#this must affect how she views her friends

[featherdawn]

I've fucking cursed myself with an animatic idea that I never made and now any song that's about the way the internet fucks with ur psyche gets automatically associated with monika in my mind

[slaytheusurper]

⭑ Better when you're here ⭑

Masterlist

Pairing: Sad!king!aegon x sister!reader

A/N: #needthat

Warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, pure filth, aegon whines so much I lost count, heavy mommy kink, sub aegon, fingering, piv sex, slight handjob, titty sucking (yes again), sad aegon.

Summary: Sad and needy Aegon just needs mummy to make him feel better :((((

Word count: 2.2k (pretty short blurb)

The gardens were your favourite place in the Red Keep, it was often quiet. And not to mention the beautiful view of the sea. You sat at one of the table’s in an alcove, it was nice and tucked away, giving you your own private space.

You read some book for a while and enjoyed your wine and lemoncakes. Because you never knew when it would be the last time you could sit here. You had been of age for two years now, and even though you have avoided marriage for quite a while, you never knew what your grandsire Otto Hightower had in mind. 

Now you had at least some security since your eldest brother Aegon was now king and everyone was distracted by the war that loomed over Westeros like a black cloud. Only a few more drops of rain to form before the whole thing came crashing down. 

Frustration and anxiety filled everyone's hearts and it was hard to pretend nothing was wrong. But the person you feared most right now was Aemond, he seemed to lose control everyday and he shocked the realm when he killed his own fourteen year old nephew at Storm’s End. However he was now to marry too, to some Baratheon girl and you knew that soon they would use you too, to make alliances with houses. Binded by a meaningless marriage.

You felt like it was all you were good for, and you saw how it affected Helaena and Aegon. Your heart broke for her, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone and live in peace, yet she must be queen. Aegon was of course also affected by this, ever since he became king he drank more than ever before and had even grown a bit of a belly. Still he remained of a nice physique. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time you rode your dragons with him. He didn’t have much of a relationship with Helaena, seeing her more as his quiet sister than his wife and queen and for some reason it seemed better that way. She would be left alone more. 

But you and Aegon were a different story, you liked to sneak around and have fun with him. He might not be a great king or a good man but he was a good brother to you. And you saw things in him that no one else seemed to. The crown seemed to only stress him out and you knew that he just wanted to live out his days drinking wine and relaxing but your mother and grandsire had other plans. 

As of late you couldn’t see him much, council meetings took a great part of the day and he would always hide in his chambers afterwards. Your mother seemed to keep you away from him, for what reason you didn’t know. Your days went from watching Aemond train, flying around KIng’s Landing with Aegon and running around the Red Keep with friends to praying at the Sept, locked inside your chamber or helping Helaena with embroidery. That is why the gardens offered a nice escape.

Soon you would pay a visit to your elder sister and her twins. After a morning at the sept with your mother and sister you needed some alone time. But Helaena was always a calming and nice presence and it was good to keep her company.

After reading the last sentence of a chapter you closed the book, and decided it would be nice to sow with Helaena. As you walked through the halls of the red keep numerous ‘your grace’ and ‘princes’ surrounded you, staff getting out of your way. You ascended the stairs in the throne room, it was empty. Soon it would be supper time but there was enough time.

When you reached Helaena’s door you could already hear your niece and nephew playing, which put a smile on your face. You knocked twice and a handmaiden opened, letting you inside. Helaena was sitting on some blankets and pillows, already embroidering what looked like a blanket. She looked up and slightly smiled when you joined her side, children playing on their own blanket. 

Getting handed some thread, a needle and a new fabric, as was the routine, you began to work on something for Aegon and if you worked hard enough you could bring it to him tonight. When you were about finished, a servant came in to fetch you and Helaena for supper with the family.

But when you arrived only Aemond, Alicent and Otto were there, Aegon’s seat was empty. Silently you both joined them and began eating without him. Supper was tense and silent as it had been for about a month now. When you had finished, you excused yourself and fetched the doublet you had finished before supper, wanting to bring a gift to your brother. 

When you had fetched it you hurriedly made your way up to the king's bedchambers, you knew something was wrong with Aegon, all the stress had probably gotten to him. When you had almost reached the door Ser Criston Cole stood guard there. He bowed his head before he spoke; “Princess, the king does not wish to be disturbed right now.” He said politely. 

“I understand, but I have something to cheer him up, so please, let me enter.” Ser Criston seemed to think about it, before releasing a sigh and opening the door for you, very softly as to not disturb his grace. You stepped inside and Cole just as softly as he opened the door, closed it again. It was now dark and Aegon’s fire was lit as he sat in a chair in front of it, you could hear the sobs coming from him. It broke your heart. 

You quietly made your way towards him. “Aegon?” You called out. He didn’t lift his head. You walked around him so you were standing in front of him, he looked up with red stained cheeks, and red, tear filled eyes. “Oh Aeg- what happened?” You asked him, instead of answering he buried his head into your stomach, his hand gripping your dress as he sobbed into it. The doublet falling on the ground.

You caressed his messy short silver locks and he continued to sob for a while, in your embrace. Then he seemed to speak up; “They- don’t care about- me-” He choked against you in between sobs. “Who doesn’t care about you?” You were confused but he lifted his head from your now tear stained dress. “The- the- council- mother- my own hand- they don’t- care-!” He sobbed as he looked at you desperately. 

But to your surprise he pulled you in his lap as his hands were still clinging to your dress. You gasped as you landed on his thighs, he buried his face in your chest instead and continued to cry, the doublet on the ground, forgotten. “Aegon they do care, especially mother, they just want the best for you. To help guide you since they have knowledge of war-” “No! They all hate me- everyone of them!” His breath on your skin gave you goosebumps. His hand now rested on your hip, keeping you in place. 

“You’re the only one who loves me- I see that now- my beautiful smart sister.” He seemed to have exhausted his tears as they now stopped, he breathed heavily against your chest, nuzzling his face against your breasts. He must have had wine. “You love me? Right sister?” He mumbled against your breasts. “Of course I do, so incredibly much. I would do anything for you.” You soothed him, hand still grazing through his silver locks. His purple eyes stared up at you and he smiled slightly.

“Anything?” He asked softly. “Of course, you are not only my brother but my king.” You smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead. This stirred something in him and he breathed heavier again. His face and especially his nose grazed your neck and jaw, lips ghosting over the warm skin. Your own breath hitched in your throat at the feeling. “Aeg-” He ignored you and started to kiss and nip at the soft skin. You lightly gasped at the feeling, and then you felt something hard against your thigh. 

“Brother I don’t think we should-” He stopped and looked at you with teary eyes. “I need this- I need you. Please- just- just let me make you feel good. To thank you. Please mummy.” That last part was whined against your chest where he let his hand graze the low neckline of your dress. Since it was warm earlier, it was quite thin and loose. Your body felt hot at his words, your lower stomach filled with an ache you didn’t understand.

His hand started then at the bottom of your leg, underneath your dress, as he caressed your leg moving up and up where you didn’t know you needed him. “I’m so hard for you mummy. All because of you.” He whined. His hand had finally reached your core, two of his fingers rubbing over your smallclothes, which were already wet with your slick. “Aegon-” You moaned, sparks went off in your body at his touch, you had no idea what he was doing to you but seven hells did it feel good. You hoped he would never stop, but still it felt wrong and guilt consumed you. Yet you didn’t stop him.

His other hand that didn’t tease your clothed clit was still busy with your neckline. The dress was loose enough for him to pull it down so your tits would fall out. He wasted no time in sucking on them. The feeling of his warm wet tongue sucking on your nipple made you release a moan. It felt way too good, it had to be a sin. Aegon himself moaned around your breast, bucking his hips up in need for friction. All your will to stop him had left you. Desire clouding your mind. You moved so that both of your legs were now on either side of his lap, the chair was big and comfortable enough to allow this. 

Aegon released your nipple but never moved his hand from teasing you. But when you sat down, his hand trapped, he removed it and pulled at your dress, eager to remove it. You didn’t know why you did it, but you needed him. You helped him remove your dress and shimmied out of your small clothes as well. “Need to be inside you mummy.” You gasped at his fingers sliding through your now bare slit. His fingers then stimulating your clit. Your breath hitched when he put a finger inside you, going deeper until he found that spot that would make you see stars. He stretched you out a bit for a while until he got too impatient and grabbed your hand to place between you, over his bulge. 

You instinctively squeezed it making him gasp. He moved your hand and quickly undid his breeches himself. He then reached for your hand again and helped you stroke his thick veiny cock. Pre cum started to dribble out over both your hands. And Aegon groaned at the sight. When he was almost about to cum for your hand alone, he removed it, as he did, he removed his fingers inside your cunt as well. Grabbing your hips instead, his cock was so hard it hurt and the feeling of his tip hitting your warm slick entrance almost made him cry out. He used one hand to guide his cock better inside you and you winced in pain. “It’ll be better soon, I promise.” He said softly. 

You whispered okay and he buried himself deeper inside until he was fully sheathed inside you. Your clit hit his pelvic bone and a bolt of pleasure shot through you. You felt so sensitive and weak. When you felt like the pain went away you slowly started to grind and bounce on his cock, testing the waters. He whimpered in response, it just felt so good for him. He held on to your hips so you could start a steady rhythm and he knew he wouldn't last long. “So tight mummy- feels so good.” He sobbed. Squelching and slapping noises filled the room and you both forgot all about a certain guard outside. 

Both of your moans filled each other's mouths as you held on tight to each other. Lost in pleasure you chase your release and started riding him faster, Aegon started to fuck up into you in response chasing his own high. “Mummy- I-I’m close- please- gonna fill you so good.” Aegon whined. This only spurred you on and soon you clenched down on his cock, fire striking through you, you had never felt such insane pleasure in your life. Aegon did not stop fucking into you though and only moments later he cried out as his warm seed filled you. He squeezed you against him tightly to hold you in place. 

He came so much it started to drip out along his shaft, onto his balls and some drops even landed on the floor. You both caught your breath and Aegon didn’t let go of you. But after a few moments his grip loosened and you winced when his softening cock left you. He whined at your warm body getting up but you soothed him, just getting the rest of his clothes off and helping him to the bed. You laid down as well and he immediately crawled up against your chest. “Thank you mummy.”

[jiminiecrickets]

HEAVEN'S SHEATH. KTH / M!READER

summary. a wealthy lord's pacifist son finds friendship and affection in a poor soldier, unremarkable except for the fact that he is the lone survivor of a massacre. fate has different plans for them.

wc. 10k

tags. smut | top!reader, bottom!tae, virgin!reader with a big dick (lol), reader is described as tall/strong, descriptions of blood/injuries/death, sex while injured (reader), riding, multiple orgasms, 2/3rds is only worldbuilding oops im just like that!!

a cloud of dust billows beneath the heavy black hooves of a friesian stallion, sturdy and strong-chested. the well-travelled dirt path swings over rolling green knolls, past flocks of white sheep herded into valleys and heavy brown cows grazing along the hillside. the untouched countryside is marked by clusters of tall green trees along the road and they shade the large river snaking through the vale. 

amongst the verdant growth, throned between the river and the hills, lies a large manor built strong with stone and brick. other buildings lay scattered around its feet, and life is most evident here – servants hurry about, ushering goats into their wooden pens and their young ones out of the way of the black horse's brisk high trot. the little children stare with big eyes up at the regal stallion's wavy mane, watching how it falls softly over its long neck with each step. it is a horse that carries great presence and elegance, and its rider is no different.

at the manor's grand front entrance, an older man stands in wait, both hands resting on a cane tipped at both ends with gold. his hair is almost fully grey. his steely eyes track the horse and the dust and pollen dirtying its fine feathering on the lower legs.

"you've been sorely missed, son," he says in an unreadable tone, light enough for politeness but darkened by his heavy gaze. "does wartime make for a better view?"

the rider dismounts, hushing the horse as it snorts and tosses its head, hooves stamping. it yearns for the freedom of the run. he pets its soft mane. his voice is deep and monotone with disinterest. "certainly. it's quieter."

the man's eyes narrow. "you left all the kitchen girls alone, who i know you've a fondness for. you should be at home to protect them, taehyung, not gallivanting off to paint your pictures."

silently, taehyung passes off the reins to the stablehand, and turns to stare up at his father from the bottom of the steps. he tugs off his kid-leather riding gloves and places them in the pocket of his navy blue coat. "what do i know of war and fighting? you were the general, not i. i'd say you are much better suited to protecting these frail women from suffering under the hands of conquerors."

"you are the son of a general," he replies sharply. "the youth must carry on what their fathers forged."

"hate and subjugation, of course," taehyung sighs, shifting his bag of paints in one arm and his canvas in another. "humanity's pinnacle."

"stay your wit, boy. you'll find no friends with it."

he slips past him through the open doors of the manor, his paints clinking in its leather saddlebag. "yes, my lord." 

upstairs in a large, sunlit room, he sets it all down with a soft huff. he glances around at the canvases lining the walls, leaning against cupboards and drawers full of paint thinners and varnishes. portraits of one woman dominate most of them – slender, pale, with dark hair, full lips, and a soft curving nose. in some, she sits primly on a chair amongst vases of flowers and goblets of wine, and in others, on chaises in simple dresses with a needle and thread in her hands, glowing with the early summer light blooming behind her.

these are the ones hung up or placed atop chests of drawers. not one touches the ground – that place, on the edge between floor and wall, is reserved for simpler landscapes and still lifes. 

"i remember i told you to take down those portraits. do you find joy in antagonising me?"

taehyung turns. his father stands on the threshold, cane by his side. after he returned from the last war with a limp and new scars, he has not worn any other colour but black.

he turns back to his saddlebags, indifferent as he slowly pulls his paints and brushes one at a time from the bag. "no. i find no joy in speaking to you at all."

his father's expression tightens. "i did not make her ill. it was chance and nature. your hatred of me will not bring her back, no matter how intense. it is time to move on, son. lingering on it breeds only worse things."

"'worse things'?" taehyung snaps, gripping a put of paint so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i am not one of your soldiers, so don't speak to me like one. i don't need your pragmatism, your war-bred heartlessness. all she wanted was you. all she asked for was you, and you never came."

he has had this argument many times over since that winter. it festers hot fury in his chest just thinking of it, and it has not burned dimmer with time. 

he turns and approaches his father, eye-to-eye. he is not a boy anymore. he surveys him for a moment. "war may have reforged you, made you richer and cleverer, but it burned away all that she loved. you never once held her again, felt her breath on your cheek." taehyung brushes his knuckles over his jaw. he shakes his head and begins to walk down the hall. "don't touch those portraits."

back for only a few minutes and taehyung already cannot stand the solemn weight of the air within these walls. he pushes open the front doors with more force than necessary and wanders through the large, walled estate, stone brick encompassing the major centres of activity. 

mindlessly, he travels past the cowherds and shepherds leading in the meat for supper, and the stablemaster tending to his friesian, and the beekeepers. he passes the wall and almost reaches the wheat farm. 

hushed whispers float up from the riverbank. he stops in his tracks.

by the water, the girls and women who work with the granary from the farm are crowded around something on the bank. the linens of their dresses are dark with water up to their knees, where they hold it back.

he notices the expressions on the girls' faces – bright with nervousness and fear, but tinged with… curiosity? they whisper amongst themselves behind their hands. 

he approaches, ducking under a branch of the oak they shelter beneath. "what is so interesting?" 

they startle, several sets of eyes turning towards him. one of the older girls, about his age, drops into a fumbled curtsy. "oh, young master—! we weren't doing nothin' bad, sir, but we was hiding from the sun when we found something the lord sir might need know. we found 'im caught up on the root branches here."

him?

taehyung steps past her. his eyes widen.

a young soldier, skin tinged grey, lies on his back on the riverbank, the water lapping at his calves. his boots have come off somewhere in the water. he wears an unfamiliar uniform: a mixture of thick fabrics to stave off the cold adorned with a strangely-patterned leather jerkin.

it is a poor man's armour, he realises, made of what he can scrounge up and what fits from the garrison's armoury. despite his lack of wealth, taehyung can tell he is a big man – tall, strong in ways only a life of hard work can create. he is fair of face, too, handsomer than many young nobles taehyung has met. perhaps a blacksmith's apprentice, or a baker's boy?

"which… which army is he from, master taehyung? can you tell?"

the question awakens him from his daze. he blinks. "ah – bring him higher on the bank, get his legs out of the water. let me closer."

he crouches by the body, pulling at the heavy cloth draped over the torso. at the neck, where the cloth is bunched and rolled to pack in heat, he finds a small red patch. 

taehyung sighs and presses the soaked cloth back into place. "this man is very, very far from home."

the girls glance at each other uncertainly. "what does that mean, master?"

"many years ago, his homeland was seized, and now his people are under southern rule. he was an infantryman. simple cannon fodder." with a soft exhale, he leans over the torso and pulls him onto his side to reach the lashes holding together his water-heavy coat. "perhaps i can bury him someplace high, so that his soul may be reminded of home."

the body jerks and chokes out a lungful of water with a ragged groan.

the girls yelp, stumbling back. taehyung would have had he not already been on his knees. his eyes widen as the soldier's face pinches in pain, eyes still shut. taehyung reaches for the oldest girl, gesturing frantically towards the manor on the horizon. "find my father and tell him what you've found! you've my permission to leave the farm and all of that – he's alive!"

—

it is dark. everything hurts. this is hell – this is punishment, eternal and unforgiving. this is deserved for desertion.

then – light. light rings against bone and flesh.

velvet. mahogany. silk and down.

there is a girl beside you, leaning over you. her linen dress is plain but clean with a white apron over it.

your side explodes with pain. you launch upright with a violent shout, gasping and clutching the hot ache under your ribs. cries of shock throb in your skull.

you blink, hard, eyes adjusting dizzily to the brightness of the room. your torso is wrapped in cloth, which you can feel flat and taut against your skin. your hand comes away clean, and for several unthinking moments, you wonder why. your thoughts are slow and heavy.

"you ought to relax, master," echoes a soft voice beside you. her vowels are round and elongated, the accent so different from your own that you barely recognise it, much less understand it. you stare up unseeingly at her youthful face, framed by dark curls held back by a bonnet. she steps forward, a damp sponge in her hand. that is why your limbs feel cold. "your injuries are quite severe."

"where am i?" you mumble, your tongue thick in your mouth. words are unfamiliar. "who're you?"

she glances up at the other maids, huddling by the door. she sets down the sponge and extends a hand, though you flinch from it. she does not try again. "you are in the northern highlands. hadria. my name is aemma."

"aemma," you murmur. the sounds are soft and round, like a river pebble. like a river, you realise, you are damp and naked, save for a single sheet of folded cloth across your lap. you feel your face grow hot and you clutch it close, folding your legs towards your body for security. "m-may i – where are my clothes?"

aemma gestures for one of the other girls, who quickly scoops up a folded pile of clothes from atop the chest at the base of the lavish bed. the rest of the bedroom is similarly luxurious, with a dark palette that soaks up sunlight to warm its wood. the walls are pale, though framed by polished wooden frames embracing the room.

"here," she replies. "the lord father has gifted you some riding clothes to wear in their stead. they were to be given to the young master when he turned of age, but…" she pauses. she shakes her head and curtsies. "you're to meet the lord father and his son shortly. we were to inform them when you were to wake eventually."

"eventually…" you trail off. "how long have i been here?"

"two days, master."

your head begins to pound. you cradle it, wincing, and reach for the offered clothes. they are clean and soft under your callused fingertips. "ah…��i'm no lord, miss."

aemma smiles briefly, folding her hands over her stomach. "the lord father requires it, master."

you have no heart to push. in fact, you would much rather lay down for another two days, though knowing you are under the roof of a lord churns up too much fear to do so. if northern men were anything like southern ones, you would do anything to keep your name clean.

"i'd like to dress," you say softly, glancing briefly at the maids watching you from the corner of the room. "alone, if the lasses would allow it."

with another curtsy, aemma ushers the other girls out of the room and closes the door after them. you do not miss how they sent you curious glances as they left. she now stands where they once were, watching you with badly-disguised intrigue. 

you clear your throat and feel your cheeks and neck blaze, folding the cloth around your hips tighter. "i'm sorry. i meant entirely."

perhaps it is your imagination, but you think you spot a tinge of pink wash over her features. she finds sudden interest in the knots and grain of the floor. "the lord father instructed that you were not to be left alone in case you required immediate medical attention. you are evidently still in pain, so i must protest."

"ah." you swallow, and your mouth is dry. "p-perhaps… you could turn around, then?"

she glances up, as if to say something, but eventually nods, bobbing in a small curtsy before turning to face the wall. 

as quickly as your aching body will allow, you shuffle off of the bed and dress yourself in finer clothes than you have ever worn before. the cloth is soft and sits finely against your skin like a baby's breath. you are so used to abrasive linens that you almost feel more naked than before.

"you found my boots."

aemma turns around – she almost regrets it, spying the last sliver of skin before white cloth falls over it like the pull of curtains. it is more titillating than seeing the entirety of you bare. "o-oh – yes, one of the servant boys found them downstream."

"ah, thank you. and my uniform, miss," you glance up at her, leaning heavily against the bed poster to slip on your boots, "do you know what happened to it?"

"they're with the hold's tailor. i heard it took quite the beating."

"that could be said," you mumble, straightening up at last. your side twinges with pain, but you attempt a smile. "well, s'pose it's time to meet your lord. i've got to thank my saviours."

it is just turning to twilight, and the hazy golden sun on the horizon feels like little more than a memory. candles light the path past gold-spun tapestries and gleaming windows. aemma leads you to a grand dining room, reminiscent of castles and times long gone. she halts by the entrance, curtsies to you, and hurries away without another word, which you find strange as she had been a pleasant conversationalist when helping you through the halls and down the stairs.

"the soldier awakens at last. how do you feel?"

you glance away from aemma's retreating figure. at the head of the long dining table is an older man with sharp eyes and a natural severity about him. seated beside him is a younger man, around your age, staring into his plate with his hands folded in his lap. you step forward cautiously, and a male servant pulls out a chair on the older man's other side. the lord gestures at it, watching you carefully.

"well, milord; thank you," you answer, taking a seat and quietly thanking the servant who readied it in the first place. he bows but does not otherwise acknowledge you, his gaze on the ground as he slinks back into the shadows of the dining room.

"you were asleep for quite some time. my son doubted you would live." he gestures to the young man across from you, whose romantic dark curls are loose over his forehead. "i am glad you are feeling strong enough to join us for supper. i trust that the girls took care of you?"

"yes, milord," you reply, glancing over the table almost longingly. you swallow the saliva building in your mouth. silver platters are laden heavy with dark ox roasts, honeyed lamb shanks, roasted salmon fillets, sausages and baked potatoes, and braised vegetable stews steaming hot. ruby wine is poured into silver goblets. you have never seen so much food at once in your life. 

"the war has yet to touch us. we have plenty to share," the lord informs, his voice almost kind. "how long has it been since you have last eaten, soldier?"

your throat bobs before speaking. "ah… four days, maybe, including my time spent here."

the man's brow arches. "your general did not feed you before battle?"

"no, milord. they ambushed us before our rations were due." you glance at the young man. he has yet to look up, or indeed even move. "we… had issues with our supplies. weevils in the grain, rats in the captains' meat. we turned from two meals a day, to one a day, then one every two." you pause. "i don't think one more meal would have saved us."

the room falls silent, with only the crackling of the fireplace breaking the stillness. green wood pops in the flames.

"well, don't wait for me to begin," says the lord suddenly, shifting comfortably in his seat and reaching for a leg of ox, stabbing it with a knife and lifting it onto his plate. he piles his plate high with potatoes and mash. the action seems to spur on his son, who jolts into motion like a creaking old waterwheel, movements slow and measured. "tell us your name, soldier. i'd like to know the name and story of our guest. now, news comes to us slowly in this isolated place. how fares the war effort?"

glancing down, you realise exactly how many pieces of cutlery there are. knives and forks, spoons and little spoons, all slightly different in shape or size. you pause, hand hovering over the knives, nerves tightening in your chest. 

a soft cough. you glance up.

across from you, the son rests his delicate fingers on the outermost knife and fork, using them to carry a richly-glazed steak onto his plate. he chooses a large spoon, fingers lingering on it where it sits on the table, and places it into his bowl of stew.

his gaze lifts to meet yours and just as quickly, a butterfly's flap of wings, he glances away. his cheeks are dusted pink, the rosy colour like gold on his sun-warmed skin. 

you copy him. you take a slab of steak from the dish right in front of you. you are starving, but everything about this manor makes you feel small, and you fear taking more than you are offered. you give them your name, for it is the only thing you truly own in these foreign lands.

"the war?" you continue, trying to shake the tremor from your voice. "i wouldn't know, milord. the captains don't tell us much. it's all the same – i've fought in three different battles. this was the third. they give their speeches about king and country, and then we fight. it is noble," you say hastily, "but i am not a warrior. not many of us were. the enemy outnumbered us, outskilled us, and when the poppy fields lay silent, they piled the bodies of all our fallen and made pyres out of us."

"such would explain the scorch marks on your clothes." the lord nods. he leans in, and you fight the urge to lean away. "i shall ask the question we all ask ourselves, if you would not mind. how did you survive such a massacre?"

you glance at the son. he eats quietly, forking small chunks of meat into his mouth. you glance away. "i remember a spear. it was tipped… with a blue and white flag. it waved in the black sky as i looked up at it." you frown. "i'd never seen one like it before."

"the temerian lilies," he replies, almost approvingly. "you must have been some opponent – if the flagbearer loses his flag, it is a great shame to the army. it must be held aloft at all times. he would rather die than lose it to the enemy."

you lift a shoulder. the other aches too much to try. "they pulled it out of me after, then dragged me to a pile of corpses. i… don't remember much, but i remember them squabbling over another soldier's brooch for a while. i only wanted to escape the stench of death." you survey the feast laid out before you. "i s'pose i have."

"then we shall celebrate that," hums the lord, lifting his goblet of wine. "my son was the one who found you floating down the river. he said you were cold as ice and only recognised you from the flag you had sewn into your coat. it is brave to carry your homeland's colours when fighting for their conquerors."

"it was a small creature comfort," you respond as nonchalantly as you can. "they could punish me all they liked, but could never kill me. they needed every man in their ranks."

the lord raises his brows, and something like admiration crosses his features. he glances at his son and that admiration turns into a tiny downturn of the lips. he turns back to you. "not a warrior, you say, yet you stand with the united courage of a battalion. who was your father?"

you notice how his son stills, holding the steak on his tongue behind his lips for a long moment. he closes his eyes and with a deep inhale, resumes eating, as if unaffected. 

"just a farmer," you say, diverting your gaze. "dead, long past. my ma raised the rest of us – six boys. i was their second. when the army came knocking, askin' for sons, i went, gave them my name. my older brother knew how to count, how to run the mill. i couldn't let them take him, especially not from the little ones – after da died and ma got sick, he was all they had." you tap the edge of the silver plate with your finger thoughtfully. "i imagined i'd either die or be done after one battle, so i'd be brought home quick regardless. now… it's been four years."

then, the servants bring out a round white cake, slices set down around the table – what a perfect intermission. you have made it rather impossible to return to frivolity with your story, and you gaze down at the cake in front of you. you assume this is their dessert, so quaint and pretty on its little silver plate, but you have little idea of how to go about eating one. something so small must require a similarly-sized utensil. is it the tiny spoon? the tiny knife?

you lift your eyes to the young man across from you. he is already watching, eyes large and dark.  he picks up a small three-tined fork from the inner edge, tilting it towards you to show you its appearance, the little notch on the left prong. this time, he doesn't look away, and you have enough time to offer a grateful smile, however brief. he blinks owlishly, almost in surprise, before lowering his gaze again.

it is unfortunate. you would not mind looking at him more. he is undoubtedly beautiful, almost pretty, the sort of face people would immortalise in myths and paintings on temple walls – a kind of elven face, like those that turn goddesses to jealousy and gods to obsession. 

you spend the rest of the meal stealing glances at each other when you think the other is not watching. he is far more successful than you.

—

from behind a balcony's closed doors, taehyung gazes up at the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, surrounded by pale stars glittering in the blanket of darkness. he cannot stop thinking about the shy farmer's boy, his accent unfamiliarly pleasant – the vowels are soft and blurred, with each consonant crisp and clear. it makes for a bouncing sort of melody to his voice, one that draws taehyung deeper into his song.

he sighs softly and turns away from the night's landscape, uncrossing his arms and meandering through the empty halls. most of the servants are already tucked away, and his father drowns himself alone in old letters and wine.

in loose trousers and a looser white shirt, the vee of the collared neck laced with string, he finds himself in his library, rich and warm from a hearth already lit. curious. he shuts the open double doors behind him quietly to keep the heat from dissipating into the night. 

his silent feet carry him through the aisles, where the shelves brush the ceiling with books and ladders. a walkway surrounds the room, essentially giving it a second level. 

silhouetted black against the white glow of the moon beyond the arched window, a familiarly unfamiliar figure stands in silence, gaze turned up towards the heavens beyond the lines of books and old tomes. 

standing in this still and quiet room, statue-esque in the way of classics, taehyung cannot help the journey of his gaze wandering up and down the planes of your body, painting to himself the sturdiness of your shoulders, the perfect balance between your booted feet. there is a severity about you he recognises in his own father – he sees it in your arms, tucked behind your back, and the practised way of standing that arches the spine just so to emphasise the broadness of the chest. yet, he knows gentleness when he sees it, and he finds it in the almost childlike awe in your expression, aimed up at his personal collection. 

he steps out, the shadows melting from him like the shedding feathers of a raven. "what are you doing in my library?"

you startle, and taehyung almost regrets interrupting you. coward that he is, he would rather watch from afar than bring you out of that handsome serenity.

"f-forgive me, sir," you stammer, twisting your hands together as you incline in an awkward half-bow, half-stumble, evidently having forgotten the extent of your injuries as your expression tightens and your hand brushes over your side. "i didn't know it was yours. the – the doors were open, and i—"

"invited yourself in," he finishes.

"i – yes, sir…"

before you, he stands perfectly still. you could fool yourself into thinking his heart does not beat, for he is pale in the moonlight and beautifully dark-haired, with eyes like midnight lakes and lips like a rose. 

you tear your gaze from his, breaking your trance. you begin to move past him. "forgive me, milord. i shan't interrupt you."

his hand darts out, wrapping itself around your wrist. serpentine, it slides up your arm and grips your bicep, forming creases in the cloth.

"you shouldn't move so quickly. you're injured." he turns his gaze on you. "you'd leave so soon?"

"ah…" you flounder, helpless. "if the lord wish it so."

his searching gaze strips your body bare. you feel it prod your soul when his eyes meet yours. his eyes scan your face, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing it lightly against the slope of your jaw. his skin is warm and tender-soft. your breath hitches. 

"the maids missed a spot when shaving," he mutters, pressing his fingers against the patch of half-shorn stubble left on the soft underside of your chin. "a man would do it better."

all at once, he drops his hand and looks away. "i am no lord," he replies, his low, rich voice like waves lapping at the sides of a ship, almost careless. "just his son."

you hesitate, your heartbeat still in your ears. "th-then what should i call you, sir?"

he glances down where bandages hide the hole in your body. "just 'taehyung' will do," he says softly, eyes lifting again. he unravels his arm from yours, turning fully towards you. "you may stay – as long as you are quiet."

he moves away, so graceful he may as well have floated. his fingers glide over the covers like bumps of the spine, and they pluck a small yellow book from the shelf. he opens it, already turning to the first page even before he finds a chair to sit in. he curls up in front of the grand fireplace, the furry hide of a brown bear thrown across the floor in front of it. 

for a while, you simply watch him and listen to the crackling of the fire. his slim fingers glide across the pages to turn them, the edge of the page caught gently on the pad of his thumb. 

bathed in the yellow and orange hues of the fire, the lord's son is every bit as regal as northerners are said to be – hair like calligraphy ink, cheekbones fine, slim bodies tall and lithe. you could lose yourself in his cold, gentle darkness.  

that burbling feeling of being out of place rises to the surface, worse than when you sat before the lord at his table. you and your callused palms, your worn and labour-worked body. you should not be here.

"you know you can choose a book, yes? i don't mind." he glances up. "forgive the mess. i can help. what do you like to read?"

"i'm sorry, sir," you murmur, averting your gaze. "i can't read."

it seems he'd forgotten your roots. he blinks. "oh. my apologies. but if not to read, what interested you about my library?"

"ah," you chuckle, scratching your head. "i've just never seen so many books in one place. travelling merchants would display some, but never like this."

"i see." he surveys you intensely, then glances away and clears his throat. he shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs. at last, he says stiffly, "if you'd like… i can… read to you."

the silence is thick with more than just the fire's heat. it is hard to know taehyung's hot face is not because of the fire, and he is grateful.

"if milord wishes to," you reply quietly, watching him for any twitch of his expression that may give him away.

"of course. i wouldn't offer it if i didn't." he gestures to the chaise beside him. "sit."

you step into the semicircle of light afforded by the fireplace, licked by tendrils of warmth, and ease yourself into the chair with a soft grunt, holding your side. "milord is as kind as he is beautiful."

his eyes flicker down to your lap. "i wish you wouldn't call me that," he says suddenly, a little sharper. "can i not be called my own name in my home?"

your mouth opens and closes. after a moment, you reply softly, "i meant no offence. it just feels… wrong."

slowly, he exhales, closing his eyes and his book. he places a hand over its cover. "all of my life has felt wrong. everything is wrong no matter what i do – who i wish to be, the company i keep, the fears i carry… the love i desire." he pauses, opening his eyes to your earnest expression. he diverts his gaze to the yellow-gold cover of the book. "what more can one last wrong hurt?"

"i'm sorry," you whisper. "perhaps i can start over." you straighten slightly, offering a crooked half-smile. "what do you want to read to me, taehyung?"

he does not disagree that his name sounds strange coming from another's mouth, but he cannot remember the last time it was used by anyone else. he hums and rises to his feet, coming to stand over you in front of the fire; his shadow cast over your body deepens the maturity of your features.

"when you said i was beautiful," he asks, "did you mean it?"

staring up at him, you can do nothing but tilt your head in bewilderment. "yes. you are fair and handsome."

taehyung chooses his next words carefully. "if… i were a girl," he decides, clasping his book over his stomach with straight arms, "would it be a different sort of beauty?"

you frown, shaping an approximation of a girl with taehyung's features in your mind. "maybe. but she would still be beautiful if she was you." you shake your head, dispelling morphing images of regal dark-haired daughters. you hide your warm cheeks behind an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry. i don't know much. i don't usually deal with such thoughts."

but it was enough for taehyung. slowly, as if not to frighten you, he lowers himself, grasping the chaise's rests and draping himself gently over your lap. he watches your face all the while, his heart beating faster at the shock and nervousness that cross your face in a single second. 

"is this… is this alright?" he whispers, placing his hand against your chest. 

your adam's apple bobs, your hands hovering an inch off of his body as if he is made of glass. gently, you place one on taehyung's knee and the other behind his back, and glance up at him.

"perhaps you can sit closer," you murmur, eyes wide and searching, "so you may not fall."

taehyung smiles, then – the first smile of his you have ever seen. it is sweet, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. it makes your heart swell.

he hides his smile in his chest, his knuckles brushing the corner of his lips. he lifts his eyes, and a sliver of hope twinkles in them. "shall i read to you, then? i will give you a synopsis of each story so you may choose your favourite."

"please," you murmur, settling back in the chair and sliding your hand higher up taehyung's thigh so he may be more comfortable. "do whatever you wish."

"'whatever'?" he hums, and with a flippant little kick, throws off his boots to the ground, where they thump carelessly. he meets your eyes and falls into a nervous smile, tucking his bare feet against your leg and resting his temple against your shoulder. his hair is still slightly damp at the ends from his earlier evening bath. "then you wouldn't mind this, would you?"

"of course not," you whisper, biting back a shy, embarrassed smile. you are too old to be acting like this, especially with the only son of a wealthy lord, but the rush of excitement from seeing such a reticent man blossom and show his petals to you is too much to keep you away. "i am only a farmer's boy, taehyung. anything with someone like you is… a dream."

at the mention of his name, his smile widens slightly and a pinkness warms the apples of his cheeks. he busies himself with opening the book and flipping through its contents to find the correct page. he presses his thumb against the spine between the pages.

"here." he taps the words on the page. "this story is one my mother used to read to me. a princess is trapped in a tower, guarded by a dragon in an ever-changing thorn maze, and a brave, handsome knight rescues her. they are married and live happily ever after."

he looks up at you, searching for a reaction, and you can only give a breathy laugh in return, still dizzy with the idea that someone like taehyung could ever be interested in someone like you. "are you sure you should be telling me these stories? i'm not a princess or a brave knight. i'm plain."

"perhaps. but do you know who else was seen as plain?" he taps your chest. "the dragon, disguised as a statue. and you, strong dragon, will protect the princess," he taps his own chest, "from all the boredom and politics of castle life."

"don't you have other, richer boys chasing you?" you ask, because you know your place. "your own knight? i don't see what i offer that they can't."

he licks his lips, setting aside the small book on a round side table and swinging his legs over your lap to straddle you. reading it is the last thing on his mind. "i do, of course. but it is like you said – they are boys. when their wooden sword chips, they get a new one." he trails his fingers lightly down the centre of your chest, wide and strong, and tentatively cups what is between your legs. he leans in, long-lashed brown eyes flickering down to your lips. "i want more than that."

"i—" your breath hitches as he squeezes gently, learning its shape and heft with deft fingers. "a-are we allowed to…? i am a stranger in strange lands with nothing to my name."

he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. his soft hair curtains your eyes. "allowed? no. but when a handsome soldier from far away falls into my lap, what else is a man to do?" he draws his thumb over your jawline, stroking your cheek. he lowers his lips to yours, hot breath sweet with honeyed treats. with the faintest thread of a breath, he whispers, "may i?"

with your heartbeat thudding in your ears, your head inclines, and taehyung wraps his arms around your shoulders and pushes his lips to yours. 

his moan is sweet and starved as you kiss back to the best of your ability, your hands falling naturally about his waist. his lips are plump and warm, pillowy, and slicken with saliva as he deepens it, cupping the back of your head and pressing himself higher onto your body. he is desperate and dominating, sitting in your lap and rolling his hips into yours. you can feel his excitement through the cotton of his trousers. 

when you part regretfully, gulping down air, he cups your face, his eyes dark yet gentle. he licks his shining lips, parted to pant. "you seem apprehensive. have you ever done this with a man?"

you wipe your lips with your thumb, tongue swiping over them in an almost bewildered motion. your eyes are wide. "a-ah… no. not with… anyone…"

"not even a girl?" he cannot help the surprise that coats his tone.

you shake your head, face aflame. "i never… my older brother had my father's charm. he was the one they all wanted, strong but lean. i was too much of a bull. they had fantasies of princes, and he was closer to it than i."

deeply and tenderly, he kisses you again. "it only means i won't have to fight anyone to call you mine." he brushes his thumb over your lips. "that suits me just fine. i was never the fighting sort."

he sits up on your lap, thighs bracketing yours. his bare feet tuck beneath him under his knees. when his palm grazes the front of your trousers, your breath hitches in your chest, and taehyung gives you a soft, if coy, grin. "i'll be gentle," he promises. he tugs slightly on the laces of the waist. "may i?"

mutely, you nod, your words sinking into the whirling depths of his eyes. his deft fingers undo the laces with ease and he pulls the thick cloth down your waist, tracing the vee of your hips with a pleased breath. he reaches in, lifting his gaze to gauge your expression. your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your knuckles are tensed on the chaise's armrest. the other arm is tucked tightly by your side.

"don't be nervous," he whispers, stroking you gently in your trousers. it twitches in his palm. "place your hands on my waist, darling. good. very good."

hesitantly, your hands graze his hips, sliding up to grip his slender waist. you splay a hand beside his waist, measuring it against him with fascination. he is slim and lovely… like the city nobles' soft-palmed daughters. you had noticed his hands during supper but hadn't the room to mull over them then, though now you do. they are square, masculine, but slender and fine-veined. his nails are clean and cut short, with a thin crescent of white at the ends.

he could not have been more perfect if he tried.

he slides his fist up to the tip of your cock, rubbing his thumb against the slit and the smooth skin. you are mostly soft, but still impressive – the number of taehyung's clandestine trysts have lent him a certain experience when it comes to men.

you have reinforced your place as his favourite. 

"i see why they call you a bull," he says slyly, squeezing your shaft as his fist sinks down on it. "they just don't know how to tame you."

your face floods with heat as you stutter meaninglessly. your grip tightens on taehyung's hips and a single slant of a thought marvels at how delicate he feels in your palms.

"be still, my darling," he murmurs, "and be at ease. you are no longer at war. you can close your eyes and hold me without fear. nothing will happen unless we want it to."

his voice, like syrup, melts the frantic whirlwind of thoughts in your head. you cannot help but want to believe him. "you make it sound so simple. i want to believe you."

"why can't it be?" he tilts his head, glancing down and stroking you contentedly. he swipes his thumb over the slit, where a bead of precome bubbles. oil – from a small bottle you only now spot in taehyung's palm – smooths each stroke of your shaft. "the world is so complicated. affection can afford to be simple." 

he lets go for a moment to step back, sliding his trousers down his hips and calves and tossing them aside on the chaise. he flicks his dark hair and tucks a lock over his ear as he reassumes his place on your lap, pressing his chest against yours and tugging your cock to throb against the curve of his ass. the silk of his white shirt is cool and light against your hot skin.

his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as his hips roll languidly. he whispers, "do you want this?"

do you want more? the question is unasked, but you hear it anyway.

"i do, yes. please," you reply immediately, your voice rough with desire. your hands trail over his hips and tuck beneath the long hem of his shirt to caress his warm, creamy thighs, a feeling that traps your breath in your throat. you force out a sigh, shaky, and rest your forehead against taehyung's shoulder. he hushes you and cups the back of your head, reaching with his other hand behind himself to ease you inside his warmth.

taehyung's head tips back with a slow exhale, shuddering as you pulse with heat inside of him. he watches you closely, committing to memory the way your brows pinch and your mouth falls open as your grasp tightens, trembling, around his waist. 

"do you like that?" he whispers, breathy. he bounces shallowly, grinding his hips into yours. "how do you feel?"

"good," you choke out through a groan. your hand slides down to the dip in his back, trying not to seem too eager as it cups his ass. "oh, fuck…"

"don't hold back for me," he murmurs, hips quickening. he moans in surprise as you buck up into him, thighs meeting his ass. the slap of your balls against his ass is obscene, and he scrambles to cling onto your shoulders for balance.

"wait – wait, wait," he gasps, lashes fluttering as your cock kisses that spot inside of him that burns pleasure through his guts.

you stop immediately, sliding your hand up his side. "i'm sorry! are you alright?"

he huffs a laugh, panting softly, and nods. "you're injured, darling. don't waste the good work we put into putting you back together. sit back – i will take care of you, understand?"

"a-ah…" your face burns with heat. "all right. whatever milord desires."

"very good." he presses down on your hips gently, his hands between his thighs. he lifts himself off of your cock until only the tip rests against his hole, then sinks down on it in one smooth motion. a strangled noise escapes your throat as you scramble to hold onto him. his heat grips your shaft like a vice, gummy walls clamping down around you with each drop of his hips. 

he moans when your fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his hips, sweat gathering in the small of his back. the fireplace crackles softly, the air warm and sweet with the smell of sex.

he gathers his shirt in his hands about his ribs, revealing his dusky cock, swollen with need. he takes your hand and curls your fingers around his shaft, his eyes fluttering and lips parting as you tighten it. your callused palms drag deliciously against his veins and he grips your wrist with a soft groan, bouncing on your lap in such a way that he thrusts into the warm tunnel of your fist. 

carefully, you stroke his cock, cautious about rubbing raw or tearing his skin. wealthy boys are a different breed – so much softer, easier to hurt. the smell of him, sweet and musky, hangs in the air around him, enveloping you when he draws close – crushed petals, herbs, leaves. it seems foreign, or at least the mixture does, for you cannot quite place your finger on it – then again, what do you know of luxuries like this?

"you are doing well," taehyung praises, gasping as you flick the head of his cock with your thumb. "oh, yes… f-fast learner, hm? oh!"

a jerk of your hips has him jolting forward, his cock spurting a sudden white rope onto your stomach. he purrs, bracing against your chest and slamming his hips down on your cock to slicken him with your pleasure. it works, and he seems unduly proud of himself when your cock throbs and leaks, forming a white ring around the hilt that thickens with each bounce of his ass. 

"milord – milord," you gasp, a tiny pathetic noise that does not match your appearance, "please – i'm—"

"let go," he demands, a breathy moan escaping his lips. he closes his eyes and lets out a punched groan as your cock carves into his insides, deeper than any other man had ever touched. his reddened cock throbs, slit pouring precome over his belly and thighs. the pleasure curls around his thoughts, his head spinning from it, and he feels your stomach tense under his palms.

you spill into him with a deep, satisfied growl, head tipping back as he arches against you. your hips roll up against his and the coil tightening in his belly snaps at the sight of you so wrecked from so little. he cries out, ropes of white streaking across your shirt, and his hips stutter and roll, milking your pleasure for his own like a succubus. he presses his ass into your lap, white teeth sinking into his plump lower lip, and his eyes roll as the thick warmth fills him up to the brim. 

at last, he slumps against your chest, thighs trembling and tensing as he hums softly into your neck. he buries his nose in the soft, warm skin, and cups your cheek to place a soft kiss on the corner of your jaw. 

"mm… good," he purrs, smiling with tender satisfaction. "i – i shall bring you to your… mm… room. it is just down the hall from my own... should you wish to see me, you only need to knock." his breath hitches as he raises his hips slowly, hole twitching around your shaft, and when it pops out, a steady stream of come leaks from him, staining his tanned skin. he sighs, closing his eyes to the slowing of your heartbeat. "but i think i will stay here for a time, if you don't mind. just until i – until i regain feeling and control of my legs."

"is that… is that normal?" you ask, a tiny panting tremor in your voice. "to lose feeling like that?"

taehyung laughs into your neck, eyes crinkling. "sometimes, when i feel overwhelmed. it is no fault of yours – you are just… big. don't worry. i liked it."

he shifts in your lap to get comfortable but pauses as something pokes his thigh. a sly smile spreads across his fine features, his fingers lifting to trace your jaw and tip your gaze to his own. he purrs, "is that for me, love? excited again?"

you gulp, unable to tear your stare from his despite the embarrassment clawing at your throat. "i – i…"

"handsome and energetic. i'm a lucky man." he laughs softly, reaching behind himself and groping your hard cock with a low moan. "i myself have been told i'm rather voracious. perhaps you will be the first to keep up with me."

he lowers himself on your cock, head tipping back as he teases himself with the thick head. his dick twitches.

"what say you to a change of scenery?" he asks coyly, perfectly content with your ragged-breath silence. every word you might have said disintegrates on your tongue when he turns around, arching his back and pinning your cock to your stomach. shining precome smears along the cleft of his ass.

his body, carved out of shadows by the fire, rocks and rolls like a ship in the harbour when all its crew are asleep. with an encouraging smile, he takes your hands and places them on his hips, pressing on them to guide you to control his body. he hums softly as you squeeze his hips and spread his asscheeks, your breath shaky as he angles his messy hole against your leaking tip. 

he watches your face with gentle eyes as he sinks down on your cock, his warm, wet hole swallowing up your shaft like he was made for it. you jump slightly when his ass firmly meets your lap, taking you hungrily until the hilt, and if he were a lesser man, your expression alone would have been enough to tip him over the edge. he sears every line of your face, every edge and plane, into the backs of his eyelids. it will make for fine company on lonely nights. 

you speak for the first time in a while. "p-please…" you whisper hoarsely, blunt nails digging into his smooth, unmarred skin, leaving crescent moons in your wake. "please, move."

"ah, but you are badly hurt… i must take my time with you. mustn't alert the servants, either, for they'd certainly report to my father what they've seen." taehyung giggles to himself, gnawing on his lower lip in an effort to subdue his grin. he grinds down into your lap in circles, relishing in the pleasured, impatient groans that escape your throat. "he'd toss you out in an instant, and we cannot have that! i haven't yet had my fill of you."

"a-are you always so… playful with your men, taehyung?" you ask, voice slightly strained. you watch your cock vanish into him, over and over again. the sound that is made when he bounces on your lap is obscene and filthy. your heart stirs with desire.

"mmh – no. my past conquests have not been as – as alluring as you," he gasps, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock, thumb rubbing circles over the ridge of his tip. "mostly, they bore me. you, however – you're more than a cock i can use to please myself, if i may speak so crudely."

"i – ah – th-think i should be grateful, then…?" you reply uncertainly.

"yes. unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of game… but tonight is about simplicity," he breathes, his skin tingling where your rough palms glide over his thighs, soft as cream. "we have only so long until the sun rises and the servants wake. i want to spend that time with you – learning your homeland's ballads and epics, your favourite flower, where i can touch to make you melt…"

he looses an airy laugh as your grip tightens on his waist, his shirt folded up between your fingers to reveal the curve of his spine and ass. you drag him down onto your cock roughly and he keens, eyes rolling back briefly. "ooh, y-you like that, don't you? ah—!"

already he is so sensitive. nowhere else has he felt pleasure like this – where his body is treated as more than a means to an end. he had been completely content with that when he entered this library, agreeable to the idea that you might like him only for what he can give you. but he swears – he swears on the old gods and the new – that the way you press your nose into the curve of his neck, the way you stroke him thin and thick tight and loose – caring, properly, for his own high – means your attraction is more than fleeting. 

years of ending up alone in empty beds have made him soft. lonely. desperate. perhaps he is reading into things too deeply, as he always does – poor boy, always a poet. the backs of his eyes sting with hot tears as his tightly-controlled leash snaps, making him cry out, writhe, and shudder, knees and elbows buckling under the weight of his orgasm. 

you catch him in your arms before he can slip, pulling him backwards towards your chest. it is warm, your throat shining with sweat, and he can feel the burning fever of your body through your clothes. still, you do not let go, push him away – you cradle him close, your heart thudding through your ribcage and into his own. 

one of your hands tugs languidly at his cock, milking his pleasure from him. you watch quietly as it spills over your knuckles, your lips pressed against his sweat-slick shoulder, and help him lift his hips off of your cock. 

for the first time in what feels like hours, taehyung takes a deep, full breath of air. he cups your face in a hand and smiles, wide and content.

"i didn't believe you could be more beautiful," you murmur, words slightly clipped at the end from a lack of breath. "i've never been happier to be wrong."

he opens his eyes with a flutter of lashes, pleasantly surprised. "haven't i already let you take me?"

"what do you mean?" you ask with a frown, tilting your head. your thoughts are foggy with warm laziness. the fire's heat does not help. "taehyung?"

the sound of his name almost startles him. he sits up, and a pleasurable ache sparks up his spine. he sucks in a deep breath. "you really… truly think that of me?"

you blink slowly, like a cat, and the fire's flames dance in your eyes. "i am a simple soldier. lies are above a man like me."

"you're more than that," he replies immediately, turning around on your lap to face you properly. "if you were just a soldier, you would have died on that battlefield. forgive me, but you had all the time to die on your way down the river. still, you survived." his voice softens, and he fiddles with your collar, straightening it and folding it down. "i am glad you did. i am glad to have met you."

"ah…" gently, you tug his shirt down, allowing him the return of some of his dignity, though he does not seem to care. "that reminds me – i shouldn't waste much time here. i should report to the general."

"for what?" taehyung scoffs, and it sounds… hurt. he glances away. "am i so repugnant you would rather march thirty miles a day in mud-soaked boots than stay here with me?"

"no!" you protest, sitting up as best you can with the growing ache in your side. you had been too caught up in the moment to remember it, and now your body reminds you jealously. "t'ain't that, taehyung. you are intelligent and kind and if we were in my homeland, i wouldn't hesitate to ask your hand. but surely you have a girl you're supposed to marry?"

"no, not at the moment. despite what he says, my father still grieves my mother. it will be a while yet before he'll allow another woman into the house." he traces shapes into your skin. "i will free you from the servitude of the evil king who bound you, and together, princess and dragon will live freely, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs."

at first, you smile at the newfound softness of his voice, but freeze. "free… of servitude?"

taehyung watches you, draping his legs over the other side of the armchair, kicking his feet lazily. his eyes are dark and watchful. "as i know it, the king's oath swears that you are only relieved of your duty when you give your blood for his and fall in battle against his enemies. have you not satisfied these requirements?"

"i may be no scholar, but i'm near certain that to 'fall in battle' means to die in it."

"have you not satisfied these requirements?" he repeats, firmer. "our doctors and priests said you were dead when i brought you to them. they said you may have been alive when i found you, but somewhere between the riverbank and their stone table marked the spot where you died. as they proclaimed this, you coughed again, and nobody could deny me this time when i said you were very clearly alive."

"you are telling me that i died… and returned? like a saint?" you ask sceptically. 

"i only tell you what our doctors told me."

for a while, you are silent. determination creases taehyung's brow, and you cannot hold in the disbelieving laugh that erupts from you, though it morphs into a groan of pain in the middle. taehyung sits up and presses his palm to your cheek, his eyes so vivid and certain. 

"you have already died, and thus retain no obligations to the crown," he whispers. his gaze scours your face. "you are free. free to stay here. live here…"

with me.

your heart drops into your stomach. you grip his waist, shifting in the velvet chaise. "i'm…"

"agree. agree to it. even if i cannot bear your children, we will sleep in the same bed, take walks in the wheat fields, eat and drink every meal together. you won't fear for your life every day. and as soon as the war ends and they open the trade routes to your home, i shall book passage on a ship and take you there. you may stay, if you wish. i won't deny you."

"then why offer at all?" you ask quietly. "if you think i'll leave you the moment i can, why would you even try?"

"i can hope, can i not? by all accounts our kings have no desire to cease any time soon. perhaps you will learn to love me in time." he smiles, faint, and averts his gaze. "otherwise, i will be glad to help another soul. you will survive the war and return to your family, whole and healthy. out here, away from people, i have little chance to do something so good and noble."

"and if i grow restless? if i want to do something with my hands?"

he tilts his head thoughtfully. "how is your aim?"

"fair, i s'pose. haven't missed when it's important."

"the lord's hunter grows old," he proclaims. "he can teach you what he knows, and if you like, you may take up the title once he can no longer ride and shoot. besides that, there is always work to be done in the fields and granary – perhaps you'll find some comfort in the farms?"

you think about it, long and hard. in essence you would be a prisoner at his beck and call, though if taehyung tells the truth and is as earnest as he appears, perhaps you'll find freedom and enough work to fill your days with…

you give your answer, and taehyung's smile is like the sun.

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 03

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: mature language | 02 | 04 | masterlist

popbase ✓ 12h

liked by user, rafecameron and 578,000 others

popbase alternative/indie singer, rafe cameron, joins the short list of artists to chart at least 3 songs in the top 5 of the billboard hot 100 simultaneously. ‘red lights and regret’ becomes his third #1 hit. this achievement comes from only having released singles and 1 album. sources say that he’s set to announce an album soon.

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rafesmuse oh impact!!

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rafesno1 here since his guitar videos in his room, look how far he’s come

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rafeswife i’m so proud of my husband 💍

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rafecameronupdates how will this affect the tour?

user so glad he’s getting the recognition he deserves

rafecameron couldn’t have done of with you guys

rafeonlyfans rafe come home the kids miss you 😢

rafecameron ✓ 8h

liked by sarahcameron, randomceleb, and 2,300,000 others

rafecameron me for @/dazedmagazine

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user suddenly i’m a dart

rafescameron okay who took my pants 🤨

rafeupdates raw next question

poguenation this is insane

rafesangel tear ran down my leg

sunshine4sarah idk what’s happening 🧍🏾‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

popbase i have something very inappropriate to say

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notmyrafe all i need is 10 minutes and a hair tie

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allaboutrafe until the bed breaks

rafeswardrobe until nothing, we ain’t stopping

user scrolling feels like divorce 💔

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barry the kids miss you 😢

rafecameron i’m coming ❤️

hypnoticrafe literally? 👀

topperthornton 🔥🔥

yourusername 1h

liked by noahcarter, rafecameron, cleo and 167 others

yourusername outer banks you will always be famous x

tagged; @/cleo, @/miaroan, @/sarahcameron @/kiecarrera

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kiecarrera the lewinsky to my clinton 😩

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sarahcameron need you under my christmas tree

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sarahcameron moments before disaster

miaroan how did it even get that bad, cleo was watching her

cleo she truly has a mind of her own

yourusername i wasn’t that bad guys

kiecarrera 😒 you fell multiple times on your ass.

yourusername whoever suggested pregaming the pregame is at fault. cough cough mia

miaroan blushes and licks screen

yourusername blushes and kisses screen

cleo you’re right next to each other.

miaroan get the strap

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cleo do you think i could hit it from the back?

cleo platonically of course, i respect you ✊

yourusername 😧

johnbroutledge did our invite get lost in the mail?

sarahcameron they said the bar was girls only i think

yourusername ^^

jjmaybank no flowers how peculiar 🤨

yourusername i tried to take some photos of them but they all came out blurry :((

popeheyward commenting for inclusion

noahcarter 😍😍

user the kind of girl people write songs about, and dedicate albums to

topperthornton 😏😏

kelce 😏😏

sarahcameron 😏😏

yourusername ??

a/n: cleo when she’s just a chill girl who wants to platonically smash her friend:

[diamonds-of-the-first-water]

I Have Evolving Thoughts on Fran’s Sexuality

(god hannah dodd is so pretty)

First of all let’s thank GOD francesca is the queer sister and not…that other one.

Anyways upon my initial viewing of part 2 I definitely read Fran as bisexual and if you continue to read her as such I think that’s fine but my mind has changed on the matter.

I believe that Fran is actually a lesbian suffering from comphet.

The reason this actually started to seem likely to me is because of her wedding scene with John. The whole season I thought they seemed so taken with one another and I enjoyed their quiet dynamic. They were more than comfortable sitting in silence with one another and seemed to grow closer in that way.

I like many others assumed this meant their love was romantic, but that kiss

Would a woman who is attracted to men make this face after kissing the man she loves? I don’t think so. Some people seem to think it’s because she’s shy but it doesn’t seem like she’s even thinking about her family here. It seems like she has retreated into her own thoughts. It seems like she was disappointed. And after spending the whole season feeling nothing for any of the men she meets why wouldn’t she be. She met a man she loved and she kissed him and she didn’t feel those sparks.

Now Fran is also autistic coded so this initially affected the way I viewed her relationships as well, but all of that changes when you take into account Michaela.

Francesca immediately starts to stutter and is flustered when she sees Michaela. We have never seen Fran act this way with a man, even her husband. It wasn’t for no reason that Violet describes how she felt the first time she fell in love with Edmund and then almost immediately after Fran reacts the same way to Michaela. The butterflies, not being able to string a sentence together. This was foreshadowing.

Some people were upset because they said it erased everything Fran said about having a quiet love and that is somewhat true, but I disagree with people saying that it erases slowly built love when Polin’s whole story is about love not striking you like a bolt of lightning.

None of this is to say she can’t love John, I believe she does I just feel it is platonic, and the loss of John would hit hard even if he was her best friend. John is one of the great loves of her life but who is to say that love is romantic? Friendships are the foundation of our lives and they are equally as important as any romantic relationship. Fran met someone who understands her and is like her, that doesn’t mean she has to have romantic attraction for him.

Some of this is affected by personal bias as I am a late-blooming lesbian, but holy shit the way I relate to Fran wanting to get married just because it would mean she wouldn’t have to pursue any other relationships with men and the way she was willing to accept whoever the Queen deemed fit because she didn’t have any criteria except “is kind to me”. Fran does not seem to be searching for love as she has not felt it before. The closest she comes is with John because the two of them are so similar and I believe she thought that because she liked him so much that she must be in love with him which is just so…lesbian coded I don’t know how to explain it.

This isn’t to say bisexuality isn’t real or is “just a phase”. Ew. Gross. No. This is just the way I am interpreting the character with the information we have now. If it comes out definitely that she is bisexual then I will accept that, sapphic rep is so needed.

All in all they look so good and I can’t wait to see these queers kiss and have a romance.

Also I think that Michaela still could have fallen first. Fran just realized she was a dyke at that exact moment and her brain stopped working which is valid. But did you see the way Michaela looked at her. I KNOW A LESBIAN FALLING IN LOVE WHEN I SEE ONE.

[needle-thread-thimble-spear]

RGU and the Transfeminine, Part 1

OR

Why Miki Kaoru is an Egg

Fig. 1: The Sunlit Garden

When I’d first watched through Revolutionary Girl Utena, Miki Kaoru was initially one of the characters I had the hardest time figuring out. Unlike the other poisoned sibling relationships in the show, Miki and Kozue’s didn’t really make much sense to me. I couldn’t decide how I felt about the character, whether he was “better” somehow than Touga, Saionji, or Akio, or if he was “just as bad”. And of course. What the hell is with that damn stopwatch dude??* Looking at fan writings afterward just deepened the confusion. Everyone seems to have a different opinion on what’s going on with Miki. It’s only after much re-watching, and introspection, that I think I’ve figured out why I’m so conflicted about the character. I’d like to share why- and hopefully along the way I can at least show that Miki is more interesting than many give him credit for. Click the readmore if you please!

(And, to be clear, what is written below is a reading, a blend of evidence from the text, from the subtext, and my own personal experience. I do not claim to be the first to interpret the character this way nor do I claim that this is the definitive read of the character. Nonetheless, I hope I can make my case to you!)

and, a big thank you to @empty-movement for collating all the high quality screengrabs and scans in this post!

Fig 2: Rookie Princes

While I’m not the first to notice, I think it’s frequently overlooked just how similar Utena and Miki are in the first arc. It’s definitely something that flies over the heads of many first-time viewers. But Miki and Utena, are extremely alike! Of course, they are both motivated by an unattainable image of the past, and Miki’s early episodes codify the “sunlit garden” into the RGU symbolic environment. But it’s more than just this. Utena and Miki both treat Anthy in basically the same way. Utena has an easy time convincing Miki that the dueling game is objectifying nonsense. That the principled thing is to leave the whole exercise behind and treat Anthy like a person. It isn’t very hard for Miki to convince Utena to duel him for her hand either. They both view themselves as her personal protector, and (while maybe at different times), both project their imagination of what she must be thinking onto her. Utena does a bit more than Miki to try and figure Anthy out, but it doesn’t take much for her to get swept up in her own image of prince. In both their minds, Anthy needs them to save her. And, when Anthy looks them in the eyes, and tells them. I’m not yours. It destroys them. Freezes them in their tracks, breaks their hearts. Screaming, its a lie, you can’t mean that! Of course they get along so well! They see themselves in one another, plain as day. Little rival princelings, seeking the affections of the same princess, but always with chivalry and good intention.

Fig 3: Heartbreak

But I think there is more to it than that! Miki and Utena (and later Nanami) are some of the youngest duelists (at least, without a black rose anyway). And, they have fairly similar relationships to the other members of the student council. Juri acts as an older friend, mentor, and source of advice for both of them. Its not unlikely that she sees her younger self in the two of them, and while she does very directly take this out on Utena, its her sword that Utena takes to her second duel with Touga. Indeed, Touga manipulates Miki and Utena in unsubtle and sexually aggressive ways, as compared to how he might treat Saionji or Juri. And for both, its their relationship to gender that he directly attacks. He attempts to break Utena’s spirit by turning her “back into a normal girl”, and for Miki he seems to challenge his masculinity. And while this may seem as though the two of them are being shoved in opposite directions, in both cases, Touga hits them in the same place. “You’re a prince then? I don’t think so. Unless you prove it”. Touga isn’t the only one to question Miki’s ability or status. Utena and Juri both tell Miki. You are much more suited to playing piano than dueling. The main difference here is that they tell him this with genuine compassion, but the implication is the same. You aren’t suited to this prince thing. Give it up.

I don’t think it’s just the audience who is conflicted slotting in Miki with the other “men”.

Fig 4: Strange Friends

Much ink has been spilled on Miki and Kozue’s relationship, but I do think there is one thing consistent across readings. There is a power struggle going on between them, and they’ve both got something to hold over the others head. Personally, I don’t believe there is any attraction between them. Rather, What’s Going On With Those Two is their mismatch in understanding their sexuality and the RGU concept of “Reality”, and the friction that creates in their image of themselves and one another. That reading may go as follows. Miki sees Kozue as acting dangerously and immorally. In his mind, she is his responsibility, to keep out of trouble at the very least. Perhaps he sees himself as needing to step in for their absent parents. So he sees himself as the mature and grounded one, a father figure needing to keep the both of them on the straight and narrow. Kozue on the other hand, sees Miki as being essentially blind to Reality (with a capital R). She believes he doesn’t have a good grasp of what sex is, or what adult relationships look like. She may believe that she understands what happened with their parents much better than Miki, and clearly sees that her brother is in danger with his creepy music teacher. So she sees herself as the mature and grounded one, needing to protect her brother both by warding off people who would take advantage of him and by getting him to grow up and see things as they Really are. Without their parents, they feel the need to take care of one another and control how the other approaches their sexuality. But in the end, it does seem that Kozue is the one who is better able to manipulate Miki’s behavior, helping Akio convince him to duel a second time. That Miki needs to grow up and accept what he wants. He sees a vision of Anthy, and he’s driving the akiomobile. And, with fearful realization, he discovers the identity of End of the World.

Fig 5: Fear

So then. Why should Miki be so hung up about his sexuality? It clearly makes him very uncomfortable. And why does he compare the sister he had in the past onto the one he has in the present? What’s so special about that sunlit garden, anyway? What is Miki Kaoru’s shining thing?

Let me spin a yarn, if you'll indulge me-

As far as Miki remembers it, when he was little things were perfect. His parents were still there, and he and his twin sister were thick as thieves. They would play piano together, and drink milkshakes. Things were simple and happy as far as he’s concerned, and while his childhood was not nearly as rosy as he remembers, it was certainly better than whatever he has to deal with now. Now his parents are gone for reasons he doesn’t quite understand, and his sister has drifted away from him and acts promiscuously. His body is starting to change, and it fills him with disgust. Worse still, he finds himself envying his sister for some reason. It all floods him with shame. He needs to fight those feeling with everything he has. Being very clever for his age, he finds himself the youngest member of the student council. He becomes involved with the dueling game as it is revealed to him, and goes along with it, not wanting to act out of place. He gets a crush on Anthy, and is unable to figure out what the hell he should do about it. Later, he meets Utena, and the two become fast friends. And how lucky, his new friend is roommates with his crush! She’s just so perfect. She’s kind, and quiet, and chaste, not at all like his sister. He feels a kinship with her. And in an act of cosmic fate- she plays for him his favorite childhood arrangement. It’s just as Touga says. He can’t let the world get to her, the way its getting to his sister. The way its getting to him. He needs to make sure that Anthy, and his memories, are safe. But alas- it seems she doesn’t feel the same way. She’d rather be with Utena. Hopefully, Utena can protect her where he cannot. Miki and Utena go back to being friends, and he nurses his hurt feelings privately. It wouldn't do to make a scene about it, and besides, it wasn’t appropriate for him to think of her like that anyway. Thinking about anyone like that. He can’t help but feel disgusted with himself for allowing it. Later, his relationship with his sister continues to deteriorate, and his father is remarrying. But he can stick by his principles, and stay out of it all, the dueling especially. Kozue, Touga, and Akio have other plans. He is confronted with Reality, and it terrifies him. He sees himself in the drivers seat, Anthy his. This is what he is now, no point in trying to hide from it. He challenges Utena again, taking an early advantage utilizing his new resolve and Utena’s confusion. But that resolves breaks quickly. What is Kozue doing with Anthy?

Pay attention, or you’ll lose.

Fig 6: Crash!!

Miki is disgusted with himself, his role, because he does not want it. He hates what’s happening to himself and his family. He admires Utena and Juri, for embodying his ideal self. He listens to Touga, puts up with his music teacher, even if they make him feel gross and uncomfortable, because he feels he has to and that he doesn’t have a choice. He idolizes Anthy, so much. He is attracted to her, but maybe there is something more. Maybe, Miki wishes he could be her. Miki, in my mind, is a closeted trans lesbian going through puberty as a boy. I think that part of this might be projection, perhaps. But I hope that I might have made my case using the text of the show. But even if you disagree, I hope that you might have a better appreciation for his character. I think he’s fairly consistently people’s least favorite council member as a character, but honestly he’s my favorite and I think there’s a lot more too him than a lot of people give him credit for.

Fig 7: Three Lesbians Hanging Out

… this all being said. I think it’s interesting that Miki thinks Anthy is the picture of femininity right? That this is what he wants.

In the end, all girls are like the rose bride.

Please wait patiently while I make the case, that while Miki is an egg. Anthy has long since hatched...

(And I do mean be patient! This subject, and the concept that Ohtori represents a transmisogynystic institution at its very core, is WAY more personal than this headcanon, and also is much more of a difficult thing to write for dozens of reasons. I'm still not 100% sure it would even be right of me to post my thoughts on that publicly. But if enough people are interested, maybe that would motivate me to write it!)

*What’s a good Miki essay without some sort of Stopwatch Theory tm? Well (and I freely admit much of this is probably projection, but it’s not just me projecting! It’s also my girlfriend!!), Miki seems to get very wrapped up in his own thoughts. He is very self conscious, takes the criticisms of others very seriously, and also seems to get ideas about How Things Are Going To Happen in his head. He desperately tries to make sense of his surroundings, and finds himself consistently failing to do that. So my guess is the stopwatch is a way for him to regulate and calibrate his thoughts and hypotheses and self image. He picked it up in his duty as council secretary, but its something he feels is significant outside of that. Aha moment? Click. Unexpected end to a council meeting? Click. Something go completely as expected? Click. It helps him process I think. That is my formal Stopwatch Hypothesis tm.

Supplement Fig 1: Stopwatch

[targaryenmarvel]

A Stark Legacy (2)

Wanda Maximoff x Stark!Reader

Summary: The life of a Stark is tumultuous, especially when you are the only daughter of the technology magnates. You find yourself at a crossroads, struggling to meet your father's towering expectations while also pursuing your desires. This turning point is marked by the arrival of a certain green-eyed girl, a meeting that not only disrupts your world but also sets your heart on fire. Will you finally follow your heart or conform to your father's expectations?

Warnings: Language, Homophobia, Sexism

Word count: 2,971

New York City bustled in the early morning hours as cars clogged the streets and pedestrians filled the sidewalks, commuting to and from work. You had long faced this predicament while commuting to and from Stark Industries, enduring the long traffic even when you had a driver. It had stopped bothering you, especially when you moved to a penthouse closer to the building.

Dressed in a refined suit, you strutted into the building, heading straight to your office. Agatha Harkness, your assistant, greets you with a steaming cup of coffee and the day's newspaper. "Good morning, Y/N."

"Morning, Agatha." You took a sip of the drink, walking towards your desk. "What do we have on the schedule for today?"

"9:30 a meeting with a Hammer Industries representative. 12 a board meeting. Lunch with Mr. Barnes at 1:30, a conference call with Stark Fujikawa at 2:45, and a meeting with General Talbot on licensing Stark products at 4. We also have the interviewees for my replacement coming in later today."

"You can take care of the interviews, can you, Aggie?" You asked in a honeyed voice. Although posed as a question, you knew she would do it as instructed. Yet you gave her a semblance of choice due to the close relationship you had developed over the years—a connection based not only on mutual understanding and trust but also affection.

"All right, I'll sacrifice my valuable time," Agatha responded, biting her lip as she sat in one of the many chairs and clasped her hands on the desk. "Now, give me the tea. How's the wedding planning?

You groaned, dropping the newspaper you held and reclining in the chair.

"Two weeks, and they're already driving me crazy. My mother and my soon-to-be mother-in-law," you clarified. "Bombarding me with questions at all hours. 'Y/N, how many guests are you inviting? Where will the wedding be? Do you have a dress in mind?' Why ask if they'll disregard what I say and do the opposite."

"How is that?" Agatha cocked her head, furrowing her brows at your stressed demeanor. She had expected happiness and excitement at your pending nuptials.

You spun your chair to face the vast window wall, which gave you a perfect city view. Seeing the city's vastness made you feel small, yet simultaneously reminded you of your place in the world at the top of society, a burden that followed you like a shadow.

"Bucky and I wanted a small wedding. Only family and close friends, but a Stark and a Barnes must have an extravagant wedding. Event of the year, right?"

Agatha sighed sympathetically. It wasn't the first time your father had overlooked your wishes to favor the more socially appealing action to enhance the family's public perception and reputation. She'd seen the faux smiles each time.

"Unfortunately," Agatha replied. "But it's still your wedding. Make the most out of it. After all, you only get married once."

"Once? I could end up divorcing and remarrying," you joked with a smile as you turned back toward her.

"Perhaps, but I doubt it."

"Me too," you agreed, returning to your daily paper as you considered your future with Bucky.

Given the nature of your actual relationship, it is an unconventional union, yet you could not envision marrying anyone else. Once upon a time, you dreamed of finding love, but it crashed with continuous disappointment. You remember the first time it happened at just sixteen as you overheard a conversation between your then-boyfriend and a so-called friend. He pushed her against the wall, and she let him despite acting reluctant.

"You're dating, Y/N," she said.

"Yeah, so? We all know I'm not dating her for her personality. The only interesting thing about her is her money," he responded, kissing her neck, and she chuckled before pulling him into a kiss.

Bucky snuck into your room that night, holding you in his after a distressed call. You had done the same for him the night he had confessed his sexuality to you a year later. It wasn't something you had considered before despite admiring multiple women. You had always assumed you would marry a man, but as Bucky confessed, something clicked. From then on, it was something that brought you closer together, protecting eachother.

Your families could medal all they wanted; all that mattered was that you would spend the rest of your life with a man you loved. Yes, not romantic love, but a love that made you both happy.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Today was not Wanda Maximoff's day.

Despite triple-checking her alarm the night before, the phone had not rang. The damn thing had automatically updated overnight and disabled her alarm. Wanda would have slept through half the day if not for her roommate. Now, Wanda found herself frantically rushing through her apartment with a toothbrush in her mouth and a singular high heel in her left hand. The corners of her blouse were untucked from the navy blue pencil skirt as she turned down the apartment in search of the other heel.

She felt her insides turning, anxiety filling her body the longer she scrambled around without success. I can't screw this up, Wanda thought, feeling her eyes burn with unshed tears. She had worked so hard for this opportunity. At 23, Wanda accomplished her dream and graduated with a business degree. Eager to put her degree to use, Wanda applied for various positions. Yet, she soon came to a crushing realization. No one wanted to hire a recently graduated student with no experience in the field. An entry-level position actually meant, "Do you have ten years of experience in the field?"

Wanda settled for jobs unrelated to her expertise, jumping from secretarial jobs at sales companies. What else could she do? Her family lived across the country, and she had expenses to pay. Wanda needed a job.

Throughout the years, she tried applying for better jobs but continued to be rejected. The one time she got a job offer, it came from a pervy man, and Wanda would rather not. On the verge of abandoning her quest, Wanda found her saving grace late at night at a bar when she collided with a stranger—a redhead beauty with striking green eyes and a witty tongue—on the dance floor. They quickly struck up a conversation trading numbers at the end of the night.

Three years into their friendship, Natasha's girlfriend had gotten Wanda an interview with the most prominent technological company—an assistant job, but a start into something bigger. Wanda was sure she would be able to demonstrate her capabilities and earn a better position.

Wanda's panic was warranted, considering her future depended on making a good impression, and running late was not a good start.

"Darcy, have you seen my heels?" Wanda called out in a muffled voice, trying to keep in the paste.

"What?" her roommate yelled back from her room.

Wanda rolled her eyes and spit out the paste. "My heels."

"Oh, yeah." She heard scuffling from the room next door before Darcy appeared with the missing pair. Wanda sighed in relief, hugging the shoe to her chest, and fixed Darcy with a glare.

"I've been losing my mind trying to fucking find this heel, and you had it all this time?" Wanda accused.

Darcy stepped back and lifted her hands in defense of Wanda's accusations. "First off, you dropped them in my room the last time you passed out drunk in there, and second, you have others!" She noted as if it weren't obvious.

Wanda rolled her eyes and lifted the heels in one hand. "Well, I wanted these," she countered, annoyance lacing her tone.

"Wanda, calm down. Take a breath." Darcy inhaled deeply and then released the air, instructing Wanda to do the same, and she complied. "I understand this interview is important, but you cannot let the nerves interfere with your composure. Wanda Maximoff is strong, confident, and composed, so be it."

Wanda nodded, clutching her bottom lip between her pearly teeth and staring at the floor. She dropped her shoulders, dissipating all the accumulated muscle tension.

"You're right. I need to calm down." She lifted her gaze, eyes crinkled full of remorse for her outburst. "I'm sorry about—"

"Hey, don't sweat it," Darcy patted Wanda's shoulder as she walked past her on her way out. She turned her head as she opened the door. "I'll be home late. Jane's working me to the bones, but text me how it goes."

"I will," Wanda yelled, less anxious.

Though she would occasionally peek at the ticking clock, she continued getting ready without a hitch, applying her makeup and styling her brown locks.

Wanda left the apartment with forty minutes to spare and arrived at Stark Industries with five. Exiting her Uber, she could only gawk at the massive tower, eyes twinkling in hope as she imagined her future at the company.

Wanda confidently strode into the vast entrance area, her eyes scanning every inch of the space. The high ceiling and grandiose decor made her feel small and unimportant, and her anxiety returned to full force as she stopped before the reception desk. belonging

"Hello," Wanda called, fidgeting with the bag strap perched on her shoulder as she checked the time on her phone. Three minutes. The blonde lifted her gaze from the monitor, staring at Wanda expectantly. "I'm here for an interview. I'm Wanda Wanda Maximoff."

The blonde woman hummed while obnoxiously chewing on her gum. "What department?" she asked in a flat tone.

Could she be any more unprofessional? Wanda thought, on the verge of rolling her eyes; if this was the bar for working at Stark Industries, then she certainly had a chance.

"Oh, um, it's a personal assistant position," Wanda answered, retaining her composure.

"Just a moment." The woman picked up the phone, and Wanda rocked on her heels, impatiently glancing around.

She took better notice of her surroundings: the orchid vases settled on the reception desk and the rectangular tinted window behind it, which Wanda assumed was used by security. Slightly to the right, glass double doors flanked by rose pots led further into the building. The high ceiling measured up to three floors, and in between the second and third floor, rectangular glass windows lined the corridor every so many feet, giving a view of the lobby. The place exuded life as people entered and exited. She couldn't wait to see what other wonders this place had for her.

Wanda became too entranced and startled when the receptionist called her name. She turned with a flushed face and felt glad when the blonde woman did not look at her but instead gave her directions while staring at her computer screen. Without a second thought, Wanda rushed to the elevator, nearly bumping into the exiting bodies. She focused on the digital screen, which displayed the floor number as the elevator ascended: five, ten, twenty, and the count when on. The brunette could not stop tapping her foot as it halted to let people in or out. She had to go before it became too late.

As soon as the elevator opened, Wanda rushed through the hall, following the receptionist's instructions, going past cubicles and small offices. Already late, she thought as she came upon a vacant "L" shaped desk separated from the others, giving a cue to the importance of the occupant. Her eyes settled on the giant Stark Industries logo behind the desk, desperately trying to quell her apprehension at the lack of activity—no one to greet her as the receptionist had promised.

Busy leveling her heavy breathing from nearly running, Wanda did not notice a figure approaching from an adjoining room to the side. "Ms. Maximoff, I presume," called a voice from behind. Wanda turned quickly, feeling the muscles in her neck protest at the action. Her gaze was met with an elegantly dressed and stunning dark-haired woman. Though she seemed older than herself, Wanda thought it only amplified her beauty.

"Yes, that would be me," she rubbed her hand against her skirt, wiping the forming sweat. "I sincerely apologize for my belatedness. Getting here was a hassle, but I promise it's a one-time-only problem," Wanda hastily excused.

"Oh, don't apologize." The woman waved off dismissively. "We've all been there before."

At her words, Wanda could breathe freely for the first time since arriving at the building.

"Thank you..." she drew out, scrunching her brows, waiting for the woman to say her name.

"Agatha Harkness, sweetheart," she replied, extending her hand in greeting. Wanda blushed at the term as she shook the older woman's hand. "I'm Ms. Starks' assistant. I'll be conducting your interview today. Oh, don't look so glum," Agatha joked, noticing Wanda's apprehension at the mention of being the interviewer.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Wanda cried. Already making a bad impression, she thought. "I didn't mean to—"

Agatha gave a belly laugh, silencing Wanda in the middle of her sentence. "Oh, I'm joshing with you. You have nothing to worry about, dear. Let's go into the conference room. We can continue there," Agatha said with a smile that crinkled her eyes, and Wanda felt momentarily hypnotized by the sight.

Agatha led Wanda into a room with a large oval table from the left. She was surprised she hadn't seen Agatha before, considering the only thing separating the two areas was thin glass walls.

As the interview progressed, Wanda could not help but feel foolish for overthinking. While Agatha asked her the typical questions, she occasionally diverted from the subject, joking around and talking about herself, which eased Wanda's nerves.

They were going on about Agatha's college days when she gasped in delight as she looked through the glass panel. "Oh, look dear," Agatha instructed, nodding, and Wanda turned in her seat, her sight resting on a woman.

She couldn't make out the woman's features as her back was turned, so she let her eyes roam over the expensive-looking gray suit. The attire perfectly hugged her figure, and the confident aura surrounding the woman entranced observers. She ran a hand through her hair as the other held a phone to her ear, looking down at something on Agatha's desk. As the stranger pulled her hair out of her face, Wanda caught a glimpse of the woman's features. A jolt coursed through her body, and her face reddened at the sight. Attractive, she's so damn attractive, Wanda mused, eyes settling on the woman's exposed neck as she looked upward in apparent desperation. Wanda couldn't help fall for the enchantment of her imposing beauty and authority.

"That's Ms. Stark," Agatha informed from her side, recalling her attention. "Intimidating, I know, but looks can be deceiving. Y/N's a real sweetheart... most of the time," she chuckled fondly, peering at the figure crossing the wooden office doors. Wanda gave a forced smile, mind racing at her strange reaction. "Anyhow, I've kept you here long enough, dear. I'm sure you have better things to do than hear me rant about how I joined a witch coven in college. I'll talk with Ms. Stark and let you know when a decision is made."

"Oh, okay," Wanda stood from her seat. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Harkness."

"All, mine, dear."

When Wanda walked out of Stark Industries, her mind screamed three things: Thank God it's over; I think I did well; and OMG, did I check my possibly future boss out?

When Natasha mentioned she would be working with a Stark, she assumed it would be Tony, the oldest Stark child. Not the magnate's youngest daughter, who seemed to receive the least media coverage.

Wanda doesn't think she had heard her name before Agatha's mention. Y/N, even her name, is beautiful, Wanda mused, walking down the streets of New York.

You released a heavy sigh, slumping in your office chair, and closed your eyes, vexed after your ten-minute conversation with Justin Hammer. The Hammer Industries CEO called you after receiving your refusal to collaborate with said company. Not without a few stipulations, he continued to object to. You were tired of his persistent demands.

A soft knock reverberated through the room before the door opened, and Agatha entered with a sympathetic smile.

"Rough call?"

"Yup," you responded, rubbing your temples. "Justin Hammer. I'm letting Tony handle it next time."

"Hopefully, nobody gets hurt," Agatha said, and you cracked a smile.

"Hopefully, Tony lands a few good punches. I'm tired of that prick's face," you jested, imagining Justin Hammer sprawled on the floor with a broken nose. You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh as Agatha placed a few folders on your desk. "What are these?" You opened the first one, only to find a picture of a blonde woman and a few documents behind.

"Oh, resumes of the girls I interviewed. I thought I'd let you take a look."

"Hhm, that won't be necessary. I trust your judgment." You closed the folder, pushing the stack. "I'm sure I'll be content with whoever you choose, Aggie."

"Alrighty! Then, I'm happy to inform you I've made my decision."

You quirked an eyebrow, resting your chin on your clasped hands. "Have you now? Who's the lucky candidate?"

"Wanda Maximoff. You might have seen her in the conference room when you returned."

our

You furrowed your eyebrows, humming as you rested back on the chair. You did catch sight of Agatha with another woman, yet it was only for a second. Too entrapped by frustration, you failed to take any actual notice of the woman.

"Her file's the last one in the stack if you want to look at it," Agatha suggested at your lack of response.

"Later. Let's prepare for the conference call with Stark Fujikawa."

Later never came. The file remained unopened while you went on with your obligations.

Taglist: @sgm616 @xxsekhmet

[liketwoswansinbalance]

In the modern publishing landscape, these days, I think like we do not have many (if any) point-of-view characters with low social motivation for whatever reason.

Sure, there are lots of characters with social anxiety or other perceived or legitimate foibles to overcome, there are many YA villain origin stories, and there are many unpalatable, traditionally "unlikable" men in classics, but disregarding those, who else do we have?

Can the state of openly being alone (and content) rarely be presented as morally-neutral or as the end result of a narrative? Must it always be that either being alone is the starting point, so there's room for "personal growth," or that being alone is seen as "undesirable" and/or an indication that the person alone has a "problem" or something otherwise wrong with them, like a deficit or moral failing that in some kind of karmic way gives them "what they deserve," which is being alone and discontent with it?

Characters with society anxiety, any differences in communication, or other reasons that interfere with forging connections "don't count" because they may still be motivated. Traits such as these only stand in the way of gaining relationships, as plot obstacles. They aren't intrinsically tied to indifference or to low motivation. So, these characters clearly are not experiencing a lack of interest. And they are not the ones rejecting others. Thus, they "don't count" as far as the archetype that I'm looking for goes.

Characters who undergo villain arcs or otherwise negative arcs may want to maintain their relationships or gain them, so some examples are immediately disqualified (hence not having low social motivation), even if they are the type of character most likely to alienate themselves by a story's end, conflicting with what they wanted.

(Unfortunately, Coriolanus Snow, who is quite close to the type of protagonist I'm searching for "doesn't count" because he has some drive to keep people in his life.

Rafal Mistral partially "counts," and is satisfying as a character, but also doesn't count because he temporarily makes "friends" or allies, depending on how you look at his exploits. Yet, despite all this, not having friends isn't exactly framed as a morally-neutral state either, so he is also disqualified by the end. Basically, he does have low social motivation, but his narrative lacks the conditions that would make the natural consequences of that low motivation play out for themselves. He is always surrounded by people, even if he hates every last one of them.

And, generally speaking, the usual, moody-broody, "misunderstood" YA love-interests very easily "don't count" because they have a desire to get closer to their object of affection.

Even Katniss Everdeen, an overall good person, who usually views herself as "unlikable," befriends others, originally for pragmatic, survival purposes. However, she does start with low social motivation, so that's something in her favor.

And yes, I'm aware that we need other people in this world—I would just like to see someone prove that supposed truth wrong once. And perhaps succeed in their world, if that's not too much to ask for.)

Also, are there any instances of characters who progressively alienate themselves from others, in which that progression is not inherently seen as negative? Like, what about non-corrupt misanthropes? Are there few of those in literature? (Maybe—Eleanor Oliphant from literary fiction counts, but something about that book did not appeal me and I didn't finish it.)

Classics guys sort of "count," but I haven't really seen examples of any comparable protagonists today since many authors and readers write and look for "relatability" in blank slate everyman figures oftentimes.

(I'm not done with Crime and Punishment yet, but Raskolnikov is very tentatively looking like a safe bet for a character who may end up alone and who may not be completely malcontent over such a fate, even if I'm expecting tragedy. I'm that not far along, but I also wouldn't mind it too greatly if he died, I suppose.

And even Sherlock Holmes has Watson as his constant, even if he's notoriously asocial! So he "doesn't count" either.

Carol from Main Street also comes close, but still ultimately desires approval from others.

Maybe no one is truly immune to humanity and I should give up on this notion?)

How many pov characters out there are 1) apathetic toward the masses and 2a) either alienate themselves as the plot progresses or 2b) do not make any friends? (I will allow them making friends and consequently losing them though because that still ends in net zero!)

Indeed, this "gap" in protagonists I've been running into lately, especially with coming-of-age arcs and protagonists whose arc is some form of "getting out of their shell," is: why do we (almost?) never see protagonists who just flat-out don't progress in terms of connecting with fellow humans?

Wouldn't having even a handful of those types be reflective of reality? (We as a society are more disconnected than ever, to be fair, despite constantly having access to one another via technology.)

Or I would completely understand it, if it were narratively impractical to have a plot in which a protagonist makes zero friends. Maybe, it's a near-unwritable form for a story?

So, my question is: does anyone have book recommendations, which present a character whose end goal is not to make friends or forge connections (any other ambitions or motivations are fine) and whose state of being friendless both lasts and is regarded as morally-neutral or as not outright evil? Any genre is fine. High fantasy is preferable. I am stumped.

(I also wouldn't mind recommendations of books in which the protagonist is vilified due to being alone, even if that is not my primary query here.)

[dinarosie]

Do you think the only reason Severus viewed Lily on a pedestal is because she was the only person who treated him with genuine affection etc.? Because from what I have seen of her she doesn't seem like this kind, perfect role model that lots of fanfiction potray her as. She seems pretty shallow and insecure. Ofc that is my opinion and I care about yours, so what do you think?

Yes, I believe Severus Snape’s childhood traumas and the lack of affection in his early life significantly shaped his connection to Lily. However, I think there’s a deeper, more profound reason why he held onto her memory for so many years. This is evident in the pivotal conversation between Dumbledore and Snape after Lily's death:

"And what use would that be to anyone?” said Dumbledore coldly. “If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear. You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily’s son.”

At this moment, Lily Evans and Snape’s love for her transcends the personal—she becomes a symbol, a guiding light for Snape through the dark and arduous years ahead. She represents more than just a childhood friend or a lost love (depending on one’s interpretation); she becomes a reminder of the path he chose when he decided to protect Harry Potter.

When Dumbledore asks Snape to commit to protecting Lily’s son, he simultaneously warns him of Voldemort’s eventual return. By agreeing to this task, Snape knowingly commits himself to opposing Voldemort and everything he stands for. In doing so, Lily’s memory becomes a beacon, illuminating the moral and redemptive path that Snape must follow. From this point onward, Lily is no longer just a memory of a lost friend or a woman he once loved; she becomes a symbol of Snape’s redemption—a reflection of his choice to rise above the mistakes of his past and fight for what is right. She represents Snape’s turning point, the moment when he grows beyond the insecure young man who once joined Voldemort and begins his journey of atonement.

What’s particularly fascinating is that Snape subconsciously projects his idealized, moral self onto Lily. By clinging to her memory, he is not merely holding onto a lost friend but to the pure, untainted part of himself—the side that feels remorse and strives to make amends for his past wrongs. Lily, in essence, becomes the embodiment of the man Snape wishes to be: someone willing to sacrifice and endure immense pain to protect others and do what is right.

This idea is somewhat akin to what Harry Potter does later in his life. As I’ve mentioned before, one of the reasons Harry names his son Albus Severus is because the name symbolizes Harry’s own growth and maturity. It is a reminder of everything Harry endured—loss, sacrifice, war, and the meaningful choices that defined him. Similarly, for Snape, Lily’s memory becomes a symbol of his own evolution—his growth, redemption, and the sacrifices he makes in the fight against evil. It serves as a testament that his struggles and pain were not in vain but deeply meaningful and ultimately right.

In this way, Snape’s attachment to Lily is not the shallow idolization of a perfect, kind, and flawless person. Instead, it’s a complex psychological and emotional phenomenon, rooted in his desire for redemption and a deeper connection to the moral compass that Lily’s memory provides. Her name becomes a touchstone for the man he chose to become—a man who, despite his flaws, strove to honor her and fight for a better world.

[sunandsstars]

DAYS PAST

Tonowari x Metkayina!Reader

Summary: Tonowari doesn’t like the idea of her daughter going off with a boy, but his mate is there to remind him of their youth Warnings: N/A Word count: 1.5k

Taglist: @eywas-heir @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @netherklutz

“My son, Ao’nung and daughter, Tsireya, will teach you our ways”

“Father-“

“It is decided” Tonowari, Olo’eyktan of the Metkayina welcomed Jake and his family into Awa’atlu. They sought uturu, a sanctuary away from the war back in the forests. He granted them permission to stay, but the Tsahìk Ronal was not happy with his decision, she does not trust these outsiders, especially with how they are part human themselves.

“Come, I will show you our village” Tsireya helped with their bags and led them to an empty marui on the far side of the village. He was glad at least one of his children was hospitable, he would need words with his son later. He knows that Ao’nung takes after his aunts views on them, it is evident in the scowls and remarks he threw at them.

“Who were they? ‘Wari?” a small Metkayinan woman stood next to the man, snapping him out of his trance and placing a gentle hand on his back, urging him to look at her. When he turned his head down he was face to face with his mate, ___. He did not see her with the crowd when the Omaticayans arrived, ‘she must have been deep in the ocean again’, he mused.

“That is Toruk Makto and his family. They seek uturu” he cupped his wife’s face and have her a kiss on the forehead, hand going down to her pregnant stomach, rubbing soothing circles. She was a few months along and the bump was very prominent.

“Sanctuary? why?” the look that Tonowari gave her said everything, the skypeople were back on Pandora, she knew that and she knew the forest clans were heavily affected, she just did not expect them to come here, expecting them to fight back just as she heard 15 years ago. “I will go and greet them”

“Be careful, sister” Ronal walks up to them after calming down a few worried Na’vi, glare on her face “I do not trust them, the children inherited demon blood, hair on their face and extra fingers”. ___ simply nodded, not wanting to argue with her older sister, her Tsahìk, and simply watched her as she left to her marui.

“I am ___, Tonowari’s mate” ___ introduced, her hands on her daughters shoulders and they smiled at the family, placing down a basket of freshly caught fish. The blue Na’vi did not look happy to be here, but they smiled back nonetheless. The little one, Tuktirey said her greetings out loud. It made ___ chuckle. “I am sorry if my sister, our Tsahìk, was too harsh on you all. She means well”

Neytiri huffed but nodded, she did not like Ronal after what she said about her children, therefore she did not know how to feel about the sister. Only time will tell. But for now it is best to keep up good impressions.

“Yes, thank you. I am sure she does” Jake nodded his head, hair bouncing on his shoulders. His arm was around his youngest, bringing her to his chest. She was tired from the long journey and yawned.

“We will leave you to settle in. There is no communal dinner tonight, but I have brought some fish your way. Come, Tsireya” They bid their goodbyes and walked back to their marui, speaking of the Omaticayans and what they would do to help them settle in more comfortingly.

“I will go diving with them tomorrow, show them our reefs” Tsireya bounced on the walkway, excited at the prospect of new friends, and hopefully a new lover. Her tail swayed at the thought of him, the boy. He was sweet even if they’ve only met today for a few mere moments.

“That is a good idea, and ‘Reya, I have noticed you staring at that boy, do you like him?” like mother like daughter, ___ read her mind. She saw the look on her child’s face when they were back with the forest Na’vi, watching at Toruk Makto’s youngest son, the one they call Lo’ak.

There was no point in lying to her Sa’nok, so Tsireya decided to say the truth. “He said ‘hey’ to me mama! You should have seen him!” ___ giggled, one word and she was already captured by him, like fish in a net.

“Who said ‘hey’ to you?” Tonowari was sat by the side of the pod, his legs dangling over the water as he sharpened his spear, preparing for an afternoon hunt. His ears perked up at the sounds of his girls walking into their home, watching the little flush his daughter had grow on her face.

Tsireya’s eyes widened “no one ma sempul” and she scurried out of the house, going to see what her brother was up to, hopefully nothing terrible.

___’s mate looked towards his wife, eyes questioning, hands stopping their ministrations. “Our daughter may have fallen for someone” the woman went to sit beside him, holding the underside of her full tummy, rubbing the skin and feeling larger hands atop hers.

Tonowari hummed, not liking the idea of his only daughter going off with some boy, he had a suspicion it was with Jake’s, seeing the way the boy looked at his kid. It was the same look he gave ___ when they were properly introduced for the first time. “I do not know how to feel about that. Tsireya is just a baby”

“She is thirteen my love, soon she will entertain the prospect of boys and relationships, and in the future a mate”

The Olo’eyktan’s shoulders and ears visibly drooped, a large sigh escaping his chest, his wife was right. “Where did the time go, flower? She was just a small bundle merely yesterday. Now she is a beautiful, strong, independent women”

“Our child has grown up, just like Ao’nung…do you remember when we were in the same situation?” ___ grinned, blue eyes shining at the memories of a teenage Tonowari trying to court her with pretty woven necklaces and bags of pearls he spent hours collecting in the reef. Trinkets she held very dear then, and still holds now, one of which is wrapped around her neck.

Tonowari leaned into his mate and pecked the bridge of her nose, smiling at her, hand coming up to hold the back of her neck, feeling the shells of her necklace digging into his fingers. “I will never forget the first time I saw you, really saw you. You looked so beautiful at the party, the Tulkun returned and you were in the waters singing with your spirit sister, I could not take my eyes off of you for hours”

“So she told me” ___ giggled, briefly remembering when her tulkun spoke of the boy watching her from the shores. “She said you were a creep”

“Did she now?” Tonowari’s forehead raised, eyes widening.

“And I agreed” he bellowed out a laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides. “You never left me alone after that, always accompanying me around the waters. Ronal said you asked of me all the time”

“Ronal is the equivalent of a sea snake”

___ gasped and slapped his shoulder, grin spreading across her pretty face “I am telling her you said that!”

“Kehe! Please do not! She would kill me” the man visibly shuddered. There is nothing more frightening than her older sister, who is so overly protective of ___. It took her forever to accept their relationship, afraid that he would take advantage and hurt her younger sister in some way.

___ smooched his mouth, cupping his face “do not worry ‘Wari, I will protect you”

“My strong warrior” he mused, about to give her another kiss when their children entered the marui, Ao’nung visibly shuddered at the sight of his parents being so lovey with each other, sticking his tongue out at them, Tsireya noticed and slapped his shoulder.

Tonowari straightened up, still needing to give him the talk, asking him to sit next to them. Ao’nung noticed his fathers serious demeanour and slowly crept next to his mother for protection. “Son, you will treat the Sully’s with respect, I have asked you to help them become Metkayina so I expect no quarrels. As future Olo’eyktan I need you to take this seriously”. The boy furiously nodded, not wanting to disappoint his father any further, “And I want you to watch over the youngest boy, I do not like how he has been eyeing your sister”

“Sempul!” Tsireya screeched from the other side of the hut, round cheeks turning a deep shade of purple, hiding behind the woven basket of fish she brought out.

___ held her swollen belly and laughed loudly, slowly getting up from her position over the edge of their home and walking towards her daughter, taking the fish and getting ready to cook dinner. “‘Wari, what did we just talk about earlier?”

“I know, flower. But I still do not like his staring!”

Ao’nung just shook his head and sighed, this was going to be a long night.

[melrodrigo]

favorite - t.c.

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a day of feeling useless, Tara’s the only one who can make you feel better.

Pairings: Slight Amber Freeman x Reader in the beginning, Tara Carpenter x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k+

A/N: Am I projecting? Maybe. Tara’s my bbg 🫶🏻

Amber

YN - Why do you only want me when you have nothing else to do?

You bite your lip as you hit send, swiping out the app as fast as you can to try and quell the feeling of regret you know is coming.

Your lover of sorts, Amber Freeman, had been acting weird lately.

You’re not sure what to call the two of you, best friends that kiss each other? friends with benefits? two buddies in a situationship?

All very accurate descriptions, you think as you laugh bitterly.

It had been weeks of bliss at first, with flirty comments, secret kisses, and love notes stashed in your locker.

But for the past few days, she’s been awful. Gone are the nights spent giggling together on your couch while you watch a movie, gone are the butterflies whenever you see her name pop up on your screen.

She’s quiet. It makes you uneasy.

At first, you tried to ignore it, think to yourself she must be busy.

She loves me, she’ll answer, you reason.

Nothing hurts more than being proven wrong.

A - I think we should stop talking.

YN- What? Why? Can’t we talk this out?

A - I wanted to tell you a couple of days ago in person but…I’m sorry. I just don’t like you anymore. I met someone else.

You blink back the tears already welling in your eyes. You shut your phone off, refusing to answer, part of you hoping she might beg for your forgiveness after seeing you upset.

Nothing.

Your chest heaves as the hole in your chest deepens.

How could she? After everything you’d been through together. Especially after the Ghostface attacks last year, you’d hoped she cared a little more.

You’d been the one to warn her, even. When she told you she had feelings for you, you’d made her promise that she swore they were true. You weren’t taking a chance on a ‘maybe’.

But alas, your moon-eyed perspective had affected your decision-making skills. She’d told you she loved you, and that she was going to be your girlfriend, and you had believed her.

You fall back onto your bed. Hands pressed to your forehead harshly as you think.

You pick up your phone once more, ignoring all thoughts that tell you this is a horrible idea, and call her up.

-

“Hey. Thanks for coming.” You tell Tara as you step back to let her in. She’s dressed in an oversized AC/DC t-shirt paired with gray sweatpants.

Her hair is slightly messy like she’s just woken up from a nap. You curse as you catch yourself thinking about how cute she looks.

“No problem.” She tells you without missing a beat, walking into your house and up to your room like it’s her second home.

You and Tara had a history.

All throughout grade school, you had the biggest crush on the brunette, but she never reciprocated. Not that you ever told her about it. Later, when both of you were in high school, she confessed that she liked you.

You were so confused between your feelings for Amber and for her back then, you ended up never giving her a clear answer. And after time, the two of you just started to drift away.

But you wouldn’t be able to say that the underlying feeling she was the one wasn’t always simmering within you.

Your feelings for Tara were something that could never be explained. Not even to your best friends over the years, who would hear endless rants about the girl.

She was just so, perfect.

Well- nobody was perfect; you knew that. She was always somewhat of a rebel throughout your school years. But you found her imperfections endearing, which only made her more human and in turn, more perfect to you.

It didn’t help that she also looked like an angel that had fallen from the skies.

In short, Tara Carpenter was an enigma. You’ve had crushes before, of course. But this one, you think will never go away. Whether you viewed her from a romantic or platonic lens, all you could feel was adoration. You were incredibly fond of the girl.

You snap out of your daze and follow her upstairs, closing the door behind you.

“So, you wanna tell me what this is about?” She says, not unkindly.

You play with the hairs on the nape of your neck as you answer her.

“I’ve just been feeling…sort of weird. I needed some company.” You tell her, somewhat awkwardly,

“And nobody else was free?” She prods, her eyes filling with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You look down shyly as you shake your head. “No, I wanted you to come.” You mumble, loud enough for her to hear.

You sneak a peek at her expression and relax once you see she’s smiling.

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve been missing you.” She says, grinning.

Her words make you feel like a weight’s been taken off your shoulders. Everything’s normal. Everything’s good.

You relax, moving over to join her on the bed.

“I missed you too.” You say.

She doesn’t miss a beat before she reaches for your TV remote and pushes herself further up your bed. She takes her hair out of the bun it was in and whips out her glasses.

She never likes to wear it because she thinks it makes her look nerdy, but you think it’s the cutest thing.

“You sure are making yourself at home.” You murmur, earning a soft slap from the girl.

“Hey! This is how you’re supposed to experience a movie.“ She says, nudging herself into your bedsheets.

You scoff as you join her and place your leg over her own.

“Who said we were going to watch a movie?” You challenge, raising a brow at her.

She shrugs, unserious. “I figured I’d take the lead. You need a distraction, and you weren’t doing anything…so.”

You nudge her with your shoulder one more time before settling in beside her, not willing to debate.

She scrolls on your TV a little while longer before you nearly leap out of your seat as you see your favorite movie pass.

You open your mouth to force her to pick it, but she buts in before you can get a word out.

“Yes, I know it’s your favorite movie. I’m putting it on now, shush.” She teases, smirking slightly.

You relent without a word.

Halfway through the movie, you can tell Tara’s getting sleepy. Her eyes droop and her head is falling further into the pillow.

You bite back a chuckle and pull out your phone, ready to take a photo that’ll surely embarrass the brunette.

She stirs in her sleep when the flash goes out, looking up at you groggily.

You panic and shove the phone underneath you, moving over to do anything to distract her. You don’t have enough time to think, you surge forward and press your lips to her forehead.

Her eyes widen, no doubt wondering what the hell you’re doing.

A forehead kiss? Yeah, that isn’t suspicious at all!

She’s still still under you, blinking slowly.

“Go back to sleep Tar.” You mumble against her skin, using a nickname you haven’t called her in ages.

It works though. You feel her physically relax and in the next few minutes, she’s fast asleep against you once again, this time with her arm wrapped around your waist.

You feel your cheeks get hot and thank the gods that nobody can see you.

You watch as the credits of the movie finally roll, and you feel the tiresome events of the day finally catch up to you.

You look down at Tara, studying her features. You want to reach out and touch her freckles, but you resist the urge.

Whatever Tara Carpenter was to you didn’t matter today, you reason. The only thing that matters is that she’s here, and she’s made you feel better than you have in months. Friend or something more, she’ll always be the one to brighten your day.

[alexiethymia]

Aoko is Kaito's security blanket

All purely headcanon, but I like the idea of Aoko not realizing how much Kaito values and relies on her. Like in Love is War, 'the first to fall in love loses' so from Aoko's perspective, she's on the losing end, like she knows Kaito cares about her, but she's absolutely sure that maybe it's tilted more towards her end. And she is absolutely ok with that. I don't even mean this in a romantic sense, since from extra material and the manga, you can tell that Aoko is still innocent and dense. Even in a purely platonic sense, I could see Aoko thinking that she'd be more affected if Kaito was not by her side than the vice versa. You can see it in the little things like her self-depreciating comments (which is not helped by Kaito at all! you dumbass), and how she's ok with giving him up to Akako if she thought that was what's best for him.

But in fact it's the opposite. Kaito is the one who wouldn't be able to function without her. You can see it at the surface level. Aoko hardly gets jealous, if at all. In the first place she doesn't even know exactly what it is she feels for Kaito, just that she loves him. Even before she can think about jealousy, she has to face her own insecurities.

Meanwhile, as we've all seen, Kaito is petty when jealous, even allowing it to affect him as Kaitou Kid.

But I think it goes deeper than that. We see their first meeting from Aoko's perspective and how important it was to her, but that meeting must have changed Kaito's life too. Because all his life, Kaito's wanted to be like his dad, the best magician, and just like Shinichi with his first captive audience for his first deduction, making Aoko smile with his magic must have been life-changing for him.

Aoko is his favorite audience, the first to really believe he could be the best outside of his family, which is also why he loved performing for her when they were kids, and until now. It's funny to think that the slight rivalry he felt toward Aoko's mom was all because he was embarrassed in front of Aoko. That's the thing, he's always wanted to look cool in front of her, which is actually endearing in a way. I would actually love to know how Kaito views his feelings for Aoko. I don't think he's like Heiji pre-Ebisu bridge where he hadn't realized the meaning, but was still possessive over Kazuha anyway. I think he is fully aware of his feelings which makes me curious when he fell in love or realized he fell in love with Aoko. 'He loves everything about her,' after all.

When I say that Aoko is his security blanket, I mean that being with Aoko, performing for Aoko, and making her smile makes him believe that everything will be ok. Despite his secrets and his injuries and the double-life and never-ending search. It's routine, and so it's normal and comforting, much needed stability in his chaotic life. When Aoko withdraws from his side for example (like in the ski episode) he has no enthusiasm in performing for anyone else. This is why I truly believe if Aoko said she hated him, he would break. It's like after his father died (darn you, Toichi) he latched onto Nakamori-keibu and Aoko for stability. This is even more prominent after he becomes the next Kaitou Kid. People either detest him or admire him. He's a performer removed from the audience. And yet there are still people who willingly care for him outside of his family - the Nakamoris. Kaito is always alert, but Aoko is the person who would remove rice around his mouth for him and the person he'd allow to do so in the first place, because whether he admits it or not, Aoko is the one person he lets his guard down around.

The sad thing is, although Kaito seems to be a lot more extroverted than Shinichi, the former is much more solitary in comparison. Shinichi draws people in and reaches out. It's not that Kaito repels people, and he can certainly be empathic when he wants to be, but he doesn't exactly have the close-knit group of friends that Shinichi has. His relationship with Hakuba is far from the relationship Shinichi has with Heiji where they'd as sooner die for each other. Even as I think Hakuba would want to be genuine friends with Kaito (he's intrigued by him, except it's a shame he's the thief he's trying to catch), maybe because of that initial encounter with Aoko, Kaito is still a bit belligerent. While he does treat Akako like a friend, he still seems wary of her, unlike the strong bond of trust Conan has established with Haibara. Even with Shinichi and Ran, they both had Sonoko to make it into a stable triangle. Meanwhile, it seems like Keiko is more of Aoko's friend that Kaito's. In other words, the only person who Kaito has let into his heart seems to be Aoko (and even then, there are barriers). It's hard to blame him though. Shinichi's situation forced him to build networks and rely on others because he was left almost helpless. Kaito's situation just encouraged further secrecy and to handle everything alone. This is also why Shinichi's and Kaito's relationship is so important to me, because it seems like Kaito can relax around Shinichi too. Even as they bicker, they can work together. And I think Kaito really needs that kind of relationship where he can rely and trust someone from outside his inner circle.

Knowing this, it really shows the weight of what Aoko and to an extent Nakamori-keibu really means to Kaito. It was intriguing to see him lose his cool when Nakamori was shot, and that absolutely warm and fond smile after finishing his conversation with Aoko. There was no trace of Kaitou Kid in those moments, just Kuroba Kaito. He couldn’t help but drop his poker face! (and all of the emotions he was feeling then, including guilt, panic, and fear could warrant a whole other analysis). And again it's a bit sad that he can only show those faces when he's alone, not even daring to show them to Aoko (and anyone else).

The most that he can do to hint at his affection is acting like a tsudere brat, because it's safe, it's familiar, it's what Aoko would expect of him. I like this idea of Kaito being hot and cold (like how Aoko compares him to ice cream) because he has to actively keep on re-wearing his poker face. I have this headcanon that Kaito almost always gets cuteness aggression from Aoko (because let's admit it she is absolutely adorable), and his defense mechanism is to just be willfully blind to her charms and slightly be a bit mean because otherwise he'd just glomp the hell out of her.

I also like this idea that because of how used to each other they are, they are just naturally touchy with each other, like casual ruffles to the hair and light hugs. I can imagine one afternoon where they're just hanging around with Keiko and Kaito just drapes himself over Aoko's lap like some overgrown cat while fiddling with his smart-phone, and Aoko's just absentmindedly carding her fingers through his hair while talking with Keiko.

Meanwhile, Keiko's like: ???

You couldn't immediately say it was romantic, but it also seems much more than platonic so Keiko says nothing because she knows as soon as she draws attention to it, they'd spring apart faster than if they had been burned.

I like the idea of everyone at their school being silent witnesses. They're used to two versions. The most common one, bickering Bakaito and Ahouko, mop-chasing and skirt-flipping all across the hallways. But also the quieter, more intimate one where Kaito would just as casually take a bite of food from Aoko's chopsticks as she fed him, or Kaito draping his arms and entire body weight on Aoko as he complained he was bored.

For Aoko, it's natural. In the first place her thoughts don't veer towards thinking too deeply about her relationship with Kaito. It's enough that he's here and by her side.

For Kaito though, I like the idea that even when he's made his conviction about being careful around Aoko or rather being careful about his feelings for Aoko, there are just some moments where all of the thoughts about plans and heists just gets quiet. His calculating mind can rest for once and he doesn't need to act, whether as Kid or always joking Kuroba Kaito, and just be in the moment with Aoko. I think he finds peace when they're like that. This is also probably why no matter how injured he gets (something to be said for his lack of preservation) or how his plans keep exploding around him, he can't help but smile when he sees Aoko safe and sleeping.

In a way, it's like they're in their own little world that no one can enter and a (weird and slightly dark part) of Kaito perhaps prefers it that way.

tldr; Aoko suspects, but doesn't know exactly, just what and how much she means to Kaito.

[milswrites]

We can't be friends

Cassian X Reader

Summary: Cassian had been distant. While he was still physically present around you, it was easy to see his mind was elsewhere. When you learn of the reason why this rift has appeared between you, you must make the difficult decision to step away from the man you once loved.

Warnings: Angsttttt

Notes: We've had our Rhysand breakup angst, it’s now time for Cassian's!!! Anyone else had Ariana Grande’s new album on their mind like 24/7? Stole the name from her song lol.

Cassian’s mind was wandering again. You could see it. Able to tell that he wasn’t mentally present by his blank expression and misty absent-minded gaze. His usually bright hazel eyes bore a dull film, as if someone had draped a cloudy vail over them.

You needn’t ask him what he was thinking of. Who he was thinking of. It had been clear enough to you that his thoughts had been occupied by the eldest Acheron sister from the moment he had met her in the mortal realm.

He would deny it of course, every time you brought the topic up with him he would spit some venomous comment about her poor attitude and the lack of love she held for her younger sister.

But you needn’t be a seer to observe what was going on here. It was as through fate that you had been cruelly blessed with the ability to see the golden thread which tied him to the woman.

Whether Nesta was oblivious to the bond or was just opting to ignore it you did not know. But you were sure Cassian knew. In fact you had never been more positive of anything in your life.

What you couldn’t understand was why would Cassian go about his life as though the bond wasn’t there? Why, at the end of each night, would he come back to your chambers to warm your bed?

The male continuing to crawl into your sheets after a long days work, whispering sweet nothings into your ears as he cradled you to sleep, acting as though nothing was different. As though you couldn’t feel the grating presence of the bond.

Most nights you stayed awake as the man slept beside you. Your miserable eyes trailing along the length of the golden cord, following the string as it wound its way out of your room. No doubt if you followed it’s path you would end up right outside the door of Nesta’s flat.

So why was Cassian still drifting you along even though he had met his mate? And how much longer would you have to wait before the inevitable occurred?

These thoughts had plagued your mind for the past few weeks. Eating away at you as they slowly stole your happiness. Instead, an odd feeling of guilt wracked your body. The evil whisper of your conscience telling you that you were the third-wheel. The one thing stopping Cassian from being with his mate. That you should do the noble thing and end your relationship. That it was what he would want.

You defensively hiss back at your demons whenever they took a hold of your mind, reassuring yourself that Cassian loved you. That he still chose to warm your bed every night. Silently hoping that the only reason he hadn’t told you about the bond was because he didn’t want to worry you. That he didn’t want you to question the unwavering affection he held for you.

And yet you always found yourself back here.

In the company of the male whose mind was in another place. With another person. Finding yourself once more having a one sided conversation with yourself. Cassian only occasionally offering up a small grunt of acknowledgement.

His glazed eyes which stayed locked on your form, no doubt imagining a different view. A picture of the woman he was dreaming about. A woman that wasn’t you.

It began to feel like there was a ghost in your relationship. Only you couldn’t figure out whether it was you or Cassian.

Cassian who had become a shell of the man he had once been around you.

Or you, who now struggled to be both heard and seen by the man you had devoted the last three centuries of your life to.

The once overwhelming surge of radiating joy had dimmed. A candle, struggling to stay alight as it consumed the last dregs of fuel from the wick. The flame between the two of you now fading into a dull flicker.

Your heart no longer skipped a beat whenever you saw the male. Instead it weighed heavy in your chest, as if clamped by a strong metal hand, choking the last remnants of happiness from your soul, flooding your body with a terrible sense of dread.

This wasn’t the way you wanted to live.

You knew that much. You were smart enough to know that you didn’t want to be the second option. The afterthought, even though you had known the male longer, had loved him for longer.

Therefore you knew what had to be done. Yet after sharing three hundred joyous years with the male you couldn’t be blamed for struggling to find the strength to do it.

~~~~~

But you could feel it now. The strength seeping into your body, fighting to share the room alongside your agony and grief. Mourning your relationship before it has even come to a close.

It was hard to ignore the way your hands had begun to shake. Nor the drying of your throat as you blurted out the words before you could stop yourself and cowardly continue on with the relationship which had began to drain you of the last of your happiness.

“We need to talk.”

The words came out thick and heavy. The change in the tone of your voice from your monotonous dialogue to this statement being enough to capture Cassian’s attention. The absent clouds drifting from his eyes until your determined ones were met with his hazel orbs.

“I thought we were talking?”

The male gulped as he spoke, clearly feeling the unsettling aura which filled the room. All your years together being enough for Cassian to know the gravity of what you were about to say.

“Why are you still here Cas? With me?”

“W-what?” He stuttered in answer, your eyes searching his as you tried to distinguish whether he knew what it was you were talking about. Fear building in your chest at the realisation you were going to have to say it yourself before this conversation led to nothing.

“Nesta, Cassian. The bond.”

He didn’t know. All this time he had been unaware of your silent heartbreak. You saw the truth of it in the way his face dropped, the extinguishing of the spark in his eyes.

“How long?” He gulped, guilt crossing his expression as he forced the words out. His cheeks flushing in shame that he hadn’t been the one to tell you.

“Weeks? Months? Long enough to question why you’re still with me.”

Cassian didn’t know what to say. He started at you with a crushing remorse, the glint of love in his eyes doing nothing to reduce your pain.

“I’m not a fool Cas,” you smiled sadly at your own unfortunate situation, his name catching in your throat as you reached your hand forwards to lay atop of his, “you want to be with her, I know that.”

A pained look flashed across his face, his eyes burning with self-hatred failing to meet yours in his regret. You allowed him the time for his emotions to settle, sitting in silence as you continued to grip his hand.

Eventually, once his flood of shame subsided, Cassian found the words to speak, “All I’ve ever known is you. All I’ve ever loved. I’ve never known anything else.”

“I know Cas” you flinched at the earnesty which laced his words. Cassian had never given you any reason to believe he didn’t love you. Even now, when his heart was calling to another, you still felt the outpouring of love from his soul.

“It’s not fair,” he grit through his teeth angrily, “you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s me. I’m the one who can’t control my feelings, my thoughts which dream of another. You don’t deserve this.”

“I don’t” you said simply. Your face remaining blank as tears began to fall down the males cheeks. You have had months to cry about your lost love, there would be no more tears shed by you. Not now, not when your well had run dry.

“We can still be friends though right? You’ve been in my life for so long I can’t imagine it without you” he choked the words out as if he wasn’t the one who had already ended things between you. He never had to say the words to you, his actions and his heart did all the talking for him.

“No Cas,” you shake your head solemnly, “we can’t be friends.”

The male looked to you in shock, his eyes blowing wide as he took in the force of your words. What this would mean for the two of you, for your future together. Or lack thereof.

“It’s not fair Cas,” you reason, giving his hands a gentle squeeze, emotions still holding firm in the face of adversity, “not to me and not to Nesta. We both know what needs to be done. We both have for a while.”

“But I love you” he fights your calm demeanour, his watery eyes staring into yours with an intensity, begging you to take back the words you were saying.

“We can’t go back to being us Cas, it’s too late for that. The damage has been done,” you lift your free hand to settle against his cheek, thumb wiping away the downpour of tears, “but with Nesta, with your mate, you have a chance. You should go for it. Follow your heart.”

“I’ll never forget you” he stubbornly argues, adamant that he can have everything he wants. Nesta by his side and you in his life. His love blinding him, allowing his selfish wishes to be spoken aloud.

“I think for both our sakes forgetting each other may be our best option baby.”

You couldn’t help it, the silver tear which escaped your eye, betraying the cold emotions you were trying to display on the outside, your thumb still caressing his cheeks as your eyes flittered across his face. Taking in everything that was Cassian for what would be the last time.

“That’s what I’m going to do,” you cried, “I’m sorry Cas but it’s the only way. I have to forget.”

It was the acceptance that was the hardest part of all. The admission that while you weren’t Cassian’s once in a lifetime, he was yours. And it was your love for him that would allow you to let him go. Your will for him to be happy, outweighing the pain of seeing him in another woman’s arms.

[ampzura]

i’ll be there // Ch. 1

sam carpenter x fem!reader - masterlist

Samantha Carpenter struggles with her new life in NYC, not having much of a purpose other than to be the protector of her friends and family, and to attend therapy for feeling like an absolute psychopath and having the whole word view her as such. With all of her vices, will Sam be able to open her heart and let someone in?

wordcount: 2300

!! not proof-read, will edit. english isnt my first language haha

Sam had hoped moving to New York in an attempt to escape the trauma Woodsburo had brought, and so Tara and her friends could pursue their education would have lessened the constant paranoia and hateful looks she received, but if anything it only worsened.

News of the Woodsburo murders, and of Samantha Carpenter’s relations to the infamous Billy Loomis had spread all throughout the country, including stories of how the proclaimed “final girl” was the reason for the murders in the first place, and how she must carry the evil spirit of her father. Despite the constant speculation and sick rumors, Sam didn’t let any of it affect her.. atleast not publicly.

Afterall, the older Carpenter was preoccupied with keeping her younger sister, Tara safe, Something Tara personally hated. She understood Sams intentions, especially given the horrors they went through together back home, but all she wanted was freedom from all of this mess, and stubborn as ever, Tara would pull away from her sisters grasps whenever she could.

This once again led to Sam standing against the wall of some fraternity party swigging a bottle. Her eyes scanning the crowds of drunk college kids making sure Tara, aswell as her friends, Mindy, Chad, and Anika, weren’t making any stupid decisions. She’s incredibly focused, and any normal person would see her scowl and defensive stance and make the smart decision to back away. It’s what Sam expects, not opposed in the slightest as shes never been much of a social person. Thus, when she catches glimpse of a figure slip around her out of the corner of her eye, she startles, nearly dropping her drink.

Sam stands tall at around 5’9, so she barely notices when a shorter figure appears right beside her, looking up at her with a piercing gaze.

She looks down at the petite woman next to her. Normally, she wouldnt pay this person any mind, especially one this short and unthreatening looking, But she still stares, wondering how she even got there. she crosses her arms over her chest and takes a drink from her own bottle

“Watch where youre going”

Sam mutters, looking back up

The woman’s eyes narrow, but she masks a sly playful expression, contrasting sams gruff scowl.

“Why assume i didnt mean to come over here?”

Sam assumes this is just another person who had seen her on the news, eyeing her up and down, trying not to roll her eyes. This girl couldnt be the killer, but considering her size she seems too small to do any real damage. Sam grumbles.

“Why are you lookin at me?”

The other girl shrugs, leaning against the wall next to Sam and sipping on her own drink.

“Didn’t know it was illegal to stare at people scowling in a corner at a frat party”

Sam rolls her eyes

“Its not, i just don’t understand what you want from me”

The other girl shrugs again, speaking in a nonchalant tone

“To get to know you, you seem interesting”

Frowning little and tilting her head, Sams curiosity is getting the better of her, but not to the point shes gonna go and trust this girl and spill her darkest secrets. Shes always on edge, so even a slight tone change makes her suspicious. so she tries to keep her rough tone, but its not working.

“What about me?”

“i dont know.. why dont you tell me?”

The woman whispers, leaning against the wall next to sam, who is desperately trying to keep watching her friends and tara, but failing and getting distracted.

Sam eyes the short girl and swishes the alcohol in her bottle, suspicion spiking now and though she is trying not to, she is failing at trying to continue her grumpy attitude. Shes got her hand wrapped around the pepper spray on her keychain, just incase this girl tries anything, but she just stares, wondering why she even cares.

“I dont know? im.. just me”

The woman smiles shyly, shrugging

“thats oka-“

Before she finishes her sentence, some drunk guys rush past, pushing sam and her possible new friend aside roughly, Sam nearly drops her drink, and y/n is pushed right against sam. The taller woman groans in annoyance at the sudden impact, when she gets herself back together, she realizes the other stands fitting right under sams arm against her, seeming startled.

Sam hisses and looks down, noticing the woman stands right underneath her arm. if anything, shes startled as well. She cant help it though and her arms and hands instinctively wrap around y/n’s waist as she keeps her in place as well as protecting her from the crowd. Shes never protected someone before, other than her younger sister, but it was her instinct to grab this stranger by her waist. Sam doesnt know how she let this happen, but now this girl is pressed right up against her, and shes surprised that she didnt push her away yet. Normally she wouldnt be okay with someone touching her and would distance herself, but even though she seems annoyed and disgruntled, she doesnt move away. Instead Sam just keeps her arm around this girl, the pepper spray key chain hanging down as her hand rests on the shorter womans back. Shes a lot closer to her than she had anticipated.

The girls eyes widen slightly and she lets out a soft “oh-“ when sam grabs her to keep her standing. y/n sees the pepperspray out of the corner of her eye but seems not to react, instead getting distracted by sams toned biceps and overall upper body, a faint blush creeping onto her face. Sam is immediately confused with herself and gets the instinct to back away. sam didnt come here to make friends, shes here to watch and protect Tara and her existing friends.

She seems to snap out of her instincts and realized she held the girl a bit longer than she should have. She tries not to stare too hard at the smaller woman, though her curiosity and intrigue continues to grow. she doesnt push the girl away and looks away as she puts one hand on her drink and looks off to the side, clearing her throat

“you alright?”

Sam asks with a gentle voice she didnt expect to come out of her. shes usually loud, and rude, shes surprised by the softness to her tone.

“y-yeah..”

y/n mumbles, still blushing as she watches sams hand slowly leave her waist.

“thank you..”

Sam raises an eyebrow at y/n. She didnt know if she was actually okay, but shes not gonna ask again, Keeping one hand on her drink as she crosses her arms over her chest again. Shes still watching y/n, though in the corner of her eye, as shes back to keeping a close watch on her Tara, among other friends she’s looking out for.

“hm. youre welcome.”

“whats your name?”

y/n blurts out suddenly, unsure of a better time to ask

Sam looks back at the girl and narrows her eyes into slight suspicion again. She never really liked giving out her info, especially during this era. But.. for some reason she caves, shrugging and then leaning back against the wall.

“Sam. Your name?”

“y/n”

She responds, leaning against the wall next to sam, having to look up to talk to her

“Hi Sam..”

Sam just lets out a short hum as a response. Its unusual for sam to feel this way around someone, not so on edge as she usually is.

She just keeps a close eye on everything around her, mainly Tara and co, but y/n was slightly distracting.

y/n tilts her head, the playful glint returning to her hazel eyes

“What, am I not interesting enough for you to look at?”

Sam looks at y/n, raiseing an eyebrow with a flat look.

“I was watching everything, and youre included. So yes. youre interesting enough”

She just takes a sip from her drink, trying to keep her tone even.

“You seem distracted”

Sam mumbles something in response but y/n doesnt catch it, squinting at the tall girl instead.

“Okay.. so what are you doing here if you dont like parties? No ones forcing you to be here you know.. you dont seem like a party person.”

“..yeah. I have to watch my friends and sister.”

she takes another sip of her drink, not taking her eyes off the crowd as she does so.

y/n tilts her head

“You have to babysit your adult friends and sister?”

Sam just scoffs and rolls her eyes, her tone going back to being harsh. She never liked the “babysitter” word that some people like to use when talking about her. She crosses her arms over her chest again.

“If youre calling this babysitting, then yes i have to babysit my “adult friends” and sister.”

“Why?”

Sam scoffs again, her tone becoming harsher when y/n doesn’t even know the answer and has probably never been in her situation.

“Because they need me. Because someone in this world is always out to kill them.”

Sam eyes the shorter woman again, then glances back to the crowd. She doesn’t even know why she’s explaining this to a stranger.

“Oh.”

It clicks in y/n’s head that the taller woman is refferring to the recent ghostface killings. She had heard of them all over, and how they were starting to pop up around NYC.

Sam is surprised when it clicks for her. Usually people ask, “what do you mean someone’s out to kill them?” or “why do they need you?” or “you can’t be serious” but y/n didnt. She just put the pieces together. and sam didn’t know what to say further. She takes another sip from her drink as she glances around the party, now a bit more anxious

y/n looks somber when the killings are mentioned, an expression Sam barely notices

“What about your own enjoyment?”

The paranoid woman’s stomach drops at the mention of her own enjoyment. She actually hasn’t had any.. in a while. For a long time. Shes always on duty. Always keeping an eye on things and everyone else. she didn’t even think she deserved any own enjoyment. Sam was doing this for everyone else, not herself. She shakes her head and takes another sip from her drink, her tone a bit harsh

“im more concerned about their lives than my enioyment”

“mm..”

y/n’s change of voice is hard to hide as she says something that catches sam off guard entirely.

“You’re a really good person.. the kind people should appreciate more”

Samantha is taken back when she hears the compliment, and she stays silent for a moment. She didnt think she was a good person. She didnt think she was anything. Sam just shook her head, not knowing what to say. She was Billy Loomis’ daughter..

“no im not-“

She quickly argues. it wasnt true. she just did what she had to do, she had to protect. there was nothing else to it. Sam took another sip from her drink, hoping y/n would just move on, because she didnt want to talk about it

“hush”

The other woman cuts her off, glancing up at her and takes a sip of her own drink. Sam can see that her eyes seem to be slightly moist*

“youre perfect”

y/n whispers, barely able to be heard under the loud party music.

Sams eyes widen again. Her heart rate speeds up just from y/n calling her perfect. this isnt right. Sam wasnt perfect. she killed someone. Sam feels all her walls just break down at this point, which is incredibly out of character for her.

“im- im not perfect-“

Sam whispers, almost like a whimper. her harshness fades away and her gentle look comes in place as she stares down at y/n.

Sam blinks in complete shock. Was this girl about to cry? and why was she telling Sam she was perfect? therapy tall woman doesnt know what to do with this comment, and her cheeks had heated up a bit. Sam was about to speak when she notices those little tears in y/n’s eyes and stops herself. She cant say what she was about to say. she just watches her.

y/n smiles faintly, clearing her thoat

“i-i should go.. and leave you to your babysitting.”

Sam watches her, eyes soft as she sees her smile. She was hoping she didnt hear that right, but she couldnt get herself to stop her. Sam was about to speak again, but the harshness in her voice was completely gone. there was no more scowl, and she was just being soft like y/n was. As the short woman begins to walk away though, Sam stops her and grabs her hand. Startled, her head darts around and she looks up at Sam, a tear already threatening to fall.

..!

Sam freezes for a second, then realizes that she just grabbed y/n’s hand and is still holding onto her hand. In this moment, her mind is racing. She wants to say something but cant. She wants to ask something but feels this is just wrong. Sam watches as the tear runs down her cheek. She sees it and freezes. She cant help but feel guilty for making this girl almost cry. Normally, Sam would have let her go, and let the girl cry without even a care, but.. this was different. There was an urge to comfort her. So sam just takes a little step closer and gently grabs the girls chin, tilting her head up to look at her, all care about Tara and ghostface vanished.

“dont..”

[carminecherry]

RAIN STAINED CRIMSON | mikey sano

this is part five of the series kill the lights

⇝ PAIRING: timeskip!biker!mikey sano x fem!reader

⇝ SERIES SYNOPSIS: after moving by yourself to tokyo, you black out at a party and wake up with a new friend. as she sweeps you up in her fast-paced city life, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper for her mysterious brother. but something dark is brewing in the city. as his past threatens to resurface, mikey must fight not only physical enemies but the mental battle of his feelings for you. he can't resist you , but could he ever forgive himself if something happened to you? he'll love you selfishly and protect you savagely.

⇝ PART FIVE LENGTH: 3.6k words

⇝ PART FIVE WARNINGS: violence, injury, blood, distress (18+ minors do not interact):

all characters are 20+; Alternate Universe! Canon Divergent. you meet up with emma for another coffee date and get the debrief. however, on the way back to your apartment, the comfortable life that you've known will be stained in darkness. there is a world of suffering that has never touched your life until now... something is set into motion and nothing will be the same.

⇝ AUTHOR'S NOTE: this one was pretty heavy to write. happy spooky month but please take care of yourself! more chapters coming soon! keep an eye on the tags and stay safe! <3

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING ADULT CONTENT.

You woke to rain. The droplets tapping on your window, drawing you out of sleep. The sound is barely louder than the hum of your AC. It was peaceful. The darkness the thick clouds provided left you dozing in and out for a few more minutes. The sky was churning shades of black and gray, thick like torn wool. The gentle patter of the droplets didn’t match the scene.

You finally rise, starting your routine. Your phone is your companion this morning, as your TV screen sits, black. There was still a gnawing feeling after the news stories yesterday. Two violent attacks in one day are highly irregular, at least here in the city. You knew your mental health would suffer more if you shuttered yourself inside for a second day. Seeing Emma would be good. Surely, her sunshiny personality would wash away some of the anxiety prodding you for attention.  

You leave, locking the door behind you. The rainy weather provided some relief to the heat of the previous week. It came in gentle waves, washing over you and your umbrella. The commute to the café was uneventful. You had a dutifulness that kept you from burying your nose in your phone like you would normally do. You watched the world pass by out of the train window, thin streams of water chasing each other. With each droplet the stream acquired, it grew fatter and heavier, rushing across the pane. You entertained yourself with this as you approached your stop, placing bets on which stream would win.

Emma was waiting for you near the ticket gate. She lit up when she saw you and you already started to feel better, your shoulders relaxing. You tap your train card to exit and the moment you’re through the gate her arms are around you. You’re starting to acclimate to Emma’s physical affection. “It’s so good to see you!” she says, swaying with you. “You too! I’m glad to see you’re in one piece” Releasing you, she whines, “I thought I was gonna die yesterday!”

You begin the short walk to the café. “I thought you were gonna die two nights ago. How come it hit you so hard anyways. I thought you were some crazy party girl, shouldn’t you know your limits by now” You tease. At that, she taps her umbrella into yours, the droplets shaking off. “You see, it’s because I’m a ‘party girl’ that I willingly surpass those limits, my friend. Often.” With that, the two of you arrive at the café.

It's quaint, tucked under the train tracks. The old brick is covered in thick ivy that hangs heavy with rain water. You push open the door, greeted with cool air and the smell of freshly ground coffee. The grinder hummed pleasantly, the sound of soft music mingling with the ambient noise. Your eye is caught by the source of the music; a vintage record player. There is natural wood throughout and dark, warm accents.

It was cozy and small with only a few other people seated at the counter. One typing away at their laptop, another lost in the pages of a fat novel. You tried to peek at the cover to no avail as you approached the counter and ordered. There are two worn leather sofas near the front window, the ivy from outside giving some natural privacy. The two of you sit there, sinking into the seats. You chat, waiting for your drinks. You feel at peace

***

“I can’t believe I did that!” She said, burying her face in her hands. “It’s all good, I think Mikey and Draken took care of it.” You say, taking a sip of your iced coffee. “On my LIFE, I’m swearing off liquor!” You look at her incredulously. She flicks some of the condensation water from her glass at you. “At least until next weekend.” She compromises. “Speaking of, there’s an event at a club I promote at. I get plus three if you want on the list.” 

This grabs your attention, “Really? That sounds like a lot of fun! I’d totally be down. What’s the vibe?” “It’s a hip-hop place, they want more cute girls in there to drum up drink sales. Basically, we just go, shake ass, and get free drinks from guys that pay the event markup. The club makes a fat stack and we party for free.” She says devilishly.

You could get on board with that. It’d been ages since you’d gone clubbing. You used to be a bit of a club rat in your university years. You imagine that clubbing in the city would be more fun than at the grungy college clubs you used to frequent. A question popped into your head, “You said plus three, are you going to invite anyone else?” “Yeah, Senju already said yes. I wish I could’ve introduced you at the party. I know you guys are gonna get along great. I also invited Yuzuha. She’s gonna try to make it work with her schedule.” Emma says thoughtfully pulling out her phone. You nod, the prospect of making more female friends is exciting.

Emma turns her screen to you, displaying a pretty girl with short, fluffy, white-bleached hair. She’s pixie-like with small defined features. “This is Senju” Emma says, swiping through a few pictures on her social media page. “And this is Yuzuha.” Emma turns her phone back to you. Yuzuha is more mature in appearance, sensual. She has long, silky, coppery hair that falls over her shoulders. “They’re so pretty.” You say, awestruck, unable to look away from the pictures as she scrolled through Yuzuha’s feed. “Wait till you see them in person.” She winks.

“I’ll make a group chat later so we can coordinate and you can add them.” She says, placing her phone on the table. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them. “So, you and Mikey?” She says, a glint in her eye. Catching you mid-sip and off guard. You choke on your drink, some of it going down the wrong way. As you cough you manage, “What do you mean?” 

She laughs, a twinkling sound that cuts through the buttery air of the moody café. “You’re too easy to read. How charming~” The compliment adds to the redness in your face as you get your coughing fit under control. “No, I’m not.” You counter, doing your best to pull a stoic expression. She laughs in your face again. “You’re blushing ! Too cute, trying to be serious.” She gushes, your face growing hotter. 

“I mean, he gave me a ride home if that’s what you mean.” Turning to your drink for a distraction. “Boo~ you’re so boring. I’m talking about at the party. Gimme the goss.”  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You half mean it. You didn’t want to tell Emma about your dark fantasies about her brother . “Don’t be like that~'' She teased, the look in her eye told you she had something in mind. “Why? Did you hear something?” “You. Mikey. Sofa.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, I mean we talked.” She hummed incredulously. “No, really. We just talked about bikes and stuff.” “Boooooring.” She huffs, thudding into the leather of the sofa as she reclines. “I thought it was gonna be something juicy. I heard you had him wrapped around your finger.” Your mind raced to replay the evening. In what way shape or form had you had that man “wrapped around your finger”. 

“You should check your source. I think they might’ve mixed us up with the couple on the sofa before us.” You pictured the pair again, their hot and heavy conversation. “He was practically inside of her before Mikey showed up.” Now this piqued Emma’s interest as she sat up from the sofa, leaning across the table to you, a conspiratorial look in her eye.

What had his name been? “Yeah, it was some guy Mikey knew, his name was like Hakk- something.” “Hakkai?!” Emma supplied excitedly. You shot her a finger gun, “That’s it! Blue hair, mouth scar.” You dragged your finger across your lips tracing the phantom scar the blue-haired man sported. “And she was GORGEOUS. Long brown hair, big,” You gesture to your chest, mimicking the woman’s endowment. “She was like on top of him. A houseplant might not have been the only thing Yuuki would be replacing if you catch my drift” The thought of cleaning velvet makes you cringe. “Once she saw Mikey she switched it up pretty quick though.” Remembering the way she had fawned under his gaze.

Emma made a face and snatched up her phone, “No. Way. Is this her?” Emma showed you a picture of the woman from the sofa, but in this picture she was in the arms of a different tattooed man. Another solid 10. “Yeah, that’s her!” You confirm. Emma makes a noise, fingers flying across her screen as she types a message to someone. 

“That’s Sera. Not to not be a girl's girl, but she’s a total wannabe and a homie-hopper. Hakkai should know better than that. I miss when he couldn’t even look at women.” You nod, soaking in the tea. Picturing a little Hakkai freezing up when a girl tried to talk to him was an endearing image. One in stark contrast to what you’d seen on Friday. “She’s been trying to get with Mikey for ages and she won’t take no for an answer. I guess fucking all of his friends is her plan B.”

You hum. You’d met your fair share of fuck boys and girls in university. After hooking up with a couple of them you decided that you preferred to stay out of the drama. “I guess that explains some things. They cleared out after he saw Mikey.” You sip thoughtfully, nearing the end of your drink. Remembering how Mikey hadn’t acknowledged the pretty brunette’s presence. It was starting to make more sense now. “That tracks” Emma replied, her phone buzzing but she makes no move to check it.

She finishes her drink, the ice settling as she returns the glass to its coaster. She runs her fingers up and down the side, tracing a pattern in the condensation. “Well, whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened with you and Mikey, let me know. He’s been acting weird all weekend” She said in a teasing tone. “Nothing. Happened.” You impress upon her. Tucking that crumb of information she tacked on at the end in your pocket. 

“Whatever you say~” She shrugs, finally checking her phone. She smiles rising from the sofa. “Mikey usually doesn’t let anyone on the back of his precious bike. So do with it what you will.” Two crumbs in your pocket. Your blush returns. You try to turn from Emma but it’s too late. She snickers.

“Let’s do this again, next Sunday. We can have ‘Sundates’.” She proposes. “I’d like that.” You smile moving to exit. “I’ve got some errands to run out here so I’ll split after we get to the station.” You nod. The two of you call back a ‘thank you’ to the barista as the bell above the door jingles.

You say your goodbyes at the station and board the train. The rain falls harder now, in heavy sheets that pelt the windows of your train car. The train lurches to a stop one station before your home station. The doors open to the platform and an announcement plays, “Due to extreme weather conditions, the service on this train line will be temporarily suspended. We apologize for any inconvenience.” The message plays on a loop and you curse how close you were to getting home. 

You weigh your options. Truthfully, it wasn’t a far walk. Maybe 15 minutes. The platform grew more crowded as people retreated from the rain. The growing crowd made you nervous and you decided a 15 minute walk is preferable to elbowing your way onto a packed muggy train when it does start running again. You ready your umbrella and venture out into the storm. Thunder clapped loud enough to shake the trees, a sprinkle of extra water added to the downpour you were battling. It was amazing how loud just the rain was.

Your visibility was poor and you were having second thoughts about this adventure. You were about halfway at this point, too late to turn back. Over the sound of the rain you heard something. A voice. You stop dead in your tracks, frantically looking for the source. Again, a voice cried out. The pain in the voice sliced through the deafening rain. Your body was moving before you could think. If you had, you probably would’ve frozen. You round a corner, carelessly splashing through the puddles in the sidewalk. You’re met with an alley, tucked between two large buildings, the space somewhat sheltered from the rain.

It was then you saw a figure crumpled on the ground and a larger one standing over them. The larger figure, a man, loomed over them. His dark hoodie drenched in rain. Your eyes scanned down his back and landed on the knife in their gloved hand. The blade reflected back a sickening red. Your body starts to shake. You want to run, to disappear. The body on the ground curled into the fetal position and cried out again. 

“Help! Someone. Please.” Their voice cracking. The gurgle in their words made your stomach twist. The hooded figure stomped them once, then again. The wounded cried out with each impact. “ Oi oi- .” The attacker punctuated each blow. “It’s no fun if you don’t fight back~” His tone was saccharin and sing-songy. It makes your skin crawl. “I swear I didn’t-” The attacker kicked them hard in the stomach. The sound of retching pushing you over your fear threshold. “ If you’re gonna FUCK around you better be ready to find OUT! ” The hooded man’s deep voice echoes off the walls.

Now was the time to act. You could slip away unnoticed, pretend none of this ever happened, or better yet, call the police and have them sort it out. But in your heart you knew that if something didn’t happen now, that person was going to die. Thunder crashed again and you took a deep breath, forcing your body to move. Your eyes land on a pile of trash, tied up for pick up. Next to the bags you see a rusted pipe. You wrap your fingers around it, wet and grimy. You test its weight in your hand, dropping your umbrella, breaking into a sprint. The hooded figure stooped, coming to kneel over the smaller who tried to crawl away. He raised the knife.

CRACK! It was a sick, wet sound as you brought the pipe down on the man’s head. His body went limp on top of the figure below. You kick the knife hard and far into a pile of trash bags before grabbing the wet material of his hoodie and heaving him off and away from the other. You step, splashing a puddle that stains the hem of your pants red. You rush over, kneeling next to the injured figure, their body shaking harder than yours. You let the pipe drop. The figure crawls to you, hugging your legs with little strength. You see now he’s just a boy. No older than 18. His lip trembles, tears pouring from his eyes. He looks so scared.

You move to cradle him, your body blocking the rain. “T-thank you.” He cries weakly. You nod, the lump in your throat prevents you from responding. You look him up and down, your vision blurring through the tears. You count 2 stab wounds to his chest and stomach. The red is spreading through the material of his T-shirt faster than you care for. You manage, “I’m going to call for an ambulance. Can you press on the wound?” You wiggle to free your phone from your pocket, fighting the water on your screen to dial the emergency number. “Which one?” He tries to chuckle before wincing. He still has a sense of humor, that’s a good sign. You hit the speakerphone button as the line starts ringing.

It quickly connects and you steady your voice, telling the operator, “Hello! Please, I need help. There’s been a stabbing, um..” You look around, realizing you don’t actually know where you are, “Are you at the location now?” the operator asks, she has a soothing voice. “Yes!” You say ardently. “Alright, I have your location on my screen now, we have emergency service vehicles on their way to you, but it’s going to be a few minutes. Are you with the victim now?” “Yes, I’m here, he’s here. He, uh, he has at least two stab wounds to the torso.” You tell her frantically. The words feel strange and clinical.

“Okay miss, we’re going to apply pressure to the wound. I want you to look for something you can use, like a towel or blanket.” You look around the dirty alley. “Nothing, there’s nothing.” You say, a sob escaping. “That’s alright, so what we’re going to do is, I want you to use your hands to apply pressure.” “I-I am. I’m doing that.” “Good, you’re doing great. EMS is almost at your location.”

The stab wound in his chest seems to open further as the red seeps between your fingers. You quickly adjust your hands to apply more pressure to the wound, wiping your tears on your sleeve. “Please tell them to hurry.” You say pathetically, more tears streaking down your face. He starts to fade, his eyes fluttering “No. Stay with me.” You say firmly. 

He’s fighting. He locks eyes with you, “I don’t want to die.” He whispers, voice cracking. “Please, please, please.” You mutter, each a prayer that EMS will arrive. “I’m scared.” He says with a strangled voice. “I’m here with you. I’m here.” You cry. “ Mom .” He begs. You hear from your phone, “We’re going to do this together. EMS is a minute away. Hang in there” You hear a groan as the hooded figure reanimates. The boy sobs out, his limp body unable to move.  “Please, please, please.” You pray. The hooded figure groans again, bringing a hand to his head.

“Miss, I need you to talk to me, what’s going on?” You hear the operator ask. “Police! We need the police. The man, he’s waking up.” You squeak, your veins feeling electric. Then you hear them. Sirens in the distance. “Police are on their way, miss. They’re almost there. You’re doing so well.” The operator encourages. 

The hooded figure pushes himself up feeling around. He sees the two of you, his masked face streaked with blood. His or the boys you couldn’t be sure, “ You bitch. ” He says venomously, his golden eyes searing into you. The sirens are so close. “Please.” You beg the universe. He looks around once more, seeming to hesitate before he takes off; staggering out of the alley. Your eyes follow after him, sure you'll see him reappear. 

The body in your arms slackens. “No!” You cry, jostling the boy. “No, please.” You move again to adjust the pressure. You see them from the other end of the alley, the flashing lights of the ambulance.

What happens after is all a blur. You lean back on the wall of the alley, watching them work. You can’t look at your hands but you feel the warm liquid growing cold and sticky. He has a pulse, you gather from the paramedics. He lost so much blood, too much blood. They load him into the back of the ambulance and they are gone. 

You don’t remember when, but the police must have arrived. You feel a blanket being wrapped around your shoulders as you're led to a police car. “Yes. No.” Those are the only words that remain in your vocabulary. “Miss, are you injured?” “No.” "We're going to have the paramedics check you, okay?" "Yes." “We're going to take you to the station the station to help us file the report, are you able to do that?” “Yes.” “Is there anyone we can call for you?” “No.”

You don’t know how long you were at the station. How many questions you answered. You hear word that the boy was in serious condition at the hospital but doctors were hopeful. They said you saved him but it hardly felt like it. There was a familiar hole in your chest. How long has it been since this old friend visited you? You let the world move around you, there was a child-like comfort in releasing control to someone else. That a parent knows best and will act in your favor.

A police woman, perhaps a decade your senior, takes you to another room. She has kind eyes and her touch is soft. She helps you change out of your clothes. She told you they would be evidence. She uses warm, wet rags to clean you. You sit there and let her gently wipe between your fingers. She is attentive and steady. She moves slowly, like you're something fragile. Right now, you are. The minutes tick away before she is dressing you in a light, baggy shirt and sweatpants that are a bit too big. You let yourself be led to a police car. The edges of the sky taking on that luminous blue that previews sunrise.

You ride in silence. It’s not long before you are home. The engine is turned off and the officer exits the car, opening the door for you. He offers you an arm and you take it. “If you need anything. Please call or message me. Any time.” He hands you a crisp, white business card. You pocket it, quietly thanking him. He walks you to your door and makes sure you get in safely. You stand in your entryway, back against your door until you hear the car pull away. You slide down the wall and sit there. The smell of the cheap, plastic shoes from the police station is unpleasant. Still, you sit.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

Who do you think would switch loyalties from the Foundation to Vertin first? Sonetto or Mesmer Jr?

Hi there! (Before I start @stari-hun I didnt know that about Getian! I hope we do get a follow up to Notes on Shori, his arcanum and Jiu's predate the AS by who knows how long! Maybe he could show Vertin how to do this maybe?)

@sleeplesssmoll (credits to them, their anaylsis and speculation on Vertin and Sonetto really does help to contextualise their relationship to each other)

Alright. As for who would switch loyalities, I believe arguements can be made for the either of them doing before the other. Back in Book 3 both Sonetto and Mesmer Jr were almost at the same point, both wanted to help Vertin but felt trapped by the Foundation, dealt a poor hand that any action they took likely would have made Vertin's situation worse- it was Sonetto sure that helped in the end, but truly she was working within the Foundation's rules, the Chicago branch was an outlier.

I believe the only distance in who "breaks away" (pun intended) depends on the citing incident. for Sonetto this may be the truth of the Breakaway Incident or her being put in a position to choose Vertin or the Foundation, and I do think she will choose the Foundation first.

As for Mesmer Jr, (we have more context to her thanks to her 2.2 anecdote, but I wont mention here since Ive only seen parts and not enough to say anything). Currently I think her citing incident might be the truth behind Scot Mesmer, learning the true history of the Mesmer Family and AS. Her realisation and actualisation might be much gentler than Sonetto's, shes been wrestling with the truth of the Foundation since the incident, and really has a much deeper understanding of Vertin's plight than Sonetto (thanks in part to the AS and bring her childhood friend). Mesmer unlike Sonetto does not act out of love for the Foundation, similar to Isolde she is duty bound in a sense by her family to uphold its legacy in the AS - I think given time and high stakes Mesmer Jr will eventually follow the bellwether once again, maybe even with a renewed determination to ensure the Breakaway Incident will not happen again.

For Sonetto? Its probably be much uglier.

All her life its been a constant struggle between Vertin and the Foundation, the pull towards the Foundation has been gradually eroding away over the years the more she stays with Vertin. She already views the Foundation as her saviour and home, at the very least Mesmer Jr had a family and arcane history to fall back to. but Sonetto doesnt - the closest thing to a home has been the Foundation and progressively more Vertin and her suitcase.

She also wrestles with her relationship with Vertin, is it out of care and genuine affection for Vertin? Or a deep sated guilt and sense of atonement for those years she pushed Vertin away, guilt carried over from the Breakaway Incident. The fact that Vertin and Sonetto would never bring up these feelings for fear of hurting another creates tension.

Constantine is the determining and inciting factor: one inevitable day will come when Sonetto must choose Vertin or the Foundation - this will mean the entire collapse of her worldview for a while, maybe for a time Sonetto stays with the Foundation and away from Vertin - I think distance might allow Sonetto to realise who her loyalties truly lie.

Summary: it truly depends on when things come to a fork in the road, a inciting point that forces them to choose. Mesmer would have an easier time than Sonetto I think (by a small margin), Sonetto has years of conflicted feelings she needs to process before she can choose Vertin.