#that neither of them are likely to bring up

[itsalwayslearning]

One thousand years. That was how long they said it had been since anyone had written about these sunken halls of igneous rock, hidden deep underground. The historian who had ventured here alone didn't expect to find anything much; just something - anything that could provide them the building blocks to help them uncover the secrets of the past. If they'd found nothing but the halls, that would have been fine. If they'd found some artefacts or records, as aged as they may be, that would be great. However, in the deepest room, walls of obsidian reflecting their torch light back as a shadow of itself, the historian found something far greater. They found a lingering soul.

A thousand years since anyone alive had been here. More, and you would have the day I first stepped foot in these halls, bound already by fate to remain for eternity. They asked me, so earnestly, what was the world like when I was alive? With eyes as innocent yet as seeking as a child, they pleaded with nothing much to offer except their limited experience. Knowledge of a way in. And out.

Over a thousand years ago, Destruction reigned. He had done so for centuries before, since the first tear in the sky appeared. We thought he would rule for centuries more until the sun faded to nothingness. Back in a time when soldiers were more plentiful than civilians, generals rode roughshod over fertile land, churning them into battlefields. Reasons for battles fell into distant memory, laid to rest with the bones who fell for a cause they once believed was righteous. Regardless, it became war for War's sake. Those who fell did not enrich the land, but were swallowed by it. Twisted and mangled, the land leeched the life from them, the very life they stole from it with blades and axes. Neither ended up more alive than the other.

Mages grasped and strangled the Radiance, the light of the world, and bent it to their will. With the excuse of "the pursuit of knowledge," they broke the light inside each other until only Dark remained. Arcane pursuit excused all manner of atrocities, rendered useless when no one was left amongst the ashes to make use of their knowledge; only onlookers who either feared Light more, or those whose curiosity would inevitably bring their own end.

Magic wielders were not the only ones overcome with Greed. As common folk starved and the idea of nothing grew closer, they scrambled and scratched and pinched and stole. Anything to avoid the idea of nothing, despite the fact they took from their fellows who would succumb to the very thing they feared. In that time, it did not matter. As long as One had something, there was no room for concern if others had nothing.

Power did not satisfy, no matter how much the people indulged. Always eating, never full. Always taking, never full. Always discovering, never learning. In a world made by Creation, Her ideals would would be her undoing.

Boundless creation was a problem that had always existed. A neverending tide approaching with more people, more problems, more suffering than a single world should take. In shame, She stepped away, leaving Destruction to right the balance, unaware it was the part of Her that was Him, the inevitable end to Creation, which set the events in motion. It was the part of Him that was Her, the little Creation he harboured, that kept the world suffering.

He had ruled for centuries. We believed he would rule for centuries more. From the state of the historian, I could tell it did not last. Hopeful. Horrified by the past, its acts so distant. There was something that gave them hope. "What about the gods?" They asked. "They couldn't have just stood by. They wouldn't."

They didn't, I reassured them. In the earliest of days, when souls were young and innocent, there were The Children. Kissed by Creation, they did not die. They did not falter in their ideals when faced with mortal dangers. That all changed with the Rise of Destruction. Facing their own corruption was Joy, Justice, Nature, and Knowledge. When He first rose into power, they tried to fight it. Joy brought Light where they could, standing by Justice's side to illuminate the righteous path. When She Who Knows fled, it all began to fall. The roots deep in the earth had already rotted, tainted by His touch. With a world harsh and unforgiving, there was no home for Joy. With a word and a curse, they were lost. As Justice lost his illumination, his targets became unclear. No colour, only black and white. There was still darkness to be culled, anything darker than the blinding light.

There were others, thought to be saviours as first. They stepped in, granted a Radiant aura people had only seen in the blessings from above. As above, so below, as the saying goes. Whether in plain sight or in the shadows, they were always here. They always would be, in one form or another.

Something to bring the young soul before me hope: there was always an end to Destruction. It was inevitable. Corruption would end or heal, fallen seas would rise again. The gods people knew became devoted to the good they craved to see. Gathered again, ideals one and the same, they turned their focus to the centre of our continent, where His throne stood tall as the day the magma spewed from the earth. Weapons drawn, Radiance gathered, the fight of generations followed.

The historian said they knew what happened next. Destruction fell but at a cost. In his fury, Justice was poised to strike the Elder God down in the name of his ideal, forgetting about his own safety. It would be his downfall. It was the sight of her Child being struck down that spurred Creation into action. A Light so bright, so strong, it drove Her counterpart deep within his own throne, smothered by the molten rock that spewed from its peak. As the heat fled with Her leaving, the dust cleared. Destruction was gone.

I had enlightened the historian. I held up my end of the deal. As they settled, trying to commit everything to memory, they relaxed. Occupied. Unaware.

I was not blessed with a kiss from Creation. I did not exude Radiance like Her Children, but I had been granted a gift. True insight into others minds, and how they turn. How they can be turned. The inevitable and the impossible were laid plain before me, the strings of fate to be pulled by me alone. The historian never asked how I came to be down here. I told them it was a sentence, in truth, but not entirely metaphorical. After all, who would They be if the Killer of Justice did not face God-made consequences? It was humorously mortal of them to seek revenge against the one who turned and corrupted them, too. It was the godly part of them that decided my fate, sealed by the seat of My Lord.

I had waited, knowing the day would come. People would forget their past. I would not. Through the centuries of servitude and the millennium of confinement, I held one thought. One faith. Things must end before they begin again. My time here must end, and I will raise Destruction, the natural balance to the world. The historian promised me a way out. I've waited a long while already, so I can wait a little longer, hidden in the back of my puppet's mind as I feel the sunlight on my face once again.

You have been imprisoned for so long that you have completely lost track of time. You are not even sure whether those who imprisoned you are still alive. When finally someone came to check on you they were surprised to find you, claiming that the dungeon has been unused for centuries.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 12

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

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

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

A/N: i would just like to bring everyone's attention to the fact this fic is called tormented spirit. BTW some of yall might wanna read my weasely twins fluff cuz 😀 yeah you should read some fluff! leave comments/reblogs ok!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Since your sister's wedding, there were two things you no longer did: speak to your sister and go to your father. Everyday, instead of having the Lord Hand accompany you to your maester, you were accompanied by one of your wards.

At first, you were apprehensive with the change. After all, they were your knights, but neither of them were the father to your babe, and even fathers were rarely involved with prenatal care. Though, the patience they extended is not unusual, you were surprised that Erryk and Arryk took time asking the maester additional information concerning things that might need their attention in the future.

Today, you walk to the maester's ward, one hand on your belly the other on Erryk's bicep. As he opens the door, you freeze when you hear the voices in the room.

"Daughter." "Sister."

These words are spoken at the same time. You clench your teeth and turn to Erryk, whose jaw is set. You take a breath and decide to simply come back later.

Alicent stands the cot she sat upon and raises a hand, "please! I'm finished. You can come now."

Finished? Why is she being examined by the maester?

Otto is angered by your persistence to ignore them. He scowls and glares at Erryk, "you remind your princess to practice some humility," he points a finger, "her actions are affecting the queen, who is now carrying an heir."

Your face drops as you turn to her.

She is already staring at you. You watch her pick her nails. You catch the redness of her cuticles.

Erryk is equally shocked. He stutters before nodding in regard, "congratulations, my queen."

Alicent shakes her head, forcing a smile, "t-thank you, ser."

Your father's eyes remain on you. He waits for you to offer the same sentiment, but his anger only intensifies at your continued silence. He scoffs, "will you not even congratulate your sister?"

You clutch your pronounced belly and turn to your maester, "may we please do the examination? I cannot bear to stand for long."

Otto and Alicent watch you move past them. The latter is resigned to your commitment of not speaking to her, the former seethes and laughs dryly. He offers his arm to the queen, "come, daughter. Let us pray that your sister's impertinence is merely as side effect of childbearing."

Your sister spares you a glassy glance before taking Otto's arm and leaving with him. You watch as they leave, feeling yourself grow hard of breathing.

The maester asks you to sit, but before you do, you snatch his arm, "is she truly with child?"

He looks at your teary face. He feels the tremble of your hand as he places his own atop of it. He carefully speaks "it is joyous news, is it not?"

You release a shaky breath as he helps you sit.

"Princess," the maester warily says, "breathe for me. We cannot proceed if you overcome by your affliction."

You place both your hands on your belly and take a couple deep breaths. You close your eyes and resist the sob that threatens to come. A couple of tears wet your cheeks, but you manage to remain intact. You wipe your face and mutter to yourself, "it's barely been a moon since they've wed."

Your maester hears it though and offers, "your sister is blessed with a fertile womb."

You wish he had not tried to comfort you with such an idea.

You try not to think of Alicent as you do your daily examination, but she is all you think of. You think of how frightened she must be. You think of how your father surely told her about your daily visits to the maester. You wonder if he would force her to do the same, just to get you to talk to her. She wouldn't need daily examinations like you; she is perfectly healthy, stronger than you, as she said herself.

You are so deep in thought, you don't even realize the maester was finished with you, up until he says something that demands your full attention.

"What?" you knit your brows at him.

"We will be more certain of it as the moons wax and wane, but considering you are a twin yourself, and, again, because of the rather rapid growth of your belly, chances are my deduction is correct."

He helps you up and Erryk is quick to take your arm. You mutter through a shaky breath, "I'm carrying twins?"

Your maester nods, "highly likely."

You turn to Erryk, who offers you a reassuring smile, "I... congratulate you, my princess."

You stare at him for a moment and blink rapidly.

"You might give birth to a boy and girl who will have the same devotion you and your brother have," Erryk says in an attempt to take away some of the fear written across your face.

It does actually. You recall your visit to Oldtown and find yourself nodding, "I... I must write a letter at once."

Many moons come and go, but across the sea, the sun shines. Daemon's day has just started. His mood is nothing but sour, as it always is. He is loathe to start his day, but he does, and with a grunt, and leaves his tent to break his fast.

We eats with the Velaryons, Corlys, Vaemond, and Laenor, and though he did not hold any particular fondness for them, there was something in the way they all spoke in nothing but High Valyrian that made mornings not completely unbearable.

"My prince," Corlys greets him in their mother tongue. He hands Daemon a plate, "duck."

Daemon raises his brow at it, "with salt?"

"And pepper," Leanor says with a half-amused expression.

"My," Daemon sits down with them, "I am spoiled."

Corlys waits for Daemon to have a few bites before continuing conversation. He clears his throat, "before the day passes, allow me, my brother, and my son-" he looks between the said people, earning furrowed brows from Laenor, "-to greet you, both on behalf of House Velaryon, and as your comrade in battle for you—"

"Oh, yes!" Leanor interjects once he remembers, "congratulations, my prince!"

This earns him a look from his father, and his uncle. Laenor, who had been grinning, slowly raises his brows, "a-... apologies for interrupting, father."

Corlys sighs, "as I was-"

"And have we won the war overnight?" the prince says, rather uninterested, both in small talk and in his duck.

Corlys is confused by this, "I... no." He slowly tilts his head, "does your lady wife not write to you?"

Daemon is immediately on edge at the mention of you, "and what of her?"

Corlys narrows his eyes. He puts him to the test, "... you are aware your brother, the king, has remarried?"

Daemon whips his head his direction.

"And that also he expects an heir to be delivered come spring?"

"Remarried?!" Daemon repeats in offence, "and which scheming cunt managed to tricked him into marriage?"

Corlys turns to Vaemond, who turns to Leanor, who turns back to Corlys. The latter clears his throat, "your bride's sister, my prince."

His eyes widen. He looks between the Velaryons, then scoffs dryly. He begins to laugh, "that roach of a Hand has Viserys's bollocks shoved down his fucking throat."

Their faces contort at the foul language. Vaemond, in particular, is so offended that he cannot help but ask, "doesn't the princess write to you every day?"

Daemon clenches his plate

"And she never mentioned thi—"

"WHAT USE HAVE I TO READ THE WEEPY WRITING OF MY WIFE?!" the prince snaps, coming to a stand as he chucks his plate to the ground.

Corlys understands then Daemon's initial shock. However, he is still confused, "have you not read any letters from your wife?"

"Would you rather I be distracted, Corlys?" he snaps again, hands now clenched into fists.

Corlys is not intimidated by Daemon's anger, but he is also unincited by the idea a fight. He raises his hands in surrender, "most men gladly welcome distractions in the heat of war."

Daemon chuckles dryly, "I am not most men," then storms all the way back to his tent.

"Jiōragon hen ñuha ñuhoso!" he snaps in High Valyrian still, shoving the unwitting soldier aside. Get out of my way!

He returns to his tent. Another unwitting victim is there. "My prince," he bows, "a letter from Lady H-" Daemon snags the letter from him and shoves him away with exceeding anger and force.

He enters his tent and immediately chucks the letter to the floor, as if it was a vase he intended to shatter into a million pieces. It doesn't, of course; the paper remains intact, along with its seal. He crushes it beneath his heel then grabs the sack containing all your unread letters. He empties it on the floor and violently begins to stomp all over them.

You were his. You were meant to be his! Yet here you were, a pawn in someone else's game. His lust and infatuation has blinded him from this truth. You and your sister were mere tools of your cunt father to manipulate the throne.

He continues to trample your letters until they are brown with the dirt. He catches a lone letter that managed to evade his violence. He picks the unscathed object and only now does he realize its red waxen seal had an imprint of a dragon with a long neck that resembled Caraxes. Daemon scoffs, even his dragon you covet.

He breaks the seal. The letter was sent nearly a moon ago.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔬 𝔒𝔩𝔡𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔰𝔬 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔴. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤'𝔰 𝔏𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢; ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡. ℑ 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔫. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢, 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴 𝔲𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔒𝔩𝔡𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔬𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫. 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔢

A good place to raise children?! He scoffs and crumples the paper away. You fantasize of bearing his seed now? He laughs at the idea, chucking the paper across his tent. His amusement goes dry when he realizes it must be your father's ploy.

He's read enough.

Back in the Keep, you too receive a letter. It is from Gwayne, whose weekly response has finally arrived. You do not mind that he does not write to you daily as you did; you are grateful to receive a response at all.

You were set on reading his response, but as is was, you were experiencing terrible nausea and found yourself unable to sit or lie still. For some reason, the only thing that could combat this was walking around. You instead had your ward read your brother's words aloud for you.

Arryk's eyes trail back and forth you and your letter. He comes to your side when you gag, "princess."

You place a hand on your mouth, walking away from him. He watches as you circle your bed, "perhaps, I-"

"Please," you sigh, "do not make me beg you to read it."

Arryk stiffens and shakes his head, "my apologies, your grace." He turns to the parchment, "my twin."

" Louder," you grunt as you momentarily lean on your bed.

"My twin," Arryk repeats slightly louder, "I pray that your health is good, that you have been eating and sleeping as goodly as you did in the days of your visit here."

You take a deep breath and walk towards nothing in particular.

"While I confess a certain light has been lost in the halls of our Oldtown home since your leave, I..." your ward knits his brows, "disagree with your sentiments to return."

"What?" you gasp softly, turning to Arryk.

He looks at you and hesitates, "I... will not honey my words: you disappoint me with your coldness towards our youngest."

You clench your teeth as you feel another gag coming up, "fucking, Gwayne."

"She has written to me more than once to lament your severed relations since she's wed."

Your scoff makes Arryk pause. You look at him as you walk over, "do not stop."

He looks at you as you walk past him. He clears his throat, "I did not speak of it until now, for I believed you to be wiser than your betrayal."

"Ha!" you scoff, eyes immediately watering, "incorrigible pest," you grunt and rub your belly. You pace faster, "unyielding. Unfeeling."

Arryk watches you pace and takes a few steps back and forth so to remain arms reach of you.

"Continue!"

He stiffens, "I—," he turns back to your brother's words, "you've written you believe it will be better for you both that you away, lest your childbearing interlope with hers. I disagree. Consider me a fool-"

"He is," you scratch your eyes.

"-a man who knows nothing of childbirth, which I am, but I know my sisters— I know you at the very least." Arryk watches you as he says the next words, "leaving Alicent will haunt you, your satisfaction short-lived."

You stop in your tracks. You feel your dress tighten around you.

"Lay down your pride and allow yourself to reach for your sister who understands your struggle unlike anyone in the Seven Realms now more than ever."

You feel sick, sicker.

"Upon doing so, see then if you still wish to come to home."

You heave as you continue walking around.

"I offer many prayers to the Mother for both you and our sister. We are truly grown from the same womb, for I too share in your hope that you give birth to a twin boy and girl."

You rub your belly, as the thought softens you a fraction.

"Mostly, I speak thanks and praise for I am to be doubly an uncle. I pray your births come timely and smoothly, and I pray the Lord Hand has extended nothing but gentleness to you both," he folds the paper, "Your Twin."

"See now," you turn to Arryk, "even my twin betrays me, abandons me," you feel tears run down your cheek.

He slowly walks towards you, "that is not what he's done, my princess."

"Then what?!" you shake your hands, "am I not allowed even my anger now?!"

He is taken off guard when you shove him back.

"Even you are against me!"

Arryk steps back, though you barely mustered enough force for him to need to. You quickly pace around again. He feels the flesh beneath his steel you touched begin to push. His lips part "do not accuse me so harshly."

You whip your head back, glaring at him with red eyes, "SHE COULD HAVE BEEN MARRIED TO A LORD IN THE RIVERLANDS! OR HIGHGARDEN!" You throw your hand out, "ANYWHERE BUT HERE, BUT HERE SHE IS!"

His face falls when your rage makes you crumble. He gasp your name out as he catches you just before you fall.

"And for what?!" you wheeze as you are dragged to your bed. You rip at your collar as your chest tightens and tightens and tightens, "for me?"

"Princess," the knight's voice breaks with worry as he sits you down, "I beg you, ple-"

"Undress me," you mutter as you strugggle for air, "unlace my dress, I-"

He does not wait. He is quick to undo your bodice. He is so frantic, he nearly cuts your ties.

You moan as you feel a pressure leave you. You rip your dress off you, thinking of nothing else but catching your breath. Arryk helps you undress and you find it slightly easier to breath once you are left in nothing but your chemise.

Your ward struggles with himself; he does not wish to take advantage of this moment to ogle you, but he also cannot avert his gaze completely, lest you need his assistance. He clenches his jaw and lowers his gaze to his lap, muttering your name softly.

"Never mind my inadequacies, Arryk," you sigh in between deep breaths, "never mind that I will forever be second best to my father, who even wed me to his greatest enemy... who I am to make grandsire to not one but two Targaryen babes."

"Princess," he shakes his head, "I do not wish to-"

"I am used to his insistence of my dimness," you rub your chest, "of my capacity only for tears and succumbing to my own pain," your lips wobble, "but my sister—"

He stiffens and turns to you as lean into him. Your breath is too short and your head too heavy for you to keep yourself upright. Arryk calls our your name as he shifts, bringing his arm around to pull you upright.

"No," you wince, feeling a sharp pain in your belly, "hold me please."

He is immediately alarmed by how you clutch your side, "princess, are you-"

"Please," you rest your head on his armor, "hold me, even if you do not want to."

His hand twitches before, placing it your bare arm. He leans close, close enough to press his lips on your head, but he does not dare. He rubs your skin and whispers, "I want for nothing else."

You are too distracted by yourself that you do not hear him. Uncomfortable as the feel of his armor was, he lulls you into calmness.

When you feel well enough to realize how compromising it would be if someone were to witness you both, you pull away.

He says nothing, does nothing. He simply sit besides you, taking in your sad face.

You a tear drip from the tip of your nose. You rub it away before mumbling, "I had well-made plans for her... plans to shield her, to prosper her."

His eyes fall. He looks at the hand you had on your lap and dares to take it. It is cold and clammy, which is why he rubs it, eager to spread warmth.

The gesture makes goosebumps form on your arms. It makes your breath hitch, but not in a painful way. His gentleness encourages you to continue, "I once thought she looked up to me," you sniffle, "but when she said she was stronger than I," you lower your head.

He frowns.

"I knew then," you look back at him, "she sees only my weakness, along with the rest of the world."

He cannot help himself. He reaches for your cheek and wipes your tears.

You lean into his touch, "I can be strong, Arryk," you both his hands and squeeze them to prove a point, "can you not feel it?"

The gesture makes his heart break. He squeezes your hands in return, "you need not prove such a thing to me," he rubs your skin with his thumbs, "perhaps she does not want you to be strong... not for her."

You huff, "I am her older si-"

"But for your babe."

You are frozen by his words. You open your mouth but find nothing to say.

"Your brother," he gives you a solemn expression, "he says he prays the Lord Hand extends his gentleness to you, but I wonder if all that remained of his gentleness manifested into his daughters' beings."

The thought brings a tear from your eye, "Arryk."

"My princess."

"Should I speak to my sister come the morrow?"

He squeezes your hand again before slowly nodding.

The next day, you do everything in your power to do just that. You found Alicent breaking her fast, but you did not want to inadvertently ruin her appetite with your sudden appearance, for you knew how fickle it was in these times. Later, you found her in her chambers napping, but you didn't wish to interrupt her then either.

The rest of the day, you started feeling unwell, and you could not find it in you to leave your own chambers. When you finally did, the sun had set and Alicent was nowhere to be found. As a last resort, you ventured to the king's chambers.

Erryk announces you once you reach Viserys's door. You look at your knight with apprehension but he only returns a reassuring nod. There is a rather... sickly smell that assaults your senses when the door opens. The king himself answers, brows quirked in surprise.

"My king," you barely manage a curtsy. Erryk nods, "your grace."

Viserys regards you both then asks, "what brings you to my chambers at this hour?"

"I wanted to know if my sister was here," you absentmindedly rub your belly, "I wish to speak to her."

The king catches your belly, "oh, yes." He places a hand on your shoulder, "you are also with child," he chuckles, "I keep forgetting to congratulate you face to face."

You are taken aback by the half-hug he pulls you into.

Viserys chuckles as he pulls away, "well done, my dear. You have made the realm, and more importantly my brother, all the more richer for this."

You are rigid as he beckons you inside. Viserys motions to Erryk dismissively, and he nods. You wards gives you a silent look, and you know he'll wait for you outside.

Once you enter, you are assaulted by a scent that has clearly been attempted to be masked by fragrances. It makes you gag slightly, but it is not so bad that you cannot comport yourself.

You had expected to be lead to your sister, but instead, the king leads you to a massive diorama of what you could tell to be King's Landing.

"I am unsure where my wife is presently-"

His regard to your sister makes you clench your jaw.

"-but she visits me oft at this time of hour. Might as well show you my miniature figurines whilst waiting," he grins as he motions to the said object.

You feel an uncomfortable twinge in your stomach as you walk over to him.

Viserys immediately beams over his creation, recounting the trouble he had carving out the tower, exclaiming how much he enjoyed shaping the bridge. You have never seen him in such a light and it makes you wonder if this was his true self. Did he regard your husband this way? What were they like as children?

As he handed you two separate failed attempts of carving his fallen dragon, Balerion, you listen to him muse how the beast's skull was preserved in the basement bellow, and how he would gladly bring you there if you wanted to see. You groan and slightly lurch when another painful sensation ripples within you.

Viserys notices this. He quickly takes the figurines from you, "oh, where are my manners," he pulls a chair to your side, "sit, sit."

You gratefully take a seat and take a couple deep breathes as the king continues to drone about his diorama.

"You know, I used to make toy soldiers for Daemon growing up. I was aghast when he came back to me with severed heads."

You chuckle at his words, but instantly regret it when it adds to your pain.

"I still made him new ones, but this time, I put less effort and detail," Viserys speaks before noticing your reaction, "are you alright?"

"Mmm," you shake your head, "I think my babes are moving."

His brows quirk, "ah. That's right. You are expecting twins, are you not?"

You release a sigh when the uncomfortable sensations finally wane. You take a breath and offering a smile, "so says my maester. I hope it to be a boy and girl, like me and Gwayne."

He smiles, "it is quite fortunate that you and your sister are to have children at the same time," he looks over his miniature castle, "don't you think?"

"I think..." you turn to your belly, another groan leaving your lips, "Alicent is not ready to have children."

Viserys turns to you.

You look up at him and purse your lips, "nor am I."

He chuckles softly, "none of us are," he places a hand on your shoulder, "but I assure you, you learn as you go."

You find no comfort in his words.

"You know who has been ready though," he raises a finger, "Daemon."

The thought nearly makes you flinch.

He chuckles, "do not look so averted. There is gentleness in him," he turns back to his diorama, "do you not perceive it?"

You begin to feel sick.

"I tell you, when Rhaenyra was born, his face shone."

Your brows tighten at the smile the king offers you.

"I could tell as he held my child, he thought her the most precious thing in the worlds," Viserys face softens, "I could tell he wanted to have something precious to hold as his own," he absentmindedly examines a chisel, "the gods bless me with a wife who is going to birth me something precious," he turns to you, "and a good-sister who is going to birth my brother something doubly precious."

His words make your heart tinge. You are blindsided by how genuine, how vulnerable your conversation is. You wonder if Alicent saw this amidst the cruelty of the world and decided to settle for it rather than the uncertainty from another man. As he falls deeper into another fond tale of his brother, you feel a dull pain spread across your hips.

"That reminds me," he claps his hands, "do you have any names picked out yet?"

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, "well... I've-" you huff, "gone through some books that held Valyrian names," you inhale, "and found a few names for boys, namely Vaerus,—"

"Ah, Vaerus," Viserys repeats, "meaning genuine."

"Eadan—"

He grins and points, "little fire."

"—and Alaeric," you huff.

"Hmm," he turns to the ceiling in thought, "no, I don't know that one."

You are restless because of your pain. You groan as you stand, "I- mmm- prefer the last one the most because it is similar to my mother's name, and I should like to name my boy and girl after her."

He chuckles, "you seem quite set on a boy and a girl."

"Mmm," you hum uncomfortably, "I- I hope for it." You rub your belly, "I hope they have fondness for each other like me and mine own twin."

He knits his brows at your demeanor, "a son and a daughter would suit you well," he smiles fondly, "what was the name of your late mother again?"

"A-" you groan, "Alyrie."

Viserys finally reaches for you, "are you quite certain you're alright?"

You hum as you take the king's bicep, squeezing him tightly, "mmm, I should like to lie down now."

"Yes, of course," he shakes his head, leading you to the door.

Just before you can reach the entrance, a great pain forces you to lurch forward and yelp. You grip onto Viserys's arm for dear life and he grips you with hands. He thinks to grab the chair he pulled for you again, but as he looks back , his eyes widen at the trail of blood that leads to it. "GUARD! GUARD!"

You are in too much pain to react to the king's screams. You can only screw your eyes shut.

Erryk bursts through the doors, face white, heart racing.

"CALL THE MAESTER AT ONCE! SHE'S BLEEDING!"

Your eyes widen at the word, "bleeding?" You momentarily manage to gather enough wits to see what Viserys was speaking of.

Erryk does not linger in his horror. He bolts out and sprints down the halls, screaming for a maester as if his life depended on it because yours did.

The sight of your blood is mortifying. You lift your skirt as pain continues to seizes and a horrified noise leaves you when you find the red that pools by your foot.

It all happens at once after. An ache so great forces you to the floor. You are burning hot yet shivers run down your spine. You do not know if Viserys is speaking as you slowly crumple your knees but you do know that you are screaming loud.

Then it passes. Serenity ebbs and flows. You manage to sit on your but, but then it's back with a vengeance. You resist the squeal that morphs into to a shriek and then— you gasp, "no."

Viserys watches, the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms watches as you rip your skirt up and tear your ruined undergarments down, powerless.

Your scream makes his stomach curdle.

Your hands tremble as you reach for the two small bodies between your thighs. You bring them into your chest, uncaring of all else, how wet they are, how red stains you, how Viserys speaks your name. Your babes are are small; they are both far, far too small.

Anguish draws more noises from your throat. It doesn't take long until your voice is hoarse. You cannot keep your peace as you take in their tiny faces. You wipe them with your skirt, finding the silver of their brows and lashes. You also find the gods gave you a girl and a boy. You choke on a sob as you wipe the red away from their thin, white locks, "please wake for your mummy."

The words arrest Viserys. He recalls holding Baelon as life left him. He cherishes now more than ever that at least his boy gazed upon him once. He shares in your misery, yet does not know if how he should approach you; he does not know if he should. He does anyway, no matter how haunting the sound of your wails are.

You quiet momentarily as the man crouches beside you. Your lips wobble, "p-perhaps they'll wake up if you speak High Valyrian."

The thought is gutting.

You gently pull at one babe's eyelid, finding a violet eye looking back at you. Except it isn't looking at you at all and the thought makes you squall. You clutch your children tightly into your chest, rocking them back and forth, "forgive me, my loves. Forgive me for birthing you too soon."

Erryk finally arrives with the maesters. He is stunned in his spot whereas the maesters run to your side. He falls to his knees as lift your children up. They do not touch them, but instead look at each other before muttering something that makes you pull your twins back into your chest.

Your ward is ashamed to face you. He has failed you. Erryk comes to a stand and dares to come near you. You do not notice him. You do not care for anything or anyone else in this moment.

Crimson grief trails behind you as you make your way to the maester's ward. Erryk meant to carry you, but you refused, knowing the walk there would be the last time you'd ever get to hold your children. He silently walks beside you, eyeing your every move.

You freeze when you see your sister by the door. Erryk looks between the two of you, ready to give you space.

Alicent is distraught. Her eyes are nearly as red as yours and you can how her hands tremble even as she picks at them, "sister, I-"

"I wanted to talk to you earlier today."

Her face falls and she immediately runs up to you. She reaches for you but stops herself.

You frown at it, thinking it was because you had been cruel to her, "forgive me, sister."

She rapidly shakes her head, "do not even mention it."

A tear fog your vision, "very well," you sniffle as you lower your gaze, "would... would you like to see them?

She wordlessly agrees.

You step closer to her, "this is Alaeric... and Alyrie."

A hand comes to her mouth, "sister."

"They're perfect, are they not?"

She nods rapidly, "yes—" she shudders, "they are."

You sob with her as she brings her arms around you. Erryk cannot bare the sight. Hot tears run into his armor. Both him and Alicent stay with you as the maester's see to your health. They let you hold Alaeric and Alyrie until your examination commences, and then you confess that if they do not take them now, you will never let them be taken from you ever again.

You were exhausted as you lie in bed. Your body yearned for repose, but you could do nothing of the sort. You groggily stand and walk to your door.

Erryk starts. You caught him in the middle of scratching tears away from his eyes. You frown, "forgive me."

"No, princess," he shakes his head and turns to you, "how might I serve."

You bite your lip, hating yourself for what you were about to request, "I know it is terrible..." you sigh deeply, "I know it is inappropriate, and wrong, and an abuse of my power over you," you tremble, "but please you sleep with me."

"My princess, I-"

"Please," you raise a hand, "if it is too horrible, per- perhaps-" you hiccup, "you can drag the set— the settee beside my bed-"

He silences you by taking your raised hand. You continue to sob as he shakes his head, "I would do anything you ask of me."

You sob and throw your arms around him. Erryk embraces you back, though he was afraid his hard uniform might hurt you.

Otto sees this exchange from across the hall. He had not been moved to tears until this moment. He scratches his eyes before they fall and steels himself away as he walks off. He mentally takes note to observe the Cargyll brothers and to sternly remind them of their vows.

Erryk follows you to your bed. You crawl into your bed as he drags the settee from across the room beside you. You offer him a pillow and he gratefully take it. You knit your brows when he lies down. You sniffle, "will you not take your armor off?"

"I..." he start, about to explain it is inappropriate.

"Is it hard to remove by yourself?" you sit up, "I can help."

"I-" but his words go dry when you begin to undo his steel uniform with much ease.

All your years assisting Gwayne in and out of his armor has made the act come easy for you. You think nothing of it, but Erryk's heart races as you undo his chest plate. He sucks in a sharp breath as you put the metal down, then refuses your help, resigning to undo the rest himself.

You sink into your sheets as you watch your knight lay his armor down. It occurs to you in this moment that this was the first time you'd ever seen him without it. Even through his loose dress shirt, you can see his defined arms and torso. You even see a sliver of a scar from where his shirt opened on his chest and it makes you avert your gaze, knowing you've looked where you should not have.

Your lips begin to wobble as you think of Daemon and the scars he had on his skin. You feel pathetic as you begin to sob again.

Erryk hates the sound. He sits down on the settee and sniffles, "would you like me to sing for you?"

You wipe the snot on your philtrum as you look at him.

"I do not think I inherited her voice, but my mother used to sing to my brother and I when we were younger."

The word mother makes you feel sick, but you do not tell him that, and simply nod.

He clears his throat and takes a breath, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red. All the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head."

A chuckle is drawn amidst your tears as Erryk continues to sing.

"The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you, so come rest ye all safe and sound."

You ask him to repeat this song over and over and he humors you each time.

The day breaks and Arryk comes to your door for his shift. He holds a basket of flowers and a frown. He knocks on your door and announces himself. He is surprised when he hears footsteps approaching. His eyes widen when Erryk opens the door for him. His mouth falls at the messiness of his hair, then it clicks. Arryk nearly drops his basket as he grabs his twin by the collar, "what in seven hells have you done, you fool?"

Erryk is stoic as he responds, "my duty."

"Your-" he looks over his shoulder and pushes his brother into the room, closing the door behind him. Arryk makes sure to keep the silence and spares you a quick glance. The sight of your sleeping form makes him slightly soften, but he still manages to glare at his brother, "did you sleep here?"

Erryk turns to you, "she asked-"

"Did you sleep with her?" Arryk snaps.

The twins glare at each other. Erryk's face contorts in disgust, "I slept on the settee, brother. What do you take me fo-"

"I take you for a fool!" Arryk quips under his breath as he points an accusing finger.

Erryk scoffs, clenching his fist, "and you would have left?"

"I would have waited for her to sleep and resumed my post outsi-"

"Please."

The twins turn, finding you sitting on your bed, rubbing your puffy face. They both instinctively step forward and speak in unison, "princess."

"Please," you repeat, "I asked him to stay."

Arryk turns to Erryk.

"I do not want you to argue because-" you cannot continue because you begin to cry.

Both their faces fall, but Erryk wastes no time in coming to you. He kneels beside your bed and takes your hand, repeating the song he sang to you last night.

Arryk immediately recognizes the tune. His heart tightens as he watches the display. He mutters under his breath, "what have you done?" He walks over to him and watches the way you squeeze his brother's hand. He thinks of how you did the same for him just yesterday and clenches the basket's handle tightly. He begins to sing with his twin.

"The fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red. All the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head.

The apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground. All the stars shine brightly for you, so come rest ye all safe and sound."

These are the very words you sing to your sister's son.

Alicent was with child again, and you were giving her a much needed reprieve from her energetic boy who was now nearing his second name day. Aegon happily reached for flowers as you carried him through the gardens. He laughs with not a care in the world. It is strange how deeply happy and deeply sad the boy makes you feel.

Through it all, you smile as you sing. You bounce him in your hip once you finish, "right, shall we go back now?"

Aegon blissfully ignores you when his hand brushes against a flower. You pull him away before he can grab it, and push his hand down, "no, my love, we do not pick roses so carelessly."

Aegon cares little for your words and raises his hand again, "flower!"

You push his hand down and look at him, "you want the rose?" You adjust him in your arm, "you want to pick the rose for mummy?"

"Mummy?" Aegon repeats, turning to you to reach for your brown curls.

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

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

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

Your mouth goes dry when you see Daemon staring back at you.

[fishbonex]

Under The Influence (of Regret)

Vi x fem!reader

Summary: An already altered discussion has an even worse consequence.

Word Count:

Warning: HEAVY ANGST, mentions of alcoholism, canon-typical violence, arguments, screaming, BLOOD.

note: this story takes place after the end of arcane.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

War and grief have the power to change a person. Maybe for a while, or maybe forever, but change is a certainty.

You didn't escape it, neither did Vi.

You were a constant presence at Caitlyn's mansion, at her insistence. She knew that having a friend around would be good for Vi and for herself. And you didn't want to be alone either, after everything you'd witnessed.

With the periods you spent away from your apartment, it was necessary to always have a small suitcase with your things, despite Caitlyn's insistence that you occupy one of the closets in the room you were assigned.

The problem with taking your clothes was that Vi got into the habit of borrowing them, or just taking them out of your suitcase and then showing up wearing one of your shirts.

But you didn't care. Stealing your clothes seemed like a pastime to her, or pestering you to read to her in front of the fireplace. You didn't mind any of that, since you'd rather have her doing those things than drinking whole bottles of booze.

Vi's addiction to alcohol has always worried you, you closely followed the bad period she went through after the fight with Caitlyn.

She scoffed the first time you suggested she try cutting down on her drinking, got angry the second time, and only softened the third time when she saw how upset you were about it..

The first few months after the war were the hardest, as she grieved over Jinx's death. But you tried to make her comfortable, giving her space and staying close when she seemed more open. The following months were easier, even though the pain was still there, she knew you would be there for her.

With a soft knock on the door of the room she shared with Caitlyn, you waited only a few seconds before hearing permission to enter.

Vi smiled softly as you poked your head in the doorway before stepping all the way in. She was sprawled out in one of the fancy chairs near the fireplace.

"Hey, smarty pants." she held out a hand as you approached.

"Hey, what are you doing?" you rubbed your thumb gently over her bruised knuckles. They were already healing.

"Just... nothing. I couldn't find you and Cait is working in her office." she replied, leaning her head against the back of her chair. "What about you?"

"I'm sorry to tell you, but I need my brown jacket." You replied, seeing her look up at you. "I'm going home today."

"Why?" she asked, letting herself sound fragile, something she rarely did.

"I need to wash my clothes and, I don't know, live in my own house? For a while. Before they kick me out." you shrugged.

"There's a washing machine here, I bet you can use it. And Cait already said you can live-"

"Vi." you interrupted her with a warning tone. "I don't want to talk about this again, you can come see me, or I'll come here when I have time, I don't know. Where's my jacket?"

She let go of your hand and frowned cutely, making her look like a kitten.

"In my middle drawer." she nodded towards the large closet that took up almost an entire wall in the room. "On the left side of the closet."

"In the drawer?" you asked, frowning as you walked over to the closet, opening the doors and looking at the drawers she indicated. "You know where you're supposed to hang a jacket, right?"

"Nonsense," she replied, turning her face back to the fire. "I saved it, that's what matters."

"It must be full of mold, yuck." you joked as you opened the drawer, soon spotting the thick lining of your jacket, picking it up and bringing it close to your face.

You were about to close the drawer again when you saw a smooth surface, glass? Against your better judgment of leaving Vi's privacy alone, you opened the drawer wider and moved the few clothes that were covering the small bottle out of the way. Bottle. A small, light bottle of liquor. Someone had drunk more than half of it.

Your stomach sank and you stopped listening to Vi's voice rattling off a response to your earlier taunt. You lifted the bottle and turned to her.

"Vi, what the fuck is this?" you sounded harsher than you intended. "I thought you were done with that."

She turned her face to you, her expression darkening into anger, "Gimme that." she stood up and walked over to you.

"What's this nonsense?" you took the bottle out of her reach as she stepped forward and tried to take it from you.

"You don't have to get involved in this. Give me the bottle." she held out her hand and you stepped back even further.

"Please, you've come so far. Does Cait know? She'd hate to see you drinking again." you could feel your eyes burning with tears that wanted to come out.

"You don't know anything about me and Cait. Give me that." she advanced on you and you felt anger.

"No!" you shouted. "I thought you-"

"I told you to give me that!" she raised her fist in the air and you felt your head being thrown back hard, making you stumble.

You lost your balance and the things you were carrying fell. Your vision blurred slightly and you soon felt blood running down your now sore nose. Bringing your hand up to your face, you panicked slightly when you saw the thick liquid covering it.

You turned your wide eyes to Vi, who was staring at you, transfixed. Getting up from the ground, you quickly walked past her and stomped away.

The large bandage on your nose was uncomfortable and unsightly. Your nose throbbed and every now and then a wave of pain would hit you, making you curl up even more.

But the pain you felt when you remembered Vi's words was greater, she was right, after all. You knew nothing about her and you shouldn't meddle in her life.

The next day came in a blur and you only realized it when you heard a knock on your door. Groaning in discontent, you dragged yourself over and opened the door a crack.

Your expression quickly fell when you saw Vi standing there, your suitcase slung over her shoulder, your brown jacket in her unoccupied hand.

"What are you doing here?" you spat.

"You... you left your things at Cait's house, I just wanted to bring them to you." she said, her gaze roaming over your face, a hint of worry present.

You reached your hand through the door opening, "Okay, give it to me."

"It's heavy, I'll put it in there for you." she lowered her face and continued to look at you, so that her eyes seemed bigger. "Please."

You huffed and opened the door wider, stepping aside for her to come in. She walked past you with cautious steps as you left the door ajar. You crossed your arms, watching her place your suitcase on the coffee table, resting your jacket on top.

Vi turned to you, her gaze lingering on your face. She looked shy, which was not like her.

"I didn't mean to hit-"

"You said you came to bring my things and you already did, you can go." you interrupted, your nose starting to hurt again.

"I would never hurt you on purpose." she took a step towards you, making you step back. "I didn't mean to do it."

"But you did. And you were right, anyway. I don't know anything about you and I'm not going to interfere in your life anymore." you replied, your voice serious. "Go away."

Vi's eyes shone, the shine of tears she didn't want to shed. She shook her head and walked past you.

[katsu28]

connection

pairing: max verstappen x reader

summary: when a holiday gala that neither you nor max want to be at brings two people from vastly different worlds together, you find out that you might have more in common with the four time world champion than you think you do. (3.6k)

warnings: swearing, creepy men (not max don’t worry)

a/n: day three with max :) somewhere along the way this became less of a holiday fic and more of me projecting onto my characters but fuck it we ball! 

You don’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, toting around trays of champagne flutes and painfully tiny hors d'oeuvres to fancy rich people is the last place you want to be on a Saturday night, but your friend had roped you into working this event with her and you need the extra money a holiday event pays, so here you are. 

You’re not even sure what exactly it is either. All you know is that it’s some gala for folks in a totally different tax bracket than you, and you need to be on your best behavior—which, you’ll admit, isn’t your strong suit.

Your loved ones would say your headstrong, take-no-shit personality is one of your admirable qualities, but you know they only say that because they know the real you. 

These people don’t. They don’t need to. All they need from you is whatever you’ve got on the silver platter you’re holding. 

You glide through the crowd like a woman on a mission, turning up the charm to an eleven to get rid of these beef tartare crostinis as fast as you can. 

It’s part of the job description, but apparently some of these old men think you’re throwing yourself at them. The amount of ass patting bordering on groping, and sleazy comments about how you’re young enough to be their daughters you’ve had to endure in the last few hours is astonishing, and not in a good way. 

What you want to do is slam them upside the head with your tray, but you can’t. So you grin and bear it, redirecting their leering as best you can without causing a scene. What a way to start the festive season…not. 

Soon enough you’re out of food and you’re glad for it, because it grants you even just a little reprieve when you return to the kitchen. 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna punch one of those old fucks,” You fume, having just pushed through the adjoining door leading from the ballroom. 

Your friend offers an amused snort from where she’s waiting on a refill of stuffed figs. “Yeah, don’t do that, probably.” 

“They’re disgusting.” 

“They’re entitled.” 

“Okay, so they’re disgusting and entitled. God, the nerve!” 

“Y’know what, maybe you should take your break now? Cool off a little bit before you rip someone's throat out and get us both fired?” She tips her chin towards your hands, and when you look down, your fists are clenched. You’ve got them clenched so tight your nails are starting to dig crescent shaped divots in your palm. Any tighter and you’re sure to draw blood. 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s—I’m gonna go,” You mutter. You can’t afford to be dismissed from the event and lose out on the payday. The best thing to do is find somewhere quiet, somewhere you can be alone and settle your temper. 

-------

Max doesn’t want to be here. 

Truthfully, milling around shaking hands and making small talk with these people is the last thing he wants to be doing on a Saturday night, but he has obligations to fulfill, appearances he needs to make to cast Red Bull in an admirable light in this season of giving, so here he is. 

His suit is expensive but itchy, the starched collar of his crisp button up pulled too tight around his neck. What he wants to do is rip it off and go home to his cats, but he can’t.

So he grins and bears it, summoning all his years of PR training to get through the next few hours as best he can. 

“Max, there you are!” His press officer materializes right next to him, clamping a hand down on his arm. He bristles a bit at the sudden touch, but it soon dissipates as he realizes it just means he has yet another hand to shake and conversation to make. “There’s some people you should meet with. They’re from one of our smaller sponsors, but important nonetheless. Think you should have a conversation, find some common ground.” 

“Do I have to?” The question is a moot point, but Max feels the need to ask anyway. Just in case the answer has changed since the last time he asked. When all they do is fix him to the spot with a deadpan look, he sighs. “Yeah, heard. Lead the way.” 

Small talk comes easily to him at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t mind numbingly boring listening to the two middle aged men go on and on about something Max couldn’t care less about. 

To the untrained eye, it would appear that he’s listening intently, feeding into their words with every carefully timed nod of the head. A chuckle here, a smile there. All the while, he’s itching to get away. The itch grows and grows and grows until Max can’t take it anymore.

He has to go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. 

Before he can second guess his gut feeling, he excuses himself quickly and expertly, making his way carefully through the crowd and towards the nearest exit. Another glass of champagne couldn’t hurt, so he snags one off a tray on his way out, sipping on it leisurely as he searches for a place to be alone. 

That’s how he finds himself outside in this open area looking over the water, somewhere completely empty and quiet, save for the slight breeze sending tiny waves splashing against the rocks below. 

Max sheds his jacket, undoes the first few buttons of his pressed shirt so he doesn’t feel like he’s being choked anymore. His chin tips towards the sky, eyes scanning the sky above. 

The moon is out in full swing tonight, hanging big and bright in the sky, illuminating the beautiful architecture around him. Max has always liked the moon. It represents success and fulfillment and power, but also has an element of mystery to it. He thinks that, in a way, the moon is kind of like him. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays here, just knows that he doesn’t want to go back inside. Finds himself dreading it, actually. Knows that inevitably he’ll have to make his return, but he’ll delay it as long as he can before someone comes looking for him.  

The sound of a heavy door creaking open draws his attention a little while later, and it makes him sigh. Looks like his time hiding out here is over. He pushes off the pillar he’s leaning on, ready to spin some half assed excuse, but then he hears it.

“Fuck!” You bite out, letting the door slam behind you. The empty area provides an echo to your dramatics. 

Max peers wide eyed around at the sudden expletive, spotting you across the way. So…definitely not his press officer. You’re already pacing back and forth, hands on your hips as you shake your head. 

He should say something, right? Announce his presence? 

He’s about to, but then you start muttering to yourself, something about old rich men thinking they can do whatever they want just because they have money. Colored by a plethora of choice swear words, you look and sound entirely pissed off. 

Probably best to leave you alone for the time being. He doesn’t know you, but he knows anger, and yours has a fire that almost rivals his. You’re also very pretty, but he pushes that thought aside for the time being. 

For the first time tonight, Max’s interest is piqued. Even so, he feels like he’s encroaching on something too personal, too private for anyone else’s ears. 

Maybe he can sneak away undetected? 

He doesn’t remember the champagne glass he’d set down until his foot hits it, and then it’s too late. Thankfully it doesn’t shatter, but the clinking against the cobblestones as it rolls away gives him up automatically. Your head snaps towards his general vicinity, eyes going wide with fear. 

Max imagines it’s probably scary for you to think you’re alone and realize that you’re not, and he’s not a monster. He has no choice but to step out from the shadows, raising a hand in awkward greeting. “...Hi.” 

“Jesus. Shit. Uh, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” You breathe, already slipping back into that carefully practiced professionality. Embarrassment and a little bit of shame runs through you at the same time as realization blooms of who this man is. Everyone knows Max Verstappen is, and you just cussed out his colleagues big time. Oh, you’re so getting fired. “Sorry you had to see that, Mr. Verstappen.” 

Max waves a hand in the air with a shake of his head. “Please, we don’t have to do that. Call me Max.”

It feels a little wrong to do so, but you oblige. “Right. Well, sorry you had to witness that, Max.” 

“Oh, that was nothing. Plus, god knows I’ve done worse.” Somehow, that doesn’t make you feel any better. Max steps out a little further into the light, stooping down to grab the rolling glass before it gets too far. “Is everything alright? If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Does it look like everything is alright?” You shoot back, throwing your hands up into the air. Then you remember just who the fuck you’re talking to and you freeze. “Sorry! I am so sorry, I—” You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment. Max isn’t who you’re mad at. This has nothing to do with him at all. “You didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be taking my anger out on you. I apologize. Again.” 

Max feels his lips quirk into a smile. He doesn’t remember the last time someone had spoken back at him like that. It’s actually quite refreshing. “No need. Probably very warranted too. I’ve been told I’m quite a good listener, if you need to let things out.” 

“I shouldn’t,” You sigh, pressing your lips together. Max raises a questioning brow. “It would be extremely unprofessional.” 

“You’ve just caught me out here hiding from doing my job. I think we’re past professionalism at this point,” He snorts. He takes a seat on one end of the concrete bench nearest, tipping his head towards the empty space next to him. “The floor is yours.” 

You explain your situation as best you can without getting too heated again, half expecting Max to grow defensive of his acquaintances—they always do. 

It’s a pleasant surprise when he does nothing of the sort. Instead he calls them all assholes, along with some other choice words you won’t dare repeat. He apologizes for them, says he’ll do his best to remedy the situation, but you’re sure all it’ll do is make things worse if he gets involved. 

“So…that’s why I’m out here. What’s your excuse?” You finish, letting your shoulders drop. It feels nice to get all of that off your chest for once, and to someone who actually gives a shit. 

Max sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. It probably makes it stick up at all odd angles, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I don’t really like these things. Talking to people, making small talk—between you and me, it’s the worst part of the job. Not my thing.” 

“You like to do your talking on the track,” You supply. 

Max lets out a sharp exhale, leaning back against his palms to regard you with careful amusement. “You watch?” 

“No, but I think I’d have to be living under a rock not to know a little bit about it. About you.” 

“And…what do you think you know about me?” He tilts his chin up almost in challenge, as if he’s daring you to analyze him. 

Challenge accepted. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

A surprised laugh escapes from his mouth. He certainly wasn't expecting it, but quite enjoys your forwardness. “Well, that was unexpected. Why do you think that?” 

“You’re untouchable. A four time champion, I’ve heard.” 

“World champion,” Max corrects, but not obnoxiously. It seems like a habit to add that distinction, years and years of hard work and dedication and training for the recognition. 

“World champion, my bad.” You nod. “Congrats on that, by the way.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Like I said, untouchable. You’re the best of the best, and I’d assume even though it’s nice to be regarded as so, it’s hard for you to know when people actually want to know you, or if they just want something from you. Hence…why you’re out here.” 

“Whoa. Didn’t know this was going to turn into a therapy session.” 

“Am I wrong, though?” 

“No. You’re right on the nose, actually.” He shouldn’t be admitting this. He’s supposed to maintain the image that he has going for him, but something about you makes him feel like he can trust you with his true self. 

You’ve drifted closer together without realizing throughout your conversation, shoulders brushing, knees bumping. Max’s pinky moves to brush over yours. You let it happen. 

He’s got really pretty eyes, you notice, steel blue staring right back at you. Piercing the careful facade you have to put up when working these events. Some people are charming, and you’ve learned to keep yourself a closed book to keep yourself safe. But Max feels different. Max’s interest seems genuine. 

It only intrigues you even more. You don’t know him, but you want to. 

Max clears his throat suddenly. “I should go,” He says. 

You wait for him to back away, to put some space between the two of you, but he doesn’t. If anything, he looks like the last thing he wants to do is leave. 

Part of you wants him to stay, but you know he shouldn’t. The same is true for you. He needs to get back to his job, and you need to get back to yours. 

“Me too,” You reply, taking careful notice to keep your tone from sounding too dejected. “Thanks for listening to me rant. I feel a little better now.” 

“I’m glad I could help.” 

You force yourself to climb to your feet, putting that distance between Max and yourself up before you have the urge to do something rash. A flash of your mouth on his zips through your mind for a split second. 

No. You can't do that. 

“Bye, Max. It was nice meeting you.” 

“Yeah. Nice meeting you too.” 

Now is the time for you to leave—one foot in front of the other, away from him, back to reality. 

“Wait!” He calls before you can get far. You turn on your heel like you were expecting him to say something else, waiting for him to reach you. He catches your elbow, squeezing gently. “What are you doing after this is over?” 

“Honestly? I was going to go home and pass out on my couch.” Max’s eyebrows pinch in the middle. “But I could be persuaded otherwise. Why?” 

“Would you want to get a drink? With me.” 

“Not really helping the lonely allegations,” You tease, smiling warmly despite your ribbing. Max rolls his eyes goodnaturedly.  “Yeah, I’d love to grab a drink. But I don’t get off until late, so it might be a while.” 

“I’ll wait.” His answer is immediate. Firm. 

“Okay. Okay, cool,” You say, fighting a smile. “I’ll find you after everything is over.” 

“I’m counting on it.”

The night flies by faster now that you’ve got Max to look forward to by the end of it. By the time you’re freed from the shackles of customer service, you don’t feel as drained as you normally do. You’re strangely excited to get to know him some more. 

You find Max waiting for you just outside the coat check, pretty eyes searching the dwindling gala goers until he spots you approaching. He smiles, nods his head in greeting.

“Hi. Everything alright?” 

“It’ll be better the sooner we get out of here.” 

“Let’s go, then.” 

Instead of a bar, he brings you back to his place. It catches you by surprise when he asks, but he assures you it’s more for privacy purposes than anything else, strictly two new friends sharing a drink and some more conversation. 

You’re not sure what you were expecting for a man of his financial standing, but a massive penthouse overlooking Monte Carlo makes sense. You do your best to tame your reaction, but it really is impressive. 

His living room is probably the size of your whole apartment, and that’s just what you can see right now. A pristine white couch sits in the middle of the room on an even whiter carpet in front of a sleek, top of the line entertainment unit, and there’s some sort of sim racing setup with a fancy chair nestled in the far corner near a wall of floor to ceiling windows. Surrounding the rig are a handful of trophies and racing helmets, each of them polished to perfection. 

Over in the far corner is a huge evergreen tree, decorated with twinkling lights and silver baubles. It looks extremely professional, almost staged, and the more you look at it, the more you’re sure he hadn’t been the one to put it up.

“What do you like to drink? I’ll make you something.” Max’s voice pulls you out of your gawking at his home. Your eyes snap over to him hovering next to a bar cart stocked with liquor, sweeping a hand along the bottles. Twisting your lips to the side in contemplation, you tell him your drink of choice and he smiles. “Nice one. I’m more of a gin and tonic kind of guy, but hey, to each their own.” 

You find your way to one end of the giant sofa not long later, aforementioned gin and tonic in his hand, your drink nestled in yours. “I did you, now you do me.” 

Max nearly chokes on his drink, brows flying high at your bluntness. “Sorry, what?” 

You look unphased. “What do you think you know about me?” 

Oh. Of course that’s what you meant. 

He takes a few beats to ponder your question, eyes squinting in thought. Then he fixes you to the spot with a decisive look. 

“I think you have big dreams. Changing the world, making it a better place—but you haven’t quite figured out how to do it yet,” He says, tilting his head. Your chest tightens at his words, because they’re true. “You’re going in circles, not able to figure out that one thing that’ll break the cycle you’re stuck in. I think once you do figure it out, you’re going to do great things. Big things.” 

Like before, somehow the space between the two of you has dwindled into nearly nothing as he looks at you so intently with those piercing eyes of his. You’re a little surprised by how on the nose he is about you, but it also makes sense. Max seems very observant. Perhaps it comes from being on the lookout all the time. 

“If the racing doesn’t work out, you might want to consider psychology,” You manage to say. 

He chuckles, nose scrunching. “Sure, I’ll think about it. Though I think it’s going pretty well at the moment.” 

-------

“When can I see you again?” He asks a while later, head lolling to face you lazily.

His hand has somehow found its way spread over your knee, nimble fingers tap tap tapping mindlessly. The first few buttons of his shirt have been undone, hair mussed from how often he'd been dragging his fingers through it.

Your drinks have worn off ages ago, but you still feel warm and fuzzy. Though you suspect it’s more from the man you’re with rather than the residual alcohol talking. 

You’ve been getting to know each other as the night goes on, swapping stories about your lives until you feel like you haven’t just met him a few hours ago. His are by far much more entertaining than yours, but Max seems to enjoy the mundane of yours. 

Part of you is surprised by his question. In your mind, you were expecting this to just be a one time thing. An easy way to fill a boring night, never to be thought about again. But Max does want to see you again. You don’t let it phase you. Instead, you raise an amused brow. 

“Why? You planning on kicking me out anytime soon?” You joke. Max’s fingers twitch, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I just—I’d like to see you again, is that so wrong?” 

“Not at all. I’d like that too.” You smile at him. “Though it is getting late, so I should probably head out anyways.” 

Max doesn’t push for you to stay, just nods understandingly. “You’re sure you’re okay to make it home on your own? Let me order you an Uber,” He says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yes, Max, I’m fine. And I can get my own Uber, thank you very much.” 

“Please, let me. I asked you here, the least I can do is pay for your ride home.” He seems like a very insistent person, so you sigh goodnaturedly, waving a hand for him to go ahead. When he’s done and a car is on its way, he turns to you, propping his chin up in the palm of his hand. “I had a nice time tonight.”

You scoff lightly, raising a brow. “I recall you saying something about how company galas are the worst part of your job.” 

“I dunno, this one wasn’t that bad.” Max shrugs, a fond smile playing at his lips. “I met you, didn’t I?” 

“Best night of your life then, huh?” You tease, winking at him. 

“It’s definitely up there.” 

“Too bad it’s ending soon.” 

“Too bad,” He echoes. He tilts his head, rubs at the smooth fabric of the sofa cushion just so he has something to do with his hand. “Looks like we’ll have to see each other again soon.” 

You have all the time in the world to unravel the mystery that is Max Verstappen, if he’ll let you. And judging by the way his hand inches towards yours until your fingers intertwine while you’re waiting for your Uber to come, he will.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new writing :)

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

There's a present under the Christmas tree that wasn't there two hours ago. 

It makes Tommy stand stiff as a poker in the doorway of his own living room, his mind full of possible break-in scenarios. However, the typical signs are missing. No ripped-out drawers, no shattered glass; and what burglar would bring instead of taking something? The somewhat sad little tree, which Tommy didn't actually want to put up in the first place but then did because it's Christmas after all, seems to shine a little brighter thanks to the present. 

Carefully, he approaches the tree under whose green branches the box lies. Its red wrapping, decorated with little Christmas trees, is reflected in the equally red and shiny Christmas baubles. Of course, there’s only one way to how the present got under the tree, only one person who’d be able to do it. Buck still has a key to Tommy's house. He hasn't been in touch since the break-up, and Tommy has missed the perfect time where you presumably ask for the things that the other person still has in their possession. 

The little red box bears Evan’s signature so much, it hurts. It is not particularly carefully packaged, although you can see he's made an effort. Instead of just buying a box, he has wrapped whatever is in the parcel in wrapping paper. It’s wrinkled, the small trees on it are uneven. Tommy can almost see it: Evan sitting at his kitchen table, his tongue between his half-open lips, concentrated in a tangle of adhesive tape. A man with such skillful hands, yet he simply can’t coordinate them. Hands that save lives but fail when cutting paper. Opposites that are downright confusing - and yet so attractive. 

Tommy lets out a sigh that echoes off the walls of his room, as if his own house is mocking him for his self-inflicted loneliness. He holds the small gift in his hands and wonders whether he should really open it. What’s the intention behind it? Why give him a present? The truth is, Evan had gifted him with his mere presence, probably without even knowing it. Getting that back would be a far greater gift than whatever may be in this box. 

The only problem is that he believes he doesn't deserve either. 

Tommy carefully pulls on the adhesive strip, runs a finger beneath the paper and very gently removes it. There is a plain white box underneath. Maybe it was a spontaneous idea to wrap it, but then why go to all the trouble for an undertaking that Evan also knows he hardly has mastered? Tommy's thoughts are on a rollercoaster, a constant up and down, and every steep descent causes tingles in his guts. 

Tommy shakes the box. There’s a soft tinkling sound inside, metal scraping against the cardboard of the box. He turns the box over in his hands, looks at it from all sides, but he is only delaying the inevitable, and he knows it. Opening the lid feels like tearing off a band-aid. Inside is a folded note on a layer of tissue, as green as the little trees on the wrapping paper, but not as green as the branches of  Tommy’s Christmas tree. Green as hope, maybe. 

Tommy,

I still see a future. E. 

Tommy stares at the note, his eyes actually looking right through it, far away; back to a time perhaps when he was less afraid. His fingers carefully feel their way over the tissue in the box. There’s still time to put aside the message, the box, the hope. Maybe he's too much of a coward for that, too. Tommy reaches under the paper, lifts it out of the box and tosses it aside. It gently slides under the tree, almost exactly where the present was. A sign, or not; everything is a sign or it isn’t. 

There’s a key in the box.

That’s not the key to Tommy’s house. Even if it would have been a weird way to return it like this, his deceptive heart feared just that for a moment. But it's also not the key to Evans Loft, because Tommy didn't give it back either. Silly, that they both had clung to this symbols so much. So, it’s neither his key nor Evan’s, and it only takes a quickening heartbeat longer for Tommy to realize. It really is a symbol, this key. One that not only relies on Tommy's curiosity, but also trusts that he will rise to the occasion. 

Suddenly, his phone is in his hands.

This the key to your heart, Evan? 

Bating his breath, he’s waiting for an answer.  

[accio-boys]

hey you | fiyero x reader

author’s note; i was bored and was like why not put my shit into well words 🤷🏻‍♀️ btw it’s been years when i wrote a fanfic so bear with me 🥹

summary; a series of lingering glances and a playful conversation break the silence, sparking the beginning of a connection neither of them expected.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

For the past few days, Y/n had been consumed by a strange, almost surreal feeling whenever Fiyero, the Winkie prince, was nearby. She would catch him glancing in her direction across the school grounds, his gaze lingering just a moment too long, enough to send a flutter through her chest.

But no matter how many times it happened, she couldn’t bring herself to take that first step. She wasn’t like the others, like Galinda, who could easily walk up to anyone and start a conversation without hesitation.

No, she was more reserved, careful with her feelings, and afraid of being too obvious.

“You’re totally just waiting,” she muttered to herself.

“You don’t want to be the desperate one.”

Her thoughts were interrupted when her friend, a more outgoing classmate, bumped her shoulder.

“He’s staring at you again,” her friend teased, gesturing toward Fiyero, who was now walking toward their spot.

He was, once again, looking directly at her, that same piercing gaze that made her heart skip a beat.

“And now he’s walking towards us and–” her friend continued, her voice becoming background noise as Y/n’s thoughts turned inward.

Why couldn’t she just face this? Why couldn’t she summon the courage to talk to him? Every time their eyes met, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach, but she didn’t want to make it obvious.

Was it just a phase? Something that would fade away once the newness wore off? She wasn’t sure, but in that moment, all she wanted was to be able to breathe normally again.

“…..Can you even hear me?” her friend asked, pulling her from her reverie.

“Huh?” she blinked, looking at her friend in confusion.

“Got your thoughts stuck in the clouds, darling?” Fiyero’s voice cut through, accompanied by a smirk that made her feel even more flustered than she already was.

She blinked again, looking at him now standing right in front of them.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

For the past few days, Fiyero had noticed her—seriously noticed her. He saw something in her that intrigued him, something he couldn’t quite place.

She was different from the others, distant yet strangely captivating. It was almost like she was hesitant to engage with him, unsure of how to approach him, yet every time their eyes met, there was a spark—something undeniable.

He caught her eye from across the room. She seemed to be lost in her own world, her gaze flickering between curiosity and hesitation. He couldn’t help but notice the way she kept glancing his way, yet never making a move.

"Hey, you," he thought to himself, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Stop staring from afar." He wondered why she seemed so cautious.

There was no need to be afraid of him. He wasn’t someone to be feared. He just wanted her to know that he'd notice her, that he was interested.

"Why don’t you just come over and talk to me?" he silently mused.

He wasn't a stranger to making the first move, and maybe it was time to break the ice.

He noticed how her eyes would flicker his direction again, but she still stayed in her place, as if bound by some invisible restraint.

He wished she knew it didn’t have to be complicated. Nothing was stopping her from approaching him.

There was no need to hide behind uncertainty. Hearts could be free, open, unafraid.

He wasn’t the type to judge. He just wanted to see if she could take that step toward him, to show a little courage.

"Why don’t you come over?" he wondered again, the thought lingering in the air between them.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

And then, in front of her, his voice broke through the silence.

“I see you every morning, doing the same thing,” Fiyero continued, a playful edge to his tone.

Her face reddened, and she stammered, unsure of how to respond.

"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

His smirk deepened. "Don’t think I can feel you staring at me?" he teased, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

“I didn’t mean–” she started, but she could barely finish the sentence as he continued, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“So, what’s your name again?” he asked, as if they hadn’t already crossed paths countless times in the halls.

As if he wasn’t already running through her mind day and night, just like she had been doing to him.

And with that simple question, everything changed. The unspoken tension between them—the silent moments, the hesitant glances—had finally shifted into something tangible. A new chapter was beginning, one that neither of them had expected but both were secretly hoping for.

In that moment, all of her doubts and fears about what this connection could be seemed to fade away. Maybe it wasn’t just a phase. Maybe there was something real here, something worth exploring.

The hesitation she had held onto so tightly began to loosen, and for the first time in days, she felt a spark of hope—hope that perhaps this was the start of something neither of them could have predicted.

[cowboyboygirl]

16. "I dont want to get up" for prompts? I could use some soft sleepy rn

16 | “I don’t want to get up.”

Kon really needs a new alarm. He's had the same novelty Superman clock that rings out ‘Up, up, and away!’—in a voice that is a mediocre impression of Kal's at best—since he was, like, sixteen. It's more for sentimental reasons, he guesses; he’s naturally risen with the sun for years at this point.

Well, that and another thing.

Silently, he watches Tim (whose eyes are still shut, mind you) wiggle his arm out of their embrace to blindly paw at Kon’s nightstand. He hits the handheld mirror, a bottle of cologne, a book, Kon’s glasses, and a roll of deodorant before his fingers even brush the clock. Kon watches him swat at it a few times before he takes pity on him and turns it off with a touch of TTK.

Tim grumbles something unintelligible into Kon's chest before he shakes both of them. “Wakey wakey, sunshine.”

“Gruh.” is Tim's response.

Kon shakes him a little more; Tim flops around in his arms with all the grace of a wet noodle. “Rise and shine, I gotta get up.”

Tim huffs, bringing his legs up from where they were tangled in Kon’s to wrap them around his waist. “No, you don’t.” He says—although it sounds more like ‘nuh, yuh dun.’

“I do,” Kon tells him, pressing a quick peck to his forehead, "I have classes today.”

“No… It’s Sunday." Tim insists. The hair he has tied back before he went to bed has partially fallen out, covering his face and curling up on the side he laid on. Maybe Kon’s just a romantic, but Tim always looks awfully pretty first thing in the morning, illuminated by the morning light.

(Well, he might be exaggerating about the always part; he’s woken up to Tim halfway dangling off the bed, hair akin to a mop left out to dry, more times than Tim would care to admit.)

“it’s Monday, honey.” Kon reminds him, kissing him on the cheek this time. Slowly, he pulls his arms out from around Tim's waist and cups his face.

“Who picks classes on a Monday?" Tim makes no complaint when Kon squishes his face a few times, but he does open his eyes. He glares for a few seconds before melting. Tim leans his head in closer and kisses him, slow and sweet.

Kon breaks the kiss, presses two fingers to Tim's lips. “Me. I like the routine.” He rolls Tim off of him. “Now, I’m getting up—“

“Nooo,” Tim digs his fingers into Kon's shirt, effectively getting himself pulled along with him. “You're depriving me of my personal heater. That's rude. You're rude.”

“Okay, says the guy who is actively preventing me from pursuing higher education.”

“You don’t need a higher education when I'm right here. in bed. Cold.” He’s face down on the bed at this point, hands still digging into Kon's top; his voice is slightly muffled by the bedding. “I don't wanna get up. and neither should you.”

Kon hums, finally peeling tim’s fingers off of him. The shirt is definitely stretched now; at least it’s already pajamas. “Well. I'll bring you breakfast, then. ‘Cause I gotta get up.”

“Ugh,” Tim rolls over to face the ceiling, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Fine. I'm up.” He rises from the bed, bringing the blanket with him. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he looks like the world’s sleepiest vampire.

Kon smiles at him, plants a quick kiss on his lips. “Robbie, you really didn’t have to get up.”

Tim grunts. “Sure I did. You're taking all the heat with you.”

Kon chuckles, pulling Tim closer by his makeshift cape to kiss his forehead. “Right. So evil of me.”

“See? You get it now.” Tim grumbles, somehow smug despite how sleepy he looks. Kon raises an eyebrow—then, without warning, picks Tim up and slings him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Eep!”

“Onward!” he announces as Tim dramatically beats his hands against Kon’s back to no avail.

“You suck.” Tim mumbles, defeated.

“If you say so, honey.”

[aeth-eris]

★  mars  aspects  (inner  planets)  synastry  |  in  the  bedroom  ;3 ★ 

★   book   a   reading   ★   ★   masterlist   1   ★   ★   masterlist   2   ★

★ mars  conjunct  sun  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  an  explosive  dynamic,  radiating  heat  and  energy  in  all  interactions.  the  sun  person’s  core  essence  ignites  the  mars  person’s  drive,  making  them  want  to  chase,  conquer,  and  protect.  in  the  bedroom,  it’s  primal  and  charged—intense  eye  contact,  commanding  energy,  and  a  need  to  dominate  or  be  dominated  depending  on  who  takes  the  lead.  arguments  can  feel  just  as  heated  as  intimacy,  with  passion  driving  both  love  and  conflict.  there’s  a  magnetic  pull  where  both  partners  feel  energized  and  unstoppable  together,  but  too  much  fire  can  lead  to  burnout  if  egos  clash.  the  mars  person  might  admire  the  sun’s  confidence  but  also  challenge  it,  creating  a  push-pull  dynamic  that  keeps  things  exciting.  they  inspire  each  other  to  be  bold,  assertive,  and  unapologetically  themselves,  which  translates  to  raw,  physical  chemistry.  this  pairing  thrives  on  spontaneity  in  the  bedroom—expect  quick,  fiery  encounters  where  control  and  power  are  themes.  both  partners  feed  off  each  other’s  energy,  but  the  mars  person  often  takes  the  lead,  pushing  boundaries  and  exploring  desires  they  might  not  have  otherwise.  at  its  best,  it’s  intoxicating;  at  its  worst,  it’s  a  clash  of  wills  that  leaves  emotional  bruises.

 ★ mars  square  sun  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  challenging  but  undeniably  hot  dynamic,  full  of  tension  that  translates  to  incredible  sexual  chemistry.  the  mars  person’s  intensity  can  feel  overwhelming  to  the  sun  person,  who  might  see  mars  as  too  pushy  or  impatient.  the  mars  person,  in  turn,  might  feel  like  the  sun  person  isn’t  meeting  their  fiery  energy,  leading  to  frustration.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  becomes  magnetic—a  love-hate  connection  where  arguments  can  quickly  turn  into  passionate  make-up  sex.  the  mars  person  brings  raw,  physical  energy,  while  the  sun  person  radiates  warmth  and  confidence,  creating  a  dynamic  where  both  partners  challenge  each  other’s  boundaries.  however,  the  square  can  make  power  struggles  inevitable,  with  both  partners  fighting  for  control.  the  mars  person  might  push  for  more  excitement,  while  the  sun  person  could  resist,  leading  to  explosive  clashes.  sexually,  it’s  dynamic  and  thrilling,  but  emotional  misunderstandings  outside  the  bedroom  might  spill  over  into  intimacy.  the  key  here  is  learning  to  channel  the  tension  into  passion  rather  than  conflict,  as  this  aspect  thrives  on  friction.  when  balanced,  the  energy  is  electrifying  and  keeps  both  partners  coming  back  for  more,  but  when  unchecked,  it  can  feel  like  walking  a  tightrope  between  desire  and  frustration.

 ★ mars  trine/sextile  sun  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  an  effortlessly  passionate  and  harmonious  connection,  where  the  sun  person’s  radiance  naturally  draws  out  the  mars  person’s  desire  and  drive.  both  partners  feel  energized  and  inspired  in  each  other’s  presence,  creating  a  supportive  dynamic  that  feels  both  exciting  and  empowering.  in  the  bedroom,  the  chemistry  flows  naturally—there’s  a  mutual  understanding  of  each  other’s  desires,  and  neither  partner  has  to  work  hard  to  keep  the  spark  alive.  the  mars  person  admires  the  sun  person’s  confidence  and  shines  brighter  in  their  presence,  while  the  sun  person  feels  invigorated  by  mars’  energy  and  willingness  to  take  the  lead.  sextile  energy  feels  playful  and  exploratory,  with  both  partners  encouraging  each  other  to  try  new  things.  the  trine  is  more  stable  and  grounded,  creating  a  steady  flow  of  attraction  that  deepens  over  time.  there’s  a  perfect  balance  of  give  and  take—neither  partner  feels  overwhelmed  or  neglected.  sexually,  it’s  a  dance  of  mutual  admiration  and  respect,  with  the  mars  person  often  initiating  and  the  sun  person  enthusiastically  responding.  this  aspect  ensures  the  bedroom  dynamic  is  full  of  warmth,  vitality,  and  excitement,  where  both  partners  feel  truly  seen  and  satisfied.

 ★ mars  opposite  sun  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  magnetic  yet  confrontational  dynamic,  where  the  sun  and  mars  are  irresistibly  drawn  to  each  other  but  often  clash  in  how  they  express  their  desires.  the  mars  person’s  intensity  and  assertiveness  can  feel  both  thrilling  and  overwhelming  to  the  sun  person,  who  might  see  mars  as  too  aggressive  or  demanding  at  times.  in  turn,  the  mars  person  may  feel  the  sun’s  ego  or  confidence  challenges  their  own  drive,  creating  a  competitive  undertone.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  translates  to  explosive  chemistry—think  fiery  passion,  a  constant  battle  for  dominance,  and  a  need  to  push  boundaries.  both  partners  bring  out  an  almost  primal  energy  in  each  other,  where  physical  attraction  feels  undeniable  but  emotional  connection  can  feel  like  a  tug-of-war.  arguments  outside  the  bedroom  often  fuel  the  heat  inside,  with  fights  quickly  turning  into  intense  make-up  sex.  the  opposition  creates  a  dynamic  where  opposites  attract  but  also  challenge  each  other  to  grow,  with  mars  pushing  the  sun  to  take  risks  and  the  sun  reminding  mars  to  channel  their  energy  more  constructively.  while  thrilling,  this  aspect  requires  balance  to  avoid  burnout,  as  both  partners  can  feel  drained  if  the  dynamic  becomes  too  combative.

 ★ mars  conjunct  moon  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  raw,  emotional,  and  deeply  physical  connection.  the  mars  person  instinctively  reacts  to  the  moon  person’s  emotions,  feeling  a  need  to  protect,  comfort,  or  even  dominate  them  depending  on  the  mood.  the  moon  person,  in  turn,  feels  emotionally  charged  by  mars’  passion  and  intensity,  often  experiencing  their  presence  as  both  soothing  and  stimulating.  in  the  bedroom,  the  chemistry  is  intense  and  emotionally  charged—every  touch  feels  meaningful,  and  there’s  a  deep  need  to  connect  on  both  physical  and  emotional  levels.  the  mars  person  often  takes  the  lead,  but  it’s  the  moon  person’s  emotions  that  set  the  tone,  creating  a  dynamic  where  intimacy  feels  like  an  emotional  release.  outside  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  can  create  mood  swings  or  emotional  conflicts,  as  the  mars  person’s  actions  might  unintentionally  trigger  the  moon  person’s  insecurities.  however,  when  balanced,  this  connection  is  nurturing  and  protective,  with  both  partners  feeling  deeply  bonded.  the  mars  person’s  desire  fuels  the  moon  person’s  emotional  needs,  creating  a  cycle  of  giving  and  receiving  that  feels  almost  addictive.  it’s  a  dynamic  where  emotional  intensity  and  physical  passion  feed  off  each  other,  making  it  hard  for  either  partner  to  stay  away  for  long.

 ★ mars  square  moon  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  volatile  yet  magnetic  connection,  where  emotions  and  physical  desire  clash  in  a  way  that  feels  both  thrilling  and  exhausting.  the  mars  person’s  assertiveness  can  feel  too  harsh  or  insensitive  to  the  moon  person,  triggering  emotional  outbursts  or  feelings  of  vulnerability.  in  turn,  the  moon  person’s  emotional  needs  can  feel  overwhelming  or  frustrating  to  the  mars  person,  leading  to  moments  of  impatience  or  conflict.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  translates  into  fiery,  passionate  encounters—intimacy  feels  urgent,  almost  like  a  storm  that  has  to  be  weathered  together.  the  mars  person’s  drive  can  push  the  moon  person  out  of  their  emotional  comfort  zone,  while  the  moon  person’s  sensitivity  brings  depth  and  meaning  to  physical  connection.  however,  outside  the  bedroom,  arguments  can  escalate  quickly,  with  the  mars  person’s  actions  unintentionally  hurting  the  moon  person’s  feelings.  this  aspect  thrives  on  intensity  but  requires  both  partners  to  learn  how  to  navigate  emotional  triggers  and  channel  their  passion  constructively.  when  balanced,  it  creates  a  dynamic  of  passionate  connection  and  emotional  vulnerability,  but  without  communication,  it  can  feel  like  an  emotional  rollercoaster.

 ★ mars  trine/sextile  moon  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  beautifully  balanced  and  nurturing  connection,  blending  emotional  intimacy  with  physical  passion.  the  mars  person  naturally  supports  and  uplifts  the  moon  person’s  emotional  needs,  while  the  moon  person  provides  the  mars  person  with  a  sense  of  emotional  grounding.  in  the  bedroom,  the  chemistry  is  warm  and  deeply  satisfying—both  partners  intuitively  understand  each  other’s  desires,  creating  a  dynamic  where  intimacy  feels  both  passionate  and  safe.  the  mars  person’s  drive  complements  the  moon  person’s  emotional  rhythms,  making  physical  connection  flow  effortlessly.  the  sextile  brings  playful,  exploratory  energy,  while  the  trine  adds  stability  and  depth,  ensuring  the  passion  lasts  over  time.  outside  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  fosters  a  supportive  dynamic,  with  the  mars  person  motivating  the  moon  person  to  take  action  and  the  moon  person  encouraging  mars  to  tap  into  their  emotional  side.  conflicts  are  rare,  as  both  partners  naturally  balance  each  other  out,  creating  a  relationship  that  feels  harmonious  and  deeply  connected.  sexually,  this  aspect  ensures  both  emotional  and  physical  needs  are  met,  with  the  mars  person  often  taking  the  lead  in  a  way  that  feels  comforting  and  exciting  to  the  moon  person.  it’s  a  dynamic  that  feels  nourishing,  energizing,  and  fulfilling  on  every  level.

 ★ mars  conjunct  mercury  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  dynamic,  fast-paced,  and  mentally  stimulating  connection,  where  the  mercury  person’s  quick  wit  fuels  the  mars  person’s  drive.  conversations  are  sharp,  engaging,  and  often  flirtatious,  with  an  undertone  of  challenge  and  excitement.  the  mars  person  might  push  the  mercury  person  to  express  themselves  more  boldly,  while  the  mercury  person  sharpens  mars’  focus  with  clever  ideas  and  insights.  in  the  bedroom,  this  connection  thrives  on  verbal  stimulation—dirty  talk,  playful  teasing,  and  mental  games  that  lead  to  explosive  passion.  the  mars  person  might  take  the  lead  physically,  but  it’s  the  mercury  person’s  words  and  curiosity  that  keep  things  interesting.  outside  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  can  spark  heated  debates  or  arguments,  as  the  mars  person’s  intensity  might  overwhelm  mercury’s  analytical  nature.  however,  this  tension  also  fuels  the  attraction,  creating  a  dynamic  where  both  partners  feel  energized  by  each  other.  intimacy  often  feels  like  a  mental  and  physical  battle,  with  both  partners  pushing  boundaries  and  exploring  new  ideas.  this  aspect  works  best  when  both  partners  respect  each  other’s  need  for  intellectual  and  physical  stimulation,  turning  potential  conflicts  into  opportunities  for  deeper  connection.

 ★ mars  square  mercury  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  fiery,  argumentative,  and  sometimes  frustrating  dynamic,  where  the  mars  person’s  impulsiveness  clashes  with  the  mercury  person’s  need  for  clarity  and  logic.  conversations  can  quickly  turn  into  debates,  with  both  partners  trying  to  assert  their  viewpoint.  the  mars  person  might  find  mercury  overly  analytical  or  slow  to  act,  while  mercury  may  see  mars  as  too  impatient  or  aggressive.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  creates  a  magnetic  pull—words  become  weapons  of  seduction,  with  teasing  and  verbal  sparring  often  leading  to  passionate  encounters.  the  mars  person  might  push  for  intensity  and  excitement,  while  the  mercury  person  introduces  playfulness  or  intellectual  curiosity.  however,  outside  the  bedroom,  communication  issues  might  arise,  as  mars  can  unintentionally  come  across  as  too  blunt  or  forceful,  hurting  mercury’s  need  for  precision.  the  key  to  balancing  this  aspect  is  learning  how  to  channel  the  friction  into  creative  or  passionate  outlets  rather  than  letting  it  spiral  into  frustration.  when  managed  well,  this  aspect  can  lead  to  exciting  mental  and  physical  chemistry,  but  without  communication,  it  can  feel  like  constant  misalignment.

 ★ mars  trine/sextile  mercury  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  lively,  harmonious  connection  where  communication  and  action  flow  seamlessly.  the  mars  person’s  energy  perfectly  complements  the  mercury  person’s  intellect,  making  conversations  feel  exciting  and  productive.  the  mercury  person  inspires  mars  to  take  action,  while  mars  motivates  mercury  to  turn  ideas  into  reality.  in  the  bedroom,  this  dynamic  is  playful,  adventurous,  and  full  of  experimentation—both  partners  are  open  to  trying  new  things  and  communicating  their  desires  with  ease.  the  mars  person  often  takes  the  lead  physically,  while  the  mercury  person  keeps  things  mentally  stimulating,  ensuring  the  connection  stays  fresh  and  exciting.  outside  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  fosters  a  sense  of  teamwork,  with  both  partners  encouraging  each  other  to  pursue  goals  and  explore  new  opportunities.  the  sextile  adds  a  curious,  exploratory  energy,  while  the  trine  ensures  stability  and  long-term  compatibility.  arguments  are  rare,  as  both  partners  naturally  understand  how  to  balance  each  other’s  needs  for  action  and  conversation.  sexually,  this  aspect  guarantees  a  dynamic  where  mental  and  physical  connection  are  equally  prioritized,  creating  a  relationship  that  feels  exciting,  supportive,  and  endlessly  engaging.

 ★ mars  opposite  mercury  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  dynamic  tension  that  feels  both  stimulating  and  frustrating.  the  mars  person’s  directness  and  intensity  often  clash  with  the  mercury  person’s  analytical  and  curious  nature,  leading  to  heated  debates  or  arguments.  the  mars  person  might  feel  the  mercury  person  overthinks  or  nitpicks,  while  mercury  might  see  mars  as  impulsive  or  overly  aggressive.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  translates  to  fiery  chemistry—mental  sparring  often  leads  to  passionate,  almost  competitive  intimacy.  the  mars  person’s  physical  drive  meets  mercury’s  intellectual  curiosity,  creating  a  dynamic  where  verbal  foreplay  and  playful  teasing  are  central.  outside  the  bedroom,  the  opposition  can  lead  to  miscommunication,  with  the  mars  person’s  bluntness  triggering  mercury’s  need  for  precision.  however,  this  tension  also  keeps  the  connection  exciting,  as  both  partners  challenge  each  other  to  grow  and  adapt.  the  key  to  balancing  this  aspect  is  learning  to  respect  each  other’s  differences,  with  the  mars  person  tempering  their  intensity  and  mercury  embracing  a  more  spontaneous  approach.  when  handled  well,  this  aspect  creates  a  relationship  full  of  intellectual  and  physical  stimulation,  where  both  partners  feel  challenged  and  energized.

 ★ mars  conjunct  mercury  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  dynamic,  fast-paced,  and  mentally  stimulating  connection,  where  the  mercury  person’s  quick  wit  fuels  the  mars  person’s  drive.  conversations  are  sharp,  engaging,  and  often  flirtatious,  with  an  undertone  of  challenge  and  excitement.  the  mars  person  might  push  the  mercury  person  to  express  themselves  more  boldly,  while  the  mercury  person  sharpens  mars’  focus  with  clever  ideas  and  insights.  in  the  bedroom,  this  connection  thrives  on  verbal  stimulation—dirty  talk,  playful  teasing,  and  mental  games  that  lead  to  explosive  passion.  the  mars  person  might  take  the  lead  physically,  but  it’s  the  mercury  person’s  words  and  curiosity  that  keep  things  interesting.  outside  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  can  spark  heated  debates  or  arguments,  as  the  mars  person’s  intensity  might  overwhelm  mercury’s  analytical  nature.  however,  this  tension  also  fuels  the  attraction,  creating  a  dynamic  where  both  partners  feel  energized  by  each  other.  intimacy  often  feels  like  a  mental  and  physical  battle,  with  both  partners  pushing  boundaries  and  exploring  new  ideas.  this  aspect  works  best  when  both  partners  respect  each  other’s  need  for  intellectual  and  physical  stimulation,  turning  potential  conflicts  into  opportunities  for  deeper  connection.

 ★ mars  square  mercury  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  fiery,  argumentative,  and  sometimes  frustrating  dynamic,  where  the  mars  person’s  impulsiveness  clashes  with  the  mercury  person’s  need  for  clarity  and  logic.  conversations  can  quickly  turn  into  debates,  with  both  partners  trying  to  assert  their  viewpoint.  the  mars  person  might  find  mercury  overly  analytical  or  slow  to  act,  while  mercury  may  see  mars  as  too  impatient  or  aggressive.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  creates  a  magnetic  pull—words  become  weapons  of  seduction,  with  teasing  and  verbal  sparring  often  leading  to  passionate  encounters.  the  mars  person  might  push  for  intensity  and  excitement,  while  the  mercury  person  introduces  playfulness  or  intellectual  curiosity.  however,  outside  the  bedroom,  communication  issues  might  arise,  as  mars  can  unintentionally  come  across  as  too  blunt  or  forceful,  hurting  mercury’s  need  for  precision.  the  key  to  balancing  this  aspect  is  learning  how  to  channel  the  friction  into  creative  or  passionate  outlets  rather  than  letting  it  spiral  into  frustration.  when  managed  well,  this  aspect  can  lead  to  exciting  mental  and  physical  chemistry,  but  without  communication,  it  can  feel  like  constant  misalignment.

 ★ mars  trine/sextile  mercury  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  lively,  harmonious  connection  where  communication  and  action  flow  seamlessly.  the  mars  person’s  energy  perfectly  complements  the  mercury  person’s  intellect,  making  conversations  feel  exciting  and  productive.  the  mercury  person  inspires  mars  to  take  action,  while  mars  motivates  mercury  to  turn  ideas  into  reality.  in  the  bedroom,  this  dynamic  is  playful,  adventurous,  and  full  of  experimentation—both  partners  are  open  to  trying  new  things  and  communicating  their  desires  with  ease.  the  mars  person  often  takes  the  lead  physically,  while  the  mercury  person  keeps  things  mentally  stimulating,  ensuring  the  connection  stays  fresh  and  exciting.  outside  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  fosters  a  sense  of  teamwork,  with  both  partners  encouraging  each  other  to  pursue  goals  and  explore  new  opportunities.  the  sextile  adds  a  curious,  exploratory  energy,  while  the  trine  ensures  stability  and  long-term  compatibility.  arguments  are  rare,  as  both  partners  naturally  understand  how  to  balance  each  other’s  needs  for  action  and  conversation.  sexually,  this  aspect  guarantees  a  dynamic  where  mental  and  physical  connection  are  equally  prioritized,  creating  a  relationship  that  feels  exciting,  supportive,  and  endlessly  engaging.

 ★ mars  opposite  mercury  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  dynamic  tension  that  feels  both  stimulating  and  frustrating.  the  mars  person’s  directness  and  intensity  often  clash  with  the  mercury  person’s  analytical  and  curious  nature,  leading  to  heated  debates  or  arguments.  the  mars  person  might  feel  the  mercury  person  overthinks  or  nitpicks,  while  mercury  might  see  mars  as  impulsive  or  overly  aggressive.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  translates  to  fiery  chemistry—mental  sparring  often  leads  to  passionate,  almost  competitive  intimacy.  the  mars  person’s  physical  drive  meets  mercury’s  intellectual  curiosity,  creating  a  dynamic  where  verbal  foreplay  and  playful  teasing  are  central.  outside  the  bedroom,  the  opposition  can  lead  to  miscommunication,  with  the  mars  person’s  bluntness  triggering  mercury’s  need  for  precision.  however,  this  tension  also  keeps  the  connection  exciting,  as  both  partners  challenge  each  other  to  grow  and  adapt.  the  key  to  balancing  this  aspect  is  learning  to  respect  each  other’s  differences,  with  the  mars  person  tempering  their  intensity  and  mercury  embracing  a  more  spontaneous  approach.  when  handled  well,  this  aspect  creates  a  relationship  full  of  intellectual  and  physical  stimulation,  where  both  partners  feel  challenged  and  energized.

 ★ mars  conjunct  mars  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  relationship  that  is  high-energy,  dynamic,  and  full  of  passion.  both  partners  operate  on  the  same  wavelength  when  it  comes  to  drive,  ambition,  and  how  they  pursue  their  desires,  making  them  feel  like  a  perfect  match  in  terms  of  energy  levels.  in  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  is  explosive—intensity  meets  intensity,  with  both  partners  wanting  to  take  the  lead  and  push  boundaries.  the  chemistry  is  raw  and  physical,  often  leaning  toward  playful  competition  or  a  desire  to  outdo  each  other.  however,  the  shared  intensity  can  sometimes  lead  to  clashes,  as  neither  partner  is  inclined  to  back  down  during  arguments.  outside  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  fosters  a  sense  of  shared  motivation  and  ambition,  making  it  easy  for  both  partners  to  work  toward  common  goals.  but  if  the  relationship  lacks  balance,  their  fiery  energy  can  become  overwhelming,  leading  to  power  struggles  or  burnout.  mars  conjunct  mars  thrives  on  action  and  excitement,  so  this  relationship  requires  plenty  of  movement,  adventure,  and  opportunities  to  channel  energy  constructively.  when  managed  well,  it’s  an  exhilarating  connection  full  of  passion,  drive,  and  mutual  respect  for  each  other’s  intensity.

 ★ mars  square  mars  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  fiery,  competitive,  and  sometimes  volatile  connection,  where  both  partners’  drives  and  desires  clash  in  ways  that  feel  both  thrilling  and  frustrating.  the  mars  person’s  actions  often  feel  like  a  challenge  to  the  other’s  energy,  leading  to  moments  of  tension  or  outright  conflict.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  translates  into  intense  chemistry—sexual  encounters  are  passionate,  raw,  and  often  feel  like  a  power  struggle.  both  partners  may  push  each  other’s  limits,  sometimes  teetering  between  excitement  and  aggression.  outside  the  bedroom,  arguments  can  escalate  quickly,  as  neither  partner  wants  to  compromise  or  yield.  this  aspect  thrives  on  friction,  which  can  create  growth  if  both  partners  learn  to  channel  their  energy  into  shared  goals  or  challenges.  however,  without  balance,  the  constant  push-pull  dynamic  can  feel  exhausting  over  time.  mars  square  mars  works  best  in  relationships  where  both  partners  respect  each  other’s  individuality  and  find  ways  to  collaborate  rather  than  compete.  when  managed  well,  it  creates  a  relationship  that  is  exciting,  adventurous,  and  full  of  mutual  growth,  but  it  requires  effort  to  prevent  the  fiery  connection  from  burning  out.

 ★ mars  trine/sextile  mars  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  harmonious  and  balanced  connection,  where  both  partners’  drives  and  energies  complement  each  other  perfectly.  the  mars  person’s  actions  naturally  align  with  the  other’s,  making  it  easy  to  work  together  toward  shared  goals  and  desires.  in  the  bedroom,  this  dynamic  ensures  passionate  yet  effortless  chemistry—both  partners  are  on  the  same  page  about  what  they  want,  creating  a  playful,  exciting,  and  deeply  satisfying  physical  connection.  the  sextile  brings  an  exploratory,  adventurous  energy,  while  the  trine  adds  stability  and  a  sense  of  long-term  compatibility.  outside  the  bedroom,  this  aspect  fosters  teamwork  and  mutual  respect,  with  both  partners  feeling  motivated  and  supported  by  the  other.  conflicts  are  rare,  as  both  partners  instinctively  understand  each  other’s  needs  and  find  ways  to  balance  their  energies.  mars  trine  or  sextile  mars  guarantees  a  relationship  where  passion  and  drive  are  seamlessly  integrated,  creating  a  dynamic  that  feels  exciting,  supportive,  and  full  of  mutual  growth.  it’s  a  connection  that  thrives  on  action,  adventure,  and  shared  pursuits,  making  it  deeply  fulfilling  both  physically  and  emotionally.

 ★ mars  opposite  mars  ★ 

★  this  aspect  creates  a  magnetic  and  challenging  dynamic,  where  both  partners’  energies  are  equally  strong  but  pull  in  opposite  directions.  the  mars  person’s  approach  to  action  and  desire  often  feels  like  a  direct  challenge  to  the  other’s,  creating  a  dynamic  full  of  tension  and  excitement.  in  the  bedroom,  this  tension  fuels  fiery,  passionate  encounters—sexual  chemistry  feels  electric,  with  both  partners  bringing  intensity  and  physicality  to  the  connection.  however,  the  opposition  can  also  create  power  struggles,  with  each  partner  wanting  to  take  the  lead  or  assert  their  dominance.  outside  the  bedroom,  conflicts  can  arise  from  differing  approaches  to  ambition  or  how  energy  is  expressed,  leading  to  moments  of  frustration  or  misunderstanding.  the  key  to  balancing  this  aspect  is  finding  ways  to  channel  the  tension  into  passion  rather  than  conflict,  with  both  partners  learning  to  appreciate  and  respect  each  other’s  differences.  mars  opposite  mars  creates  a  relationship  that  is  full  of  growth  and  excitement,  but  it  requires  effort  to  maintain  harmony  and  prevent  the  fiery  energy  from  becoming  overwhelming.  when  handled  well,  it’s  a  dynamic  that  keeps  both  partners  engaged,  energized,  and  constantly  evolving.

 ★   book   a   reading   ★   ★   masterlist   1   ★   ★   masterlist   2   ★

[loveesiren]

𝖤𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍 (𝖯𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖳𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾)

Rafe Cameron x Reader

a/n: here is the third and perhaps final part? of Emergency Contact. I am open to the idea of writing more for this if you guys have some ideas you want to share with me! Otherwise, thank you so much for enjoying this mini series! I loved writing it and I can't wait to write more for Rafe <3 (Also, please lmk if tags aren't working!)

synopsis: Y/N has always been close to the Cameron family, practically a part of it after years of friendship. Beneath the surface, unspoken feelings simmer between her and Rafe, but neither of them can muster the courage to admit it. When Y/N finally decides to move on, setting her sights on a new man, he’s forced to confront the truth: losing her might cost him more than he ever realized.

warnings: language, angst, drug use (cocaine), alcohol, mention of rehab

wc: 4k+

The days that followed were a blur of beer, late-night adventures, and laughter with the Pogues. You told yourself you were over it, that you didn’t need Rafe’s attitude bringing you down. JJ had become a constant in your life, his arm draped over your shoulder more often than not. However, you still felt an empty hole in your chest.

You supposed you and JJ were a thing now, though you hadn’t put a label on it. He liked showing you off, and you didn’t mind the attention—especially when his lips trailed down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You let him explore your body, but you always stopped things before they went too far.

JJ didn’t say much about it, but you could tell he was frustrated. Still, he didn’t push you, which you appreciated.

A few nights later, you were sprawled across the couch with the Pogues, laughing as Sarah flailed her arms during a particularly dramatic game of charades. Her phone buzzed rapidly on the table beside you, but she didn’t notice.

“Sarah!” you called, grabbing her phone. “Your dad is blowing up your phone!”

The carefree energy in the room shifted as Sarah snatched her phone from your hands. Her brows furrowed as she read through the missed calls and texts. “Shit…” she muttered, worry creeping into her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Kiara asked, the concern spreading to everyone else.

“My dad can’t get in touch with Rafe,” Sarah said, her tone uneasy. “He’s out of town and freaking out.”

“Is Rafe okay?” you asked, your stomach twisting with sudden anxiety.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sarah said quickly, but her eyes darted to the screen again. You could tell she wasn’t being entirely honest. “I just need to check on him. I’ll be back soon.” She grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.

You sat there, staring at the spot where Sarah had been. Pulling out your phone, you opened your text thread with Rafe. It had been five days since you’d last heard from him.

Are you okay? you typed, hesitating for only a second before hitting send.

The screen remained blank, no reply. With a heavy sigh, you tucked your phone back into your pocket and turned back to the group.

“I’m sure everything is fine,” JJ said softly, brushing your hair aside to kiss your cheek. He pulled you closer, offering comfort, but it didn’t reach the pit of unease growing in your chest.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, trying to believe him. But your mind was elsewhere.

All you could think about was Rafe.

-

“Rafe?” Sarah’s voice echoed through the house as she stepped inside. The space was dark and suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint thrum of music coming from down the hall. She reached for the light switch, illuminating the chaos around her—Rafe’s belongings strewn across the house like an abandoned battleground.

As she moved into the kitchen, her stomach twisted. Empty liquor bottles were tipped over on the island, surrounded by half-smoked joints and cigarette butts. She frowned, fighting the wave of dread rising in her chest.

“Rafe?” she called out again, louder this time, as she ventured deeper into the house. Her sandals crunched against the sticky floor. The music grew louder as she approached the master bedroom, the sound of heavy metal shaking the walls. It was a genre so foreign to Rafe that it made her pause.

Reaching for the handle, Sarah opened the door slowly, peeking inside. The sight before her made her heart drop.

Rafe sat slumped over his dresser, shirtless, his jeans undone and his hair disheveled. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels stood beside him, its sticky contents dripping down the side. He sniffed at the surface of the dresser, the residue of white powder glaring under the dim light.

“Rafe…” Sarah whispered, stepping in to lower the volume on the stereo. The silence that followed was heavy. “I thought you quit,” she said, her voice trembling as she fought back tears. Seeing him like this—broken, lost, a shadow of the brother she thought she’d gotten back—was almost unbearable.

Rafe didn’t look at her. Instead, he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. “Why’d you do it, Sarah?” he asked, his voice hoarse and low.

“D-Do what?” she stammered, blinking back tears.

He didn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on organizing another line of cocaine with unsteady hands.

“Dad’s worried,” she said, trying to keep her composure. “He told me to check on you. Rafe, what’s wrong? Why are you doing this? Y/N said you’d been acting weird, but I—”

“Y/N…” he interrupted bitterly, spitting out your name like it burned his tongue. “That’s the problem, Sarah.”

Sarah froze, her stomach tightening as Rafe finally turned to look at her. His bloodshot eyes were sunken, the pain etched deep into his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Why’d you hook Y/n up with JJ?” He asked, his voice breaking. “You knew—” He inhaled sharply, as if bracing himself. “You knew I fucking liked her, Sarah! You knew I…”

He trailed off, choking on his words.

Sarah’s lip quivered as she stared at him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“You know I love her,” Rafe admitted, his voice barely audible as he crumbled to the floor. His back hit the edge of the bed, and he buried his face in his hands. The weight of those words hung heavy in the air. For so long, he’d buried the truth, but now it was out, raw and unfiltered.

Sarah knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms. “Rafe…” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. You never told me…”

Rafe shook his head, his body trembling as he sobbed. “It doesn’t matter. She’s with him now,” he said, his voice cracking. “I ruined everything. I treated her like shit, Sarah. She’s never going to forgive me. Never.”

Sarah held him tighter, her heart breaking for him. She didn’t know what to say, so she just let him cry. His sobs eventually softened, the exhaustion of the past few days finally catching up to him.

She helped him into bed, pulling the covers over him as he drifted into a deep, uneasy sleep. His breathing evened out, the rise and fall of his chest steadying. Sarah lingered for a moment, watching her brother in the dim light. He looked so fragile, so unlike the Rafe she grew up with.

Once she was certain he was asleep, she quietly left the room, leaving the door cracked open behind her. She pulled out her phone and dialed Ward, holding it to her ear as she began to clean up the kitchen.

“Yeah, he’s okay now,” she said, responding to Ward’s worried question. “I’m letting him sleep it off. I’ll get rid of the drugs and clean up the place, but… he’s not okay, Dad. He’s really not.” Her voice broke, but she steadied herself, wiping away a tear.

Ward’s response was short but decisive. “I’ll be on the next flight out.”

Hanging up, Sarah continued to clean, throwing away bottles and sweeping up the debris of her brother’s downward spiral. She was scrubbing the counter when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with your photo, your name glowing brightly.

Sarah hesitated, her hand hovering over the phone. She sighed deeply before answering. “Hey…” she said softly, already knowing this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

You glanced at JJ, passed out on the couch across the room. His frustration earlier had been palpable—trying and failing to get you to sleep with him yet again. But how could you? Your mind was elsewhere, consumed with worry for Rafe. JJ had finally given up and flopped down, his snores starting almost instantly.

You scoffed, clutching your phone tighter in your hand. If JJ truly cared about you, he wouldn’t be pressuring you when you were clearly preoccupied. He wouldn’t be making this about himself. The analog clock on the wall read 2:13 a.m., and each unanswered ring on the phone made your anxiety climb higher.

Finally, Sarah’s soft voice came through. “Hey…”

“Sarah!” you exclaimed, standing up abruptly. “What’s going on? Is Rafe okay?”

There was a long pause, and her hesitation made your stomach drop. “Uhm…” Her voice cracked, and you knew.

“Sarah, what is it?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Yes and no,” she finally said. “He… he relapsed.”

The weight of those words hit you like a freight train. You sank back down into the chair as tears blurred your vision. “Fuck…” you whispered, your voice breaking. You wiped at your face, but the tears kept coming. “I knew something was wrong. I tried, Sarah. I tried to get him to talk to me, but he just—”

“Y/N,” Sarah interrupted, her voice urgent but soft. “Can you just come over? I think he needs you right now.”

Her words stopped you in your tracks. “Me? Why would he need me?”

“Please,” she pleaded, ignoring your question.

You didn’t need to hear more. “I’m on my way,” you said, grabbing your keys and heading out the door.

When you arrived at Rafe’s house, the dim light spilling out from the kitchen was the only sign of life. You stumbled inside to find Sarah sweeping up broken glass, the remnants of Rafe’s spiral.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice breathless.

“He’s sleeping,” Sarah replied, her tone weary. She leaned against the counter and set the broom aside. “My dad’s flying back in the morning.”

You hesitated, watching her carefully. “Do you know what happened? Why does he… why does he need me?”

Sarah sighed deeply, dropping onto one of the barstools at the island. “I think I might’ve messed up,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, her eyes darting to the floor. “Rafe… he…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words.

“He what, Sarah?” you snapped, your patience wearing thin. “Just say it!”

Sarah’s gaze shot up to meet yours, her voice breaking as she blurted out, “He loves you, okay?!”

Your heart stopped. The air left the room. “What?” you whispered, your voice shaky.

Sarah softened, guilt etched across her face. “He loves you, Y/N. And I didn’t know… I didn’t know how much. I thought it was just some crush. He never made a move, so I figured he didn’t care. I thought setting you up with JJ would be fun, but I-” She sighed, her words tumbling over each other.

“Sarah, stop,” you said, cutting her off. She was spiraling, and you could barely keep up with her frantic explanations. “It’s not your fault.”

The room fell silent, and her words hung heavy in the air. Rafe loved you. He always had. And you—stupid, oblivious you—had missed it.

Sarah studied you for a moment, her tear-filled eyes softening. “Do you love him?” she asked quietly.

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Her lips curved into a brief, sad smile as she wiped at her own tears. “Go to him,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when my dad gets back. He’ll probably send him off to rehab again, but… he needs you right now.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile, your heart hammering in your chest as you stood. Sarah returned to her cleaning, giving you the space you needed.

Rafe’s bedroom door creaked softly as you pushed it open, slipping inside. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights outside. Your gaze landed on him, sprawled across the bed. He looked so vulnerable, so unlike the confident and composed Rafe you’d always known. His chest rose and fell steadily, his lips slightly parted. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead, and his hair was a disheveled mess.

Your heart ached as you stepped closer. You could see the toll the past few days had taken on him—the flushed cheeks, the dark circles under his eyes, the faint tremor in his hand even as he slept.

Carefully, you slid into bed beside him, your weight barely shifting the mattress. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. His grip tightened instinctively, and you smiled softly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“I love you, Rafe,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You didn’t know if he could hear you, but it didn’t matter. For the first time, you let yourself say the words out loud.

And for the first time in days, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Your eyes fluttered open to the early morning sun peeking through the blinds. The air was heavy, a mix of stale whiskey and regret clinging to the room. You turned your head slightly, finding Rafe curled into you. For someone usually so imposing, he looked impossibly small, trembling as the aftershocks of withdrawal rippled through his body.

“Rafe?” you whispered, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. His cheek was flushed under your palm, warm and slick with sweat.

“It’s freezing…” he mumbled, though his skin burned with fever.

You frowned, heart aching at the sight of him. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower,” you murmured gently.

Helping him out of bed proved to be a challenge. He groaned as you maneuvered him upright, his body heavy and uncoordinated, but you were determined. Once you were in the bathroom you carefully peeled his jeans off, leaving him in his boxers, before guiding him toward the shower.

The sound of the water rushing into the tub filled the space. You adjusted the temperature until it was lukewarm—cool enough to help his fever but not cold enough to make him shiver. As soon as Rafe stepped under the spray, he slumped to the floor of the tub with a heavy groan, his knees drawn up, arms resting limply on them.

You perched on the closed toilet lid, keeping an eye on him. He looked utterly spent, the water coursing over his fevered skin, plastering his messy hair to his forehead. You pulled out your phone to find a text from Sarah.

Dad’s flight is delayed. Won’t make it until tonight.

You exhaled in quiet relief. At least you had more time to be here with Rafe before Ward arrived and took over.

Can you bring me a liquid IV? I’ve got him in the shower, you texted back.

Minutes later, there was a soft knock on the bathroom door. You opened it just enough to see Sarah holding a glass. She handed it to you, her brows furrowed with worry. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s coming down,” you said, taking the glass from her. “He’s got a bit of a fever, but I think he’ll be okay.”

Sarah bit her lip but nodded. “Okay… I’ll make some breakfast,” she said quietly.

“Thanks, Sarah. We’ll be out soon,” you assured her, closing the door again.

You turned back to Rafe, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the shower floor. His shoulders were hunched, the water cascading down his back. Slowly, you crouched by the tub and opened the shower door.

“Rafey,” you coaxed gently, holding the glass out. “I need you to drink this. It’ll help, okay?”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, glassy and tired, but he obediently took the glass with trembling hands. You guided it to his lips, helping him sip slowly. It took a few minutes, but he managed to finish it, and you set the empty glass aside with a soft smile.

“Good job,” you said softly, brushing your fingers against his damp hair.

Rafe’s voice broke through the quiet. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he rasped.

You shook your head, crouching closer. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I fucked up,” he sighed, his head dipping forward.

“No, Rafe, I did.” You bit your lip, your voice trembling as you confessed. “I should’ve told you a long time ago… that I love you.”

His head snapped up, his bloodshot blue eyes locking onto yours. “You what?” His voice cracked, almost disbelieving.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill. “I love you, Rafe. And I’m so sorry I didn’t realize sooner. I should’ve known something was wrong. I should’ve been there for you…”

Rafe stared at you, his body frozen as your words sank in. Every chaotic thought in his mind came to a halt, silenced by the sheer weight of your confession. Before either of you could second-guess the moment, he reached out, his strong hand pulling you into the shower with him.

“Rafe—!” you gasped as the water soaked through your clothes, but your protest died on your lips as his mouth found yours.

The kiss was soft yet desperate, his lips trembling against yours, the weight of unspoken years pouring into the moment. It took you a second to process what was happening, but then you melted into him, snaking an arm around his neck and tangling your fingers in his damp hair.

Every problem, every heartache, every unanswered question disappeared as his hands slid up your back, anchoring you to him. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself forget the world outside.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless. His blue eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. Your mascara ran in streaks down your cheeks, and strands of wet hair clung to your face, but none of it mattered.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but steady.

You smiled through your tears, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “I love you too, Rafe.”

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not Ward, not Sarah, not the mistakes or the pain. Just you and Rafe, tangled together, the water washing away everything but the promise of a new beginning.

You and Sarah spent the day nursing Rafe back to health. Between making sure he ate and keeping him hydrated, most of your time was spent curled up with him on the couch. He gravitated toward your warmth, his head resting on your shoulder as Adventure Time played softly on the TV. His apologies spilled out at regular intervals, at least once every thirty minutes, as though they were on a timer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured for what felt like the hundredth time, his voice barely above a whisper.

You ran your fingers gently through his hair, offering a soft smile. “Rafey, it’s okay. We’ve already forgiven you.”

Sarah chimed in from the kitchen, “She’s right. We just want you to focus on getting better.”

But no matter how much reassurance you both gave him, Rafe couldn’t seem to forgive himself. His relapse haunted him—forcing his dad to cut a business trip short, the anger he’d unleashed on you, the guilt over falling back into old habits. He swore up and down he’d never touch cocaine again, especially now that he had you, but addiction wasn’t that simple. You knew the moment Ward arrived, he would take charge of the situation.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the room as you snuggled deeper into Rafe’s arms. Between soft kisses and whispered promises of a future together, you tried to savor the quiet moments. In the kitchen, Sarah hummed softly as she worked on dinner, the smell of roasted potatoes and chicken wafting through the house.

Then, the front door slammed open. The calm shattered as Ward’s heavy footsteps echoed through the house.

“Where is he?” Ward’s voice boomed, sharp with frustration and worry.

Sarah stepped into the living room, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “On the couch with Y/N,” she said quietly, her eyes darting to you and Rafe.

Rafe tensed beside you. You placed a comforting hand on his chest, but he was already pushing the blanket off and rising to his feet.

“Hey, Dad,” he said softly, his voice thick with shame.

Ward’s expression was a mixture of relief and disappointment as his eyes scanned his son. Without a word, he crossed the room and pulled Rafe into a firm embrace. Rafe stiffened at first but then melted into it, his head dropping to Ward’s shoulder.

“Let’s go talk,” Ward said gruffly, his hand gripping Rafe’s shoulder as he guided him toward the master bedroom.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving you and Sarah in heavy silence. You sat down at the kitchen island, pulling Rafe’s blanket around your shoulders, the lingering warmth proving to be a poor substitute for him.

“Ward’s going to send him away, isn’t he?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sarah sighed as she plated some food and slid it in front of you. “Probably,” she admitted, sitting across from you with her own plate. “I’m sorry about all of this.”

You frowned. “Why are you apologizing?” you asked, absentmindedly poking at a roasted potato.

Sarah hesitated before speaking. “I should’ve known you two were in love. How could I have been so blind? If I hadn’t pushed JJ on you, maybe none of this would’ve happened. This is all my fault.”

You shook your head and reached across the table to take her hands. “Sarah, this isn’t your fault. It’s not your job to play matchmaker. Maybe Rafe and I just ignored what was right in front of us for too long.”

She gave you a small, sheepish smile. “So… you don’t really like JJ?”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly. “JJ’s fine. Kind of a dick though. There’s no connection there. Not like what I feel for Rafe.”

Sarah grinned, her eyes brightening a little. “Maybe one day we’ll be sisters,” she teased.

You chuckled. “Let’s get through tonight first.”

The bedroom door creaked open, and both of you turned as Ward made his way into the kitchen. His expression was firm but calm. “I’m taking him to treatment first thing in the morning,” he announced.

Your heart clenched, but you nodded, understanding. This was what Rafe needed, even if it hurt to let him go.

Ward glanced between you and Sarah before his features softened slightly. “Sarah, why don’t you and I spend the night at Tanneyhill? Give Rafe and Y/N some time alone.”

Sarah smiled and hugged you tightly before gathering her things. “Thank you, Mr. C,” you said, your voice filled with gratitude.

He gave you a small nod. “Call if you need anything,” he said before ushering Sarah out the door.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what would likely be one of the hardest nights of your life. With the house quiet again, you made your way down the hall to Rafe’s bedroom.

You knocked softly before opening the door. Rafe was already in bed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, but when he saw you, a small smile tugged at his lips. He patted the space beside him, inviting you to lay with him.

Climbing into bed, you turned to face him, resting your head on his chest. “How are you feeling?” you asked gently.

“Better. A lot better,” he said, wrapping an arm around you. His smile faltered, replaced by a frown. “But my dad’s not going to let me off easy.”

“It’s okay, Rafey,” you reassured him, lacing your fingers with his. “Take the time you need to get better. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He turned his head to look at you, his blue eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt. “You promise?”

You smiled softly and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “Cross my heart.”

A genuine smile broke across his face, something that was rare to find in Rafe Cameron. Holding him close, you let the rhythm of his breathing lull you into a sense of calm. Whatever came next, you’d face it together.

© loveesiren 2025 - do not copy, translate, transfer, or repost my work without my permission. if you find my work on sites other than through links i've provided, please notify me.

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[househrt]

Wilson, post-divorce and lonely and sleeping badly, buys a weighted blanket to try and simulate the feeling of someone else in bed with him (or maybe just calm him down in general) but—

turns out a weighted blanket stresses him out SO MUCH MORE than not having a weighted blanket. he feels trapped and held down in a bad way, it's too restrictive and it makes his joints hurt because he can't move freely and easily underneath it

it was expensive though, so he keeps sleeping with it for weeks longer than he should, telling himself it's because he'll "get used to it eventually...right?" and it's giving him the deepest darkest circles under his eyes and he's constantly sleep mussed and exhausted

at some point he puts it away, but doesn't get rid of it. because he brings it out again when he feels like he needs to be punished for something.

happy ending: House stays the night and uses the weighted blanket bc it's cold af that night, and he wakes up the next day So Refreshed. he's never slept better in his life. and, because House is a blanket hog, Wilson didn't get any of the blanket. House absolutely steals the blanket to bring it back to his apartment and neither of them ever mention where it went

[daryltwdixon]

Merry Christmas, Daryl

Daryl x Reader Fluff

summary: On a quiet Christmas Eve in Alexandria, an unexpected moment under mistletoe brings you and Daryl closer in a way neither of you expected. slightly nerdy awkward reader

author's note: just something cute to wish you all a happy holiday 🎄✨🎁❄️☃️🎅🦌🌟

The faint hum of conversation and laughter fills the air, the low flicker of candles and strings of scavenged Christmas lights casting a warm glow across the house. Alexandria feels… different tonight. Almost like the world hasn’t ended. Like they’re all just neighbors, throwing a party to pass the time. You suppose it's what it's been like for them this whole time, but for you and your group...it was a nice reminder of what once was.

Maggie is laughing at something Glenn said, her eyes crinkling in a way you haven’t seen in months. Carl and Judith sit by the fire with Michonne, her arm draped protectively around the boy’s shoulders as she listens to his quiet chatter. Rick’s laugh carries over the rest of the noise, and for a moment, everything feels—normal.

Instead of joining in, you linger on the outskirts, nursing your drink. It’s not that you don’t feel welcome—you do, mostly. It’s just easier to watch, to soak in the warmth and pretend the ache of missing something you can’t quite name isn’t sitting heavy in your chest.

Your eyes wander, always searching no matter what room you're in—for him.

Daryl.

He stands near the door, half in shadow, nursing a beer with one hand while the other rests on his hip. He’s not watching anyone in particular, but his eyes scan the room like always, as if he’s looking for trouble—or maybe just a reason to leave. There’s something about the way he stands, so separate from everyone else, that pulls you in.

You’ve always told yourself it’s nothing, this feeling that tugs at you whenever he’s around. But it can't be nothing. Not with the way your heart picks up when he looks at you, the way you catch yourself stealing glances at him when you think he won’t notice. It’s the way he speaks—not much, but when he does, it’s rough and honest and somehow makes you feel safer than all the walls around Alexandria combined.

You take another sip, your fingers tightening slightly on the glass. You like him. You’ve liked him for months, but it’s not the kind of thing you can just admit—to yourself or to him. You’re not even sure he sees you that way. You’ve convinced yourself he doesn’t, because it’s easier than hoping for something you might not get.

Still, your feet move before you can stop them.

“You look like you’re having fun,” you tease as you approach, your voice light despite the nervous flutter in your chest.

He glances at you, his lips twitching in something that could almost be a smile. “Ain’t exactly my scene.”

You shrug, falling beside him to lean against the wall, “Not mine either, really. But it’s nice, right? Seeing everyone like this?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze shifting back to the room. After a moment, he nods. “Yeah. S’good for ‘em.”

The way he says it—quiet, almost like it’s a secret—makes your chest ache. You wonder if he ever lets himself have anything good, or if he always watches from the sidelines, thinking it’s enough just to see other people happy.

You study him for a long moment, taking in the slope of his shoulders, the way his thumb taps idly against the glass bottle. But with a shift of his shoulders, he's pushing off the wall.

“You heading out already?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment from your voice.

“Think so,” he mutters. His voice is low, rough, but it doesn’t feel dismissive. If anything, it feels like an invitation—to follow, to keep talking, to… something.

Instead, you offer a soft smile. “Guess I’ll see you later, then.”

He dips his head in a nod, stepping away from the doorframe and into the chilly night.

The walk home is quiet, the air crisp and biting against your skin. You tuck your hands into your pockets, letting your breath mist in front of you as you replay the evening in your head.

You’re not sure why you feel so unsettled. It’s not like you expected him to stay. Daryl doesn’t do parties or crowds or small talk. That’s part of who he is, and it’s part of why you like him. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you should have said more.

You spot him just beyond the houses, leaning against one of the bare trees that line the edge of the path. He’s looking up, his face tilted toward the branches, and for a moment, you just watch him, the way he always seems to watch everyone else.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask, your voice breaking the stillness.

He turns slightly, his gaze landing on you. “Could ask you the same.”

You step closer, following his gaze to the small sprig of green dangling from one of the lower branches. It takes a second to register, but when it does, your heart skips. Mistletoe.

A laugh escapes you, nervous and too loud in the quiet night. “Huh. Did you know mistletoe’s a parasite?”

His brow furrows, and you press on, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “I mean, technically a semi-parasite. It attaches to trees and, you know… kind of takes what it needs. Pretty romantic, right?”

He’s watching you now, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile. “You always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” you blurt, and the words hang in the cold air, making your cheeks burn.

Daryl tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing in that way he does when he’s trying to figure something out. You can feel your pulse quicken under his gaze, the weight of his attention making your tongue trip over itself. “It’s just… mistletoe. And, uh… you.”

As soon as the words are out, you wish you could take them back, your eyes darting anywhere but at him. The mistletoe, the ground, the shadow his boots make on the frost-bitten earth—anything to avoid the unreadable look you’re sure is on his face.

The silence stretches, thick enough to strangle you. You almost start rambling again, desperate to fill the gap, when he clears his throat.

“Mistletoe, huh?” he mutters, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to smile.

You glance up, startled, and your breath catches. He’s still watching you, but there’s something softer in his expression now, something almost shy. He shifts his weight, his thumb hooking into his belt loop, and the small, nervous movement sends a rush of affection through you.

“Well, yeah,” you say, the words spilling out faster now, your voice breathy. “I mean, technically it’s a semi-parasite. It grows on trees, kind of… leeching off them, but in a subtle way. You know, symbiotic. It’s not entirely—”

You stop abruptly when you realize he’s taken a small step closer. Your heart pounds against your ribs, and you’re suddenly very aware of how quiet it is, just the faint rustle of the wind through the trees and the sound of your own breathing.

He’s not much taller than you, but he feels bigger somehow, his presence grounding you even as it sends your thoughts scattering. Your eyes flick to the mistletoe above, then back to his, and you swear he notices because his gaze drops—briefly—to your lips before snapping back up.

“Y/N…” he says softly, his voice rough and hesitant, like suddenly the name tastes different on his tongue suddenly.

Your breath catches again, and before you can second-guess yourself, you both move. It’s awkward at first, both of you leaning in too fast, your noses brushing in a way that makes you stifle a nervous laugh. But then his hand comes up, rough and warm against your jaw, steadying you, and suddenly the world narrows to just this—just him.

His lips meet yours, tentative and soft at first, but the moment stretches, deepens, like neither of you wants to pull away. You lean into him, your hands finding his jacket, clutching at the worn fabric like you need it to keep steady.

Daryl kisses you like he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing but doesn’t want to stop. It’s clumsy and unpracticed, and it makes your chest ache because it feels so him. Honest. Earnest.

When you finally part, you’re both breathing harder than you should be, the air between you clouding with misted breaths. His hand lingers against your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin in a way that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You feel your lips curve into a smile, the warmth blooming in your chest spilling out into your words. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

[pedge-page]

Red Carpet Debut

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Summary: It is neither your nor Dieter's red carpet debut

Warnings: assisted masturbation, car masturbation, fingering, public, exhibition, cheating

18 + ONLY

- - - -

Dieter's manager and publicist warn him about not taking you to his red carpets. He's barely on good streaks when you're around, and they want him to go one premiere without causing a scene.

But you're also his kryptonite. And when you tell him how you were planning to spend the evening touching yourself, watching him on TV, he couldn't not bring you.

His manager rolls her eyes in the front seat as you two slide in the back together. Dieter hopelessly in love puppy eyes not breaking from you once. You looked stunning, like he was YOUR date and not the other way around.

"God I can't wait to get my hands on you after all this," he purrs, clenching his teeth and scanning your cleavage. His calloused palm cups your bedazzled gown covering your breast.

"Why not now?" You whisper. You grasp his hand and put it under your dress. Without another word, he slips his fingers between your naked slit, rubbing in quick circles. You're already wet for him.

"Fuck," he hums into your neck. "Wanna kiss you so bad." He leans closer, desperate to put his lips on yours, but you tut him.

"Makeup," you breathe. You knew it was torture for you both, but the least you could do was try to obey his managers rules. If he couldn't keep you away, then at least keep it as inobvious as possible.

Dee continues to finger your pussy, your legs spreading a little wider to let him explore. He was always so good at making you cum, as if quickies were his specialty. You'd only been in the car for 2 minutes but we're quickly building up a climax.

You draw his face to you, his nose nudging yours. "You want me to cum? All over this seat and your fingers?"

"Fuck-fuck yeah baby. Want it all messy for me. Wanna be thinking bout my cock in there all night." His eyes are so heavy, filled with lust. "M' so fuckin hard right now," he groans.

The evidence of his arousal is clearly tented in his slacks. Even now wearing his special compression underwear, specifically designed to prevent his boners from making its red carpet debut at the slightly sight of a woman's wardrobe malfunction titty slip, they were no match when he was full blazing rock hard.

You bite your lip, closing your eyes. You couldnt laugh, knowing you still failed miserably to keep him "inobvious". Fuck you were close. His pointer and middle were sliding in v formation, trapping your clit each time. The car was filled with the smell of your sex and the muffled sounds of your squelching heat.

You finally release, shivering under his touch as your orgasm washes over you. He let's out satisfied whimpers from his throat, working you through it, all sticky and hot and satisfying.

"Shit," he moans, pulling his fingers and sticking them straight in his mouth. "Take care of me?" He gestures down to his obvious 'problem' at the crotch.

"Ohhh, but. Baby," you pout. "My makeup."

"You can use your hands--!"

"Cant make a mess over your trousers, Dee," his manager says from thr front. The poor woman, trying to stay nonchalant on her phone.

He let's out a sigh. Shit, how was he gonna take care of this before--

"We're here!"

You pat his cheek, a polite smile on your face before slipping out the car and walking towards the carpet on your own, making good on your promise not to be seen with Dieter as far as the photographers can capture.

His manager looks back at Dieter, his flush face, then down to his obviously errection standing straight up like the Eiffel Tower in that ridiculously hot pink suit. Leaving it all out and absolutely no way of hiding.

"Fucking Shit, Bravo." She shakes her head and gets out, slamming the doors shut. Another fiasco she couldn't prevent. Whatever. She's off to the bar to enjoy before officially turning over her resignation, already picturing the tabloids of him walking this carpet with the biggest fucking hard on for the world to see.

And that's exactly what happens. Dieter ponies up out of the car, waves with big smiles to fans and photographers, as everyone snaps photos and stares with jaws dropped to his very prominent (and very gifted) barbie pink tented boner. He walks with as much Bravo swagger as he always carries the entire carpet like that.

You're just the right distance away that nobody puts any focus on you. Hes clearly looking for you each turn and step down the carpet. Like a helpless puppy dazzled by lights and sounds but wanting his companion close by. A glutton for punishment and its subsequent reward, unable to learn after each trial.

That's your Dieter.

"Hi baby!"

Your husband, conveniently the producer of this same film, spots you and immediately wraps himself into you for a kiss. "Thought you were staying in the hotel?"

"Hi honey." You grin sweetly, kissing his lips with a peck. "I wanted to come see you."

He smiles, grasping your waist and bringing you up the stairs. None the wiser, and entirely content his wife was able to make yet another one of his big day's.

- - - -

Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist

[chobblesomewrites]

oh i sent an ask on your other account cause i read a post if yours wrong but can you pretend i sent it here

"You fitting in nicely, little Gemstone?"

Gem snaps her eyes open and brings her head up from the pile of pillows she's been laying on, blinking her tiredness away to find Skizz looking over at her with a endeared smile. Impulse was just right behind him, already made a spot for himself on the piles of pillows over the carpet Xisuma sewed for her.

She sits up properly and ruffles her own curls as she greets the two, "Hi you guys. You didn't tell me you were visiting," she grumbled, causing some worried looks from her visitors.

"Well, we weren't supposed to until the next day when you weren't busy still decorating the cave, but we couldn't wait to give you the--!" Skizz's excited ramble was then cut off by Impulse's loud 'ssshhh'.

"You'd be ruining the surprise, Skizz," he warned gently.

This caused Gem to straighten up and flash an inquiring look to the two, "Surprise?"

The duo shared a knowing smile but didn't answer Gem. Instead, Skizz went over and flopped himself next to the ginger haired girl, making himself comfortable as he stretched over the pillows, "Nevermind that- You're makin' it pretty comfy over here, Gem! Didn't know a cave could be this comfy!"

Gem poked at Skizz's side with a pout, "Hey, what surprise are you talking about?!"

It was then Impulse's turn to continue on the conversation like Gem wasn't overly confused right now, "The place looks great, Gem," he commended with a smile, "Looks like you had fun with it!"

Seeing as neither of them was gonna sate her curiosity, she continue to pout but relented to the change of topic anyway, "It looks okay." She brought her knees to herself as her gaze flickered all over her space, "It's comfy, but it feels.... non-homey. Empty?"

She looked doubtful. Honestly, this was what Gem had been mulling over even before Skizz and Impulse arrived here. She had just finished piling up a comfy corner on the carpet- which seems to do its job well considering the child of Apollo was rolling over it like an excited dog, but the cave still feels so lonely.

Gem didn't understand it either. She had the freedom to put everything she wanted in this cave, decorate it how she sees fit (an opportunity she often doesn't get at home) but it's not enough for her. She probably just wasn't used to having such a big space for herself.

Impulse examined her expression and held his chin in thought, "Empty, huh?" he repeated, now taking the time to look all over the cave as well. His thoughts were broken off by Skizz excitedly nudging his leg with his foot.

Impulse rolled his eyes fondly and gently swatted Skizz's foot away, earning a giggle. Gem smiled at this interaction both fondly and confusingly.

"Seriously, is anyone going to tell me what you're so excited about?" She seriously couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, it's nothing-"

"More than nothing!" Skizz snickered. Impulse quickly realizes that he can't contain the excitement of even his own partner in this plan.

"I don't exactly know what the problem with your cave is, but how about this for a solution?" Suddenly, Impulse shifted so that he wasn't sitting infront of a box that had apparently been behind him this entire time.

The oracle perked up and crawled over as the child of Hermes pushed it towards her.

The box looked nothing too special. It just looked like a cardboard box they used to transport the jams the camps sold outside with the addition of horrible but adorable drawings of Gem all over it, possibly from more than one camper that's not her two visitors.

At least, judging with the way one of the drawings of Gem as a cat has 'Scra and Grain was hree!' written next to it. It looked like a box she'd receive from an overseas family that misses her except said family was literally a walk away.

She looks between Skizz, Impulse, and the box doubtfully, only encouraged to finally open it up by their expectant smiles.

Gem stumbled back in surprise as she was jumped at by some fluffy monster that jumped out of the box. She couldn't hold back a scream, which was followed by the Skizz and Impulse duo laughing at her reaction.

She pushed the big fluffy thing out of the way and finally got a good look at what she was 'attacked' by. What she expected to be a monster were... two plushies almost half her size.

Her green eyes stared into the beady ones of the shark before transferring to the clownfish one that was slightly smaller, jump off to the side.

"You idiots, I thought you gave me a monster! How did you even pack those things in such a small box?!" Gem yelled accusingly as she pushed the shark plushie off her. Skizz took the shark in his arms, flailing its fins with his hands.

"Awe, you'd call these little guys monsters?" the son of Apollo cooed, making the biggest puppy eyes as he puppeted the shark plushie to flail around sadly.

Gem rolled her eyes and looked over to Impulse for help, but even the son of Hermes had taken the clownfish one and puppeted it to make it seem alive, "Little Gem thinks we're scary, big shark!" Impulse said in a high pitched voice.

"Aw, how about we hug it out and show her how unscary we are, little clown?" Skizz replied with an equally high pitched voice before he leaned forward and started playfully smothering Gem with the shark, causing the oracle to squeak in surprise and exclaim in complaint. Though she eventually learned to giggle the more relentless Skizz was with his attacks.

"Ough, stop it!" she yelled in between giggles, tugging at the shark so that Skizz wouldn't have control over it anymore, "You guys treat me too much like a kid!"

Impulse tutted and shook his head, "Oh, no, no- Not us. Your new roommates, see?" he waved the little clownfish's fin and Gem couldn't help but groan.

"You guys are idiots," she mumbled as she squeezed at the face of the shark, finding herself a lot more relaxed the more she squeezed, "Why a shark and a clownfish anyway?"

Impulse shrugged, "We didn't know what you liked, but X told us you just liked aquatic stuff in general. I was the one that bought the shark."

Skizz had an actual answer, "Your hair reminded me of a clownfish!"

Gem frowned at Skizz's answer, looked down at her hair and pouted at the son of Apollo who then added cheekily, "Our little Nemo~"

Dramatic screaming and loud cackling rang out of the cave as Gem had accidentally started a pillow fight from trying to protest against her new nickname.

It wasn't that her cave was lacking decorations. She just needed memories to fill up the empty corners.

[bubbipond]

Bison had no intention (in the beginning) of being with Kant just as much as Kant/Style had/have no intentions of being with Fadel/Bison. Now this is just my opinion, and in no way, am I trying to be condescending (since I’ve gotten that before when I have made analysis posts). In a general sense, if you are easily defensive, maybe reading people’s opinions is not for you. But if you want to read because you like to read other people’s thoughts, enjoy. ❤️

I am going to use *10 Things as my reference because I think it leans more towards that adaption than it does *Taming. If you haven’t read Taming or watched 10 Things, this may help you understand what a lot of the fandom talks about. For those who have watched or read either of the references for THK we know that the story is that Kat (Fadel) is the impossible sister who will never marry, and that Bianca (Bison) is the sister that everybody wants. In order to get both of his daughter’s married, their father decides to make it a rule that the only way Bianca can get married is if Kat gets married. This leads to the plot of manipulating Kat into being “Tamed” by her love interest in the original text (the movie moves away from this and instead has Patrick love her for who she is).

Going back to Bison, his character reflects that of Bianca; the very popular, beautiful, and wanted little sister (brother). The thing that I think some people are getting wrong about Bison is that he is more of a loverboy than he actually is. In the movie adaption, Bianca has no intention of ever being with Cameron. I’d say she’s not even that into Joey either, just wants the popularity dating him brings. She uses him as a ruse to get Kat to finally date so she can date. In the beginning, she kind of sees Cameron as a cute puppy. Almost like this person that she can manipulate just because she knows they want something from her. She eventually does start to like Cameron, but there are trials that she has to go through to see that. That being said, I don’t think Bison initially wanted to be with Kant. I think much like Bianca he was trying to free himself from what he sees as a lack of freedom and free will.

It’s not that I’m saying he doesn’t want revenge for his parents (he obviously does, but that is seemingly a ruse by “mom” to keep them around). But it is more so that just like Bianca, his brother is an obstacle within itself. The issue here is that he loves his brother (just like Bianca loves Kat) but neither set of siblings truly knows the other. They fight to protect each other, but can’t even do that because how do you protect someone you don’t truly understand? The only person in the reference material who is truly a victim of the plot is Kat (Fadel) as they are the only people in their stories who have genuine feelings for Patrick (Style). At no point is any of it a joke or a game or even a ploy to get what they want. In general, neither Kat nor Fadel are that savvy and both are far too levelheaded to do anything that the other characters do. So when you look at the motivation behind Bison’s attempt at freedom, he has to be far more savvy than anyone around him.

This is because you have to keep in mind that both Bianca and Bison’s goals aren’t to trick or hurt their sibling. They are looking for someone who would love their “difficult” sibling while also getting something in return. Bison didn’t mean for Kant to hire someone to fake like his brother. Just as much as Bianca didn’t ask Cameron to hire someone to fake date her sister. They are both fiercely protective of their older sibling and that is why we constantly see Bison five steps ahead or paying attention to things that even Fadel isn’t. I think what adds to the story is that the stakes are much higher. In 10 Things you have a bunch of high schoolers dealing with pretty high school issues. But in this sense, you have people’s livelihood at stake. So I think it feels like so much more pain is being brought up than in the original media. It’s easier to find fault in Kant, Style, and Bison because we’re watching a bunch of people do pretty terrible things. But I think for this type of story, you have to kind of remove morals because all four are pretty morally gray. None of them are perfect people or, like in the movie, kids.

Anyway, that’s all for me! Bye!

*Taming = Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare (play) *10 Things=10 Things I Hate About You (movie adaption of said play).

[themattress]

Thank you for bringing up something I have too: people who say Aaravos and Claudia's relationship was rushed forget that they had two years where they were in constant contact with one another via the caterpillar. Subconsciously, they had already become like surrogate family to each other, and it just took until no in Season 7 for them to consciously realize it.

Even the way Aaravos manipulated Terry and Claudia against each other is very reminiscent of Viren feeding the distrust between Soren and Claudia by lying to them in s3.

And in both cases, this wasn't the intent. Viren wanted Soren and Claudia to stay together, and Aaravos wanted Terry and Claudia to stay together. Neither understood what they were doing was going to split them apart until it was too late, and Claudia paid the price for it.

As someone who's been pushing the "Aaravos wants to replace Viren as a fatherfigure in Claudia's life" reading since s4 I feel like a kid in a candy store.

Lost Child short story released between s4 and 5 was the first time I had a hunch that this plot thread was really going somewhere.

Like, when Claudia listed out her family members in the story she mentioned Aaravos. She also seemed distressed about the idea of Viren and Aaravos abandoning her.

I'm absolutely obsessed that Aaravos claimed Claudia as his daughter in s7. It's so fucked up and sad yet bittersweet at the same time. Claudia is fully loyal to Aaravos yet she doesn't even know that he is the one responsible for Viren's death.

It's such good storytelling since a lot of this storyline happened in the background yet it all came together in a really satisfying way. Like this was my dream scenario for Claudia's story. (Well more like a nightmare you get what I mean) The amount of detail and nuance is so GOOD.

Lots of Viren and Aaravos's actions towards Claudia also mirror each other. Even the way Aaravos manipulated Terry and Claudia against each other is very reminiscent of Viren feeding the distrust between Soren and Claudia by lying to them in s3.

Damn, Viren really did set Claudia on this dark path.

[maxdibert]

People always complain that Harry “forgave” Severus too easily, especially with the whole naming-his-son-after-him thing, and blah blah blah. First, let me make it clear that I think all of Harry’s kids’ names are an abomination. The fact that it seems Ginny had no say in them whatsoever is even more infuriating. I mean, I understand naming two of his kids after his dead parents, but I think it was completely unnecessary for Rowling to go as far as she did with everything else.

That said, I don’t think Harry forgave Severus. I think Harry simply understood Severus in the end. He understood why Snape was the way he was, what had led him to where he ended up, and why he had that awful personality. Harry is a character who shows an immense ability to understand the root of evil and empathize with other people’s motivations when there’s a good explanation behind them.

Harry decides not to testify against the Malfoys because he understands that, despite being a bunch of jerks, they did what they did because they had no other choice. He comes to this realization through Narcissa betraying Voldemort to save Draco and through Severus’s memories, where Snape and Dumbledore explain that Voldemort had given Draco no way out. Harry understands that Dudley spent his whole life being a jerk and a bully, heavily influenced by his parents, and that once Dudley became aware of how awful his behavior was, he regretted it and apologized.

It’s not that Harry forgets what people did to him; it’s that he understands that people have motivations beyond simply being good or bad. When Harry understands those motivations and sees that, in the end, they choose the right path (even if it’s not in the most orthodox way), he just decides to let things be.

I think the same happened with Severus, with an added layer of gratitude for realizing that, despite being a jerk, the guy ultimately worked to make sure neither Harry nor his friends ended up dead. Even though Snape couldn’t stand to look Harry in the eye, he still honored his commitment to protect him and followed through with Dumbledore’s plans. And I think that’s quite coherent on Harry’s part because, as kids, we tend to see things in black and white. But for those of us who’ve had to live with highly dysfunctional adults whose behavior we couldn’t stand, we often realize as adults that the problem came from not understanding the root of those behaviors. Understanding them doesn’t make those actions any better, nor does it make us forget what they did, but it does bring a certain peace because we can finally rationalize a motive. That makes it easier to close those chapters of our lives.

Harry understood why Severus did what he did. He understood that, despite everything, Snape risked and ultimately lost his life for a good cause, that he was willing to bear the role of the villain and endure loneliness for most of his life to maintain his cover. Snape sacrificed everything—his youth, his reputation, his personal ambitions, and his own life—to repay a debt. He always did what needed to be done, especially the things no one else wanted to do. Severus did the dirty work, and Harry recognized and valued that, which is why he considered him an incredibly brave man.

Dumbledore himself said that it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends. Severus stood up to both—friends and enemies. He constantly navigated between two worlds to which he never fully belonged or was truly accepted, much like the dichotomy between his magical and Muggle heritage. But he faced it all and kept going. That’s what Harry recognized, that’s what Harry valued, and that’s why he decided to clear Snape’s name and ensure he was acknowledged.

The fact that Harry could understand this while so many people continue to reduce Severus to a creepy, obsessive, and bitter man says a lot about some people’s lack of reading comprehension and others’ lack of empathy.