#the best laid schemes

[mariocki]

The Saint: The Best Laid Schemes (6.1, ITC, 1968)

"You know, it's, uh, pretty obvious that somebody who knows your aunt's past medical history is trying to drive her mad. I must admit they're doing a pretty good job of it, too. But now suppose the end object of the exercise is not to have her committed but to get her to the state where she would take her own life. Be neat, wouldn't it?"

[theeminentlyimpractical]

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: Jason Todd is back. He's back and he's angry and also a cat. It's somehow Tim's problem.

Author: sleepypapaya

Note from submitter: get cat-ifyed idiot

[randomfoggytiger]

The Scully Family In-Depth (Part XVIII): Best-Laid Schemes Often Go Awry

The dynamic Bill Scully and Fox Mulder strike up stems directly from the maelstrom of Scully's cancer and impending death.

As Bill sees it, Dana has chosen crumbs from her negligible partner over the love and comfort of her family; and her final days on Earth will be spent with said partner incessantly pouring guilt into her ear (intentionally or otherwise) because she can't keep up with the work, the work, the work. Therefore, Bill plans to handle the problem with tact, for Dana's sake: don't upset the dying, keep conversations short, and let Mulder be.

However: that path requires patience and compassion-- neither of which he has in abundance (and none of which he has for the man in question)-- and his behavior quickly morphs from cool acceptance to strongly worded warnings to outright hostility as Bill tries and fails to keep Mulder from pouring scifi-snake oil "cures" down his sister's throat (or under the back of her neck.)

STAGE ONE: BILL KEEPS TO HIMSELF

Having recovered from hypovolemic shock but markedly on the decline, Scully pleads, eyes desperate, for Mulder to accept the sacrifice of her reputation: “Mulder, if I can save you, let me. Let me at least give some meaning to what’s happened to me."

Before Mulder can rebut or cave to his partner's dying wish,  the door abruptly opens and Maggie’s head peeks through. 

“Dana?” she whispers, face soft and understanding. Despite the intense emotions Scully's decisions put her through, Maggie's set them aside-- determined to let her youngest girl pass in peace knowing she was loved and cherished.

Her understanding doesn’t stop there. 

“Hi, Fox,” Maggie greets, including him in her smile just as Bill appears from behind.  

“Hi, Mrs. Scully,” Mulder echoes, happy to see her. He keeps his emotional guard up, however, by putting on a brave face for her as well as his partner-- a coping mechanism of his cultivated for Tena Mulder after Samantha’s disappearance (post here, here, here, and here), and one he exercises with those closest to him. Despite this, his eyes are warm, his posture relaxed, his attitude unashamed even with a hand is still caught in Scully’s death grip. 

Maggie takes in their posture-- Scully’s serious-unto-death expression, Mulder’s slumped shoulders and gentle carefulness-- and knows that something somber has been discussed, one without a happy or hopeful conclusion. 

Bill, meanwhile, remains a silent centurion behind his mother (literally as well as figuratively having her back.)

“I hope I’m not interrupting?” Maggie asks, intuiting by her daughter’s expression that she and Bill were, indeed, interrupting. 

Bill gives Mulder a polite smile which belies his private thoughts and opinions… and which leads Mulder to believe, for a short while, that Bill is another loving Scully that will welcome him with open arms. 

“No, no,” Mulder says kindly, turning briefly to Scully and clutching her hand with both of his, “I was just on my way out.”

Mulder and Maggie are uniquely knitted to one another: not only have they faced Scully's death before, side-by-side, but they've also won each other's love and trust (post here.) Further, he knows they are both keeping strong not only for Scully but also for each other.  

Demeanor relaxed (as much as is possible, given the circumstances), he offers Maggie a beautiful smile; then extends that smile to the man he likely assumes is one of the elusive Scully boys. Mulder believes that the acceptance his partner, her mother, and her sister gave him is a family trait... to his detriment.

Unaware of darker feelings floating under the surface, Mulder also assumes the Scullys won't be bothered by his comforting overtures, bending down to kiss his partner's hand before he leaves.

The intruders observe without comment; but Bill’s grip on Maggie’s shoulder tightens, just a bit.

STAGE TWO: BILL'S INITIAL CIVILITY

Giving one last smile in Maggie’s direction, Mulder intends to glide away but stops himself as he passes Bill. Better inclinations move him to pause and offer commiseration and empathy to another older brother facing the loss of yet another younger sister. 

Without warning, he grips Bill’s hand in greeting, causing the latter to spin around defensively as Mulder introduces himself. 

“I’m, um, Fox Mulder,” he begins; and Bill forces himself to relax a fraction, sighing out his frustration and anger, pasting on a smile and nodding his head in recognition. To Mulder, all the signs of a surprised and grieving brother-- not ones of a man who is clinging to restraint for his sister’s sake. 

“I’m Bill Scully,” Bill replies, widening his false smile for introduction’s sake. He even lets Mulder pump his hand up and down vigorously, not denying but not quite returning the gesture. His posture straightens as he places a hand on his hip, waiting for Dana’s partner to leave before he joins his mother and sister inside.  

Mulder does not leave, biting his lower lip as he peers back into Scully’s room. While taking in the scene, his eyes become glossy and red; then lock on Bill with a new shade of vulnerability. “I’m sorry about your sister.” 

He nods along with Bill’s nod, not noticing the other man has reached his limit by this display of empathy (which Bill perceives as flippant and distasteful.)   

STAGE THREE: BILL'S PATIENCE VANISHES

Bill, brusque and impatient by nature, finds his restraint has evaporated now that Dana's partner sought him out. By turns resentful that Mulder is disturbing Dana in her final days, cautious for the sake of his sister’s feelings (or what he thinks her wishes would be), and furious that Mulder's fake sincerity nearly pulled a tear from his own eye, he treads as civilly as he can.

“Mr. Mulder--”, Bill calls as the latter begins to retreat.

He takes a breath, weighing how best to attack this situation. 

“I know something about you.” 

Mulder freezes. Assuming Bill is referring to his “reputation” at the FBI, he looks down, anticipating rejection. However, when her brother continues “--about what Dana’s been through with you, so--” , Mulder’s relieved, nodding along agreeably, assuming he’s hastily misinterpreted Bill’s intent. 

How right and wrong he is. 

Bill, again, pauses to weigh his words-- more accurately, to hedge what he really wants to say. 

“Let’s leave the work away from here, okay?”

He gives Mulder another smile, no longer laced with the appearance of goodwill-- dripping, in fact, with fury and disdain. His words are warning, but his eyes are threatening. 

Mulder has been rescued from the pit of despair only to be thrown down once again from a greater height: from the pain of rejection to the gratitude of relief to the blow of unmitigated hatred. Anger and disdain he’s used to-- from his peers, his authority, even his friends and himself. But not from Scully, not from her family; and never to this extent.

He stands back, stung, tilting his face slightly in reaction to Bill’s conclusive head nod.

Brother Bill reveals his complete lack of faith in Dana’s trust in Mulder, in Dana herself (post here): “Let her die with dignity.” Let her believe she’s died for a good cause; let her live a normal life the last few days she has; let her go without your issues burdening her.

Although he wants to protect his sister, he doesn’t trust her decisions: believing instead that Mulder fed her “for the greater good” delusions, and that he continues to feed off of her loyalty and devotion.

Bill silently reinforces a barrier between his family and Mulder with one last parting glare: Mulder's out if he brings the work in; Mulder's in if he keeps the work out; and Mulder's separate from the family unit, regardless, because of the “consequences” of his actions.  

He swiftly leaves Mulder behind, joining his mother by Scully's bedside. Neither woman picks up on any lingering stress or anger; and Scully even indulges him, reaching up to take his hand and smiling over whatever he has to say. 

Bill wouldn’t be above rubbing this family bonding in Mulder’s face, perhaps, but he doesn’t seem to be doing it here intentionally: he believes Mulder truly doesn't consider Dana's feelings, believes that Mulder prefers to to huff off somewhere to work rather than remain by Scully’s sickbed (probably assumes he already has), believes that Mulder won’t suffer too much from backing off, anyway. 

But Mulder does see, does feel excluded, is dealt another blow watching Scully soak up her family. Because, to him, the realization that this Scully existed before his Scully-- the same openness and affection-- is further proof that she could have easily lived a long, happy life if not for his quest, if not for him. And it guts Mulder.  

He straightens his spine to inhale; and continues to stare, transfixed, as the screen fades to black. 

CONCLUSION

Not the best introduction... but the worst is yet to come.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[oopsallmabari]

i'm just happy that when playing inq i saw that the trevelyans are a noble family noted for their piety and service to the chantry and eventually said 'got it. so the trevelyans quietly have the long-term goal of controlling at least 1 of the circles and eventually installing one of their own on the sunburst throne'. it took me a second to get fun with it but eventually i got there

[mr-craig]

“Our own ambitions and tasks that we set for ourselves, the frame-work we attempt to impose upon the world is no more than a shadow of a tree cast across the snow. It will change as the sun moves, be swallowed in the night, sway with the wind and when the smooth snow vanishes, it will lie distorted upon the uneven earth. But the tree continues to be.”

~ Kettricken, from Royal Assassin by Robin Hobb (1996)

[saisons-en-enfer]

Thirsty, hungry, seldom stopping to rest like a spirit roaming the night

[brian-in-finance]

Gif: @clairelizfraser

S02E06 Best Laid Schemes… • 14 May 2016 Official Script

Outlander Rewatch 2023 Countdown To Season 7

Favourite Word

The Mother thought it best Milady remain, so not to travel the streets at night. I allowed it. — Fergus

Gif: @give-me-a-thousandkisses

Favourite Line

Stop fooling around! Pay attention. — Claire

Gifs: @aye-sassenachh

Favourite Image

Wee one, it’s your father. I cannae wait to meet you. — Jamie

Gifs: @avasetocallmyown

Remember… we always seem to find a way back to each other, no? — Jamie Fraser

22nd of 75 • Monday, 24 April 2023

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men

It was the precepts of this school which rendered the supreme power in the hands of Marcus Aurelius a blessing to the human race… — Dugald Stewart

Robert Burns (1759–1796), the national bard of Scotland, was good friends with Dugald Stewart (1753–1828), a professor of philosophy at Edinburgh University, and an expert on Stoicism. Read the full article here: click!

[catgrandpa]

Gotham has always been weird, so when the groundskeeper at the cemetery noticed the Wayne kid’s plot was disturbed, he just chalked it up to more of the same ol’. Alright, so ‘disturbed’ may be a tad too light of a word, but what’s an empty grave in the grand scheme of Gotham? God knows in a city like this one, they could use all the burial room they could get. He figured he’d just jot it down on the website and hope nobody noticed for a while.

Too bad he didn’t account for the 13 year old boy in Bristol who periodically checks the cemetery’s website when he’s feeling particularly lonely.

Plot Removed.

Tim Drake stared at the two words under the heading for Jason Todd’s plot number. Removed? What do they mean ‘removed’? They can’t just remove a plot? That’s a person down there! That’s Robin down there! You can’t Remove Robin!

Calm down. Deep breaths. Assess the situation.

Robin has been dead for 5 months and 14 days. There is no reason for a grave to be removed that early, especially one of a member of such an affluential family. Chances are likely it’s a simple clerical issue. He can call first thing in the morning and make them aware of the mistake. He can have it all fixed in 5 hours.

Just a phone call.

In 5 hours.

…

Tim hates talking on the phone almost as much as he hates waiting.

Well it won’t be the first time he’s snuck out to head to Gotham proper at 1am. It can’t even really be considered sneaking out if there’s no one home to catch you.

Buses stop running at 2, so he layers a couple sweaters under his coat and grabs his best running sneakers so he can comfortably make the trek back.

Just a quick trip to settle his nerves. Maybe get a few shots in if he spots Batman, but really he just wants to see with his own two eyes that things are okay and Jason can rest.

It’s 1:37 by the time he gets to the headstone reading ‘Here Lies Jason Todd’ and the gaping, muddy pit in front of it.

This- This doesn’t make any sense. This is not removal. This is destruction. Desecration. Somebody did this. Somebody-

Assess the situation.

A hole in the ground, approximately 1.5 feet in diameter.

Mud and grass flung outward but with little force.

Large chunks of earth turned over and shoved away.

No signs of tool marks or clean lines of entry into the dirt.

Dragging claw marks.

Staggering, shuffled pairs of foot prints in the mud.

A trail of dirt.

Something… Something large clawed its way out of the ground here. Something large and bipedal and- and humanoid.

Tim refuses to jump to any conclusions he can see all the facts laid in front of him. He’s going to cautiously follow the trail and simply hope to any god listening that he isn’t the world’s first line of defense against the zombie apocalypse.

He’s been walking for 23 minutes and there’s good news and undecided news. Good news: he’s closing in on the target and the trail isn’t taking him out of the way so his trip home won’t be prolonged. Undecided news: The potential Zombie Robin is heading directly for Wayne Manor.

As zombie apocalypse news, this is very bad. From Tim’s collected observational evidence, his not-so-professional opinion is that Batman, faced with a horror movie level zombie of his dead son, would not respond well, and would likely not fight back.

In Batman and Robin news? Tim’s unsure. If Jason is simply back? What could that mean for them? Batman can have his Robin. He wouldn’t have to continue nearly killing others and himself every night in his grief. Jason could-

No. Stop. Do not jump to conclusions.

Hope only brings heartbreak.

What would Batman do? Get close and see if the target is a threat.

Target is male. Mid-teens. Dark hair. Pale skin. Leaning against surfaces as he walks. Appears injured and disoriented.

Minimal risk assessed. Approaching and attempting contact.

Target identity confirmed: Jason Todd.

“J-Jason?” It comes out as a croaked whisper. Jason shows no sign of acknowledgment.

Tim clears his throat, steps right in front of his path, and tries again.

“Jason. Jason, stop I want to help you.” Still nothing.

“Please, Jason. I can help, I promise I can help!”

Why isn’t this working?! Why can’t he just do something right for once?! He wants this to work, he wants to help Bruce, he wants to fix Batman, he wants to not be alone, he wants-

“Robin!”

Robin jerks to a stop.

Tim reached out his hand.

“Robin. Robin please, I’m sorry you’re going through this, it’s really scary, I’m really scared. But I just want to help you. Help you find Batman. Help you get home.”

Jason just stares at him. Of course he does. Of course it’s not going to work. Why did he even bother hoping he could help?

Hope only brings heartbreak.

His sight blurs as his eyes fill with tears and he starts to lower his outstretched hand.

His arm is slowed as a cold hand weakly grasps his own.

“Don’t… scared… Bat… help… Dad… help.”

A relieved sob tears out from Tim’s chest and he gathers himself together. He yanks his extra sweater off and gently pulls it over Jason’s cold shoulders. Jason lets Tim drag his arm over his shoulders to try and carry some of his weight.

“Okay, Robin. Yeah. Your dad will help us.”

Batman will solve everything once Tim gets Robin home.

[a-sour-nectarine]

Oh, I finally posted another chapter.

Forgot to mention that

[solxamber]

Can I get the dorm leaders with an Miku like Male Reader? Basically, (M/N) is super carefree and nice along with being a megastar idol in the music industry.

miku mentioned in the inbox, i've prayed for times like these!! It turned out gender neutral, i hope you don't mind!

Housewardens with a Miku! Reader

Riddle Rosehearts

At first, Riddle is baffled by your carefree attitude. You’re so nonchalant about everything, from your fame to the massive crowds you draw, that it’s almost incomprehensible to him. Doesn’t someone as successful as you need structure and discipline?

He respects your talent and hard work (once he understands how much effort goes into your performances), but your breezy approach makes him a little anxious. He might even lecture you about maintaining a schedule or not overextending yourself.

Your kindness and lack of ego eventually win him over. When you casually serenade the Heartslabyul students with a cheerful tune during an unbirthday party, even Riddle can’t help but smile.

If you invite him to one of your concerts, he’ll first attend out of courtesy but secretly marvel at the sheer joy you bring to your fans. Seeing you on stage makes him realize that your carefree demeanor isn’t laziness—it’s part of your charm.

He’d quietly admire your ability to bring happiness to others and might even ask for advice on how to better connect with his dormmates.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona initially pretends not to care about your fame or talent. He’s not easily impressed, and your cheerful energy feels a little too much for his laid-back personality.

However, your carefree attitude intrigues him. You’re a megastar, yet you don’t flaunt it or demand special treatment. In fact, you treat him like any other person, and he respects that.

He might grumble about your music being “too loud” or “too cheerful,” but he secretly listens to your songs when he’s alone. The upbeat tunes remind him of a world where things don’t feel so heavy.

If you casually hum a melody around him, he might mumble, “Tch, not bad,” which is as close to a compliment as you’ll get.

He won’t admit it, but he’d feel a sense of pride if you dedicate a song to Savanaclaw or include elements of his culture in your performances.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul sees you as a walking business opportunity at first. You’re a megastar with an enormous following, and the possibilities for collaboration are endless. Maybe a performance at the Mostro Lounge? A merchandise line?

When he realizes you’re too carefree to be manipulated, he’s equal parts frustrated and impressed. Despite his schemes, you remain kind and genuine, treating him as a friend rather than a business partner.

Your performances leave him in awe. He’s astonished by how effortlessly you captivate an audience, and he finds himself studying your stage presence, wondering if he could apply some of your charisma to his own endeavors.

Azul would eventually see you as a source of inspiration. “How do you make it look so easy?” he might ask, genuinely curious.

You’d be able to encourage him to focus less on overthinking and more on enjoying the process, which is advice he’d reluctantly take to heart.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately becomes your biggest fan. He’s already jumping up and down with excitement before you’ve even sung a note.

Your carefree and kind personality resonates with him deeply, and the two of you become fast friends. Kalim loves joining you in impromptu sing-alongs, whether it’s on stage or during casual moments in the dorm.

He’d insist on throwing grand parties to celebrate your success, complete with fireworks and extravagant decorations. “Your music deserves to be celebrated!” he’d say with a big grin.

Kalim admires how you make people happy through your music, and he’d try to emulate your positivity in his own interactions. He’d also want to learn some dance moves from you, even if he ends up tripping over his own feet.

Your presence brings out the best in Kalim, and he feels inspired to spread joy in his own way.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil is immediately aware of your status as a megastar and views you as a peer rather than a fan. He respects your success but is critical of your carefree attitude, wondering how you maintain such a polished image without a rigorous routine.

Your kindness and humility eventually disarm him. He appreciates that you don’t let fame go to your head and that you treat everyone with equal respect.

Vil might critique your performances at first, offering advice on how to improve your stage presence or vocal technique. However, he’s secretly impressed by how natural and effortless you make it all look.

He’d be a little envious of your ability to connect with your audience so easily, but he’d also feel motivated to push himself harder. “You have a gift,” he’d admit one day. “Don’t waste it.”

If you ever feel overwhelmed by the pressures of stardom, Vil would offer you surprisingly empathetic advice, drawing from his own experiences in the spotlight.

Idia Shroud

Idia is a fan before he even meets you. He’s watched all your music videos, memorized your lyrics, and even owns some limited-edition merchandise. However, meeting you in person is a completely different story.

He’s a nervous wreck, fumbling over his words and avoiding eye contact. “Y-You’re… amazing,” he might mumble, his face bright red.

Your carefree attitude puts him at ease, and he eventually opens up about his admiration for your work. He might even share some of his own ideas for collaborations.

Idia is amazed by how effortlessly you handle fame and social situations. He secretly wishes he could be as confident and outgoing as you.

If you ever perform in the Ignihyde dorm, he’d watch from the shadows, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief that someone as incredible as you considers him a friend.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is intrigued by your carefree demeanor and megastar status. He’s used to people being intimidated by him, but you treat him with kindness and warmth, which he deeply appreciates.

He’s fascinated by your music and often listens to your performances in quiet awe. He’d describe your songs as “enchanting” and might even compare you to a bard of old.

Your kindness and positivity resonate with him, and he enjoys spending time with you, whether it’s walking through the campus or sharing stories late at night.

Malleus might request a private performance, not because he wants special treatment, but because he wants to experience the magic of your music in an intimate setting.

Your carefree attitude inspires Malleus to relax and enjoy life more. He values your friendship and sees you as a source of light in his otherwise lonely world.

Masterlist

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Clad in sea (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: It is not Harrenhal, what drives Daemon to the Gods Eye. It’s the memories of you and your daughter.

Warnings: ANGST. Suicide. Canon levels of violence. The afterlife. Guilt, suicidal thoughts. Harenhal’s induced nightmares ™

A/N: It’s angst but with a happy ending (Sort of) Come with me into a deep dive into Daemon’s mental torture. You only need to know the reader really loves the sea, and watch closely. Pay attention, everything has a reason.

As a young girl, you had always dreamed of the sea. There had been nothing you loved more than walking to the docks, and looking at the waves crushing under you, extending into the horizon.

It made you feel small, in the good sense. As if you were insignificant in the great scheme of things. The sea had been there when you had been born, and it would be there when you died. It would go on.

At night, you could still feel the waves under you, rocking your body. Sundrunk and deliriously happy, you always fell asleep in peace after spending your days in the beach.

The memory soothes you as you place your baby in front of you, watching her small body be rocked by the waves. She had felt so cold in your arms, and you had not dared embrace her in her last seconds, only hold her hand. Her stomach had been pierced by a sword, and moving her too much felt cruel.

You had never wanted your daughter to know pain. You had known it was an inevitable fact of life, but you had hoped she had more time.

Daemon had left. He had done something horrible, the men had said. Killed a boy. So now, they would kill the two of you and present your heads to him.

It sickened you, to imagine your beautiful daughter wandering the earth without a head. Of these animals desecrating her body, perhaps doing unspeakable things to you because of a war you had no interest in.

So you had picked her up and ran to the only place you had ever felt safe. And as the ocean welcomed you into her arms, turning you as cold as your daughter was, you could finally embrace her again.

You did not regret it. Not even as saltwater crushed your airways, and your lungs filled with water. Not even when you emerged, voice raspy with salt, and your daughter held against your chest, full of righteous fury.

There had been a girl once, with hair as dark as ink, and eyes full of constellations. Her lips had always been chapped, for her land had suffered a drought so long, they didn’t have a word for water. Instead, they called it Life.

The girl had a gift. Somehow, she always managed to find Life, wherever she went. It was no causality, her mother told her. Their God was taken with her, and gazed at her every time he could. Through the small ponds, the droplets of dew, the very waves crashing on the shore. She had to be careful because no matter how useful her gift, if she looked too much into her reflection, he might pull her in.

“Are you afraid?” Daemon had whispered, as the two of you laid in bed one night. The sheets were sticky with his spent and sweat, but both of you were too lazy to change them. Instead, you were carefully laid on your side, body curled against his, careful not to touch the pool of seed.

“Of what?” You had looked up at him, and Daemon had been distracted by your beauty. In the soft light of the eternal sunsets of Essos, you looked otherworldly. With your face shining with a light layer of sweat, and your neck and chest covered by his marks, you had to be a goddess.

You took pain like the best of his men. You looked much more beautiful than any of them had ever done.

“What?” You insisted, poking his ribs.

“Of dying?” He felt sick for even mentioning it. You were so alive, so vibrant in his arms, so full of life. As if aware of his thoughts, your hands went to cradle your stomach. Your pregnancy was still fairly new. It didn’t show yet, but his child was growing inside of you.

Daemon pressed his own hands over yours. You let him help cradle your child, and leaned back against him. The thought of you facing the birthing bed made him anxious, and he had to squeeze you to make sure you were still there.

His last memory of Westeros had been Aemma’s death. And while Essos had more advanced healing arts, and you were no Targaryen, he feared his seed might make the pregnancy harsher on you.

“I am of the sea, Daemon.” You had smiled at him, so happy it hurt to even recall it. “I was born from her, foam and blood. And to her, I shall return when I die. I do not fear death. There is no end in a circle.”

No end in a circle, you had said. But an Ouroboros died regardless. Daemon clutched the letter until it tore.

You had made truth of your promise. Somehow, while grievously wounded, you had managed to carry your daughter to the sea. In the soft sand, your footprints had never faltered. The two of you had made a path towards the foam, and disappeared into the water. Perhaps, sensing that if you left your bodies behind, they might have been desecrated. Or perhaps because you were a woman of your word.

The Gods knew what anguish you had suffered, watching your girl die. It was a pain no mother should have to withstand, and yet, you had had to because Daemon had inflicted it in Helaena to avenge the one inflicted on Rhaenyra.

A circle has no ending. He cursed the day he had thought stepping foot outside Essos was a good idea. Daemon should have never left you. The world was not a safe place, not with the reach of the Hightowers. You had not stood a chance.

They had come into the night, and made you watch as they murdered his daughter. Then, they tried to injure you. But somehow, you had managed to escape.

Broken. Bleeding. With a dead toddler in your arms, and perhaps a babe in your belly. Daemon could not recall the last time you were in your moonblood, before he left. Perhaps you had gotten it after. He would never get to know.

No one had been able to stop you. Not even the men who had hurt you so. They had been unable to find your bodies, lost in the waves. The sea had raged that night, mourning the loss of her daughters. No one could have survived that.

Still, hope blossomed inside his chest every time he thought of it. The feeling was paralyzing. It didn’t allow him to grief normally. He kept thinking the two of you may be alive somewhere, lost in the sea. That a fishing boat might have picked you up, and helped you hide.

Because if you were truly dead, Daemon would have felt it. He was certain of it. Caraxes, who had always been finely attuned to his sister, this other sea goddess, would have felt it too. He would have cried in the manner Syrax did, when Rhaenyra took to the birthing bed.

His dragon had a connection to you. He knew your touch, your voice from all others. Both of you had been born out of the sea. You had ridden him as many times as Daemon himself. At least he would have known.

But not a peep had been heard from Caraxes. Ever since they had arrived at Harrenhal, he seemed subdued, as if preparing to hibernate. Sedated. He no longer wanted to fly, no longer wanted Daemon near.

Daemon thought he would have known, but perhaps, he had been unworthy of it. And Caraxes sensed it. He knew it was all his fault.

Were you laying down, lulled to sleep by the songs of the seashells or alive somewhere mourning your daughter, it was all his fault. Daemon had not been aware that the price to pay for a son would be this steep. His two girls.

But that was the thing, wasn’t it? They really thought women were worth less in Westeros.

The lack of Life had never been so intense. The drought had gotten worse, the crops withered, the few animals died. Desperation filled the girl. Her mother was getting old, and she was no longer able to partake in the long walks in search for a droplet of dew.

So one day, she walked to the shore and sat by, watching the waves. She breathed in, found her courage, and said: “I wish to speak to you.”

Daemon tosses and turns, fixing his pillows. The room is gloomy, no matter how many candles he has lit, and there is a strange draft that not even the brightest fire can fight.

He closes his eyes, feeling a sudden warmth behind them. If you were here, you would embrace him from behind, playfully pinning him into the bed. You would press your lips to his temple, and sing of lands long forgotten, a city underneath the sea. A city so great, the Gods had punished it by sinking it.

Your soft voice would soothe him into sleep, your arms holding him tight. Daemon can almost feel the weight of them against his waist, the warmth of your body against his. A sob gathers on his chest, but dies in his throat.

He has not cried since getting the news. Instead, he has been cursed with the easiest sleep of his life. Harrenhal is damp and gloomy, and Daemon doesn’t like at all the looks the witch gives him, but every time he closes his eyes, he is out like a light.

Your absence is not so acute, in a bed not his own. He can pretend you are home, safe. Or that you have gone out, siren that you are, for a midnight walk along the shore. In those nights, when the sea had been at its most violent, you had roused your daughter and took her to watch the sea.

“The sea gives and takes.” You had often said, standing in the docks with her, from enough distance that the harsh tides wouldn’t hurt you. “We must respect her. Remember that.”

You had taken her on other nights too. The two of you would roll around in the sand, play in the waves, until you exhausted yourself and both crawled into bed with him, hair still wet and smelling of salt.

Daemon swears he smells it — now. His daughter’s soap, and the sea, clinging to her hair and skin, her little toes cold, and pressing to his calves.

But when he opens his eyes, nothing is there. Just the lingering smell of saltwater.

These phantom touches both comfort and torture him. He can pretend both of you are there, or safe at home, but every time he opens his eyes, you are not.

Daemon dreams of the both of you every night. They are not nightmares. He is aware he is dreaming when he is in them, and getting to see your faces is bittersweet. He knows he will never see you anywhere else. The sea you had so loved has taken you, and he has nothing to mourn. Not a body, not a painting, not even your bones.

The dream is the same every night. It resembles a story you had once told him, and makes him wonder why his subconscious has chosen it, out of all the sea tales you had shared with him.

In the dream, you stand on the shore of Dragonstone. You are naked, with your hair loose over your shoulders. You hold your daughter, but she is not the age she had been when Daemon had left. Instead, she seems to be a baby again. Daemon cannot be sure because what you hold is a bundle of linens that you rock back and forth, and her face is never seen.

Your eyes are fixed on the horizon. You do not seem to notice him at first. The rocks that make up the beach dig on your bare feet, and the sea rages, hitting against your ankles with such strength you should fall over. You do not.

It makes Daemon nervous.

“What are you doing?” He always tries to convince you, not a night goes by where he doesn’t. “Come here, love. The sea is too dangerous tonight.”

There is a steel band around his chest, and it tightens when he sees you take a step further into the sea. He has this feeling something terrible is about to happen, that the next wave will hit you and drag you under, that it will drown you and his girl. That it will be the last.

But every night, you refuse to listen. You continue rocking the baby, eyes stubbornly set in the horizon. Your face gets the same pinched look it had gotten in life, when the two of you argued, and you refused to back down.

He had learnt to grovel by your side. He tries that, next.

“What are you doing? Please, love.” Daemon gets more desperate then because he tries to get closer to you and never quite manages. He had never been as fearless of the sea as you had been, and in the dream, the mere sight of the water caused him intense terror. “Please. What is it? We can talk about it, I can help. I can protect you.”

Daemon knows it is a lie. He has failed at that once, already. And you seem to know it too because it is to the promise of protection that you turn.

“I can’t.” And your voice sounds old, full of wind and salt. It shatters his soul. You are slipping through his fingers once more. The thought is unbearable. “Our daughter needs to eat.”

Your arms open, and a miracle occurs. The island, so dry and so infertile, the jagged rocks that make up the ground, the sulfuric smell, they all disappear. Suddenly, the world is brighter, there are trees and flourishing bushes, the crops are thriving. The air smells of fruit, and sun, sweet as the first days of summer.

It only serves to terrify him further.

“I’m afraid.” Daemon admits, voice pitched low. It’s not something he would ever say while awake, but he fears so much for your safety, it slips out. When it does, he finds the bravery to rush to your side. “I don’t want anything to happen to the two of you.”

“Don’t be scared, silly.” You laugh, and turn to face him. Daemon reaches forward, attempting to take the babe from you. The blanket opens in the process, but instead of a baby, a rush of seawater falls out.

When he lifts his gaze to meet yours, horrified, you disappear under his hands in the exact same manner.

And Daemon screams, but no sound comes out. Tries to hold on, but water slips through his fingers every time.

Her mother sees it all. Her girl leans in, as if to kiss her reflection, and tips over. The water swallows her whole.

She runs, then. But when she reaches the pond, her fingers only grasp water.

No one in the village believes her. They forget the girl easily, busy with their newfound prosperity. The place blooms with new life.

There has to be something in this place. Perhaps it’s the witch. Perhaps it’s the curse. Daemon had never believed in ghost stories, and he had once mocked Rhaenyra’s concerns over Harrenhal, but now he has the same doubts.

His grip on reality feels flimsy at best. He had spent an entire afternoon chasing his daughter through the halls, convinced he could hear her laughter and footsteps in the corridors.

Simon Strong had jerked him out of that one, asking him to hear the inane disputes of the rest of the Riverlands. His perplexed face at Daemon’s insistence he could hear a child running around had vexed him to no end.

Another day, Daemon had been in a meeting with the lords when he had heard you singing. It was that damn story again, about the girl, and the ponds… He had been lost into his own thoughts, and ended up insulting them because he couldn’t focus.

The witch has taken to looking at him with pity. Does she walk through dreams, too? Can she see you, haunting every body of water near?

It’s late at night, and Daemon cannot sleep. He keeps hearing footsteps, and laughter. Water runs near, an intolerable murmur. He gets up, without bothering to put on his robes, and decides to investigate.

Harrenhal’s corridors are dark and empty. His footsteps echo, explaining the noise. Someone must be walking somewhere. But the water? There is nothing beyond a leak in the roof.

Daemon has a terrible headache. The infernal noise water makes is constantly in his ears, even when he plugs them. It chases him, flowing and ebbing, but never disappears.

Perhaps some fresh air might do him good. He doesn’t dare ask Alys for any further concoction, less she is the one poisoning him. He walks to the courtyard, instead.

As he crosses the dilapidated training grounds, Daemon sees you. His heart lurches. You are as beautiful as the day he married you. You wear your Valyrian robes, and hold your daughter’s hand. She is clad in a miniature set of the same robes.

Daemon rubs his eyes. It cannot be. You are not supposed to be here. Why would you be here, dressed like that? There are runes traced in blood in your forehead, and in your lips. You are fresh out of a wedding.

A flash of jealousy makes him clench his fists. Have you betrayed him? Faked your death to marry another lover? You have come to taunt him, surely. You had survived the attack, and so had your daughter, and this was a way to punish him for leaving you unprotected.

Burning with rage, he walks after the two of you. You seem calm, talking to your daughter in a low voice, and making her giggle. The two of you walk, carefree, through the Godswood.

You look so normal. Like you always did. Solid. There is nothing in you of the vengeful sea goddess that haunts his dreams and disappears under his hands. He doesn’t dare call out either of your names, for fear of alerting you he is on your tail. Daemon wants to see the bastard that you are meeting.

He has suffered all these nights, thinking you dead, and here you are, alive! You dare flaunt yourself, after taking his daughter and causing him immense pain.

“You bitch.” Daemon mumbles under his breath. He follows you outside the castle’s walls, noticing you seem familiar with the terrain. You do not pause even once, while he has to stumble over branches and dried leaves that cover deadly holes made by horse’s hooves.

Once you reach the hill overlooking the Gods Eye, you pick up your daughter, and do not hesitate to make your way down to the lake. Daemon curses under his breath. He doesn't’t dare do the same. His footsteps are nowhere near as secure as yours are while carrying a toddler down a hill.

Instead, he hides behind some trees and watches. Will your lover meet you here?

But no man steps out of the shadows. You set your daughter down and undress her, tenderly. You fold her robes, and remove yours. Then both of you walk into the Gods Eye, until the water swallows you whole.

Daemon rushes to the shore then, nearly twisting his ankle in the process. There are no robes and no footsteps in the mud. There is only the pale moon, winking at him from the surface of the water.

The girl is now a woman. She walks out of the sea one day, carrying her daughter in her arms, and hugs her own mother tight.

“I have come to visit. I wish to meet my friends too, but she is too little to take with me. Would you mind staying with her?”

Her mother, enchanted by the return of her daughter, cannot help but agree. She imagines the afternoon, spent coddling the new granddaughter.

“You have to promise me something.” The woman begs of her. “No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, you must never unwrap her.”

Daemon waits for thirteen days in Harrenhal before his nephew comes face him. He marks the passing of each day through carving a mark into the heart tree at sunset.

You loved sunsets, when alive. You loved to feel the warmth on your skin, and the light reflecting on your face. Your mood had always improved when spring began, and Daemon had fond memories of days spent rolling in the sand, kissing each other until it was difficult to tell if you were flushed because of the sun or the kisses.

Aemond shows up on the fourteen day, after a moon spent terrorizing the Riverlands. His nephew had turned into a petty King, using fire and blood against anyone who stood on his path.

How plebeian. To think he had in his grasp the last beast that had seen the conquest, and he used her to burn fields and peasants. It showed the boy was still green, drunk in his newfound power.

His behavior was unbecoming of a Targaryen Prince. He treated Vhagar as if she were a mere weapon, and not the source of their power. Dragons deserved more respect than that.

Aemond doesn’t come alone. Behind him rides Alys, the witch of Harrenhal herself. The witch’s belly is swollen with child. Daemon wonders if she is fulfilling her own prophecy. Why else the fierce woman he had met during his first stay at the castle remain by his nephew’s side?

Perhaps, she knows she has to be his so the Prince who was promised is born after the extinction of the dragons. It shall not come from his line, but maybe from the one that starts with the babe in her belly.

Daemon has come to understand that he has his own destiny to fulfill too. He was never meant to have you, he realizes. You were a daughter of the sea, made from blood and foam. Daemon, instead, had been born out of fire and blood. Water and fire never mixed, and in another lifetime, they might have never had.

He had been meant for Rhaenyra, Alys had told him once. Made of flames, to burn together. But his love for you had been so strong it had allowed to defy his fate.

Aemond circled twice around Harrenhal, and then brought Vhagar down in the outer ward. Caraxes, as if sensing his rider’s unease, hissed a few flames. Daemon patted his flank, trying to soothe him. It wasn’t time yet. It couldn’t happen here.

Alys got down from Vhagar’s back, aided by her lover. When she was safely away, Aemond turned to face him.

“Nuncle, I hear you have been seeking us.”

“Only you.” Daemon had never been seeking Alys. He liked the witch enough to spare her, despite the rotten seed that had taken residence in her womb. A bastard babe was no threat to him. “Who told you where to find me?”

“My lady,” Aemond said, proudly. “She saw you in a storm cloud, in a mountain pool at dusk, in the fire we lit to cook our suppers. She sees much and more, my Alys. You were a fool to come alone.”

The witch had probably come to see if he fulfilled his destiny. It was important to her, to keep balance between the threads of fate. Daemon doubted that Aemond knew the witch was weaving with his thread too. In bringing him here, Alys had doomed him. She knew as Daemon did that both of them would die today.

“Were I not alone, you would have not come.” If Aemond was anything, it was a Hightower rat. A coward. He would face his death scared, unlike Daemon. He had made his peace with it a long time ago. You were dead. His daughter was dead. He had no further reason to live.

“Yet you are, and here I am. You have lived too long, nuncle.” Aemond tells him. Does he see, too? This twisted mirror of himself, thirty years his younger, and yet, he knows it. Men that defy fate never live too long afterward.

“On that much we agree.” Daemon smiles, wryly. He had led a good life. Nine and forty years, and he had known it all. Even love. Especially love.

Grief never took it away. It only made the tendrils wrapped around his heart into spears, that dug in deep, and never let go.

Daemon purposefully didn’t chain himself to his saddle, so it would be easy to jump. He took the higher ground, pushing Caraxes upwards. His beloved beast. He hoped that this gave Caraxes a fighting chance.

Vhagar was much slower, due to her size. She flew wide, taking her rider over the waters of the Gods Eye.

It was a perfect summer day. The sun was setting, in the manner you had so loved in life. It tinged the water a soft gold. The usual violent currents were calm. Everything around Daemon looked warm, and inviting. The golden hour, as you called it, was upon them.

Vhagar didn’t see them, but she was rapidly approaching. Daemon ordered Caraxes to dive by Aemond’s blind side, slamming against Vhagar with such force he feared he might fall. His dragon let out a piercing shriek, and the old whore answered him with her own.

The two dragons battled against each other, throwing flames and bites. The heat was unbearable, and Daemon had to duck nearly parallel to Caraxes so he was not burnt by Vhagar’s flames.

It was as he leaned in that he saw it. The water. It showed both of the dragons grappling against each other, falling while locked on a deadly embrace. It showed the fire, and the abundant blood falling from them. But it also showed you.

You, radiant in your wedding robes, swimming lazy circles. You, with your arms extended, as if hoping to catch something. Catch him, Daemon realized.

He looked up. Alys was a small figure in the highest tower of Harrenhal. It should have been impossible to see anything from this distance, yet Daemon could swear he saw her smile.

At that moment, he understood. All of it. A circle.

Daemon jumped from his saddle.

As soon as the mother opened the wrapped bundle, a rush of seawater came out. If there was once a baby, she was now gone.

Yet, miraculously, a young woman appears from the sea, fully grown. She is naked, covered only by her hair, and of a beauty so exquisite not a single mortal would dare gaze upon her.

“Fear not, grandmother.” She says, kindly. Her hands against the woman’s cheeks feel wet. Salt from the sea, and the old woman’s tears. “I am not a child any longer, that’s all. But you will never lack for drink as long I live.”

And the young woman faces the setting sun. And slowly, she begins to dance.

Lady Shella walked the halls of Harrenhal, in silence. It had been a long time since there was anyone here she could talk to. Her husband was dead, and her daughter long married. She hardly ever visited anymore, busy with running her own household.

The servants never made for good company. They rotated far too often for her to grow attached to any of them. They always complained of footstep and laughter in the hallways, and mysterious pools of water that no one knew where they came from.

Shella knew. She wasn’t about to tell them, of course. What was the point of owning a haunted castle if you couldn’t use it to scare others?

She made her way to the highest tower in Harrenhal. Her liege lords, the Tullys, had declared for the King in the North. They were kin to him. Shella remembered little Catelyn Tully, with her copperish hair. In her youth, she had been stunning, but Shella knew she must have lost all her luster by now.

If not from having five children, from widowhood. It had sucked all the beauty from Shella, after all. She deeply missed her Walter. They hadn’t been a match of love, but of convenience. She had grown to love him regardless. Years do that, she supposed.

Shella didn’t want to lose Harrenhal. It was the last tie she had to her husband. Inside this castle, they had made their home. They had raised children. They had been deliriously happy.

But Shella had little choice. Her scouts had seen Lannister banners less than half a day away. If she didn’t surrender the castle, they would take it by force. She didn’t have enough men, or time to ask her liege for help. Resisting would only mean death.

She wanted to see it one last time, though. One last sunset. One last trip with her ghosts.

Shella made her way to the window, and waited for the sun to start lowering. As the Gods Eye turned gold, laughter began to be heard in the hallways. Rushed footsteps turning corners, little bells ringing.

“… Daemon! Don’t!” The woman laughed.

“Higher, Daddy, higher!” A girl shrieked, voice pitched high with happiness. It made Shella’s heart ache. She reminded her of her girl.

“Come on, the two of you. We are late.” The voice was deeper, more commanding. And they were. A bit late, perhaps because spring was just starting, and the days were turning longer.

Nothing could be seen, beyond slight depressions on the grass. The marks of boots running alongside bare feet.

But for a second, as the sun turned the Gods Eye an angry orange, Shella saw them. A family of three, their little girl held between the parents, jumping into the lake. All shrieking in laughter.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, his lady wife and his daughter, reunited in death like they weren’t able to be in life. Yes, Shella thought, she could not wait to see what Tywin Lannister made of these ghosts.

.

.

.

A/N: Hello! If you are chilean like me (I really should shift to spanish for this, and I will) Si son chilenos como yo, la historia que usé para dividir el fic es una que reconocen. O al menos ligeramente. Es la historia de la Huenchula y el Millalobo, papás de la Pincoya, con un poco de adaptación para que sea fácil de entender y calce con lo que estaba escribiendo.

[gooselycharm]

severance comic process write up (unasked for)

i finished season 1 of severance jan 24 and maybe by then NL had already begun his apple tv tirades. so maybe that's why i thought of the get it twisted speech? dont remember exactly but i was like wait......... this kinda fits...... and basically the images were forming in my head and i had to get them out. this is the best kind of inspiration to have. when it feels like you are afflicted with a life-threatening disease and the only cure is to draw pictures

i decided i wanted square panels and a black and white color scheme pretty early on. i wanted the pacing to feel kind of fast, so one line per page (basically i was trying to match the monologue). black and white also made sense because 1) i didn't want this to take 2 years like my last comic 2) fits theme of the show and the monologue rapidly whipping back and forth 3) i thought maybe i'd riso print this in the beginning and 1 color would be cheapest/easiest

the sketching phase was really smooth. it was like the images were in my mind already and just needed to be brought to life. my motivation was strong as well (i thought it was really funny and if no one liked it at least i really really liked it).

^ my sketches. most compositions made it to final without major edits. i did cut almost all of the last 8 because i didn't feel like I needed the moment to be dragged out so much AND i was getting pretty tired by that point lol.

one page i'm glad i changed was the ms casey one. the reason i changed it at first was because i thought it was too similar to the irving/burt one. and then i ended up really liking the new composition.

as i moved to final, i had a couple of inspirations in mind. i'm a huge fan of sophia foster-dimino's work, and in particular her sex fantasy comics

^ books/zines i looked at for inspiration. second image is a spread from sex fantasy #4.

i also was inspired by jennifer xiao's comics and how chootalks and nogoodwithcat handle linework and value

i was inspired by jennifer's pop up ads comic for this page. i like the humor in her work and wanted to bring an element of that into my comic.

i love these drawings by choo that showcase these eerie tableaus of desserts/cakes/hammers/etc! i was trying to evoke the same vibe with the two "get it twisted" pages with the stack of waffles.

also, just tons and tons of references taken from the show and stock images.

i pretty much just worked for two weeks straight until i finished. what unemployment does to a motherfucker. even though it's fanart and the words aren't mine, it's a pretty personal comic. i got suddenly laid off last fall which has made me feel all sorts of feelings, and then starting up my job search this year has been grueling. it kinda blows my mind that anyone expects you to love your job. i love my cat. i love the people important to me. i love moving my body and eating good food and listening to music and being out in nature. i love the color green. i dont love my fucking JOB lmfao!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! are you freaking CRAZY???????? literally do NOT get it twisted. but also please hire me. <- this dichotomy has been making me nuts

anyway. the reception to my comic has been mind blowing. people have said some insanely nice things. i also really appreciate anyone who's read and enjoyed the comic without knowledge of severance or northernlion LMAO honestly amazed and in disbelief.... ty so much..... it really means a lot!!!!!!!!!!

okay i ran out of things to say for now byeeeeeeeeeeee

[miaoua3]

heyy can you make one for how svt would act as a bf with his gf when they are in front of other members? im sorry for my broken grammar and i love your writing

hey! of course i can, this sounds so fun to write! (and your grammar is perfectly fine sweetheart have more faith in yourself❤️)

Seventeen-How Would They Act With Their GF In Front Of The Memebers?

seungcheol: i said this once but ill say it again- i definitely think he and you would become mom and dad of the group, meaning that you two would either be more laid back, in your own world while talking quietly between each other as the others cause chaos which you two would need to break off if you don’t want coups to be paying a fine for the damages, OR you would join the other members in causing havoc on occasion, it all depends on the mood really. but one thing is for certain- he wouldn’t stop looking at you with these gentle and loving eyes as you talk either to him or to the others, he just loves looking at you so much (he gets teased for this so much by his members). not that big on pda but will kiss the side of your head every now and then and will hold your hand the entire time❤️

jeonghan: our little mischievous angel would definitely get you in on his schemes, you two are always plotting something new and new ways how to tease the other members- one time when all of you got incredibly drunk, you made dino believe that he for real was invisible, which was hilarious to the two of you until the drunk dino started crying to seungcheol and you two got scolded by him for making his youngest son cry >:( another one that isn’t that big on pda but will kiss the back of your hand every few minutes as a way to show his affections for you. if all of you are playing some type of game he most definitely will pair up with you and cheat in order to make you two win because…does he need a reason to make his queen win and be happy? didn’t think so

joshua: this might be one of the members who gets teased the most for looking at you like a lovesick puppy- he’s just staring at you the entire time with THAT smile of his. definitely glued to you the entire night, spends the whole time looking at you and telling you how pretty you are, kissing your cheek and tucking hair behind your ear- he’s just so… *dreamy sigh* he’s the most perfect boyfriend ever, he just can’t help himself that you are so pretty and good and kindhearted, he simply has to try his hardest to be the best boyfriend for you (even if it makes his members jokingly puke from how sweet he’s being to you)

jun: the silliest boyfriend out of them all, he will just try extra hard to be the funniest member that night because he doesn’t want his baby to be laughing at other’s jokes >:( pls pay ALL the attention to him, he wants you to only look at him and laugh at his silly little jokes and hug him and show him just how much you love him. the members don’t even want to say anything about how disgusting you two are being because it’s so rare for their junnie to be so opened and carefree around somebody so they just let you two be in your own world, laughing and clinging to each other the entire night. also one of the clingy boyfriends, he just loves how warm you feel like when he hugs you so he never wants to let go of you

hoshi: i trully believe that hoshi needs somebody that will match his freak, meaning: somebody who will be obnoxiously loud at times, somebody who he can be absolutely wild with, somebody who is just as clingy as he is, always hugging him and kissing his cheeks, puckering their lips while he’s being a cute and telling him “you are so cute” through a pout- he just needs somebody who he can be young and stupid with. his members definitely hate it when you two are together and when there’s alcohol around you, jeonghan is already rolling his eyes and seungcheol already feels the headache he will end up with at the end of the night but you two are so happy with each other so…how could they ever say anything? another member of the “clingy bfs” club, he will have an arm around your shoulders the entire time, rubbing his face against your shoulder- all nine yards, hoshi isn’t afraid of pda, the pda is afraid of hoshi

wonwoo: one of the most attentive boyfriends out of svt, he will cut the bbq meat for you, will refill your glass all the time, will make sure that you drink enough water if you’re drinking- he’s just so laid back yet so sweet, he just wants to make sure you’re having a really good time with his members. actually prefers it when you’re socialising with the other boys rather than staying next to him 24/7, he just wants to see his family get along well with the love of his life, but if you choose to stay by his side and quietly talk about whatever book or game or news you have, he won’t complain. unlike hoshi, wonu definitely keeps clear line on pda, holding your hand and kissing the top of your head is the furthest he will go to, he just doesn’t like rubbing his love for you in other people’s faces, so he’s definitely very low-key

woozi: jihoon never wanted to be the center of attention, that’s why he always preferred staying in the background, letting his members spew nonsense while he laughed at the said nonsense. and still, nothing much has changed since then, except that now he sometimes has you by his side to laugh together with and sometimes has you join his members in spewing nonsense. whichever the case, he always enjoys it, he always has this wide smile grazing his lips, looking at all of you (but especially you) with love-filled eyes. definitely won’t initiate any form of physical affection because he doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, but if you hug him while drunk…he won’t turn you away per say, but he won’t cling to you like a certain somebody would *cough, cough* hoshi *cough*, just a little rub of the hand on your lower back and that’s the furthest he’s willing to let it go. if he wants to hug you and kiss you and shower you in affection, he will do so at home, where his members can’t see (and can’t tease him about it)

minghao: surprisingly goes WILD whenever you two are around his members, he just feels so comfortable with all of his favourite people around him that he isn’t afraid of making a fool out of himself in front of you all- matter of fact, he will drag into his craziness and make you look ridiculous too, be it that he suddenly takes your hand and makes you dance around the table, make you sing loudly and off-key with him or make you fight with him against his members as a way to prove a point- it doesn’t matter what he makes you do, as long as he makes you all laugh in the process, he deems it worth it all. of course, sometimes he just sits down with you and just talks quietly about anything that crosses his mind, but 9 times out of 10, he’s going crazy, accusing jeonghan of cheating in uno again lol. won’t go overboard on pda but will hold your hand and leave little pecks on your lips and forehead here and there, nothing too much, just a little something-something

mingyu: if you ever thought that this big baby is anything but clingy with you, you would be WRONG. seriously, he’s constantly wrapped around you, leaning his head either on your shoulder or on your head, giggling in your ear at other’s jokes. it’s somehow even worse when he’s drunk because he also starts mumbling nonsense and kissing you the entire time, will just kiss your cheek right where your ear is and will mumble “i just loooove you so muchhh” in your ear. his members definitely have a FIELD DAY whenever he gets drunk and you’re around too lmao, jeonghan takes so many incriminating videos it’s crazy. little baby has no shame, if he wants affection and to kiss you, he will do as much >:( and you better reciprocate, otherwise you will have a very pouty and very clingy gyu shaking you while whining “pay attention to meeee” until you do as much (seriously i could never deal with this man so…whoever cuffs him i wish you all of the luck in the world dealing with this 6ft tall puppy lmao)

dk: another one that goes absolutely wild, will serenade you passionately in front of everyone, probably will fall to his knees in front of you very dramatically (you better match his freakiness and cup his face just as dramatically), he’s just so silly and funny. will definitely sing a duet with him, no matter if you can or can’t sing, he WILL make you sing with him. he isn’t that touchy per say, he’s just much more forward with his affection-while the others just hug and kiss their partners cheeks, dokyeom will come and passionately kiss you on the lips in front of everyone if you two score a 100 on the karaoke machine. he’s just very open about his affection for you and isn’t afraid to show it off in front of the others. but definitely loves to hug you all the time, he just likes how soft and cuddly you feel that he can’t resist hugging you all the time☹️❤️

seungkwan: oh shit-talker 1 and shit-talker 2, again together? what a surprise, is what all the members think to themselves when they see you two walk in together (affectionately ofc). you two are literally so alike that you even react the same way to the things- which is a NASTY side eye to whoever said or did something odd, sparing no one of your judgement. you two either join seoksoo’s nonsense and are being problematic children for seungcheol or are just sitting in a corner, pressed together as you talk shit about others and giggle about it. you two are definitely the fun couple™️ of the group, always having funny stories to share, sometimes doing the bit where you two explain the same story, talking together and adding the details the other forgot, making everyone around you laugh to death. isn’t the most affectionate, he’s too busy being funny to be lovey-dovey with you, but will definitely high five you all the time and maybe kiss your cheek every time you do something funny

vernon: unlike seungkwan and his girl who act like animals who have been let out of the zoo for the very first time, vernon and you two are so…calm and collected. you two are just sitting down together, his hand on your thigh or around your shoulders, either laughing at his members or quietly talking to each other about the new movie that is supposed to be coming out in a few weeks. you two are just so chill, it makes you two look so cool and others are so envious of this. seungcheol definitely thinks of you two as his favourite children, always ready to help him ship the drunken ones back home and help him clean up a bit. loves sneaking a little secret kisses when nobody’s watching, will just turn his head left and right to see if anyone is paying attention to you two before leaning in to leave a sweet and long kiss on you soft kiss. you two are just so perfect for each other and his members are so glad that you two found each other❤️

dino: another lovesick puppy of the group. he can be wilding around and causing chaos, but the second you call him either because you need something or simply to calm down, he’s sitting down next to you and just being like “yes ma’am”. his eyes literally turn into two hearts whenever he sees you talking, be it to him or somebody else, he’s just so in love he could fly away by how easy and aloof he feels due to all the happiness you bring him. is something between a storyteller in the group and someone who just laughs uncontrollably at others, always making you join him due to his laugh being so infectious. a little affectionate cuddle bug, will play with your fingers the entire night and maybe even lean his head on your shoulder or your lap when he’s feeling a bit tired and sleepy. you two are just so cute the others don’t even have the heart to tease you two (and also because they already experienced the nasty look you gave them when they were making fun of your boyfriend ( in your defence, he’s just a little guy,little baby :())

[heliads]

Something More

Based on this request: "a jealous four. reader isnt oblivious and sees the way four looks and acts with her but she gets tired of him taking long to shoot his shot so she starts flirting with another dude to make him jealous"

request sourced freshly from wattpad

masterlist

Something in this room is driving you mad. You can feel the weight of it pinned directly between your shoulder blades like a knife, following you relentlessly no matter where you go. You can pace back and forth across the training room, you can traverse the whole of the Dauntless complex, but you still know it’s there, he’s there. Watching. Waiting. 

Four. 

It is not an aggressive stare, this, it does not make you afraid, far from it. Four is not a threat to you, nor, you think, he will ever be. He is simply looking, simply observing, but for some reason that act has the power to completely throw you off kilter. 

Maybe it’s because he is only ever looking at you like this. Yes, that must be it. Four is an instructor, he has the responsibility to watch everyone here to keep them from harming themselves or others, but something is different when he’s around you. Instead of passively observing, he’s well and truly looking at you, like he likes what he sees and wants to see more, too. 

You try to put it out of your mind. Four is not your concern here, or not so anything more than the fact that he’s one of your initiation instructors and you’re trying not to get dropped before you enter the faction properly. It’s not Four’s fault if you get distracted by his attention. It’s not Four’s fault if it only ever leaves you wanting something more. 

As time goes on, though, and that something more never comes, you start to chafe against the constant pressure of his attention even more than before. He treats you differently than the other initiates, but only slightly, only ever enough to make you dream of the possibility of something changing down the line. He’ll never give you more than the time of day, but from the way he won’t ever stop his constant affiliation with you, you can’t escape the idea that maybe, just maybe, he wants that something more just as much as you do. 

The end of Phase One of Dauntless initiation draws ever closer, and Four fails to act on anything he may or may not be feeling. You could be wrong, of course, he could mean nothing by his ever present attention, but you’re not willing to take the risk of letting a small something fade away and be forgotten once initiation is over. 

If Four will not do something, well, then, the burden of acting on these impulses falls to you. Tricking an initiation leader into revealing his hand won’t be the easiest task in the world, but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. Four should know that, seeing as he’s so inclined to marking your every action. He should know that you would provoke him like this, and he should have seen it coming from quite far off indeed. 

You need one more person in your scheme to get under Four’s skin. You find your target with ease— Thomas, a dark haired boy also in your initiation class,  close enough to your rank that you won’t have to worry about keeping him close but just enough below that you’ll be able to drop him without needing to fear retaliation. Thomas is fast, smart, strong, all the things that would perhaps give someone like Four cause for concern. In short, he is perfect, and so the plan is laid. 

Next morning, you ask Thomas if he wants to spar together the next morning, just to practice. He nods readily; you’re one of the best people here, it’s why you thought Four started paying attention to you in the first place, up until the point when he stayed there in your corner even when you made mistakes. The two of you head to a fighting ring near the side of the training hall, and if you specifically chose the one right in Four’s line of vision, well, no one needs to notice that but the two of you.

You jump up and down, trying to get some blood back into your muscles. Across the ring, Thomas does the same. He grins at you, evidently proud that you’ve chosen him of all the other eligible fighters. “Hope you aren’t looking for a victory, Y/N, because I’m going to kick your ass.”

He’s grinning, though, so you smile back. “You wish. When we’re done, you’ll have more broken bones than everyone in the med wing combined.”

“Promise?” Thomas asks, laughing, and lunges for you. You roll just in time, hitting the ground right before him. 

Usually, this is the part where you get right back up again, ready to take him down for good. However, your primary motive for this little endeavor isn’t necessarily to win, just to get someone’s eyes on you. So, you stay down, grappling with Thomas so he has no choice but to pin you, up until the point where you escape out from under him and do the same.

Thomas raises a brow suggestively. “You know, I may have lost that round, but I’m kind of happy anyway.”

You grin. “Does that mean you’re fine with losing again? I’m sure my ranking and I won’t have any problems with that.”

Thomas opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by the sound of an irritable shout. It’s Four, arms folded so tightly across his chest that he looks a few seconds away from breaking a rib. “Focus, initiates! You’re not here to talk.”

When you glance over at him, you can’t help but smirk at how furious he looks. Everything is going according to plan, then, he’s jealous, just as expected. He may be in charge of everyone here today, but damn if you can’t play him like any other. Looks like all that talk about so few fears and so much bravery doesn’t stand in the face of plain old envy.

In a great show of reluctance, you get off of Thomas, extending your hand to help him up. He takes it, knuckles lingering over yours for a few moments longer than necessary. You can just make out Four’s silhouette over Thomas’ shoulder, how every fiber in his body seems to radiate with barely controlled anger.

You can only push a ruse so far before it becomes too obvious, though, so you drop Thomas’ hand and get back into a fighting position. This time, you try a little harder to win, exchanging punches and kicks for a good period of time before ‘accidentally’ dropping your guard and letting Thomas tackle you around the middle. He’s obviously in the mood to play around too, and takes his time spinning you in the air before placing you carefully on the ground.

“You better watch yourself,” he says, breath uneven from the exertion of the fight, “I think I’m catching up to you.”

You look up at him, eyes half-lidded. Thomas’ dark hair falls around his face, given the impression of a halo by the light right behind his head. All of a sudden, though, he’s ripped away, and the blinding light falls onto your face to reveal a newcomer. You didn’t hear Four climb up onto the platform of the fighting ring, nor did you detect him coming so close until he pushed Thomas away from you.

Four’s face is a dark slate, devoid of any emotion except a sharp, cold fury. His voice is clipped when he speaks, and when he tells you to meet him outside, now, Thomas actually jumps out of his way. Thomas flashes you an apologetic look as you go, but you can’t find it within you to return it. After all, this isn’t a punishment, not for you. 

In fact, this is exactly what you wanted. A scene, a public show, some sign that Four would be willing to transgress his perfect picture of leadership to make his feelings known to you. You may have forced his hand more than a little, sure, but all’s well that ends well.

The door slams shut behind you, abandoning both you and Four to the dark emptiness of the hall outside the training room. All the other initiates are somewhere inside that cavernous chamber, running laps or practicing their form, and the other Dauntless are at their jobs. No one would see the two of you, then. No one would see what transpired here at all save you and him and the beating tension between the two of you.

Four’s face doesn’t lose its chill even when Thomas is out of sight. “Do you want to tell me what that was?”

You shrug as casually as you can. “I was sparring with a friend. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Oh, really?” Four asks, “A friend? That’s what you call whatever that little display was?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him. It’s far more fun to play the innocence card as long as you can, it certainly doesn’t help Four’s temper.

Four scoffs. “Of course you do. You think I didn’t see how often you were looking at me? That whole time you were with him, purposefully going easy so he could keep his hands on you. You think I wanted to see that?”

“I don’t know,” you repeat, “You haven’t given me any reason to think otherwise. All you do is stand there and watch. Maybe one of us had to do something.”

“So that’s what this was?” Four asks, brows raised, “You wanted to do something? I’ll show you something.”

You’re expecting the kiss, you have been all morning, but that doesn’t stop the breath from leaving your lungs in one rapid rush when it finally happens. His hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you there, with him, in that moment. It feels like drowning, but the thought of living after this is such an inconceivable notion that you’d rather just let the waters claim you whole.

He breaks away eventually, unfortunately, and even in the shadows of the corridor with his face only bare millimeters away from yours you can still tell that he’s proud of himself, corners of his lips twisted up in victory. “Was it worth it?” He asks slowly.

You let out a half-laugh, a needy breath taking over the rest. “It was,” you decide.

“Good,” he tells you, and kisses you again, just so you can be sure. Perhaps jealousy has its merits after all.

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