing. And you will speak of Alicent’s visits to no one.”

“Or what?”

“Or,” he began, rising from his seat, suddenly towering over her, “the pleas to return to the Whispering Sound that you crumple into the fireplace may just find their way to your father.”

Her blood ran icy cold as, simultaneously, her cheeks blazed with heat. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her. Tears of humiliation pricked her eyes. He knew. Of course he knew; the Hand had spies everywhere, she had acted as one herself on many occasions.

Otto’s expression softened as he took in her look of upset, and he sat heavily back in his seat with a sigh. “There is no need for tears, you—”

“Why am I even here? You may as well return me home,” she interrupted, her voice thick with emotion.

His features remained gentle and impassive as he regarded her silently for a moment. He then reached into a drawer of his writing desk, pulling out her favour and holding it out for her to take. Each feather and intricate loop of twine was undamaged, in seemingly pristine condition. She examined it in wide eyed wonder as she accepted it from him. It was as good as the day she had made it, no longer crushed as it had been when she had last laid her eyes upon it.

“How? Why?” She whispered, disbelief and confusion causing her brow to furrow.

“You may have need of it yet. Your time here is far from over. Now run along, I have important matters to attend to.”

She wanted to protest, to press him for further answers, but instead the authority in his tone had her obediently turning and leaving with more questions than she had initially arrived with.

The late afternoon sunshine beat down upon Lia as she sat on a stone bench in the gardens, the soft rays warming her skin, casting the last of its amber brilliance in the hours before dusk. She held her favour delicately, fearful that too tight a touch might cause it to break apart again, as she studied it for imperfections, wondering how it could have been so expertly mended, and why.

“I would have thought you would have given that away at the tourney.”

Lia startled slightly, lifting her head at the sudden sound of Rhaenyra’s voice. A playful smile graced the princess’ lips as Lia watched as she came to sit beside her. Rhaenyra reached out a delicate finger to stroke across one of the favour’s feathers.

Lia returned her smile, though it did not meet her eyes. “I found no one I liked enough to give it to.” It was a half truth, but admitting that Otto had it repaired and returned to her would have raised questions that she is unable to answer.

Rhaenyra hummed in acknowledgement, before facing forwards, her eyes fixed upon the row of rose bushes planted into the flower beds in front of them. The two girls sat in uncomfortable silence, until Lia could bear it no longer.

“I am sorry I have not been there for you, it is not an easy thing to lose your mother,” she said softly, glancing sideways at Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra shook her head, turning to face Lia, gripping her hand in one of hers. “It is me that should be sorry. I have not made it easy for you, for anyone, to comfort me. I was just so, so…”

“...angry?” Lia offered, intertwining their fingers. The warmth was soothing, and she had not realised until this moment just how dearly she had missed her.

“Hmmm. Did you know that Father sent Daemon away?”

Lia’s eyes widened, though it was no surprise that Daemon, prone to coming and going as he pleased, was no longer in the capital. Tt was a shock to her, however, that this time his absence was at the command of his own brother. “What for?”

Rhaenyra swallowed thickly, averting her gaze. “My father would not say, but I have heard whispers. He made a jest about my brother to a crowd in a pleasure house, apparently.”

“And your father banished him?”

“I am sure there is more to it than that, especially considering that Daemon has been removed as my father’s heir.”

Lia raised her eyebrows, her lips parting slightly as she struggled to take in the information. It appeared she had missed an awful lot in the weeks that she and Rhaenyra had not spoken. “So, who will be his heir now?”

“He has asked me to be.” Rhaenyra appeared less sure of herself than usual as she said this, her voice quiet and uncertain, as though she felt simultaneously crushed by the weight of the responsibility, but also terrified it would be taken away from her again.

Lia smiled at that, a gesture of both gentle comfort and genuine happiness, though she could not help the pang of envy she felt at both her friends having secured their futures. Alicent’s own advancement under the watchful eye of Otto, and now Rhaenyra’s succession to the Iron Throne.

“You will make a fine queen.”

Rhaenyra gave Lia’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “So, where is Alicent?”

‘With your father, most likely.’

Lia knew she should not say; it would have devastating consequences for their friendship, and Otto would be furious. Yet she could not help the pang of guilt she felt at withholding such information from Rhaenyra.

“I am unsure. Does she not know yet?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I had hoped to find the two of you together. I will need you both to help ready me for my proclamation. I feel too nervous to allow my lady’s maids to do it.” She paused, her fingers tightening once more, twisting their hands together further. “Lia, I need you, I need my friends.”

Lia’s heart ached for her, and she leaned in, resting her forehead softly against Rhaenyra’s in silent assent. The two girls remained like that, the void between them bridged by a desperate need to cling to the other for support.

Lia stood on a wooden step stool to the side of Rhaenyra, the tips of her fingers sore from the sheer number of pins she had had to press into the princess’ intricately braided hair, simply to keep her headdress in place. She pulled back to admire her work, a small smile pulling at her mouth. The intricate gold and black halo was positioned perfectly upon Rhaenyra’s head. Satisfied, she stepped down to move towards the bureau to fetch the jewelry.

Alicent stood behind her, helping to drape the heavy black cloak around Rhaenyra’s shoulders, beaded gold and red dragons adorning the lapels. It was not until Lia moved back towards them that she noticed Rhaenyra’s sombre expression in the looking glass.

She stood rooted in place, running her fingers over the smooth gold of the earrings, not quite knowing what to do.

‘We could run away from all of this.’

‘Let us cross the narrow sea on dragonback and eat only cake.’

It appeared that Alicent had also noticed Rhaenyra’s sadness, as her hands had stilled upon her shoulders, her gaze soft and sympathetic as it met the rincess’ in the reflective surface.

Wordlessly, Rhaenyra tugged Lia towards her and the three girls embraced, as much a gesture of comfort for them as it was for her. A silent reassurance of ‘I am okay. I must do this.’

Lia clung tighter, part of her wanting to reassure her friend, another simply wanting to smother the voice in her mind that raged in jealousy over the fact that Rhaenyra would one day rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet somehow had the audacity to feel sad about it.

As Lia entered her own chambers to ready herself for the ceremony, her eye was immediately drawn to the emerald green fabric that lay across her bedspread. As she drew nearer, she saw that it was a gown, long sleeved with a plunging neckline, and intricate golden thread in the seams. She ran her fingers over the material. The brocade felt expensive to the touch, far grander than anything she had worn before. There was a note sealed with wax resting atop it.

“A trinket, and a gesture of generosity - O.H”

Lia did not need to peer into a looking glass to know her cheeks had turned scarlet. A gift from Otto, and with the timing of when it was delivered to her, she knew he would be expecting her to wear it to the proclamation. 

She felt far too grown up, the dress accentuating dips and curves upon her body she was unaware she even had until she had put it on. Yet another step away from girlhood, but towards what she had no idea.

Lia had never felt self conscious before, but she was certain that, as she walked through the corridors of the Red Keep, she shone like a beacon, a lurid invitation for all that she passed to stare at her. She longed to run back to her quarters, to tear off the dress and change into something more unassuming, but knew that a refusal of such an extravagant gift from Otto was a line that even she dared not cross.

As the lords of the Seven Kingdoms gathered in the Great Hall of the Red Keep to swear fealty to Rhaenyra as the heir to the Iron Throne, she looked every bit the future queen in her Targaryen finery, and it was not until Lia saw this that she understood the significance of Otto’s gift.

Her friends were ascending towards womanhood, and she must too.

Lia watched on, with Otto stood between her and Alicent. She wanted to feel pride for her friend.However, it was hopelessness and uncertainty over her own future that held her firmly in their grasp. She stood in the presence of two future monarchs, but what was to become of her? 

“You look lovely,” Otto leaned down to murmur in her ear, his breath ghosting across her neck.

And as she felt the warmth and weight of his hand come to rest upon the small of her back, it seemed as though the walls of the castle closed in around her as tightly as the bodice of her gown.

[secriden]

Genuinely, from the bottom of my heart, I'm so grateful for the journey Fadel is forced to take in episode 9. In previous meta posts, I shared my thoughts on how precious discussions about 'love': for eg in Episode 4 was really a promise of safety (which tragically becomes unfounded) and Episode 5 was really an exploration of trust and trust betrayed -- but I think Episode 9 is finally when we are dealing with love in a head-on collision between Style's unflinching commitment to stay by Fadel's side and Fadel's anger and fear of loving; a conflict which utterly demolished the last of Fadel's crumbling walls.

Because, while Episode 8 did give us this beautifully tender moment of shared camaraderie -- one where they were both filled with wonder at witnessing the way love can overcome hurt and anger, the way forgiveness can make a pathway to happiness; and a moment they were both aware of and wordlessly acknowledged to each other -- it was, unfortunately, also almost immediately tainted by this:

You can see the resignation and cynicism in the way Fadel is holding himself. This wasn't a betrayal from Style, but it was a harsh reminder for Fadel that love can be deceptive and harmful no matter the guise. Even when it (love) isn't aimed at him, he winds up betrayed (deceived) and in danger, and literally hurting (it's the first time Fadel overtly shows how much pain his broken arm is causing him), and it makes sense why we see Fadel harden once again after this point.

And as frustrating as it was for us to watch, I'm also glad that the show made room for Fadel's retreat behind the last of his walls. Because at the core of Fadel's fear is the experience he’s had that love, and more importantly loving, has always brought him pain: the traumatic and sudden loss of his parents and the cruelty of a lover who (maybe? I have my suspicions...) chose not to stay with him were both lessons Fadel has deeply rooted in his heart; a fear which his desire and now love for Style is constantly at war with.

Which is why we see Fadel so firmly choosing resistance at this point. Everything about his demeanour and the harshness of his words depicts a cornered animal with his hackles raised in self-defence. You can almost see the bared teeth behind his words. He doubles down on the assurance that he will see this decision through, that Style is destined for death by his hands. It's interesting because in Episode 9, Fadel seems to have mostly given up on denying that he has any feelings for Style whenever it's brought up (partly because Style has already made it clear he doesn't believe Fadel when he does), but has instead decided to claim that those feelings aren't strong enough to save Style from Fadel's decision to kill him.

So I kind of love that the narrative immediately forces Fadel face the reality of his claims. For what better retribution could there be than Style dying by becoming tangled up in the very thing he was supposed to put Fadel in jail for? What could be more fitting then to see Style destroyed by the very aspect of Fadel's life that caused Style's betrayal?

And even more, I love that the writers chose to have Style become injured like this. Because of course the boyfriend of a hitman who is on the run from the law was going to be shot -- the trope practically demands it -- but it is just deliciously dramatic that Style gets injured precisely dressed in the clothes he'd picked out so he could "at least die in something that's actually my style" and in the place Fadel said Style would haunt only minutes prior. It forces Fadel to face not only the thought of losing Style, but puts front and centre what it means for Fadel to be the cause of that loss.

Because the thing is, Style only needs to be bait at all because Fadel forgot to bring the extra bullets for his gun; because he does not have a plan when Style asks what they should do. I love that all of Fadel's training, his fastidious and careful nature, is being so fundamentally compromised because his mind has been too preoccupied with his complicated feelings for Style. Fadel is being forced to face the consequences choosing to fight against his heart about Style and that directly puts both their lives in peril. And all Fadel can do is look at Style with a wordless plea to stay safe, even as he watches Style run directly towards danger.

And I love that Style's immediate instinct is to throw himself into the situation to help. There's no hesitation, no momentary pause where Style considers running away and leaving Fadel to handle the gunman alone. Style fully embodies the promise he made to stay by Fadel's side and moreover it shows that, on an instinctive level, Style trusts his life in Fadel's hands (even though we get verbal confirmation later in the episode that Style actually was only about 50% sure that Fadel wasn't actually going to kill him in the end!! That's! Fucking incredible!?!).

Which is also why I think Fadel's anger redirects itself once they get to the island. He's at the end of his rope, a mess of emotions, arm probably still aching and then he sees Kant -- the source of not only the very real threat of Fadel and Bison being caught by the police, but also the reason why Style became entangled with Fadel in the first place. Fadel cannot help but lash out at him despite it making no sense to deny Style an additional pair of helping hands and, moreover, the comfort of a true friend that he trusts and who cares about him. Fadel is not thinking clearly, but it's also a sign that the choices he is making are still fuelled more by his anger and hurt then his love.

And again, this makes a certain amount of sense. For Fadel, anger is a familiar friend; something almost comforting, that gives him a sense of control, because he understands what to do with his anger. He understands how to direct his rage in ways that are productive and help to keep the things he cares about safe.

Until, that is, Style puts his life on the line next to Kant's and suddenly the gun in his hand becomes a danger to someone he has already been forced to acknowledge (in the conversation with Bison) that he cannot kill. I adore Style so much for immediately bringing this point up, because it means that Fadel has to actually consider why he didn't just let Style die. If Style had bled out and died from the wound, it wouldn't have technically been Fadel's fault; Style was simply caught in the crossfire. It was, in some ways, a relatively guilt-free way of getting rid of Style. But everything in Fadel rebelled at the thought of letting Style die and Fadel is once again forced to confront why he held Style's hand so tightly in both of his own, why he told Bison to be gentle and careful with Style, why hearing Style yell in pain was agony to Fadel too.

And this beautiful moment of friendship also gives both us, the audience, and Fadel this incredible understanding of Style's loyalty. To Style, the thought of dying next to Kant is not something he resents, but something that merely makes him wistful. And for Fadel, this puts into perspective what it meant for Style to promise to stay by his side; the full weight of Style's devotion is laid out for him to witness, and it's enough to shake Fadel lose from the hold his anger has on him.

But even then, even now, there's still something holding Fadel back and I think it boils down to the fact that Fadel has gone down this path with someone else before, and found only betrayal at the end of the road. He has loved and thought he was loved in return; he was ready to give up his job (his security, his sense of control, his “family”) for someone who he thought he could hide his darkness from and live in happiness whilst keeping the lie between them. It's so interesting to me that Fadel was about to do the exact same thing to Style (try to get out of the hitman life without ever telling Style about it), without knowing that the possibility of it was never on the table for him.

Because Style is the very antithesis of Fadel's ex: not only does Style find out his secret well before love truly blossomed between them, Style has no fear in him (anymore) of it. This gesture is legitimately insane, but it also illustrates how thoroughly Style embraces this aspect of Fadel's past and character. Fadel has just learned a very tangible lesson about Style's loyalty to the people he cares about, so this gesture carries the weight of knowing this matters to Style, despite the carefree manner of his expression. Style gives Fadel the security of knowing that he is making his commitment to Fadel whilst also giving Fadel permission to stay the way he is. Style's love isn't for what Fadel could someday become, but for who he already is, and that's encompasses a level of acceptance that is as crazy as one would expect from a person who is in love with a hitman.

And it's just so great that they actually addressed the whole "dated me for a car" thing, because Style is right. Fadel is grasping at the last embers of his anger but all of it is directed at a Style who doesn't even exist anymore. I don't even think Style was avoiding telling Fadel about this; it just genuinely was a non-issue to Style because getting to know Fadel changed so much about Style's motivations (he said as much as early as episode three), that this wasn't even a factor that Style was aware needed to be addressed. But I also appreciate why Fadel insisted on coming back to this -- because I've said before that I think the biggest part of Fadel's hurt and betrayal comes from the thought that Style's interest in him was a lie, so this was important for Fadel to vocalise, especially because it took a certain amount of vulnerability to even admit that this bothered him that much. So as silly as I personally found this plot point to be, I'm glad the show actually decided to have our boys talk explicitly about it.

But my absolutely favourite part is that the final hurdle, the thing that ultimately makes Fadel completely let go of his anger and resentment is Style threatening to drown himself (or at least make his wound become infected). Partly because it was the exact kind of hilariously overdramatic gesture that feels fitting for Style, but mostly because this gesture opens the door for Fadel to finally (literally) take steps towards Style. Fadel's previous actions in this episode -- making sure Style was stitched up after he was shot and letting Kant live after he threatened to kill him --- were both incredibly significant, but largely leaves the relationship between them at a stalemate because for the most part Fadel is reacting to the circumstances whilst still maintaining the emotional distance between them. But what Style wants, ultimately, is not just to survive this very lethal roadtrip but to actually bring about a mending of their relationship and for Fadel show that it's what he wants too.

And I've seen some call this manipulative, but I think Style actually does understand Fadel well enough to be accurate in this claim. I've mentioned before that Style seems to have an almost instinctive understanding of when to push Fadel and when to back off (in this meta post on ep 5), and I think we're finally seeing a moment when Style could tell Fadel needed a little nudge. And the reality is that Style wasn't in any real danger, but it shows us just how much of Fadel's walls have been dismantled that Fadel's concern for Style overwrote his logic and reason.

And I just find it so lovely how it cumulates in Fadel kissing Style because it's an expression of his own desire. If Fadel had kissed Style at any point between the confrontation by the empty pool and before this moment, I think it would have, at least somewhat, felt like Fadel was giving into Style. But this moment is different because it's Fadel giving into himself, giving up on the war he's been waging against his own heart this entire time.

And this journey was so important, so necessary because it's the reason why Fadel is able to be so completely transformed by the end of episode 9. We see him become almost carefree in his affection, everything about it is open and honest and loud in a way Fadel has never been able to be before this point, and it was only possible -- only realistic from a narrative standpoint -- because the show took the time and made space in the story for Fadel to have to face the truth of his love for Style over and over again.

Because this vulnerability, this clear comfort he feels around Style, this ability to rest in Style's arms, was only possible because Fadel was forced to grapple with the full depth of his love for Style, and in so doing, found forgiveness and happiness and peace in letting go of the last of his fear of being in love — and in so doing, proved the truth of Styles words in episode 4: “It’s okay to (be in) love”.

[lieutenantbatshit]

CHAPTER 01 - once you go in, there's no turning back. (hwang in ho x reader)

masterlist | next chapter

----

The sound of baggages rolled to the floor as the familiar smell of Seoul brings you in. You were at the airport, waiting for your suitcase in the baggage claiming platform.

This time, you plan to stay in Seoul for good. You've been away to the country for work, having to work multiple roles in marketing. You felt like you were dominating the world at your hands. Money was never a problem for you, in fact, you could even buy a house in Seoul in just a snap.

For the past years, you kept your studio apartment in Chunghyeon-dong so you could have a place to stay whenever you go back there. In front of your apartment lives the Hwang brothers, In-ho and Jun-ho. You and Jun-ho grew up together, treating him like your little brother. Back then, Jun-ho had a weaker state of health, so playing with him involved a lot of adjustments to his strength. You would look after Jun-ho whenever their parents were away. In those moments, you remember how you and In-ho would share little memories together whenever Jun-ho was taking his afternoon naps. Both of you would watch cartoons on TV, making sure to lower the volume to not wake Jun-ho up.

"Got your nose!" In-ho touched your nose and hid his thumb under his index finger. Being the kid you were, your naivety strikes in. You furrowed your eyebrows and let out a grunt.

"Give it back, oppa!" You said as you try to get his hand, only for him to reach his hand higher, making it harder for you to reach. You grunted as you jumped, trying to reach it. In-ho sticks out his tongue to you as you pull a tantrum.

"Quiet down, Y/N," In-ho said as he dropped his hand to cover your mouth, calming you down. You remember Jun-ho sleeping on the other room. Still, you gave In-ho a glare as he removed his hand. He motions his hand to your nose, giving it a small snap. "Here's your nose back, silly."

You touched your face, playing with the tip of your nose. You stick out your tongue to In-ho to which he only chuckled, putting his hand all over your hair as he messed it up. He grabbed a bag of chips on the table, offering you some. You accepted and turned your attention to the TV. The guy character proposes to his girlfriend, offering her a ring as he gets down on one knee. You gave it a confusing look, not fully understanding the concept of it yet. "Why do they have to kneel when asking to marry someone, oppa?"

In-ho puts his hand on his chin as if to think. He looks up as if there was a thought bubble on the side of his head. "I don't know. Maybe to make it more interesting?"

"Anyone can do that?" You asked, gluing your eyes to the TV as you watched how the girl says yes, wearing the ring on her finger. "You kneel and ask someone to marry you, then that's it?"

In-ho chuckled. "No, silly. Appa says they have weddings."

"Oh," you said, chuckling to yourself. "She looks so happy. Will that make me happy in the future, do you think, oppa?"

In-ho looked at you for a minute, then his face brightened up. In-ho grabbed a piece of paper in one of the notes beside the telephone and a pen. He began to write something on it. Then, he folded the paper into a strip. He looks at you and says, "Give me your hand." You give him yours as he touches your left ring finger, folding the paper around it and twists the end until it fits perfectly. "Does it make you happy then?"

You bring your hand closer to your eye, observing it. Its texture glided through the sides of your finger and you look at In-ho confusingly. "A paper ring?"

"Well, I don't have the real one!" In-ho laughed, earning a laugh from you as well. "Those rings may cost a fortune, it's a privilege you get to have one from me."

You scoffed playfully then looked at the TV, seeing the guy holding flowers as he gave it to the girl. You turned to In-ho again, "Oppa, you don't have flowers."

He thinned his lips and glanced around the living room, looking for something as near as a flower. His eyes stopped at a flower vase placed on top of the kitchen counter. He hurriedly walks over there, picks one up, and returns to you with the flower at hand. He reaches it to you, but you shook your head, much to his confusion. "What, I thought you wanted a flower?"

"That's not how he gave it," you pointed out to the TV to which he looked, seeing the guy hiding the flower from the back first then handing it to the girl, much to the girl's surprise.

In-ho rolled his eyes and sighed. Still, he stood straight and held the flower behind him. Then with a smile, he hands the flower to you. "Happy?"

You ignored his question, too happy to get the flower from his hand. It was a small daisy, holding it on your finger as you giggled. You looked up to In-ho, seeing him smile as he watched you. You stood up and gave him a hug, the flower still on your hand as you kept the paper ring on your finger. "Thank you, In-ho oppa."

You wondered what happened to the brothers as you were apart from them for a long time. You left Seoul when you were nine years old. You remember crying during your last night at the apartment as you never wanted to leave. You just wanted to stay there and be with Jun-ho and In-ho, but you had to move to the US with your family as your appa accepted a job offer there. They wanted you to also be immersed with other cultures as well to give you a lot of advantage to the real world. It wasn't an easy journey as you faced racism in the country, but eventually blended in as years pass by. To your sadness, Jun-ho and In-ho weren't able to go with you to the airport to bid their goodbyes, but you chose to understand. Their family was going through a tough time, especially that Jun-ho has been very ill lately. Instead, you left them both a letter and slipped it at the bottom of their gate, hopefully either of them will be able to read it.

You grabbed your suitcase from the platform and walked through the airport down to the exit, the familiar scent of Seoul coming right at you as you stepped outside. You let out a deep breath and embraced the environment, letting the familiarity run through your body and let out a small smile. You were back home, and you couldn't wait to go back to your apartment.

You held out your hand as you hailed a taxi cab. First thing to do when in Seoul - eat instant noodles in a convenience store. You still remember the store near your apartment, feeling your insides growl as you thought about the taste of kimchi ramen. It's been a long time since you've had one, as the US were more keen on anything fried chicken, fries, and pizza. You missed the taste of kimchi, the one fresh from Korea that you preferred than those in the US.

As you arrived at the convenience store, you thanked the driver and handed out your fare, bowing before exiting the cab. You grabbed your suitcase with you, looking back at the driver to give him another bow. He drove off as you entered the store, the cold breeze of the store hugging you in. Immediately, you grabbed a small basket and filled it with the kimchi ramen instant noodles, kimchi, and a soda.

You settled on your meal as you happily blow out the noodles with your chopsticks, savoring it to your mouth. You let out a small moan, missing the taste of ramen. You looked out the window as you stared into space, thinking of the life you had in here before moving to the US. Though it has been a long time since then, the memories still clung to you realizing the fact that you're back home.

You wondered how In-ho and Jun-ho has been doing. You haven't talked to them in a long time. You don't even know how they look like now as the friendship kind of drifted away because of the distance. Though you could remember how you guys looked like when you were young, but that was it. You kept the paper ring that In-ho made for you on your wallet. You didn't want to forget the friendship or let it die. At least in this way, you still had proof of the amazing friendship you had with the brothers, especially with In-ho.

You remember how In-ho always managed to do something for you. You didn't have to ask, he would simply do it just because. Though you were too young to experience what real love was, but looking back, you realize how both of you were able to experience a genuine, innocent puppy love. You chuckled to yourself as you remember how In-ho always lost when playing paengi chigi. You taught him how to do so, always making sure that he played with his left hand. He wanted to impress you with the ability of doing it with both hands, but you only teased him whenever he tries to do it with his right hand.

Gong-gi was expected to be played by girls a lot, and you always wondered why that's the case. You always sucked at gong-gi, but boy, In-ho was one hell of an expert when playing it. You were more familiar with paengi chigi. In return, In-ho would teach you how to play it. It was odd how both of you always practiced playing these games as if you were competing in an olympic game, but you enjoyed spending time with In-ho. He seemed like he did to.

"Do you think they have an olympics for paengi chigi and gong-gi?" In-ho wondered, rolling the rope all over the top.

"I'm not sure," you shrugged. "But that would be interesting!"

"Let's team up when we get the chance then," In-ho grabbed the top and threw it on the ground, holding it back to make it spin. The top spun around perfectly, earning a smirk from In-ho. You jumped happily, looking as the top perfectly spun on the ground. You see In-ho adjusting his black glasses as he smiled. "You promise to team up with me?" He held out his pinky finger to you, gesturing a promise.

You grinned as you wrapped yours with his, a promise officially made. "I promise!"

A man with a backpack knocks on the window in front of you, snapping you away from your thoughts. You look at him and he waves, earning a confused look from you. You wave reluctantly and sees him rushing to the door, entering the store.

"Noona!" The man called out as he placed his backpack on the table beside you and excitedly sat on the chair next to you. "It's been so long!"

Noona? You remember only one person ever called you that throughout your stay in Seoul.

Your eyes widened upon the realization and felt tears forming in your eyes. You held your arms wide as a motion for a hug. "Jun-ho!" You motioned his body to hug you, wrapping your arms around him tightly. "Oh my, look how you've grown!"

"I missed you so much, noona. Since when did you come back? A lot has changed here since you left," you hear Jun-ho sniff, pulling back from you as he wipe his tears. You gave him a comforting smile. You gestured to offer your ramen, but he politely declined.

"I just arrived an hour ago," you told him. "I'm staying for good. Besides, I missed you and In-ho so much!"

You saw Jun-ho's smile slowly fade, much to your confusion. Then as if he realized it, he regained his smile and nodded. You knew he was so happy to see you, having taken care of him when you were young when he was ill. You and Jun-ho catch up on lost times, updating each other on what happened after you left Seoul.

You put your hand in shock when you found out about In-ho. You couldn't imagine how In-ho handled his situation - his wife passing, drowned in debt, borrowing money only to be taken as a bribe, fired from his job. You always looked up to In-ho who became such a protective and loving brother to Jun-ho, only to be treated by life so harshly. You also found out In-ho missing for the past few years. Jun-ho averted your gaze as he mentioned it, earning a gut feeling from you that he was trying to hide something.

You didn't want to pry, but you couldn't help but feel concerned for In-ho. Maybe he left somewhere to clear his thoughts - it was understandable knowing about the things he had to endure. If anything, you know how Jun-ho cared for his older brother deeply. He mentioned joining the police force and being a detective because of In-ho, looking up to his old brother as an inspiration. In-ho, being the selfless person he is, donated his kidney to Jun-ho. You remembered how limited the time was for Jun-ho when playing outside - he was in constant care then. And now, seeing him all grown up and being the amazing person he is now, you can't help but shed a tear. You looked at him with a smile, telling him how proud you were of him.

"We got your letter," Jun-ho said as he grabbed his wallet from his backpack, picking up the letter that was hidden on the inside pocket. "I can't believe you didn't tell us that you had to leave, Y/N. How dare you leave without a prior notice." He pouted and you chuckled, pinching a bit of his cheek.

"I guess I've always sucked at goodbyes, huh?" You said as you take a sip of your soda. "I wish I was able to give you both a proper goodbye instead of writing a letter. For what it's worth, I kept the paper ring that In-ho gave me so I couldn't forget our friendship."

Jun-ho furrowed his eyebrows as if to think, then let out a sigh of relief. "So, that's what hyung has been saying..." You raised an eyebrow in confusion and he continued, "Hyung mentioned something about a paper ring. When we got your letter, he immediately ran out to your apartment in an attempt to at least find you. Too bad you already left. He was crying, noona."

You thinned your lips, imagining how In-ho must've felt when you left. You didn't think that you made such a big impact to In-ho as much as he did on you. The feeling has been mutual, and you couldn't quite believe that the feelings you had over the years were real. All this time, you thought it has all been one-sided.

"For some reason, he always requested to have daises in our house," Jun-ho continued. "I couldn't figure it out then. I asked eomma about it, and she said that hyung was experiencing his first heartbreak." He shook his head, chuckling as he did so. You listened intently as you feel butterflies fly around your stomach. "Eomma told him that if the time is right, he would see you again."

"I guess I have to work harder on finding him, hmm?" You said as you looked out the window. "I wonder how he met his wife. I'm sure she seemed lovely."

"No need to be jealous, noona," Jun-ho chuckled, earning an eye roll from you. "But it's true, she was lovely. In fact, she was a lot like you. You would've loved her."

You smiled, thinking how In-ho probably felt happy when he found someone for him. Though it's bittersweet how his wife passed, along with their unborn child. You hoped that in any way, In-ho was still doing fine. You wished for him to find the happiness he deserves, may it be not here in Seoul.

"Do you have any leads where In-ho is?" You asked Jun-ho, who seemed to flinch at your question. You shot him a confused look as he stared into space, but then he shook his head as if shaking away his thoughts.

"No," his lips twitched. If there was anything that you didn't forget over the years is how much of a bad liar the brothers were. You looked away, silence rushing between you and Jun-ho. There was something going on, but as you observed Jun-ho's eyes, guilt was evident right there and then. When you opened your mouth to say something, Jun-ho turned his eyes to your suitcase. "Noona, I can help you settle at home. Would you like that?" He excitedly grabs it and positions it next to him instead.

You grinned as you finished your ramen, quickly damping your mouth with a tissue as you finished. "Of course, Jun-ho. Let's go."

----

A/N: And finally, here it is! This is my first time writing a series on Tumblr. I'm planning on publishing this to AO3 as well as I see a lot (like really, A LOT) of In-ho fanfics, I couldn't miss out on it! I've written fanfics on Wattpad before on different fandoms so this isn't all new to me. Still, I hope you guys enjoy my writing! Feel free to leave out your thoughts and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this chapter to be tagged on to the next chapter. :)

masterlist | next chapter

[revelboo]

Thank you so much for the many stories you consistently update!! Out of curiosity, do you think you'll be updating the Scavengers, Pharma's, or Tarn's story soon? I didn't see them on the poll so I figured I'd ask. Not a request, I'm happy with whatever updates you post 💕

I will be updating them, too. That’s just for the 2k followers reward

L.G. Fuad Pt 8

Tarn x Reader

• Too shocked that he can just shrink to bother sulking about him force feeding you none too gently, you struggle to choke the dry, gritty bar down as quickly as possible. Then seize his big hand before he can try to dump you out of his lap and go back to being giant and scary. And he stiffens when you study him, but you doubt you’re ever going to get a better chance. Doesn’t hurt that he’s warm, either. He grumbles at you, the only word you can understand his stilted ‘human.’ He absolutely thinks that’s your name, but you doubt he’ll be any better at pronouncing your real name so you just roll with it. And peeking up to find his optics narrowed behind the mask, you’re so tempted.

• Listens to you chirp and chatter at him, as you examine his servos. And though he’s not sure why, he lets you gently manipulate his joints, your delighted little smiles spreading warm through his spark. Knows he should move you off his lap, definitely shouldn’t enjoy the warmth of you or the way you wiggle against him to lean your head on his chassis. It’s all too strangely intimate when it shouldn’t be. You’re not Cybertronian, you’re alien. But he can’t make himself move you as those soft fingers move to his wrist, then follow his arm up, before you shift to straddle his lap and he goes still. Because you have no idea what you’re doing to him, what those soft hands are doing. Free hand landing on your hip to push you away and just lingering instead. “You need to stop right now.” You glance up at him, chirping and he knows you can’t understand him. But you’re pressed intimately against his plating now, making him painfully aware of your soft warmth.

• It’s right there. Fingers skating over plating and dipping into seams to play with his joints, you pretend to be only interested in how his body fits together. And it is fascinating, but that mask is your real target. “You’re really warm, Phantom,” you say, voice soft and soothing like you’re coaxing an angry dog that’s likely to bite. Listening to him growl at you, you smile. “That’s right. I’m absolutely not up to anything. Just curious.” The mesh of his neck is warm and has surprising give to it when you stroke over it and you shift on him to get more comfortable.

• Horrified as his spike actually stirs behind his plating when you move against him, soft fingers lazily playing with the cables of his neck, he can hear his venting roughening. Why? Why is he responding to you? A little, organic. It’s blasphemous. What would Megatron think? Shouldn’t want to interface at all, it doesn’t further his mission. Doesn’t help him reach his goals. But his processor goes there anyway. Wanting and wondering if you could even take his spike. What you’d feel like under him. Servos flexing on your hip, tightening, it’s your startled sound and little fingers urgently trying to pry his hand loose that snap him out of it.

• Squirming and trying to get his servos off of you, because he’s gripping you hard enough to be uncomfortable. To begin to hurt and he pulls his hands away, shifts as if to dump you and you grab for the mask. Manage to lift up the bottom edge, get a glimpse of a scarred, handsome face before you wind up flat on your back, his hands seizing and pinning your wrists over your head as he reaches up to fix the mask. And his hands are shaking, you realize. Optics narrowed and furious as he snarls and you’re almost positive you just destroyed all of the good will, or at least, the tolerance you’d earned from him. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see your face.” That harsh snarling has you trembling, makes you struggle to pull out of his grip as he slides a thigh between yours and watches you thrash.

• Venting raggedly as you try to squirm free, he tries to get himself under control. That white hot rage that you’d dared try to remove his mask still running through his lines, demanding a response. A punishment. And he’s still painfully hard, spike pulsing and aching where it’s trapped, because the idea of disciplining you is far too appealing. Needs away from you. Space to get himself back under control, because he shouldn’t want this. Shouldn’t want you. He’s beyond this.

Previous

[aingeal98]

Batfam and whether they need to Go Through It:

Bruce: Honestly no. Put him through it if you want but he doesn't need to.

Dick: Robin Dick no. Nightwing Dick yes. You take away Nightwing constantly going through it and you get Tom Taylors run. Which is fine in isolation but doesn't hit the same.

Barbara: Originally didn't need to go through it but as Oracle? Yeah she needs to be going through something nearly all the time.

Helena: Opposite of Bruce where they need to be going through it at all times. Even when their life is kind of working out they need to still go through it somehow.

Jason: Leave Robin Jason alone he's suffered enough. As has Red Hood Jason but unfortunately I think it's another Nightwing situation. Make that man go through it but make it well written for the first time in over 10 years.

Tim: Doesn't need to go through it unless he's Red Robin.

Steph: She's been going through it since her first appearance but honestly keep it that way. If she's not going through it we get bubbly happy modern Steph who's fine with everything for no reason. Just let her go through it for the sake of own character and not the men around her. Keep misogynistic writers away from her in general.

Cass: Who is Cassandra Wayne if she is not constantly going through it. Make that girl suffer put her through physical and mental anguish it's like a regular Tuesday for her. If Cass isn't going through it I automatically feel concerned because why is she not throwing herself into harms way. Why is everything so happy oh god Cass run they're going to defang you

Damian: The opposite of Cass. We've seen that child suffering constantly since he was like 10. He's already died several times and got unfairly sent to hell, I think he deserves something other than the horrors. Find a way to let him heal and grow while still making it interesting

Duke: His parents are alive and love him and are normal which makes him an anomaly already. I'm undecided if he needs to go through it more than he already has or if it's another Tim situation where he benefits from being one of the few not going through it every day. Final decision: Can go either way. Put him through it if you feel like you have a good story.

[egg-emperor]

The relationship of Eggman and his creations VS the relationship of Eggman's creations with each other

Eggdad and the eggfam has a ton of potential and interesting things to explore in fanon and not in the way people think. People seem to really be into the idea of it being this super unified thing where all the "members" fit perfectly into solid family roles and traditions and get along perfectly and literally just recreate the nuclear family structure. But it's so much more complex, unique, and interesting as a result. Not just to how they all are with Eggman but also with each other too.

Let's look at what we've actually got in the game canon so far. We'll start with-

The relationship of Eggman with his creations:

Metal Sonic has never once been called "son" by Eggman in a game. He has no known attachment to him besides bringing him back for convienience if he finds he can get more use out of him, but he's been more than happy to abandon him if he betrays or fails him.

Orbot and Cubot have also never been seen as sons of Eggman's. He's constantly yelling at them, hitting them, and threatening them. There's no fatherly bond, they're his assistants that he treats terribly.

In fact, as you see at the end of this segment, in the Japanese version of Sonic Colors, Eggman is heavily against the idea of being seen as Cubot's father. (But also Cubot has almost expressed attraction towards Eggman in Team Sonic Racing so it gets weird and complicated lol)

This hasn't changed since I made the above clip as he still treats them cruelly, even in front of Sage in Murder of Sonic

And this is clearly an aspect of their dynamic that's here to stay, as Eggman is even still whacking them around in TailsTube too

Sage is currently the only character where we know the familial aspect exists and is mutual. However, Eggman values her and accepts this dynamic for uniquely selfish and twisted reasons. Specfically for her usefulness and loyalty, how her skill can serve him well, and how he can take the credit for such an impressive skilled life-like creation, especially emphasized if he accepts the title of her father. His reasoning is quite disturbing really lol

It's a huge subversion of the traditional father and daughter dynamic in the way Eggman created Sage to protect him and serve as type of guardian for him rather than the other way around as a parent would typically be,

to the point she gets into danger and sacrifices herself for him and he lets her because it's specifically her function and this doesn't change even after developments

Sage is also still a servant/assistant to her master Eggman, she's mature and reliable and will get work done

(Link to translation here)

and so he promotes her to taking control of the Eggnet, a big responsibility.

She clearly isn't some immature child that needs her hand held and to be protected and coddled. He values her because she's so capable and useful to him and says so himself.

It's to the point that Eggman is the one who can actually be the irrational stubborn manchild throwing tantrums in some situations, while Sage is the more mature level headed rational one in those moments.

Sage is the very first creation he's called himself a father of and it was the best first choice that makes a lot of sense with his already existing character being considered and involved, rather than a complete change of his character and this is why it's great and works.

Not only is it not true that Eggman has ever felt a familial connection to any of his creations pre Sage in the canon games, it would also ruin the whole plot point in Frontiers of him starting to feel that way about a creation for the first time and processing it. This is clearly a first time thing for him.

So now let's talk about-

The relationship of Eggman's creations with each other

Eggman hasn't, and as far as we know, still doesn't see the likes of Metal Sonic or Orbot and Cubot as his sons. However, we do know that some of them seem to feel familial connections/at least desire a familial dynamic amongst each other that we know of.

As I showed above, Cubot did have a voice mode in the Japanese version of Colors where he would call Eggman his father and Eggman absolutely hated it.

In Rise of the Wisps, Orbot and Cubot express a desire to see Metal Sonic as their "big bro". Metal Sonic however, clearly isn't thrilled or into the idea, constantly looking pissed off to be around them.

Metal doesn't want anything to do with them and doesn't react well to the dynamic of seeing them like family, he's just like "whatever I don't have time for this" and focuses on the job that he's created to do, eager to ignore them and take off and get away from them.

Sage however, has expressed interest in Orbot and Cubot as being like brothers to her for being his creations too. Which Eggman half-heartedly went along with in a "I suppose so" shrug kind of way. Likely because he could see it made her happy and kept her loyal and useful.

But of course with all the examples I provided earlier in the post, he hasn't and still very much doesn't see them as his sons and still treats them terribly. Even in front of her, which is really interesting after he tried to entertain her desire to see them as her brothers before. Even that desire of hers doesn't stop him.

And lastly, it has been said that the "let's go dad" shirts Sage and Metal Sonic wore in Murder of Sonic were Sage's idea, so this tells us that Sage also wants to see Metal Sonic as her brother, which makes sense as she does with Orbot and Cubot too.

However, we don't know if this is mutual and if Metal wants to see her as a sister or not (for all we know, he could've been forced into the shirt by Eggman to keep Sage happy as we didn't get to see any enthusiasm from him lol) and this certainly wouldn't suggest how Eggman sees Metal still, especially with how he clearly still doesn't see Orbot and Cubot as his sons despite Sage wanting to see them as her brothers.

So yeah that's the current canon status of Eggman's relationship with his creations and his creations' relationships amongst each other. I think there's a lot of potential and fun ways to explore it without forcing them onto strict family role and tradition boxes because it's clearly much more complex than that.

They don't all see each other as family, Eggman doesn't automatically see and accept the idea of all his other creations being like his children too and some of them are even against the idea of being each other's siblings and don't get along like that. It's interesting to think about the difference in dynamics among each.

Eggman accepts Sage as his daughter but doesn't automatically see all the others as his children, while despite this Sage wants to see Orbot and Cubot and Metal Sonic as her brothers, and Orbot and Cubot want to see Metal as their brother but Metal clearly doesn't like the idea, etc.

There's also the potential complicated feelings and competition they could have against each other, especially when Eggman only sees Sage as his daughter and didn't see the others as his children before and so far it's quite clear he still doesn't see Orbot and Cubot as such even after Sage wants to see them as her brothers.

The ways Eggman could notice and exploit this to make all of them work even harder to please him to outdo each other, or possibly in hopes that he'll see them as family too if they're interested in that also has tons of potential. It's so much more fun than restricting them by putting them all in specific strict boxes.

Especially because not even the one dynamic that has the 100% known mutual familial feelings involved with Eggman and Sage are completely vastly different from the typical traditional expected dynamic canonically! I'd love to see more fanon not just embrace this but also the nuance and complexity between his creations with each other too. :D

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 12

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

September 1983

Strands made up of perfectly woven thread laced in deep desire of longing and hope. Fresh spring water dances down the rocks wetting them with her tongue. The ocean is somehow bare.

It’s like one day you fall ill. A sickness so terrible that no doctor knows what to do - there’s no medicine to cure this. Falling deeper into a pit of self-distraction, Eddie rolls onto his back. The only comfort he has is the tattered blankets that are too thin to keep him warm. A set of headphones drape over his head with music drowning out his deepest thoughts. Or, so he thinks.

With these headphones, Eddie spends less time worrying about you. What you’re doing? Who you’re with? That’s bullshit. Eddie knows who you’re with.

A viper bites at his leg when he’s not watching. Venom consumes him, and Eddie is now frowning once again. The way Eddie thinks of Gareth is poison enough.

Don’t get him wrong, really. Somewhere. Buried deep below. Way below. Way way below. There has to be a single drop of joy that you are happy.

Eddie tries to sort through the millions of pieces to the puzzle. Of course, he’s blurry to all of the signs that Gareth even showed a slight interest in you. Things begin to make more sense when Eddie finally understands why you’re much more giddy about coming to band practice at the least.

It’s his mistake to ask of you to get along with Gareth in the first place. His friend. Or, was he? Whatever. Gareth better not mess up this relationship he has with you. What’s worse? Him being with you? Him breaking your heart?

Eddie’s stomach flops around like a dead fish. That's about right. He hasn’t eaten much today - if anything at all. A bit too consumed by thoughts of you. The idea of eating makes him queasy.

When the cassette tape stops, and his music pauses, Eddie is agitated. He peels open his eyes for the first time and blinks away the crust built up in the inner corner of his eyes.

There’s a hum that doesn’t come from his headphones. A tapping. A heavy thudding.

Eddie pulls off his headset, and the banging on his front door gets only louder. Whoever it is would learn a hard lesson in “going away.”

Visitors are less than welcome at the Munson trailer. Aside from the select few of his favorite people, Eddie hates when people come to the door uninvited. The religious nuts have got to stop harassing him and his uncle. They won’t join any sort of cult leadership that they are apart of. No amount of pamphlets and pleading would persuade either Eddie or Wayne to join their “congregation.”

The whole concept of church baffles Eddie. They’re organized leaders, so call them that. Their beliefs are there to control the masses. The communities swarm at them like bees to pollen on the flowers of springtime - just to be told what to wear, where to go, and who not to talk too.

Organizations like that are where Eddie Munson wants to be least of all.

Don’t get him wrong, Eddie won’t denounce religion in its entirety. Jeff goes to church on Sundays, after bouncing up and down on a guitar in Gareth’s garage the night before. Metal music is in his blood. The religious thing finds a home there too. Jeff isn’t crazy like the others. Eddie has learned to have some respect for God, only because Jeff begs Eddie to not speak too harsh on His name.

Eddie can respect a man, who stands for what he believes in.

“Alright, alright!” Eddie curses at whoever is on the other side of the door. He lets them get in a few more trashes on the front door, before he’s sure they’re not just going to go away. Then, swings the front door open.

On the other side, you’ve flinched back a few steps. Eddie is in one of his moods. Now, you expect the crassness only because that’s how he always answers the door. However, Eddie isn’t particularly peachy since he found out that you’ve been seeing Gareth a few nights ago. It’s not as though you weren’t going to tell him, right?

You’ve already told Gareth that you’ve made up your mind, and you’re going to speak to Eddie today. Gareth would rather you give Eddie some space - seeing as he tracked him through a parking lot and had almost gotten ran over by him last night.

The core of you knows that Gareth is right. Usually, after a few days of Eddie being pent up and angry over something, he’ll calm down and the theatrics will pause for a moment. This is different. Eddie is hardly ever upset with you. You don’t know how to react. A part of you wants to curl up in a ball and sob. The other part is thinking too logically, and demands you stand at his porch and bang on his door until he answers.

Eddie hates how stubborn you are because he is just as stubborn. Only when it comes to you, Eddie will quickly change his mind at the site of your trembling jaw, and your glossy eyes filled to the brim with tears that are just about to break the dam and flood the surface below. Boy, if that dam breaks. It just might not stop!

“I’m sorry?” You’re apologizing, but it comes out more as a question than anything else. Again, you’re whimpering like a lost pup searching for it’s mommy.

Eddie doesn’t take much to fold onto you. Over you. He envelopes you into a tight hold without much to say. The way his eyes roll back into his head tells you everything you need to know.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he hates the way he caves so easily for you. Every word that ripples off of his tongue is just an admission to what he already knows. Then, he adds (stupidly), “Gareth is- nice.”

There it is. The fully guilty conscience that sucker punches him in the gut. In spite of being completely and totally jealous of what Gareth has to dangle in front of him, Eddie also knows that out of all of his friends - you just have to pick the nicest one.

Eddie can feel your smile across his chest. The dimples. The blush. You push him away a bit harshly, and gasp.

“You’ve never said anything nice about my boyfriends before.”

“Your boyfriends before were assholes,” he’s not shy to share that opinion.

You point a finger to his chest, “admit you like Gareth.”

“I never said that.”

“You said he was ‘nice.’”

“He’s better than, Ricky,” Eddie snorts.

“Who?”

“Er- Rodney.”

It is in that moment, where you're sewn up and dry from tears, that Eddie decides love is a bitch. He can't help, but adore your fresh rosy cheeks. The way your mouth blabs. Only, he wishes you would talk about him that way.

-> <-

October 1983

Eddie is already headed down a slippery slope. This last hour, his teacher has informed him that if he keeps slacking off that he won't be getting a passing grade. Eddie's flunking his math class. So, he missed a math quiz or two? A few homework assignments?

It’s his last year in high school - a senior. Wayne spends most of his time putting pressure on Eddie by speaking of nothing, but a graduation party with all of his friends. How could he possibly disappoint his uncle?

“Hi, baby.”

There’s that rancid nickname again coming straight from your mouth. This follows a wet smacking sound when Gareth kisses you. Ugh, has everyone lost their decency?

Eddie should have put up boundaries when you came to him that day. Rule one; no making out in front of him. Rule two; Eddie theorizes as a wide spread grin stretches across your face; Gareth isn’t aloud to be funny.

Slamming his textbook shut, the crowd at the lunch table jumps.

“Rough morning?” Gareth asks.

There you go laughing again. Head tilted to the sky - Gareth basks in this.

-> <-

December 1983

Trees are bare of their leaves. The hours in the day that are bright become next to none. Eddie still finds time to work on his truck, before nightfall. The break pads are in need of replacement, and he should also be changing the oil too.

Eddie would rather wrestle with his car in the dead of winter where his fingertips could frost off, than to deal with the hot heat from summer time.

Besides, it hadn’t snowed yet.

In the afternoon, Eddie was hoping to see your car pull in the driveway. It’s Christmas Eve. The least he could do is hand you the gift he’s gotten you. Like every year, Eddie takes the time to splurge some extra cash to get you exactly what you want.

Eddie toys with the bow atop the messily thrown together wrapping paper. The reindeer are smushed together awkwardly next to each other. But, they’re all still smiling. Eddie hopes they don’t mind. It’s the same paper Eddie uses every year. Every year, he’s getting a bit worse at wrapping gifts than the year before that.

You don’t declare any sort of discomfort by the way he wraps the gifts. If anything you find the attempt quite charming. It’s tradition to each give your gifts on Christmas Eve; and it has become tradition for you to come to his house for dinner.

Your mom hasn’t been home much.

As per usually, Eddie gifts you another journal. Something for you to do, other than sit around waiting for the rainbow to come after the rain. Maybe one day, you'll show him what you've filled in those pages with. He hasn't asked.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches himself glimpsing at the other gift he has sitting on top of his dresser. It’s too late for you to receive this now. Out of sight out of mind, Eddie decides it’s best if he shoves the little box inside of his socks away from the world. The charms jangle against the metal chain, as he pushes that tiny square box as far back as he can.

It’s forgotten about for now.

-> <-

(to be continued)

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur @naatggeo

[ronearoundblindly]

Hi!! I just found your blog and 😭😭 you're so talented, like, what?? I def need more!!! I dunno if this is how it works, or if you're still doing the dirty asks game, but I was thinking maybe E,K,U and S (or Z!) for Johnny?

Have a lovely day!! oh, and well, happy new year 🙂‍↕️

Prompts are from this ask game and part of my ongoing list of answers! You can also find A, B, C, D, and V already answered for this boi.

Warnings for...well...they are dirty asks so be prepared for sexy and sexual content 😉 including (but not limited to) discussion of oral, somnophilia, ummmm tickling? emotional unavailability? and idk other stuff. MINORS DNI.

Happy New Year! I love ya! I appreciate you taking the time, dearie 💜 Happy reading... 😈💋

K - Kissing

So this...implies some romance that's not typical for Johnny. His kissing is less emotional and more intense and deep--but seriously, it's not an indication of his longterm interest or level of affection. (There is an exception to this which is Johnny has no problem giving hickies. He will mark. you. up. ((He can't be marked in the same way due to healing.))

HOWEVER, those small, nonchalant pecks--if Johnny ends up smooching you and it doesn't lead to sex, it wasn't in the middle of sex, or especially if there's no one around to see it,--that's THE REAL DEAL. Something utterly devoted has sparked inside him if (and when) Johnny slows down to kiss you. Or slows for any reason, really.

In regards to where Johnny likes to kiss or be kissed? Again, he's not much of a kisser. He's big on touching and groping and tickling, since he's a goofball and true 'player,' i.e. Johnny is nearly always playful, but once there's a connection made with you, he...

okay, so, the thing is, he actually does like to be kissed, and the place that drives Johnny wild is above his dick, right at his adonis belt, that v-cut, the pubes. This is so ridiculously intimate/possessive/reverent; he can barely handle the conflicting drives to melt beneath or conquer you. Strange thing...he would have thought the proximity would just make him want a blowjob but instead he's a goner.

U - Underwear

Commando. Easy-Access Man. Next question.

LOL, just kidding. Mostly, Johnny wears nothing, certainly not with his Human Torch second skin. He used to wear boxers but lost too many of those to a smoldering heap. No point.

On women? Crotchless panties are his favorite, but there's this new trend of booty shorts--he's very, very into them. Generally, he would have thought anything less-is-more would be best in his eyes, but there's this kinda *pop* in the stretchy fabric when it jumps over the swell of your ass...mmhmmm IT'S GOOD.

S - Sleepy Sex

Sleepy morning? You are 100% welcome to wake him up with some head or ride his cock to your heart's content, but Johnny himself doesn't usually start stuff first thing. This goes hand in hand with him being unable to slow down much. He's all about releasing tension before bed though. A good romp to tire him out and calm the mind? Absofuckinglutely. No, he doesn't particularly care if you were already asleep. You'll thank him later. Don't worry. It's always worth your his while.

Z - Zones

Classic man. Go for his neck or his crotch. Johnny is a #basicbitch in this respect. It feeds his ego to be touched all over--duh, he's got this glorious bod, you should want to touch him,--but he has never been a fan of biting, on him or on others. Since he's just about always in the mood, it does not take a lot of foreplay to get him ready.

E - Extra Info

Unpopular opinion: I imagine that perhaps the ultimate show of love/devotion/possession to Johnny is not marriage and all that normal stuff but, instead, if you let him brand you.

He works hard and focuses to not burn people, so you allowing him permanently claim you as his--which he would not do in a casual way, not with random hookups and one-night-stands, not until he is sure that word won't get back to Sue who would kill him--shows a level of trust he didn't believe he would want much less earn.

Johnny is aware he's a ridiculous and kinda stunted man-child emotionally. He's smart enough to know that. Johnny will never stop being grateful to the woman who can stick around, see past it, and grow with him...playfully, of course. You should never stop roasting him about the man-child-ness.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every (Other) Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 22: The Flowers . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Ah yes, I can finally start analysing one of my favourite scenes heehehehe (the airport)

I have decided to split this analysis up into two sections lmaooo, um you can read under the cut down below the first part of the analysis if you want something that is very speculatory, and isn't necessarily evidence, more like something interesting.

First of all, the act of getting your girlfriend flowers is a classic, 'I know how to be a good boyfriend!' act, while still showing that there are problems underneath the surface. In this scene, the point of the flowers is to be a symbol. Otherwise, what would it be? Something to further show that Milkvan is cute and endearing? That doesn't line up with the rest of the airport scene which conveys their problems (all the lies and pretending).

The flowers are in this scene to be a symbol of Mike and El's relationship.

At first this seems like it sheds some positive light on Milkvan because it's obviously a nice gift, and she would appreciate it because they are her favourite colours. However, the things that Mike says in relation to the flowers seem extremely out of place and specific. Now, saying that he 'hand picked' them for her in Hawkins is a nice gesture that a lot of shippers really appreciate, but it is really important to the overall symbolism that he is the one who makes the choice about the colours. (more on that later)

He says some really 'random' stuff:

"I know you also like purple so I got some purples as well so I kind of did a 70/30 split kind of thing"

The 70/30 comment is so specific. The writers really like to put subtle foreshadowing into their dialogue, and being that this scene is at the beginning of the show, i believe it must be talking about how much he puts into the relationship versus how much he's getting out of it. An inequitable relationship is unsatisfying (x, xx), which may show that it's probably either Mike or El putting in the effort while getting nothing less out of it. (Mike puts in the effort to seem normal and functioning while not getting true happiness out of it, El puts in the effort of lying and doing romantic things while not getting an expression of love out of it, which is what she thinks she needs.)

As for him handpicking them in Hawkins.... well....

The same flowers that El, EL, picks up and inspects are the ones that Mike picked out himself in the same town. By the end of the season, their relationship is extremely different than it was at the start, the 70/30 split is no longer a split, it's simply a 0, because the flowers are dead.

So these are 2 instances so far of the characters calling upon flowers for symbolism and.... there is a third one, which is right at the beginning of S4.

See this is why I truly believe that these must be a symbol of Mike and El's relationship. Mike picked spring flowers for El, which are a symbol of their relationship being inequitable, and later on, they are used to symbolise their relationship literally dying (damn). But this here is what shows that El will be fine on her own. Time and time again, Millie and the writers have said/written that El needs to find herself and who she is without the men in her life.

So: "At first I missed [my relationship with Mike], but now I [can find happiness]."

Flowers = Mil*ven. And it's also interesting that yellow flowers symbolise friendship and purple flowers symbolise admiration, and as we know, admiration for her powers is one of the main things that Mike ends up referencing when he admits his 'love' to her.

Now, the yellow flowers being in the bouquet is interesting because, as stated very importantly by Mike himself, he was the one who picked them. Meaning, he would have made the decision, however subconscious, to put 'too many' yellow flowers into the bouquet. And another thing we also know is that yellow is Will's colour.

This colour symbolism is emphasised during the season, when Will wears the colour yellow for the majority of it, and is placed under the yellow light in this scene^

Another funny thing that I noticed is that Mike says:

"I know you like the colour yellow, but now I'm realising that it's too much yellow."

Rewatching this scene makes me think it's kind of odd for him to say that he's just now realising that it's too much yellow. As if he accidentally put too much in, and kind of realises it in that moment like he's saying sorry to her about it?? But then he just takes that realisation and turns it into a 'romantic' thing, acting like he'd intended that the whole time with the '70/30' split.

That means he didn't actually mean to. The writers are trying to convey through symbolism that Mike has been thinking of Will subconsciously the past few months, which is then confirmed by the Rink o Mania scene and the Cool Cool scene. He only regrets the fact that he did it in retrospect. Aka as soon as he sees El.

SO: The flowers are a symbol for Mike and El's relationship, showing that they put in a lot of work into the relationship, but do not get an equal amount out of it, which is unsatisfying. The flowers also are shown to be dead by the end of the season. El says that at first she missed the flowers, but in the end, she's fine without them.

NOW TIME FOR THE STRANGE STUFF

So this is at the end of S1, and if we assume that there are no, throwaway lines in Stranger things, we should be able to also assume that this is meant to foreshadow something. In my opinion, this has to foreshadow S4 and S5.

In this scene, it's clear that the kids (symbolising the audience of stranger things) are talking about something that Mike (symbolising the writers of stranger things) has left out or not explained. This is what happens in S4.

What about the lost knight? -- This refers to Mike, whose DND character is obviously a paladin, but Will draws him and paints him as a knight in shining armour. He is clearly 'lost' because he does not know what to do about his relationships with Will and El at the end of S4. He has just said he loved El, but he still wants to help Will and doesn't really know his feelings until the painting is revealed. Therefore he is lost.

And the proud princess? -- It doesn't take much deducing to know that this has to refer to El, whose arc in S4 is to realise that she is not a monster for having her powers, making her proud of who she is. The audience are worried about her and her fate, because she seems at a crossroads.

And the weird flowers in the cave? -- Obviously, I've already talked about the flowers being a symbol for Mike and El's relationship. The 'weird' part about them is that they are so inconsistent and out of place on a show like ST, because of how conformist it seems in comparison to their nonconformist message. 'In the cave' refers to the fact that the flowers are dead, and now part of the UD, which is the 'cave'.

In This LAST SCENE:

El is stood in front of the others, now with her powers that she is proud of.

Mike is stood with Will, lost in relation to his feelings towards both El and Will, not truly understanding them.

The flowers are rotting. In the 'cave' (UD)

Just something to think about <3

[obsessivestar]

please for the love of god I crave a Ted x reader fluff of him teaching u how to edit smth and it’s just him being patient and it’s just sweet and happy live u Star u a pos

Patience is Key-framing

A Ted Nivison x Reader fluff fic

Just a small lil' one shot because you asked so nicely ♡ (literally made me laugh when I woke up)

//Warnings: Mentions of/implied anxiety, cursing, other than that this is pure fluff \\

Enjoy!

You had decided to try out this whole "content creation" thing after Ted's best friend Tucker had been telling you about the GameCube video he had been working on. It seemed like a fun little side hobby to help keep the creative juices flowing and you had quite an easy time with the script writing and filming of it all. Now, you figured you'd have an easy time editing it. Ted was nice enough to allow you to use his computer to edit and you've made little edits on your phone before. How complicated can it be?

You open up the editing software Ted had recommended, start a new project and you're hit with...way too much. Way, waaaaay too much. Why is there more than one bar at the bottom? Why are there two screens? What the fuck does 'Farlight' mean? No clips in media pool? THAT'S where the clip goes? What the fuck is the other square for then? What the hell are these icons? Wait why is the player over there if the clips go here? This isn't like my phone at all, how the hell does Ted use this? 'Export Metadata???'

You're hit with so much at once, it's difficult to focus on one thing. You end up in this sort of stunned state where everything in front of you seems a whole lot bigger than it probably is. Suddenly your fingers are sort of shakingly hovering over the mouse and keyboard, confused little 'Ah's and 'What's cutting out of your nervous voice. There's nothing here that makes sense to you. Absolutely nothing. It's way more overwhelming than you thought it'd be. Maybe you should use what's familiar...

"Your hand's supposed to be on the mouse, babe." Ted comes into his room with two bottles, yours and his, topped off with some fresh water from downstairs. He comes and stands next to you, giving you a gentle smile.

"How the fuck do you use this?" you ask with a shaky chuckle, placing your hand on the mouse to begin curiously clicking around. You're trying not to look as freaked out about this software as you are, but jesus fuck, what does ANY of this mean? "I'm not makin' any sense of ANY of this.."

"I did tell you to wait.." Ted tilts his head at you with a knowing smirk, his brow perking up in a sort of 'I told you so' way.

"Okay--I didn't think you meant 'don't open the software', asshole. I.." You narrow your eyes at him, giving him a shaky huff. How were you supposed to know this software was going to look like...this?

"Okay okay, that's on me, it's alright.." Ted knows you don't mean to snap at him. You can see it in his eyes, he knows you're overwhelmed. He reaches up to lightly pet the top of your head in an attempt to calm you down. "I'll help you through it, alright? I'll talk y--not like that--but I'll talk you through it."

A soft smirk spreads along your lips, slightly leaning your head away from his hand. "Don't pet me, it's patronizing.." you comment in a sort of snarky tone, crinkling your nose at him.

"No it's not." Ted let's out a snort. "You're just still thinkin' about me talking you through it."

"Your words, not mine."

"Oh come on. You spend too much time on Tumblr."

"They've got some interesting shit to say about you!"

"I'm sure they do, now let's focus. M'kay? Phone down now. Tumblr thoughts go away."

"Stop talking to me like I'm 5."

"It's calmed you down, hasn't it?"

"....Alright--"

Getting rid of all other distractions, you fully focus on the screen in front of you, listening to Ted as he teaches you the basics of how this software works. He helps take your attention away from anything you won't be using and keeps you focused on what you already know from using your phone. You hate to say it, but the friendly little teaching tone he uses with you is...kinda helpful. You hate it, but it's helpful.

"So let's drop a video from a clip I made the other day. You're gonna go up to File, hover over Import...yep, and click Media."

"What's Pre-conformed EDL?" You cut in, tilting your head. "What's that supposed to--"

"Ah ah ah, doesn't matter. I don't even use it. Click Import. That's where we get the videos."

So that's what you do. You click Import, find the video clip and double click. It brings the clip into the box on the left, way up in the corner. Oh!

"Oh, so this is like...where you keep all the clips?" You ask, feeling like a light has clicked on in your head.

"Yeah, like if you had more than one." Ted replies with a gentle smile, giving you a nod. "Keeps everything organized.."

That actually makes sense.

"Now, if you want to edit a clip, you just draw it down here, where all these white dial lookin' things are..."

When you follow Ted's instructions, the clip that you had selected now shows up in the right box as well as showing the timeline at the bottom, just like how it would look in the editing app on your phone. It's starting to look exactly like you're used to! Even some of the buttons on the bottom are starting to look familiar. Cut, Edit, Color..

"Oh shit, wait, so...if I wanted to cut this..." You slide the timeliness over a few seconds ahead and right click, but you don't see an option to cut that part of the clip. You furrow your eyebrows and glance at Ted, quietly signaling him for help.

"What, are you trying to cut the clip? Like to turn it into two?" Ted asks, standing at bit closer to you to get a clearer look at the screen. "OK, so to do that, you click the scizzor icon over here, and then you'd right click what you want to delete.."

You follow his instructions once more, and it all happens just like he said it would. There's a little green line in the timeline showing exactly where you cut the clip, then you right click, delete the right clip, and boom. That easy. You let out an excited little gasp and wiggle your hands in joy. You're understanding now! You're getting it!

"There ya go! That's good!" Ted praises you with a single clap, shooting you a proud smile.

"Ok! Ok ok ok, I'm getting it.." you let out a thrilled little laugh, placing your hands back on the keyboard and mouse. "It's a few extra buttons, but I'm getting it.."

"Oh yeah, you get used to it, honestly." Ted admits with a little nod, fluffing up the front of his dark hair. "Eventually you can learn to use the keyboard's controls once you know how everything works; everything that you need, at least."

"Keyboard controls?" You turn to Ted, tilting your head a little.

"Like how you can use Alt F4 to close a page, or Control F to search for a word."

"Ohh! Oh that's cool!"

"I know! It is cool!"

Suddenly, something that was easily overwhelming you on your own has become fun with Ted's help. He guides you through every step of turning this one minute of gameplay into a proper clip. He teaches you how to separate game audio and microphone audio so you can hear his commentary clearer, he teaches you how you zoom in and out smoothly, how to add text and how to key frame in other photos and shots to emphasize a moment in the gameplay. Once he got you to focus on re-learning what you knew from your phone editing apps, you were able to ignore everything else in this software that confused you before and focus on what you've learned! You eventually get good enough to go ahead of Ted's instructions, clicking down on the timeline to cut a few seconds of silence from the game audio with relative ease.

"There ya go! And the clip is done!" Ted takes a step back and holds his arms out triumphantly, giving you a proud grin. "That's it! Now you just do that with all the clips you've got from your video! You did good!"

"That's crazy.." You smile back at Ted before looking at the monitor again, looking over the editing software that had overwhelmed you so much before. You still had a lot to learn, but you knew enough to be able to do most of the editing on your own without having to ask any new questions. You kinda hate to admit it, but Ted is a good teacher. He did goto film school, after all.

"Thank you." You turn your chair to face Ted, giving him a cute little bashful smile. You can tell he's proud of you. You're proud of yourself, too.

"Not a problem at all, babe.." Ted slips his hands into his loose pockets, giving a little shrug and a warm smile. "It was overwhelmin' for me too, everything new takes a little time to learn. I'm glad you were okay with me helping you. Makes me happy too."

God, he's just so...

You can't help yourself. You move up off of his chair so you can wrap your arms around him in a big hug, almost trapping his hands in his pockets with your tight grip. He let's out a gentle little chuckle, slipping his hands out of his pockets so he can return the hug, his long arms able to wrap around my whole body. He smells nice...

"...Ted?"

"Mhmm?..."

"...Can you pet my head again?.."

"Yes I can.."

[elainsgirl]

I was viewing acotar content on tiktok before I had even read the books, when I first learnt of the Lucien/Az/Elain situation I thought it was a love triangle and that put me off. I kept on seeing arguements like “Elain has to be with Lucien, she’s his mate!” “Az deserves better then Elain, im praying someone else comes along” “Elain can only be redeemed for me is if she accepts the bond with Lucien, I need him to be happy” so going into the books I was really expecting a love triangle and elain torn between the two. In acomaf, I shipped Elain x Lucien just because I liked the potential those two had together. The quiet, introverted, “lady-like” character who blushes and gasps at a foul word meeting the sassy, smirking, rogue who spits out said words all the time as easily as breathing? The trope is going to do it for me every single time. I also loved Lucien as a character. When I read the dinner scene between the batboys and sisters, I knew Sjm was setting up Az as a *maybe* potential second LI for Elain. I wasn’t invested in elriel from the beginning though and was so happy when elain became Lucien’s mate. Excitedly, I read acowar and let me tell you it was so so disappointing in terms of elucien. “I want to see if she is worth it” - yeah no. That gave me the ick. Then him just not being able to do anything for her? Like when he stood there and couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Also his personality was ofc not the same. I really expected Lucien to crack some joke in an attempt to make Elain smile or laugh but he did nothing and when the opportunity opened up to leave, he took it.

Then I started focusing on Elriel. I was young (14) when I read the series so Az taking elain to the gardens or him calling her scars beautiful never meant anything to me. I wanted banter, fun, sass not whatever boring dynamic elriel had. By the time I finished the series: Elriel were definitely endgame and not elucien (like Mass really killed that ship between acowar and acofas) which bummed me out a bit but I did not care that much.

Now however after growing up, I realise the true beauty in elriel scenes. Someone who respects you as a person, shows interest in your hobbies and willingly wants to spend their time with you - that person & relationship is 100x more valuable then a relationship based on “bantering” & being forced to come out of your shell. I think when you take a step back and realise elriel have such a mature, understanding dynamic. Two characters that seamlessly fit together,

they were always meant to be.

[bunnivez]

-ˋˏ 𐔌 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𐦯 ˎˊ-

⟡ ݁₊ . 𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧; 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲.

⟢ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.ᐟ — Homophobia, Angst

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Grace, kind, strong, smart, obedient upon her parents. Any little girl’s dream is to be a princess, wear those beautiful high quality clothes, live in a palace and find their true love. You hated it though, if being a princess was all that good why are you unhappy? Isn’t it every girls dream? Why is it not yours?

‘Perhaps i’ve gone crazy’ is what you tell yourself, perhaps you aren’t grateful. It’s sad, really. Why must it be that a princess should marry royalty? Or a man? To continue the royal bloodline? Foolish. It pains you, it’s like a parasite eating you from the inside every time you look at her and remember she can’t be yours, nor can you be hers.

Why? Why was fate so cruel? Why did you have to fall in love with the one person you can’t have? A woman, a woman who fights for your country and serves for it. Your parents would never accept it, never; god knows what they’d do if they ever found it. Beat you? Or worse: remove her title as a knight and ruin her life.

You hated her, you hated her stupid short hair, her kind eyes, her lips you oh so want to taste, the smile she cracks when she see’s you, you hated the mornings you would see her walking her horse through your window, you hated her. You hated Cinnabar, but not as much as the fact that you can’t have her.

Would it be different if she was a guy? If she was royal? In another universe would she be able to touch you so lovingly, kiss you, hold you in her strong arms without being punished?

“You’re going to become a wonderful queen once you take the throne, princess. Whoever gets to marry you will surely be one lucky man.” Is what she once told you. It made you feel sick, you couldn’t tell her though. It would make things worse between you both and risky.

In another universe you’d be able to get married yo her, call her your wife, wake up next to her, run your fingers through those soft locks of hair—

“You’re getting married to Prince Philip.” Those words quickly made you snap, “What?” You asked. Your mother sighed,

“Lovely, we found you a proper prince for you. Prince Philip surely you remember him correct? He is a good gentleman, smart, kind, and seems to have interest in his people, your father and I have talked about it and we think he is a suitable husband for you.”

You wanted to cry, you wanted to throw the bowl of soup at them, turn the table over, rip your skin off, but you maintained a straight face. A princess must always be graceful, a princess must be obedient and not make a fuss to her parents.

When you made it to the privacy of your room however, it’s as if your walls crumbled all together. Tears can’t stop falling from your eyes, why did you fall in love? Was this a punishment? Because you fell in love with a woman? Because you fell in love with a mere knight who worked for your parents?

You sobbed against your pillow, you just couldn’t stop— when will it stop? Will there be a day you will finally forget about her and this pain in your stomach will go away?

You wish she was here. You cannot deny it. She’d run her fingers through your hair and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, “everything is going to be okay, my princess.” However that’s a foolish thing. She probably thinks you’re happy that you’ll marry someone as kind hearted at Philip, but he isn’t her. No matter how kind he is, how loyal, how charming he is; never will he compare to your Cinnabar.

You’ll just love her silently, watch her walk her horse in the mornings, try to catch her smiles, her cute tired face after training, imagine how sweet and perfect her lips would feel, the conversations you both have in your head.

Yeah, you’ll just love her silently. She will never know, you can’t tell her. You can’t grab her hands and elope with her, you can’t be that selfish to risk her life no matter how much you need her by your side.

You’ll just love her silently, imagine her naked body next to yours, whispering your name and touching you in your most intimate parts.

You’ll just love her silently.

⟢ 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐳 ᵎᵎ — do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt any of my works without my permission and or confirmation: reblogs and hearts are appreciated ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა