#until you go to make a day of the dead aesthetic

[sweet--candy]

Happy Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos) to those of you who celebrate it!

To commemorate, I decided to update my old Day of the Dead aesthetic that I made way back in 2018. (Old ver. is on the left, new version is on the bottom.)

One of the reasons I decided to update my Day of the Day aesthetic was because there's a Day of the Dead event coming up at my college, and I volunteered to help with decorations, including using my old moodboard.

But when I opened it up, I realized that I only really encompassed the sugar skull aspect, and little of everything else.

I still like it, but I would not say it fully encompasses all the aspects and nuances of Dia de los Muertos. Whereas in my new version (with two alt versions), I tried to encapsulate (to the best of my abilities) as much of the Dia de los Muertos aesthetic as I could.

I also made two alt. versions (as seen below) as I had found a few different photos I really liked of ofrendas and wanted to use all of them, as well as more prominent corner rounding, and a different border color.

[solarmorrigan]

You've Got Me

For the @steddie-spooktober day 16 prompt: "Would you please stop trying to scare them?" Rated: T | Words: 1430 | CW: references to PTSD, nightmares | Tags: established relationship, protective Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson being an asshole, just for a little bit though he didn't know any better, Eddie Munson is a sweetheart Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

The ringing of the phone in the hall jolts Eddie from what had otherwise been a peaceful sleep.

He lies there a moment, attempting to parse out what the hell he’s supposed to do to make the ringing stop, when someone pats him vaguely on the chest and rolls out of the other side of the bed, telling him, “I’ve got it.”

Steve, Eddie’s brain supplies. Steve’s always been faster to wake, moving from dead sleep to motion in a way Eddie only manages after nightmares.

The ringing stops, followed by the sound of Steve’s voice, faint but audible through the cracked bedroom door. Eddie blinks at the ceiling, trying to kick his brain into gear. What time is it? What day is it? Who the hell is calling in the middle of the night?

Eddie turns to squint at the clock in the dark. It’s just gone three in the morning. It’s… October 30th? Something like that. It’s almost Halloween, Eddie knows that for sure – which is when it hits him.

Almost Halloween. Almost an anniversary.

He’d bet money it’s either Dustin or Lucas on the phone. Slight chance it’s Max, if she’s been shaken up enough. Doubtful that it’s Mike – he wouldn’t stoop to admitting he needs to talk to Steve in the middle of the night; he usually waits until morning to call, if he’s going to at all.

Eddie’s heard the full story of Upside Down Event Number Two, everything that took place around Halloween of 1984, and he understands the phone calls now. He understands the tension that threads through their little group around this time of year, even as they all try to enjoy Halloween. Even though he’d had no way of knowing at the time, he regrets it a little that he hadn’t taken it more seriously – how shaken up the kids had been that first year he’d known Dustin, Mike, and Lucas.

Eddie’s always loved Halloween; loves the aesthetic, loves the candy, loves the premise of running around and causing chaos in the night, loves everything about it, really. Most of Hellfire Club had been in agreement with him: it’s a holiday for misfits. He hadn’t been able to understand, then, what had gotten into his snarky, spitfire little freshmen – for a few guys who’d seemed like they’d be really into the holiday, they mostly seemed edgy about the whole thing.

And so Eddie had tried to get them into the spirit.

He’d done so by running a special campaign all through October, something filled with darkness and monsters to set the mood. He also may have done so by occasionally sneaking up on them and spooking them; he doesn’t really have an excuse for that one, they’d just been such easy pickings. He hadn’t understood at the time why.

He may have done this one evening after Hellfire, when Steve had come by to pick the boys up.

And instead of waiting in his car and occasionally beeping the horn impatiently, like usual, Steve had parked, gotten out, and marched right up to the drama room doors where everyone had been waiting.

“Go wait in the car,” Steve had told the boys, his tone harder than Eddie had ever heard it when they were in school together. “I’m gonna take a minute to catch up with Munson.”

The fact that no one had argued with him should have clued Eddie into how serious the whole thing was, but he’d mostly been distracted by what the hell Steve Harrington could have wanted to talk to him about.

“So, what have I done to earn an audience with the king?” Eddie had asked once the boys had gone.

Steve hadn’t taken the bait, only crossed his arms over his chest and answered, “Would you please stop trying to scare them?”

Eddie had blinked at him, surprised. “What?”

“Look, I know what you’ve been doing.” Steve had said, expression as stony as his tone. “Henderson’s been telling me all about your horror adventure or whatever it is, and he’s mentioned your little jump scares, too, and I’m telling you: you need to knock it off.”

At the time, Eddie had only bristled; people didn’t tell him what to do – especially not people like Harrington.

“They’re big boys, Harrington, I think they can speak for themselves if they object to a few jokes.”

“They shouldn’t have to,” Steve had snapped. “Just– those kids have been through some shit, okay? So maybe take that into consideration before you go jumping out of closets or whatever the fuck you’ve been doing.”

Eddie had not been jumping out of closets, for the record, but Steve’s words had given him pause. “What kind of shit?”

Steve had shifted, almost uncomfortably, but stood his ground. “You remember the whole mess with Will Byers?”

Who didn’t? That whole thing had been a trip and a half; kid goes missing, is found dead in the quarry, gets buried, and then somehow turns up miraculously alive and (mostly) well? It stuck out as an event to just about everyone in town. Eddie had nodded at Steve.

“Well they’re his best friends,” Steve had jerked his head back towards the car. “And we’re coming up on that time of year, so I think you’d be a little jumpy, too.”

It had been all the information Steve had been allowed to share at the time—stories of demodogs and junkyards and tunnels and Hargrove wouldn’t come for another few months—but it had been enough to make Eddie feel a little guilty.

This had only served to make him pricklier, and Steve had taken his sudden, stubborn silence as his cue to make an exit.

“Just think about it, Munson,” he’d said, before turning and heading back to his car.

Eddie had thought about it, and to his credit, he’d stopped with the jump scares and had mildly scaled back some of the gory details in his Halloween campaign, and the kids had come back around to themselves.

Now– now Eddie gets it.

He manages to shuffle himself up and out of bed with a sigh, willing some coordination back into his limbs as he struggles into a pair of sweatpants and stumbles out into the hall. It’s still dark, illuminated only by the kitchen light, but he can see Steve leaning against the wall next to the phone, the handset cradled against his ear with his arms crossed tight over his chest.

He must be cold. The hallway is chilly, and Steve hadn’t even paused to find pants before answering the phone; he’s standing there in just his boxers, but he’s talking calmly to whoever’s on the other end of the line.

“No, you guys did a shit job patching me up,” he’s saying, though he sounds nothing but fond as he does so, “but I’m tough, so I pulled through, anyway.” There’s a moment of silence as he listens to the person on the other end of the line. “You want me to come over there and prove it?” Steve finally offers in response – he sounds flippant, but Eddie knows it’s sincere, and he’s pretty sure whoever is talking to him will know it, too.

After another few moments, Steve asks, “You sure?” Then, “Okay. You have our number if you change your mind… Yeah. See you then, bud.”

“Everything good?” Eddie asks, holding out a hand as Steve levers himself away from the wall.

“Fine,” Steve answers, taking Eddie’s hand and trailing him back to the bedroom. “Henderson. Just a nightmare.”

Must’ve been some nightmare if he’d felt the need to call and make sure Steve was still alive at three in the morning, but Eddie keeps that assessment to himself. He hums in sympathy instead, leading Steve back to bed.

They settle in, Eddie on his back and Steve cuddled up against his chest, leeching whatever warmth he has to offer as Eddie strokes a hand down his back.

“You gonna be able to get back to sleep?” Eddie asks quietly.

The kids aren’t the only ones who have trouble this time of year.

“’m fine,” Steve answers, already sounding like he’s partway to sleep. “Got you, don’t I?”

Eddie smiles into the darkness, slowing the motion of his hand until he can cinch his arm around Steve’s waist and tug him closer. Maybe he hadn’t fully understood what they’d all been going through in the beginning, but he’s there now, and it seems like that must count for something.

“Whenever you need me, baby,” Eddie promises. “You’ve always got me.”

[bambisspeckles]

Stowaway ✿ Poly Pirate!141 x Reader

*pics for aesthetics only!

Summary: You accidentally sneak onto pirate crew 141's ship CW: Inaccurate depiction of pirates, poly!141, fem!reader, ghost and price are kinda assholes (for right now), soap is well soap, gaz is an angel sent from heaven, reader is held captive (ish), stockholm syndrome core but like in the way beauty and the beast is, no romance yet (sorry, but don't worry it won't really be a slowburn), self-edited! WC: 1.8k

It was a mistake, honestly you should have just stayed put. You have no idea why you thought it'd be a good idea to sneak onto any ship, at all, ever.

You suppose this cruel fate is karma for your actions.

It started in the early hours of the morning, when many passenger ships were docked. You had decided to pack a small bag with your most important belongings and sneak into one of the ships cargo holds. In theory it was a good idea, you figured most of the crew we be pretty occupied tending to passengers needs, therefore your chances of getting caught and thrown into the ocean were slim. It's a shame you the ship you decided to board wasn't a passenger ship.

You should have known, it didn't look remotely like a passenger ship. There weren't any nice amenities, only one small dining room, not nearly enough beds for the amount of people that come to and from your island, and there were too many suspicious looking locked chests. There was a voice inside your head screaming for you to get off the ship but the adrenaline being pumped through your body was too high, and the yearning to escape the hell your home brought to you overruled almost all your sense of logic and reasoning. When you found the cargo hold, you didn't even think twice before making your way inside, quickly scanning your surroundings to find the best place to hide. You decide to hide behind some unmarked crates, figuring they'd be bothered the least. You squeeze your body behind the boxes, maneuvering so all of you can be hidden well.

It feels like you're there for days, realistically you know that's not true, but you're so close to leaving this island and never looking back. No matter how tempted you are to bolt, you keep yourself firmly planted behind the crates. Finally, you hear voices, it doesn't seem like there's very many people and that makes your anxiety sky rocket, but it's much too late to sneak off and try to find another ship to become a stowaway in. Pushing your knees further into your chest, you take a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm your nerves. For hours you hear voices and footsteps above you, but no one seems to have any suspicions. In fact it's been so calm the rocking of the ship has your eyes fluttering shut, you've been fighting sleep but nothing has transpired for so long maybe a few minutes of shut eye won't hurt. As your mind battles between alertness and staying asleep you hear something.

Footsteps. Coming down the steps, right into the cargo hold.

Your heart drops into your stomach and your breath hitches. You squeeze your body into itself in an attempt to make it smaller, one of your hands coming to clasp your mouth shut. The footsteps get louder and louder until you see a large figure standing in the archway. You go rigid as you get a better look at him. He's no average sailor, he's a fucking pirate.

"Great." You think wryly. "If he finds me then I really am dead."

He's moving around some boxes, you're not quite sure why, and for a moment you think he has no clue you're there.

Unfortunately for you, that's where you're wrong.

In the blink of an eye he grabs you from behind your crate wall, holding you by the scruff of your neck like a naughty kitten. The look in his eye is dark, and the rest of his face is covered by a mask, a skull print adorning the fabric. He says nothing, only staring at you for a moment before throwing you over his shoulder and walking back up the steps, presumably to bring you to the rest of the crew.

Oh. you're totally fucked now.

The mans footsteps attract the attention of his crew as he walks across the deck, when he stops walking, he practically throws you onto the ground, forcing you to kneel before three other men.

"Wha' a bonnie thing she is… S' what tha' noise was? Was startin' worry I was finally losin' it." A man, Scottish you think, says as he stares at you. His thumb dragging down the side of your face as a devilish smirk graces his lips.

You flinch under his touch and the Scotsman quickly removes his hand but his touch is soon replaced by another, a man much more imposing than he. Rough hands gripping your face, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"Was wonderin' why it sounded like there was a rat down in the cargo," A dark glint flashes through his eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "Now tell me, stowaway, wha' the hell are ya doin' on my ship."

Tears well in your eyes as you struggle against his grip, and you can feel his impatience growing as he waits for you to respond. After another moment, the final man turns to speak to you.

"Captain asked ya a question love, best answer him before he gets angry." His voice is surprisingly gentle, and when you meet his gaze, soft brown eyes stare back at you, eyes filled with pity.

The look in his eye breaks you, and fat tears begin rolling down the apples of your cheeks.

"I'm… I'm sorry!" You choke out your words between sobs, your body taut under the piercing gaze of the Captain.

A beat of silence passes before the Captain of the ship releases you from his grip, your body crumbling into itself.

"I didn't know! I didn't- I don't… I just wanted to leave! I promise I didn't take anything a-and you can drop me off at your next stop, just please don't hurt me…" Your words come out watery, your voice hoarse and snot coming out of your nose, ugly sobbing as these men surround you.

The man with the soft brown eyes crouches down next you, his gentle hand wiping tears off your cheeks.

"You poor thing, you're all outta' sorts. M' sure you didn't mean any harm…" He looks towards his Captain but his head is still angled in your direction. "Go easy on her sir, poor thing is trembling."

The Captain scoffs, his arms folding over his chest as he studies you, his gaze scrutinizing, piercing through you.

"She shoulda' thought of that before sneaking onto my ship." He gives you another once over before ordering you to stand on your feet. You figure it's best to do what he says so you rise from the ground, knees almost buckling under you.

The group of men stare at you for a while, seemingly unsure of what to do with you. After a few moments, a deep voice from behind finally speaks, you turn to look at him, his skull mask making your spine tingle with terror.

"We should just throw er' off the ship, no bloody reason to keep the thing around." You wince at the way he refers to you, objectifying, dehumanizing.

"Now, now, Ghost, nae reason tae make such a hasty decision. The kitten's completely harmless! I say we keep er', it'll be so nice to have a bonnie thing on board." The man, Ghost, scoffs.

"We don' need liabilities layin' around Johnny. Sides' got no use for er'. M' sure Price is inclined to agree with me." Ghost turns his head towards Price, presumably waiting for some type of agreeance on what he said.

Before the Captain can even get a word out, he's interjected.

"M' inclined to agree with Soap- for different reasons," He pauses shooting Soap a look, but he merely shrugs back. "But I agree all the same. I mean look at er' poor thing is terrified, I doubt she came to pillage our goods Captain."

Price sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he mulls over his, limited, options. Everyone, including you, waits for him with bated breath. Selfishly, you hope he'll keep you around a bit longer, at least then you'll get a chance to make an escape plan.

Finally, the Captain speaks.

"She can stay, for now. We can keep er' in the cellar until I figure out wha' the hell to do with her." His words carry a tone of finality, a fact that has Ghost scoffing.

"You're jus' pickin' sides cause' Gaz wants to keep er' around." He motions towards the man next to you, bitter venom coming out alongside his words.

Gaz rolls his eyes, blowing out with an irritated sigh.

"Price isn't picking sides, he's doing what's right. Just cause' you don't agree with it doesn't mean that-" Price puts his hand on Gaz's shoulder, interrupting his sentence. A silent way of telling him "settle down."

Gaz relaxes under the Captains touch.

"Gaz, Soap, take er' down to the cellar, we'll keep er' there for now. Ghost, come with me to my quarters." Ghost mumbles something in response, but his words are muffled by his mask, something you're sure he's grateful for at this moment.

You, Soap, and Gaz watch him for a moment as he follows Price like a kicked puppy. When they're finally out of view, Soap and Gaz turn their attention back to you.

"C'mon kitten, yer gonna ave' tae be a bit uncomfortable tonight, the Captain didnae plan for any stowaways.." He chuckles at you playfully, something you'd find much more comforting under different circumstances.

You suddenly feel a hand on your back, the skin a bit rough even through the fabric of your clothes. You whip your head to look behind to see Gaz, his soft brown eyes still filled with that same look of pity. He and Soap begin gently guiding you towards the ships cellar.

"It's alright love, The Captain can be a bit cruel but he won't hurt you. Even pirates have their limits… Besides, I assure you we're not nearly as bad as some of the other pirates out there. We'll get you sorted out in the morning."

You have no reason to trust these men, all you've known is that pirates cause pain and destruction everywhere they go, but the only thing you can do right now is trust them. So, you nod timidly, letting them guide without resistance.

Hopefully you can escape at the next docking place.

[after-witch]

Late Night Break In [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Title: Late Night Break In [Yandere Uvogin x Reader]

Synopsis: You never expected to find your soulmate. After all, it’s not like there were lots of people named “Uvogin” out there.

Word count: 3000ish

notes: yandere, soulmate AU, breaking and entering

Another Friday night alone. 

But it’s okay. You won’t wallow in self-pity and think about the couples who were out and about the city on romantic dates, or snuggled up on the couch prepping for a night of passionate (or not so passionate, depending on the strength of their relationship) sex. 

Life’s too short to wallow. And it’s not like you were exactly alone.

You’ve got your movie collection and your antique figurines and your latest purchase, a vintage sofa with restored upholstery that means you get the benefit of the original aesthetic without the downside of years of stains, rips, and potential bed bugs. 

And you have friends. Maybe you don’t see them very often, admittedly because you got tired of being asked when you were going to find your soul mate, whether or not you’d consulted a searching service to find them, if you were interested in one of them paying for the service if you didn’t have the money…

Sure, some people might get a little lonely without their soulmate. Someone who you were meant to be with forever and ever, until one or both of you died. And your coworkers who’d long since found their soul mates or who were actively searching day-after day (usually using those paid services that were perfect for such things--not that you wanted to spend your money on that) sometimes looked at you with these awful pity-filled expressions that made you want to roll your eyes.  

More so than your friend’s worried clucks and glances between each other, because at least you knew your friends were coming from a place of worry and not from a place of “why haven’t you done this thing society expects you to do?” like your coworkers.

And, really--

It wasn’t your fault that you hadn’t found your soul mate. 

It’s not like there were tons of people in your home city named “Uvogin,” after all. 

At least his name was well-hidden on your body. It was written, as everyone’s was, in a neat cursive scrawl in black ink that would never come off. You’d heard stories of people who had gone so far as to cut off the skin that contained their soul mate’s name--fighting destiny and all that--only for the name to pop up somewhere else or sometimes even on the same spot, black as ever on the healing, mangled skin.

It wasn’t something you were going to try. 

Uvogin’s name, whoever he was, was on the back of your neck,  low, between your shoulder blades. You liked it that way. It meant you couldn’t be the target of scammers or people who’d been unable to find their real soulmate and were obsessively, dangerously desperate to get someone (anyone) to be with them.

And you? Well. You wouldn’t deny that it might be nice to find your soulmate. Some of your friends and coworkers and passers-by-on-the-street certainly seemed happy to be together. 

But you weren’t going to stop living your life just because you were still on your own. So if you spent your evenings watching movies or rearranging your decorations or making the perfect beef-and-wine stew for one, what was so wrong with that? 

--

You don’t wake up when someone breaks through the wood of your door with a simple stab of their fingers, slides their hand in, undoes the lock, and turns the door knob to enter without any more fanfare.

You don’t wake up when someone’s eyes dart around your apartment, looking for your bedroom.  You don’t wake up when your bedroom door opens with only the tiniest creak.

You only wake up when a hand is slapped over your mouth, and you jolt from a dead sleep with a dizzying suddenness that leaves your head swimming.

You’re awake--you think--and there’s someone above you, a big, heavy presence that seems to take up everything in your field of vision. The taste of salt and flesh is on your mouth, a big hand pressed over your lips and jaw to keep you from moving them.

To keep you from screaming.

“Where is it?” The voice asks, and you can tell it’s a man. But he’s huge, tall as anything, and even in the dimness of your room you can see he has a wild shock of hair that makes him look more like a lion than anything else. The thought is almost silly in the fogginess of your head, but as reality comes in, clearing the way, there’s nothing to laugh about right now.

“Where’s what?” You ask, or try to ask, though you can’t do more than mumble against the large meat of his hand against your face.

  It takes him a moment to register that you can’t actually answer. You can see, barely, his eyes narrow down at you.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, and you won’t be. He wants money, presumably, and you can give him that. Or your TV. Or whatever he wants. As long as you make it out alive.

Slowly, he removes his hand, as if waiting to see if you’ll try to scream.

You don’t. As he moves his hand away, your thoughts come quick, untethered, flitting about the unfairness of the situation. You haven’t really lived yet, and you’re too young to die, and you hope he doesn’t hurt you at all but if he does just let him not kill you at least, is that too much to ask, God, you hope not--

“Where is it?” He repeats. And maybe it’s just your imagination or the fear getting to you, but he seems like he’s lowered his voice a little, sounding less harsh and more considerate. Maybe because you didn’t scream and you aren’t making trouble. That’s a good sign, maybe. It’s hard to tell. 

You swallow. You wish he would move back, so you weren’t lying on your back in bed. But he does no such thing, so all you can do is stare up at him, heart hammering, mouth dry.

“Where’s what?” 

He snorts. 

”Your soulmate’s name.” 

Does your heart stop? No, but it feels like it does. You expected him to say something else. Like. Your money or your safe or your most valuable items. But your soulmate’s name? Is he some sort of deranged loner who couldn’t find his soulmate and he thinks you’re itt? 

Or… 

You swallow, thick, as the thought finally comes to you. It’s not something you thought about often, because most people weren’t worried about things like this. But sometimes your soulmate was someone Not Very Nice. Someone that Hunters might be tasked to go after. And this man, bulky and strong and intimidating as hell, could definitely be a Hunter.  

More often than not, they went after civilian soulmates when catching the criminals proved to be too difficult--though no one could say for sure what might be done to them afterward. 

Some of them were used as bait. Some of them were taken to the authorities to help track down their not-so-law-abiding soulmates. And some… well. You’d heard rumors that killing a soulmate could hinder certain types of criminals. 

“None… none of your business.” Your teeth clack against each other, a thin, quick pain that seems to linger on in your mouth. 

The man’s lips twist into a frown, half-shadowed by the darkness in the room, although as your eyes adjust you can see more of him. It doesn’t make you feel any less worried about what’s going to happen, though. 

“No?” 

You see his arm move, and think he’s about to slap his hand over your mouth again, but what he does instead is shove his arm right in front of your face.

You blink.

And stare.

And it takes you a moment to realize what you’re looking at--on his arm, bulky as it is, scared as you are. 

It’s your name. In a nice, neat scrawl. Unmistakable and permanently stained on his skin.

This man isn’t a Hunter sent here to kidnap you or drag you into a station or kill you. And he certainly isn’t here to steal your wallet or your television or your collection of rare comic books.

He’s your soulmate.

Uvogin.

“B-Back… back of my neck,” you say, stammering. 

He hums. And then he shifts over on the bed, and you instinctively sit up in your bed, glad to no longer be prone underneath him. 

“Let me see,” he says, gruff. But there’s a gradual lessening of heaviness in the air, now that you know he isn’t here to kill you or rob you or who knows what else. That still doesn’t excuse breaking into your apartment and doing this, but…

You lean forward, and with a surprising gentleness considering his size, he pulls down the back of your nightshirt enough to see what’s underneath. 

“Heh, there it is, huh…”

 He lets the fabric go and you lean back, looking at him. He stares down at you, his weight sagging your mattress, his bulky frame taking up most of the bed.

“You gonna scream?” 

You think. You bite your cheek. You shake your head.

“You gonna try to run?”

You breathe out through your nose. And you think. And you shake your head. You won’t scream, you won’t run--you can tell without asking that neither of those would do you any good. And… do you really need to? There’s a strange sort of curiosity that’s building inside you, now that you know who he is--your soulmate. 

He nods, tilting his head back a little, craning his neck as if to stretch it.

“Hope so. Would be stupid if you tried, and I hope my soulmate isn’t that stupid. You get me?”

You nod again, and your breath hitches just a little when he stands up and begins to stretch his neck again. He sighs, evidently pleased by the releasing of tension, or maybe pleased that he’s found you and you didn’t shriek like a wild banshee and try to get away.

You could still try to run. Your fingers grip on your sheets, still uneasy. Sure, he was your soulmate but… soulmates didn’t usually burst into people’s rooms at night and tell them not to scream. Usually.

Uvogin, like his name, was definitely an outlier. 

He leans against the wall next to your bed, looking down at you with appraising eyes. It almost makes you wish you weren’t sitting in bed wearing an old nightshirt, eyes bleary, hair messy. It wasn’t exactly a good first impression. 

“Been looking for you for a while,” he tells you. “I thought maybe you were good at hiding… Shalnark’s soulmate kept him out of the loop for a while.” He chuckles to himself, reliving some private memory. “But looks like you’re just that much of a nobody.”

Something inside your chest bristles.

“Excuse me?” You sit up straighter, and finally get the nerve to lean over to your bedside table and flick on the lamp. Your eyes squint for a moment. The addition of new light doesn’t make your soulmate look any less intimidating. But it does make you feel less like some helpless rabbit in the dark, at least.

He raises his eyebrows, and there’s a small part of you--a churning in your stomach--that tells you to sit down and shut up. But you’re not about to be 

“That’s rude,” you say, as calmly as you can. “I’m not a nobody just because you couldn’t find me. Maybe it means you’re bad at looking.”

There’s a pause, a beat. You wonder if you’ve pissed him off. But then he throws his head back and laughs. 

“Fair enough,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “Fair enough.” He sighs, then, and looks up at the ceiling. “There is the question of what to do with you, though.”

Ah, there it is again. That churning in your stomach. A growing pit, tight and electric. 

You sit up straighter, and piece what little you know of these puzzles together in your mind. It doesn’t add up to anything particularly wholesome, even with giant chunks missing. 

“I… I’m guessing you wouldn’t be okay with a long distance relationship,” you mutter. 

He scoffs, a little laugh. “Oh? What gave you that idea?”

He leans forward, and you don’t know exactly what you expected him to do, but it wasn’t to pat you on the head. But he does. 

“Smart,” he says, while his voice is teasing there’s something that sounds a little genuine in there. Or were you imagining it? Was it just part of the soul mate bond, maybe, to automatically see things your soulmate did as pleasant? 

He sits back down on the bed. The bed frame creaks. You aren’t keen on spending money to replace it, but you aren’t keen on scolding your very large, very strong soulmate right now either. So you keep mum.

He leans forward and rests his hand on his palm, keeping his elbow on his knee.

“Well. I don’t exactly got a house with a white picket fence. Or without one, for that matter.” He rubs at his nose, and it strikes you, how casual this conversation is… your soulmate, sitting on your bed, after breaking into your apartment in the dead of night. You take the moment of his consideration to lean over and look through your bedroom door, which faces the entryway. You can just make out the busted wood of your front door… fuck. What would your landlord say?

“Some of the others got one place they keep their soulmates, suppose I should think about it…” He glances at you, gauging something. “Makes it easier when you have one place to go, ‘stead of dragging your soulmate everywhere.”

His words finally do let you feel a sense of unease. You don’t know who the “others” are, or why they would need to be dragging their soulmates everywhere. He wasn’t a Hunter, but maybe something like it. Something that kept him moving. Or, more likely considering the circumstances of your first meeting, something that kept him on the run.

The thought of being dragged around or even taken to some sort of strange house brings back that churning in your stomach, an awful, lurching feeling. Your eyes dart around your room, to everything you’ve set up in your life up until now. 

Every inch of your apartment was carefully chosen, down to the rugs on the floor and the color of the tension rods you’ve shoved into the windowsill. But it’s not just the decor. It’s… your whole life. Your job, the coworkers you’d carefully built relationships with, the fact that you have a favorite diner for breakfast and takeout spot for the weekends. 

“I… don’t want to leave here.” Your voice is soft and at first you think he doesn’t hear you, but when you see him raising his eyebrows and lean forward, you get the nerve to continue.

“If-if that’s possible,” you add, a little quickly. “I’d like to stay here. This could be your… the place where you keep me. Or whatever.” The last words come out mumbled. They’re almost embarrassing to say, like you’re some kind of pet.

He doesn’t say anything for a little while. You almost start talking again, some half-baked plead, but he leans a little closer to you. His look is serious.

“How could I trust that you won’t just run away after I leave?”

Your lips press together. 

“I worked hard for this place. For this life. I would hate…” And you search for the words, lost somewhere in the dimness of your room. “I would hate for it all to become worthless.” 

You sit up straighter, before leaning towards him. Maybe it will be easier to convince him if you don’t act so rigid, so scared. You can do that. 

“If you let me stay here, or-or even if you just let me take my favorite things with me, I’ll be… good?”

He snorts. There’s a hint of a smirk as he leans forward.

“Yeah? You’ll be good?”

Warm flushing creeps to your cheeks, and for the first time you think about what it really means to be someone’s soulmate. Togetherness. Intimacy. 

Your words come out halted, and fumbling. But you mean them, as long as it guarantees that you don’t have to give up your life. Your apartment, your spots, every carefully curated bit of your existence here. Or even--and the thought is desperate--if he is going to take you away, it would be enough if you could keep your belongings. Just enough. 

“I’ll do what you want?” You shrug, keeping your eyes downcast on  your lap, though you can see him shift out of the corner of your gaze.. “Cook or clean or… whatever.”

There’s a hand on your chin, but this time he doesn’t cover your mouth. Instead he tilts your chin up and holds it there, forcing you to keep eye contact.

“So what? You want to make a deal? I let you keep some furniture, and you’re going to be a good little housewife for me?”

“I didn’t--” You say, practically spluttering the words out. “I didn’t say that.” Your cheeks feel impossibly hot. 

He laughs, and lets go of your chin. You don’t look down.

“No, I like it. It’s cute.” He grins at you. “I’m lucky. Some of the others, well…” He rolls his eyes, and you don’t press him on it. 

He drums his fingers against the bed. 

You look up at him, eyes wide, hopeful. 

He sighs, then gives you a lopsided grin that makes your stomach churn in a different way than before. Though the feeling is just as unnerving.

“All right,” he says, with a casual sort of finality. “You can stay here.” A pause. “For now. If you try anything--and I mean anything, like going to the cops, telling your friends, whatever…” He moves his wrist around in a gesture that you can only take to mean “all of this goes away.” He looks at you with a seriousness that makes you want to press yourself through the headboard and into the wall. “Got it?”

You nod.

But then…

“There’s… one thing I need you to do before morning, then,” you say, voice tight and quiet but determined. “Uvogin,” you add, hoping that using his name might make him a little less intimidating. It doesn’t, but maybe that comes with time. 

Both of his eyebrows raise. You almost think he’ll just shut you down, but instead he asks--

“Yeah? What’s that?” 

You gesture towards your open bedroom door, towards the front of your apartment.

“You have to fix that door first. My landlord will have a fit.”

For the second time since meeting you, Uvogin throws back his head and laughs. 

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

(Full HC)

We've had the M6 bodyswapping with their familiars, we've had the M6 bodyswapping with each other… But what kind of antics would ensue if the M6 had a bodyswapping incident with MC?

The Arcana HCs: When M6 bodyswap with MC

~ anon, you spectacular genius ~

-- to set the scene --

You know you're in a magic-infused dream as soon as you open your eyes. Off to your right, you can see your beloved standing in the open air, staring at the glowing ball of light that hovers in front of them. You're about to remind them of the cardinal magic rule - don't touch the mystery orb - but by the time you call their name, it's too late. Imagine your surprise when you wake up to your own face staring back at you from your pillow!

Julian

He's staring at you in horror because he knew his eyebags were bad but he didn't know they were that bad

You, on the other hand, are experiencing all the physical ailments of a 6'4 human that never remembers to eat and the headache of needing a daily dose of six shots of espresso to function

He's immediately concerned about physical wellbeing and checking both of you over for any signs of injury. Yeah, he doesn't hate magic anymore, but he's still not comfortable with it

Coaches you on how to speak more like him in his voice. His voice is made for DRAMA, MC, you must PROJECT! ENUNCIATE! The people at the back can't hear you!

He's also going to encourage you to wear all of his normal getup. Enjoy wearing multiple layers of leather in a Mediterranean climate, MC, it's all for the *aesthetic*

You, however, have a secret weapon, and that is basic self care

You are going to eat so much nutritious food and drink so much clean water and get so much sleep and sunlight and exercise ...

It's also payback for how much you're sweating right now, because you won't be the one dealing with all the sore muscles later

He gets unbearably flustered when he changes clothes/bathes in your body and won't stop talking about it

Asra

They know exactly what's happened as soon as they wake up and they know it's their fault and they have 0 regrets. none.

Quick to suggest taking a lazy day so you won't have to juggle the shop with this. And then suggests sleeping in immediately after

He's very curious about what it's like to enjoy all kinds of experiences in your body, but he doesn't do anything until he knows you're comfortable with it (including changing)

Gets distracted/sidetracked every time they pass a mirror/window/shiny pot/remotely reflective surface because they like your face and it keeps surprising them to see it reflected back at them

You're about to watch yourself make the weirdest faces into the mirror as they try to document what your face looks like with different expressions

Has the time of his life picking out his outfit (to wear on your body) and watching you pick out yours (to wear on his body)

Pulls out every food item in your kitchen because they want to know if you taste things differently than they do. You're going to wake up with heartburn tomorrow

Might suggest pranking a few friends, but he's generally so averse to conflict that he won't be dead set on the idea

Occasionally taps into your bond, just to ground themself

Nadia

She's going to keep lying still for a moment or two to finish processing what's just happened and decide what she's going to do about it

And then she's going to teasingly tell you that you're welcome to help yourself to her body, and ask if she can help herself to yours

Tells a trusted Palace servant that she is indisposed and that neither of you will be available today (because there's no way she's going to try to swap jobs with you)

You might be tempted to set yourself up in front of a mirror and see if there's any pose or outfit in the world that Nadia can't look elegant in. She'll have a very amusing time watching you

Portia will inevitably hear about her absence and stop by at some point, which will only ramp up the hilarity

Nadia does suggest sneaking out at some point, your body makes for a great disguise and a day on the town sounds fun!

(You still haven't figured out how to tell her that what sets her apart more than her appearance is her bearing. You've never seen your own posture look that good)

Speaking of posture, welcome to life in a body that's excellently cared for! You can stretch in every direction and nothing hurts!

Though this much thick hair is heavy and hot

Muriel

Oh, he knows before he opens his eyes that something's off, because the furs feel unusually heavy over him and he's never shared a bed with anything bigger than he is

Speaking of, he had no idea that his body radiated that much heat. It's like lying next to a furnace (and it's more comforting than he expected. maybe you're onto something with all the snuggling)

He's violently uncomfortable with being in your body, mostly because he's assuming you'd like it back, and he doesn't want to do anything with it that you don't want him to

You, on the other hand, spend a day as the pilot of a body with unusual size and strength. You're going to have to be reeeeally careful not accidentally bump your head/break and tear stuff

What you choose to do with that is entirely up to you (and up to your body's capacity to contain Muriel's embarrassed blush)

Have fun flexing and watching yourself turn beet red

He is going to request that the two of you stay in the woods and out of sight, which certainly makes things easier

He's also going to apologize to you because he knows this was his fault (you'll have to convince him that being in his body is not a miserable experience, which he may have a hard time believing)

Inanna will be wolf-laughing at both of you the whole time

Portia

She woke up first and put two and two together. By the time you open your eyes, your face is staring back at you with this specific expression: >:3

Also, your body is buzzing (and I mean, buzzing) with energy. You feel like you could climb a mountain and still have the capacity to chop down at least 20 trees. Oh, and your hands are tiny

It's going to take a second for her to get used to your body, if only because she keeps stopping at every new movement/sensation to comment on it/experiment with it/tease you about it

As soon as you've had breakfast, she's taking the day off and dragging you into town for some good old-fashioned mischief

Because yeah, she just woke up in one of the most powerful magician's bodies in the world, she fully plans on taking advantage of that. Who wouldn't??

Long story short, your day is going to consist of running after her while she comments on your "low energy levels" (they're not low, they're human) and wreaks havoc with your magical capacity

The fountain in the town square spouts glowing orange water for a week after she passes through. Even she isn't sure how she did it, so you just have to wait it out and hope it won't poison anyone

Mazelinka saw you two at one point and cried laughing

Lucio

It takes him a while to figure out what's happened

Don't misread this as him assuming that things are normal. He knows things are not normal, because he's getting human sensations from his left arm

But his first assumption is that this is because his arm magically grew back in the night, and his second assumption when he sees his own body next to him is that he's been cloned

You wake up because he's frantically calling your name, asking why his voice sounds so weird and if you had to clone him as part of getting his human arm back and where you've disappeared to

Shrieks and falls backwards off the bed when his clone's eyes open and you tell him what's happened from his own body

You, on the other hand, are going to spend all day figuring out how to function with a metal arm. It's nowhere near as easy as he makes it look, plus it makes that whole side of your body cold

Lucio insists on doing your eyeliner (on his face) because yes, he loves you, and yes, he trusts you, but that's his signature look and he needs it to be perfect

And then you're going to accidentally ruin his face anyways when you go to scratch an itch, forgetting about the claws on his hand

It's nothing compared to his attempts to use your magic

[the-moth-archives]

☾My Personal Moon Knight System HCs☾

Type: fluff - small hurt comfort with Marcs'

Word Count: 1187

Notes: hello !! I didn't really proof read this so there might be some errors. im also not 100% familiar with Jake's character so he might be a little ooc and I apologize for that. I tried to keep this as gender neutral and body neutral as possible. I'm also going to try a new aesthetic for my Moon Knight stuff :)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Steven

he walks around with dinosaur arms and only puts them down when someone points it out. but there was one time when you pointed it out and he tried to put his hands down but you stopped him, saying it was cute. that sealed the deal with him feeling 100% comfortable with you

sometimes he wakes you up in the middle of the night to ramble about a book he’s been reading 

“hey love, got a minute?” you jumped awake and hummed as he plopped down next to you, book in hand. as he began to ramble, you stayed awake for a little bit, silently listening until he felt your head slump on his shoulder. he still continued to whisper about what he learned as you softly snored, body weight almost complete dead-weighted onto his side. he’d just have to fill you in when you wake up.

if you get off work before him, you’d stop by the museum gift shop just to say hi to him. you can physically see his face brighten when you walk in. he trods over to you to say hello and you two walk around the gift shop, pretending that Steven is helping you find something. but in reality, you’re just chatting about your day and planning for dinner.

if he gets off before you, he also visits you,, or tries to. depending on where you work, it can become hard for him to go in and see you so he’ll sometimes text you that he’s outside for you to look out the window and see him OR go outside to be with him. sometimes he likes to come to your work right before you’re about to leave just so you can both walk together and take the bus back to your shared apartment.

he likes to sleep on top of you in some way. sometimes he likes to lay on top of you when you’re on your stomach and sometimes he likes to lay on your chest. he can either to half of his body laying on your or full body (he prefers full body but he doesn’t mind if you can’t handle it ! he wants his partner to be very comfortable) think of it as you being his personal teddy bear.

pls play with his hair. or just touch him in general. he would literally bend over backwards for you if you promise to comb your fingers through his hair or rub his face/back/literally anywhere on him. when you play with his hair, his grip on you gets tighter as he looks up at you with a love drunk expression. please just touch him, he’ll love you forever.

his love language is acts of service. when you’re not feeling good, mentally or physically, he’s always up and ready to help you. he makes soup for you, gets you flowers and puts them next to the bed, always watches over you and snuggles with you when asked. 

Marc

in the beginning, he’s very standoff-ish. he’s mostly just scared of getting hurt again or messing up and making you angry. but there’s one night where he catches himself feeling very vulnerable around you and ends up breaking down to you. you say nothing and just hold him for however long he needs you. that was his own “sealed the deal” with you

sometimes he has very bad nightmares or vivid flashbacks where he would jolt up and gasp really loudly. sometimes you’ll wake up and hold him close, shushing him back to sleep. you also gave him the ok to wake you up if he ever needs you during the night. he still feels guilty but you always wake up with a sympathetic smile and a warm embrace 

he falls asleep during movies, even if he picks them out. you’d be knees deep into a thriller movie and you’ll get spookie a by his head connecting with your shoulder. you laugh and wake him up if the movie is important to you or if it’s a movie you’ve both wanted to see for a while now. but most of the time, you let him sleep through the rest of the movie and fill him in on what he missed

in the beginning, he was firm on being the big spoon but as time when on, he’d start asking you to spoon him until it became your default position. he only ever becomes the big spoon when you ask him to or you had a bad day.

another touch starved alter, please touch him. he will cry. the first time you actually hugged him, he felt like he was going to sob violently. sometimes he does cry when you hug him or just hold onto him in some way. you’re so gentle to him, he’s never experienced this and wants to bathe in that feeling. please let him be selfish with your touch.

his love language is quality time. he’s attached at the hip with you. wherever you are, he’s also there. Steven and Marc switch off times when sitting in the shower with you. you’d be in the water while they sit outside and talk about either of their days. once you’re done, he gets in the shower and you go on about your day while you dry off and do your nightly routine. if you don’t have a nightly routine, you’ll just sit on the floor where he was previously.

Jake

VERY protective. once he gets to know you and gets used to your existence, as you do with his, he becomes very protective and watches over you like a hawk. if he sees any small bruise or cut on you, he’s gonna play 20 questions with you so be ready.

he likes when you rest your head on his chest or just lay on him period. it makes he feel strong and like he’s succeeding in keeping you safe and loved. he always, ALWAYS, wants you to feel safe with him and to be comfortable around him. he’s a guy with a rough shell and seeing how much Steven and Marc adore you, he wants to keep you there not just for himself but for the other two.

for any special event or holiday, he loves to get you flowers with a small little card, telling you how much he loves you. the cards are usually in Spanish! 

he’s love language is gift giving. anytime he’s out and about, he likes to buy small trinkets that remind him of you and gift them to you when he gets back. you have a whole collection of random keychains hanging on the wall and a small box filled with silly things he’s picked up for you.

yes he does the Gomez thing where he kisses up your arm.

he’s always gotta be touching you. hand around your waist, in your butt pocket, hand in hand, hand on your shoulder, hand resting on your thigh as he drives, etc etc. he will die if he can’t touch you. (pls just touch all of the alters, they’ll never leave you)

[snek-panini]

As promised, I've got more books to share and they are all fic binds. Have a look at this new one:

This is Among the Stacks by MeinirRhos, and it's one of the few post-s2 Good Omens fics that I've liked enough to bind. It's canon-compliant and full of pining, fluff, angst, and a memory loss plot and I knew before even finishing it that I wanted it on my physical shelves.

I kept it pretty simple on the outside, with Library Summit book cloth and white HTV for the title. Large parts of the fic have to do with libraries and library books, so I thought it would be fun to make it look like a library rebind, something that looks innocuous and blends in to the shelves but it's actually going to be your new fave once you open it up and start reading. I wanted very badly to have the titles hand-written in embossing inks but I couldn't get a clean enough line with the textured cloth, so this handwriting font saved the day.

More photos under the cut; I'm really proud of the typeset for this one!

Top view, with pre-made end bands and a ribbon bookmark. Going with the library rebind aesthetic, I didn't think it ought to have handmade end bands, so these were perfect. Honestly I'm not sure the ribbon bookmark fits the theme, but you can pry that from my cold dead hands. All my books have them and I love them too much to leave it out. The endpapers are cream-colored cardstock, and while they look plain they feel nice. I tried out a new-to-me corner style, the library corner, where you don't trim off the excess material at the turn-in. It's supposed to be more durable than other styles and is common in rebinds. Library Summit is stiffer than most of the other book cloth I've worked with, so it was a little challenging to get it to lay flat while drying, and it's a bit bulkier than I'm used to, but it's perfect for the theming. Unrelatedly, it also holds a hinge crease really well.

Title page. I could not be more pleased with this title page design. I showed it to my husband after I finished the text block but before I had the cover on it, and he didn't realize at first that it was one of mine. I have cracked the code of professional title pages. The graphics were, at the time I put this together, available for free on rawpixel. I'm in love with it. It is sexy as hell and it will never be equaled.

Couple more interiors. The chapter header font is called Book Ends and I found it on DaFont. You add in the little plants and stuff with symbols. I haven't done much with custom fonts until this batch of fics, and in some of the others I've got in the pipeline I went a little nuts with them, but I think this one's my favorite for how well it fits the story. I also started experimenting with formatting text messages in this fic, and I'm very pleased with how those came out as well. The Renegade Bindery discord has resources on this kind of formatting, so check them out if you haven't already. I'd never have gotten them so professional-looking otherwise.

And that's it for this bind! I started working on it back in April and I'm thrilled to finally be able to show off the finished product. Thanks @rhosmeinir (Hi! It's Amberfly from Ao3!) for giving me permission to bind it nearly six months ago.

[merakiui]

hi, i was checking your twst yandere tag and

idia thoughts? :3

I love Idia. The STYX bgm is a banger. Ignihyde's entire aesthetic is amazing. Book 6 is so scrumptious. OTL I could go on and on.

Whenever I think about yan Idia, I automatically default to STYX Idia thoughts only because I crave an Idia who is a little crazy beneath the awkwardly sweet, endearingly shy otaku who stalks you through the cameras and is too nervous to interact irl. Those parts are wonderful of course, but I just know the guy who rebuilt his dead brother (obviously it's not as simple as that and there's so much more grief and trauma intertwined with those actions),,, but the fact still stands that he built the first technomantic humanoid Twisted Wonderland has ever seen....... HE'S CRAZY SMART!!!! And you can't tell me he wouldn't perform other potentially morally and ethically dubious things in an effort to satisfy grotesque curiosity or some other delusion.... ethics at STYX only go so far until Idia-sama is in charge and as Acting Director everyone else must listen to him. I know he hates his job and doesn't want to inherit it, but ooooooo he's so fine in the STYX uniform.

And also,,, with how his parents are I think they're probably going to ignore the very obvious obsession in the room because as long as Idy is happy it doesn't really matter (and you'll be taken care of and cherished so wonderfully). >w< Mama Shroud saw his files when she logged into his computer in book seven and ever since then she just wants her boy to be happy and in love. Maybe it's even a surprise Idia found someone...... Idia and his father are so similar, so maybe it's a case of both of them being shocked the other found a lover. T_T but now he has a 3D beloved and Mama Shroud couldn't be any happier. I have so many thoughts on the dynamics........

AND HIS PARALLELS WITH ROLLO?!?!?!? Insane....... the way they both grieved entirely differently but could understand all of the feelings that come with mourning. And how they chose to act on that. The anger and the unfairness. Anger at the world, at themselves, at those around them. The self-blame and self-hatred. The burdens of mourning all alone and feeling like no one else can help or did help and that no one can truly understand or sympathize.......... I'm just rambling about everything Idia now... the thoughts are everywhere!!!!!

I just think there's so much potential with Idia who is as smart as he is. He is genuinely so efficient and if he wanted to build something that would make it easier to stalk you or to keep you with him or some other wild yan concept he absolutely would and it would be finished within the day. He's so cool........ orz the power he has...

[morelikeravenbore]

Can I Make It Any More Obvious?

Sk8erboi!Sebastian meets Ballerina!Aurélie, part one.

(Or: my slow descent into madness via a sk8er boi x notebook crackfic au.)

Inspired by the girlies in the writing server, thanks for the sk8er boi brain rot. I don't know why I'm writing this and I have absolutely NO IDEA where it's heading.

Content: MODERN AU. 🛹 It's 2002 and Sk8er Boi is rockin' up MTV. 🛹 Sebastian is an idiot (affectionate). 🛹 Sebastian thinks he's good at skateboarding but is secretly a nerd. 🛹 Basically Canon!Sebastian with a skateboard. 🛹 Yes I squeezed in a reference to my favourite Notebook scene. 🛹 Yes there will be more Notebook references. 🛹 Part two when? Who knows. 🤙🤙🤙

Warnings: SFW. Non graphic mentions of blood/head wound.

Word count: 2.6k

👉 PART TWO HERE.

[read on wattpad]

Wizarding folk, among which Sebastian was usually proud to include himself, had a distinct fondness for cobblestones. Great for aesthetics, sure: nothing screamed eccentric magical village quite like alarmingly uneven roads — but what worked for aesthetics was absolutely shite for skateboarding.

That's right. Skateboarding.

Luckily, Sebastian was a wizard — and quite a gifted one at that — and though his professors from his Hogwarts days would likely argue that inventing a hovering charm specifically to ride a Muggle skateboard over otherwise un-skateable terrain was a waste of his talents, he was inclined to disagree — especially now, as he hurtled down the main street of Hogsmeade, dodging carts, villagers and stray cats at speeds that rivalled the newest model of the Firebolt.

No, far from a waste of time, this was undoubtedly the most impressive use of his magical prowess since he'd successfully cast the Torture Curse on the first go.

That is until a Thestral-drawn carriage pulled out right in front of him.

‘Fuck —!’

For all the time and effort he'd put into developing his hovering charm, he'd neglected to install an emergency braking system.

Swerving hard to avoid collision, he heel-flipped upwards, accidentally performed his signature mid-air 360 Great-Merlin Kickflip over the top of the carriage, then rail-flipped off a lamppost before launching skyward again.

Choosing to ignore the fact that he'd just performed the best tricks of his life while careening uncontrollably through the air, Sebastian let out a great ‘Yeeeeew!’ of triumph — but the sheer force of his excitement threw him sharply off balance. Wobbling precariously atop the board, arms flapping like an overfed Diricaw trying to outrun a diet plan, he tried to regain control —

But it was no use.

He hit the ground, whacked his head on something hard — a bloody cobblestone, probably — and rolled neatly across the way before the great double doors of the Three Broomsticks finally ended his epic wipeout.

Groaning miserably, he rolled onto his back to find two blurry faces peering down at him with mirrored expressions of shock.

‘Are you alright?’ they asked in perfect unison.

Blinking rapidly, Sebastian's entire world flipped on its axis (er, again) as the face of the prettiest girl he'd ever seen came into stunning, albeit upside-down relief: backlit by the summer sun, a halo of auburn hair framed a pair of eyes so piercingly blue that he was sure they saw into his soul.

Fuck, he was dead, wasn't he? He was dead and this vision of beauty above him was an angel come to take him away to — ah, fuck fuck fuck! Death by malfunctioning magical skateboard was not how he'd planned to go out!

He scrambled gracelessly to his feet.

‘Shit,’ he replied, flicking his swishy hair out of his eyes. ‘I mean — fuck. Hello — shit, you're pretty.’

Taken aback, the girl's orphic eyes widened in alarm.

‘Did you — are you hurt?’

Sebastian swayed on the spot. ‘Who, me?’ He tried to chuckle, but nonchalance was difficult with a head wound. ‘Yeah, I'm fiiiine — completely, totally fine… Never been better, actually. Feel amazing. Best ride of my life.’

Her gaze lingered on his forehead. ‘You're bleeding…’

‘Am I?’ He definitely was — he could feel it. ‘S'alright, happens all the —’

A very disorienting moment later, Sebastian found himself in the back room of the Three Broomsticks with a cold rag pressed to his head and a very irate barkeeper clicking her tongue in disapproval.

‘Skateboarding!’ Sirona tutted. ‘Right through the middle of Hogsmeade! What were you thinking?’

But Sebastian wasn't thinking. At least, not about anything but startling blue eyes.

‘Wasn't,’ he muttered thickly. ‘Where girl?’

He stood up; Sirona shoved him back down.

‘Sebastian, you've got a bloody great gaping wound on your head!’ she scolded, holding him down by the shoulders. ‘I've called for the Healer —’

‘Fuck the Healer.’ He stood up again, swiping his bloody forehead with the back of his hand. Just a scratch. He'd be fine.

‘Oh for the love of —’ Catching him by the sleeve before he could stumble for the exit, Sirona levelled him a look she usually reserved for unruly patrons who’d indulged in too much firewhisky. ‘The girl who brought you here — while you were semi-conscious and incoherent, might I add — is eating lunch in the corner booth. But behave yourself, will you?’ she called after him as he wrenched out of her grip. ‘She's French!’

Sebastian liked Sirona — really, he did; she was the only villager who let him practise his kickflips out the back of the Three Broomies without calling the authorities — but right now he'd push her off a cliff if she got in the way of him and the girl.

Still unsteady on his feet, he barrelled into the tavern proper, where the lunch hour was in full swing and the smell of ale and shepherd's pie made his head spin. He made for the corner booth, flattening his hair with his hands and praying to Merlin above that he didn't look as fucked up as he felt — but his heart dropped when he found the booth occupied not by a dainty little redhead girl but by a group of menacing-looking warlocks tucking into a pig's head for lunch.

Shit.

He spun around. Maybe it was the concussion speaking, but he had the most awful, gut-wrenching feeling that if he never saw her again, terrible things would happen.

He had to see her again.

Scanning the crowd with increasing desperation, he was just about to accost Sirona for more details when he caught a flash of long, red hair slipping through the exit. He dashed across the room, chasing that swishy hair the way a bull charges after a Matador.

‘Hey!’ he called out, skidding through the doorway and into the sunlit street beyond. ‘Hey, wait!’

Frantic, he pushed through a group of disgruntled old ladies, jumped over a very startled cat and almost lost his footing again as he hurtled down the road, this time driven not by magically charmed skateboard but sheer desperation.

‘Hi,’ he panted when he finally caught up to her.

The girl cast him a sideways glance.

‘Oh, look,’ she said with a melodic French accent, ‘it's my new husband.’

Sebastian stumbled over another cobblestone.

‘I — what?’

‘You must've hit your head quite hard indeed if you don't remember professing marriage to a complete stranger.’

He stopped dead in his tracks. Was she joking?

‘I didn't,’ he said, aghast.

‘You did,’ she returned, flashing a wry grin over her shoulder as she walked on.

He hurried after her. ‘Fuck, I'm — I'm sorry, I hit my head really hard.’

‘Oh, so you're revoking your marriage proposal?’

‘No —! I mean, yes, but — I don't even know your name.’

‘Hmm.’ She stopped to peer interestedly at the window display of Tomes and Scrolls. ‘Makes our engagement a bit awkward, no?’

Sebastian could only gape wordlessly as she drifted gracefully into the bookstore.

‘Hang on.’ He dumped his board at the door and lumbered in after her. ‘You said yes?’

The girl pressed her lips together in suppressed amusement. ‘I said I'd think about it. – Bonjour!’ she added, greeting Mr Brown so sweetly that the shopkeeper's usually surly countenance brightened like he'd swallowed his sun. Sebastian wondered if he, too, looked equally as ridiculous as he followed her down the nearest aisle…

Likely he did.

He didn't really care.

‘You'd think about it?’ he whispered, lowering his voice as a show of respect to the books crammed into the overstuffed shelves on either side of them.

Though he'd be hesitant to admit it aloud to anyone (lest the truth ruin the bad boy persona he'd been carefully cultivating for many years), Sebastian was at his happiest when surrounded by books. No longer having access to the Hogwarts library since he’d graduated a year prior, he'd taken to visiting Tomes and Scrolls so often that Mr Brown, a fervent bibliophile and an avid sesquipedalian, had given him a part-time job and leased him the shoebox flat on the second floor, ‘...since you refuse to cease importuning me with your quotidian ritual of perambulating about my pulchritudinous premises!’

Crammed with books but bereft of furniture, the tiny, two-roomed flat was dingey, draughty and, judging by the thick layer of dust that’d greeted him on his arrival, hadn't had a living soul cross its threshold since 1892 — but it sure beat living with Solomon in Feldcroft: the only thing his uncle hated more than Sebastian's boards was Sebastian himself, and though piles of books didn't offer much in the way of conversation on those long nights alone in his flat, at least they'd never called him a good-for-nothing waste of space nor gotten so black-out drunk they’d passed out in the middle of the living room for several days. 

No, when it came to companionship, Sebastian generally preferred the fictional sort.

Today, though, squeezed between the narrow aisles with a girl whose radiance rendered him dumber than a flobberworm, Sebastian wouldn't have noticed if the books became sentient, grew papery legs and performed a perfectly choreographed flash dance in the village square. Deep in the reverential hush of the bookstore, they could have been the only two people in the world.

‘Well, you seemed so terribly earnest about us getting married…’ mused the girl, trailing delicate fingers over book spines and blurbs. ‘And I didn't want to hurt your feelings when you were injured. And then the barkeeper came —’

‘— Sirona.’

‘Oui. And you asked her to prepare us a wedding suite.’

Sebastian stared at her. ‘I can't tell if you’re joking or if you’re just…’

‘French?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Mm,’ she said simply, and it was only when she looked him over did he become horrifying aware of his state of dishevelment: his grey hoodie was caked in dirt, there was a new tear in his jeans that he hadn't artfully produced on purpose, and when he glanced at his reflection in a nearby glass cabinet, he was shocked by how much blood was smeared across his forehead.

This was not Sebastian's first head wound. It was, however, his most mortifying.

And yet, for reasons he couldn’t fathom, this angelic girl, with her silk blouse and balletic gait, wasn’t running from him, threatening to hex him, or even regarding him with the slightest bit of ridicule. In fact, unless the knock to his brain had skewed his ability to accurately interpret social cues, she rather seemed to be enjoying his company.

Or at the very least, she found him amusing.

He could work with amusing.

When she disappeared down the next aisle, he steeled his nerves, cast a (mostly useless) cleaning charm over his scraggly appearance, and followed after her again — only this time, with the strategic use of his signature swagger in full swing, the effect of which usually left hoards of girls swooning in his wake.

He tousled his hair.

‘Anyway,’ he began, confident, suave, assured, ‘I'm Sebas —’

‘— Sebastian Sallow,’ she said, not looking up from the book she was perusing. ‘I know, you told me earlier. You also told me your age, your middle name, which house you were in at Hogwarts, your favourite colour, and,’ — she flashed a dubious glance at the cut on his forehead, — ‘that you're “hands down the best skater in all the Highlands.”’

Sebastian's swagger visibly deflated.

‘Is that all I told you?’ he gulped. Given his recent history, blabbering on about marriage was not the worst thing he could’ve told her.

Not by any stretch.

‘Mhm.’ She slipped the book under her arm and glided deeper into the shop. ‘Aside from the marriage proposal.’

‘Right,’ he swallowed. ‘Aside from that. So, uh.’ He stepped around her before she could flit off again. ‘Are you going to tell me your name?’

She smiled up at him, and he wondered if her plump, strawberry lips tasted as sweet as they looked.

Fuck.

‘I already did,’ she said coyly, lightly stepping around him again. ‘But you evidently did not commit it to memory.’

Whatever remained of his short-lived confidence packed up its bags and slinked out of the bookstore with its tail between its legs, leaving him fully exposed as the poser he truly was.

‘You didn't,’ he moaned, chasing after the scent of her floral hair like a bee starved of pollen.

‘I did.’

‘No.’

‘Twice, actually.’

‘Twice?’

‘Mhm,’ she said, picking up another book. ‘Not a great start to our whirlwind romance, is it?’

Sebastian looked at her sideways.

‘I still can't tell if you're joking,’ he lamented, feeling a burgeoning sense of anxiety tighten his chest. ‘What if I guess?’

She set the book down and turned to him.

‘Listen, Sebastian,’ she began, pronouncing his name the French way, ‘you seem very sweet, but —’

‘I am!’ he blurted. ‘I am sweet! Very sweet, in fact! Unless —’ A surge of panic stole through him. — ‘Unless you don't like sweet? In that case, I'm not sweet, I'm horrible. A nightmare. I'm literally the worst, I'm —’

‘You're dumb,’ she interrupted with a giggle.

Sebastian softened like fucking butter.

‘I can be that,’ he said with so much earnestness he wondered what the fucking hell was wrong with him. ‘I can be dumb, if that's what you want. Just tell me what you want, and I'll be it.’’

‘What I want,’ she said, regarding him with equal parts exasperation and pity, ‘is for you to get your head looked at.’

'You sound like my uncle,' he snorted. 'I mean, uh, I will!... If you come with me?'

‘Do you need me to hold your hand?’ she said archly.

‘Yes!’

‘Mm…’ She pretended to think. ‘Non.’

‘But — wait! What if — What if I have a concussion and I die without ever knowing your name? Wouldn't that be tragic?’ He pressed his hands to his chest and went on dramatically, ‘As I lay dying, holding the vision of your face in my mind's eye like a guiding light, my only regret will be that I never knew the name of beauty.’

Clearly unmoved, she levelled him a look so dry it would've parched a weaker man than he. But Sebastian Sallow was no coward! — Especially not with books at his disposal and the smell of parchment in his lungs. Inspired into a literary fervour, he swept his arms wide.

‘Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! And, lips,’ — his voice dropped to a whisper, — ‘O you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss…’

‘Oh, mon dieu.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It's Aurélie. — Aurélie Collins.’

Sebastian's mouth dropped.

‘Aurélie Collins the ballerina?’

‘Oui.’

She turned. He followed.

‘The famous one?’

‘Oui.’

‘But you're the youngest ballerina in the Paris ballet or — whatever. Right?’

‘Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris,’ she corrected, holding herself a little straighter. ‘I didn't pick you as a ballet fan.’

‘I'm — well, I'm not,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘But my best mate is. Fancy prick, Ominis is, but all the Gaunt's are.’

She stopped so abruptly that he bumped into her.

‘Ominis Gaunt is your best friend?’

Considering they hadn't spoken in over a year, “best friend” seemed a bit of a stretch, but for all intents and purposes, Ominis was really the only friend Sebastian had. Or used to have: after that one time Sebastian had used the torture curse on him, their friendship had become a little… strained.

‘Why?’ He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she said loftily. ‘In fact, he and I have a date planned in ten minutes from now.’

Don't worry, there's not a single universe in which Sebastian and Aurélie don't fall stupidly in love. I just needed a foolproof way to make Sebebe jealous in part 2, and what better than to have his girl (quote unquote) go on a date with his estranged best friend who he tortured for a spell book that one time lol.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

RED HOOD | BATFAMILY (assorted canon)

—

“Long Overdue” (Jason Todd & Batmom!Reader) and (background Bruce Wayne x Batmom!Reader)

| Reader was with Bruce in the past but grew distant after Jason’s death. No one tells her when he comes back from the dead until Bruce is forced to bring her in on a raid when they’re overwhelmed. -Jason and Batmom!Reader reunion.

| SFW, canon typical action/violence, cursing?, crying?

| This is like half fanon half UTRH/Batman:Hush. I’m really just fucking around with canon rn. Also the pictures used are just for aesthetics and have no contextual meaning to the story. (pic source - Batman: Three Jokers comic)

| 2k+ words

| parts: one, spurt, two, three, four, five, six/six point five, seven.

Ma. God, no one called you that anymore. The way your eyes begin to prickle is a clear indication.

With you Dick wasn’t the type. Once he’d worked himself up to it he’d called you mom; slightly different from the few ways he referred to his bio mother, but something shared between the two of you all the same.

And Tim? Well he wasn’t your child plain and simple. Tim still had his parents for one, and for two he was intrinsically Bruce’s. By the time he’d figured his way into the Batcave you’d been gone, most of your shit moved out of the manor, and desperately waving divorce papers Bruce refused to acknowledge in the air. You didn’t have anything to do with his indoctrination outside of exactly one instance of him finding you to ask if you’d reconsider the separation. Some Batman needed a Robin and Bruce Wayne needed his wife type shit.

Either way Tim didn’t call you any rendition of mom because you weren’t his. The most you got was him addressing you by your maiden name and then eventually your first and you were content with that.

Then if he didn’t call you mom, the girls sure as hell didn’t either. Outside of Barbara the others never even became regular conversation partners. Cass was a rare sighting in your life and Stephanie and you’s relationship would never progress past the casual advocacy you tried giving her because she was another dead Robin to add to what’s now technically a list.

At the end of the day, out of all the people who considered you a mother, only Jason added that ‘a’ and you wanted to grip that name tight and hold it to you. Break your ribs open and force it into your chest cavity. The need to fulfill that ache cuts deep and you take a step forward.

Jason startles though, undoing all his own forward progress, and you falter. That’s right. Jason didn’t like for people to touch him. Definitely didn’t like hugs either. Not surprise ones at least. Before his death you’d gotten close enough he didn’t mind when you swooped in, but now?

“Can I-? Can I hug you?” You press trembling lips together for another horrible swallow. “Please…?”

Jason jerks, two hastily aborted movements at once, before his obstructed voice meets your ears.

“Fine.”

You practically fall on him before pulling him into you. Unfortunately he’s just as stiff as his voice and you have to take a second to figure out how to slot against him.

Jason fits in your arms differently than he used to - broader and taller by a mile - but after a few beats he relaxes into them just the same. The subtle addition of weight makes a sob bubble up your throat.

You rap your knuckles on the side of the helmet.

“Take this shit off.”

He hesitates and a sharp pang manages to worm its way into the already shitty cocktail of emotions you’re feeling. It hits your spine like lightning, forces you up and has you an arms length away in half an inhale.

Maybe before now you’d been going through too much all at once for the trepidation to hit, but it was hitting now. You’d never seen Hood without- well without the Hood. Only Jumbie raised from the dead the way Jason did, and while you’d take your son anyway you could get him you wouldn’t accept some Thing parading around in his skin.

Reading your burst of movement for what it is, Jason backtracks, rising arms dropping to his sides. “Maybe I shouldn’t…”

“Jason Peter-” you inhale deeply, catching yourself, and hold a hand up to stop him. You both ignore the obvious way it trembles. “-only… if…if you want to. I’m not trying to force anything.”

He’s slow to nod, weight shifting from his left to his right leg and back again before he says something too low for you to hear. You’re about to ask him to repeat when he speaks up, this time aiming his voice somewhere around your shoulder while bowing his head.

“No, I- Alright. Just hold on.”

Haunches suitably raised and heart in your throat you pay close attention as the helmet comes up, Jason having released some catch in the back.

It goes over, the helmet clatters to the ground, and the man who stares back at you is…hard to place.

The low fluorescent lighting of the narrow room combined with the concrete walls casts soft enough shadows over his face that while his features are warped they’re not discernible. Which means you can’t completely rule out the uncanniness wafting off of him as just your brain (along with your entire perception of the universe) splinting in half.

It makes your face heat up. He looks familiar, but you can’t say you wouldn’t have passed him straight if you’d seen him on the street. He’s too big for one, even for how you’d all imagined he’d look grown up, standing more than a foot taller than the last day you saw him. Taller than malnourishment would’ve ever let him be.

The sob you let out makes you both flinch.

One hand snaps to your mouth, the other waving him off.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t-. This is just-”

Even with the way he’s leaning away from you he shakes his head. “I get it, it's fine.”

His voice is faint, cut up and hoarse like he hasn’t used it in a while, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve heard in ages.

“Oh,” you laugh. The wet kind that makes your throat sticky. You can only stare at him, blurry form and all, words lost to you.

Eventually, after watching your fervent effort to wipe away tears that are in no way inclined to give you a break, arms crossed Jason takes a half step forward with a shrug.

“We can…try again?”

The next little laugh you let out you practically choke on but you nod all the same.

When Jason’s the first to move your heart starts speeding away like an overexcited middle school drumline. You roll with it though, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes so they’re dry enough for you to actually see him clearly for a few seconds.

When he’s directly in front of you your hands come up slowly, giving him plenty of opportunity to move away. Or maybe to vanish.

When he does neither, only giving you a guarded look, you allow yourself to touch.

Problem is, the domino mask he’s wearing very quickly gets in your way and on your nerves when you move to frame his face. Quickly feels like if it’s not gone, if you can’t see his eyes, you’ll throw up.

To stop yourself from taking the risk and ripping it off you have to take a deep breath. Have to force down the thick build up of saliva gathering in your mouth so it pushes back the bile climbing up your throat.

“I’d like to see my son, Jason. All of you.”

To emphasize your point you tap the tip of your nail against the mask. There’s no intention on your part to cross his boundary but Jason’s hands snap up to hold onto your wrists all the same.

You look into the white lenses of his domino, fingers buzzing along the corner of the mask closest to them. His mouth twists into a frown.

“Please?”

You beg with the same ferocity a grieving mother once used when begging for her child back.

“You’re asking for a lot.”

He lets go and he takes a couple steps back and you don’t cry.

No, instead you swing your hands behind you. Clasping them together in a poor attempt to stop the buzzing sensation that travels from the tips of your fingers to take over your entire hand.

“Mmm,” you incline your head. “Well. I did help a boy get over first date jitters with a made up song once. Let that same boy talk me through an entire dissertations’ worth of his analysis of Their Eyes Were Watching God - as choppy as it was - because TWMS wouldn’t allow him to present it in class. Let him skip going to that same school and cry to me for hours after the death of Gloria Stanson. Remember a knife hidden in the corner on the highest shelf in his closet, and I remember not revealing any of that when I gave his eulogy because he once asked me to keep the important things between the two of us. So you don’t have to show me, but I think I make a pretty good qualifier when it comes to keeping this safe.”

You point straight to where his heart is tucked safely behind layers of gray armor before shrugging.

From the way his brows furrow over the domino you know he’s at least thinking about it so you step away to pick up your disregarded mask and stuff it in your waistband.

One blink. Six.

“You remember Rena?”

In front of him again, you rock back on your heels. “Mhm. And the ‘how to tie a tie’ lessons me and Bruce walked you through even though you didn’t wear a suit to that date. Remember that too.”

Jason’s smile is crooked on his face but it’s nonetheless present as he makes a noise of agreement.

“I’d just wanted to spend time with you two, I was never planning on wearing a suit to go to the skating rink.”

“We figured.”

You’re rolling onto the balls of your feet when that small smile drops and he shakes his head.

“I’m not that same boy anymore.”

You take in the way he could raise his hand and so easily touch the ceiling without having to jump. You clear the phlegm from your throat.

“I can tell.”

Jason grunts and makes a general gesture indicating something somewhere behind you.

“And I got no interest in trying to live up to whatever fucked up embalment Bruce’s got going on with my burnt suit in that case.”

That suit. Bruce’s memorial. His warning. Your breath hitches as you think of the smell of crisped blood and methanol. If Jason didn’t want to talk about it you sure as shit weren’t going to.

“I will one hundred percent take that into account.” You keep it simple, rocking on your heels again. He wasn’t asking for anything unreasonable so there wasn’t really any debate to be had. “You wanna be treated as you are? I can do that.”

Moments pass once you’ve said your peace where Jason does nothing but stare at you. The only indication he’s at all alive being his shoulders still moving - and you are watching. Eyeing that tell tale up and down like your own life will end at its falter. The pattern is slow enough to come off as pacivity but the time between each rise and fall is too measured to be uncontrolled. Exactly three point eleven seconds one way and three point eleven seconds the other. Every time.

Then he sighs, curses, and the little veil of dissolvent for the adhesive that adheres the mask to his face is in his hand. A different vial and color than when he was Robin; you don’t know why you thought it’d be the same. Or why it makes your heart clench that it’s not.

Between one thrum of the fluorescent lights and the next Jason is peeling away the domino, and you would be lying if you claimed to know where it disappeared to after that. Too caught up on what he’d been hiding to track it.

Blue. Nothing more and nothing less. Just blessedly familiar, vibrant blue. Not the dull gray they’d become by the time you were given the chance to put a gruesome sight of a child six feet under.

The “Oh wow,” tumbles from you without permission and then there’s zero hope for the waterworks you’d been holding back. The levee fails and you’re bawling before you know it. Barely holding back snot and who knows what else since you already feel like screaming.

At that point there’s no carefully thought out sentence for you to spew, no more hesitancy, no more measured breathing, and linear thought. Just the crushing need to have him close to you again.

You’re rushing forward before you know.

Wrapping your arms around Jason the next go around is both the best and the worst thing. You accommodate his new size faster, already writing over the ways he used to fit against you with the ways he does so now, but he’s still so stiff and he’s not reciprocating the hug either.

Maybe you should let go. You crossed the boundary too fast. Were too reckless. You literally have training on this and now you’re crowding him.

Okay, you’re pulling away. It’s a herculean effort but you’re forcing your arms from around his middle. You’ve got to, you don’t want to scare him off. Not when you just got him back.

There’s a soft “Not yet,” mumbled into your shoulder and then arms finally come around yours and you don’t hesitate to snap your own back into place.

He’s hugging you back.

You cry a little harder and bring one of your arms up to drape across his shoulders, pulling him closer. When you start rocking and Jason copies your momentum you press a kiss onto his temple.

“Hi,” you stutter out. Another sob. “Hi baby.”

Since he’s finally letting his arms wrap around you you don’t hesitate to run dark fingers through the truly unruly mass of black curls on his head. His hairs’ damp - most likely from sweat - but cool. Probably being tempered by the cold air blowing into the room.

It’s when you press a kiss to his forehead that you feel something else wet and your breath stutters.

“It’s okay. I got you, everything’s okay,” you whisper.

“God Ma-” his voice cracks and then you can hear the sobs he’s trying to muffle into your suit. “No it’s not.”

“I know,” you sob. “I’m sorry- so so fucking sorry.”

You sniffle and pull away to see him better. Jason’s face is flushed, his eyes wet, and cheeks streaked with tears shed. You hold your hands up to frame his face for a second time and run your thumbs through the tear tracks. His chest heaves as his body tries to regulate his breathing.

Jason clears his throat, gaze boring into yours. “Hi,” he says.

You smile, finally beginning to map out his face. First you move to frame his cheeks, too feel the warmth in them. To see if they still feel familiar. They don’t; you force yourself to accept that fact without letting it show in your expression, letting out a measured exhale before continuing. You find his jaw is more defined now too, cheeks devoid of the baby fat of five years prior.

From then on brushing your thumbs along his brows, over the bridge of his nose, traveling over his ears and skirting around his hairline - it all fills your mind with incoherent cheers.

Your thumbs hover over Jason’s eyes and you hum when he closes them for you.

The skin underneath your shaved off pads is soft. The thin layer of protection allows you to feel how his eyeballs shift, to see the way his veins show stark under light skin, to clock the life thrumming through him.

It makes your heart feel so goddamn light. You can’t stop smiling at the sight of him. Eyes still wet but clear.

“I feel like such a horrible mother,” you hiccup, hands slide down so you can once again cup his face. “I barely recognize you.”

Jason’s breathing shakes nearly in tandem with yours and his eyes squeeze tighter shut, head turning away.

“Don’t.” He takes a second to look up. Look right through you. Lashes wet and glassy eyes open, voice grating over his next words. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame any of you for that, but especially not you.”

What you want to do is argue. You should’ve never let him put on that suit in the first place, one fucked up son should’ve been the end of it. You should’ve dropped the case you were working the second you’d heard he’d run away and you should’ve found him. Instead you keep your thoughts personal, pinning them to your brain as if it’s a cushion so that you’ll never forget, and pull your son closer. An action which he allows, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you whisper into his hair. The way he instantly shakes his head makes the cool strands tickle your jawline.

“You can’t mean that.”

“If I didn’t mean it I wouldn’t have said it, Jay.”

Jason tenses before responding, words spewing without warning.

“Yeah except I’ve killed people, and I don’t regret it, and Bruce hates that - and you probably do too - but his way isn’t good enough. The people in this city deserve better so I’m doing what’s necessary-”

And that has you bristling. He must notice too because he stops short and edges away, face steeping. Caught somewhere between wanting to leave and wanting to fully kick start an argument.

…TBC

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! I had to split this bitch in two cause it was 5,000+ words and I’m not in the business of under-indulging myself.

Listen, I’ve looked into it. Every mother/mother figure Jason’s ever had he’s referred to as “Mom”, but me personally, I didn’t grow up addressing my own mother that way so I wanted to play around with “Ma” (differentiate a little). What's funny though, is that I’ve read Dick referring to his mother as both “Ma” and “Mom” so that’s fun.

• TWMS = Thomas Wayne Middle School

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it. this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

Tagged: @aarinisreading, @niphredil-14, @mxtokko, @calsjack, @brunnetteiwik

[helloiamadrawer]

Caine Catching the Reader trying on his Suit + gender neutral reader confesses to having a crush on him❤️

A/n: I thought this would be a cute thing to write during the wait for what's to come so here's some Caine being a clueless bean, so fluff galore!

So you were scanning through your digital wardrobe and tbh you were getting really tired of wearing your same nauseating colors of your circus aesthetic why couldn't you ask him to switch it to something..different? That was when you reached the near end of your closet and saw a familiar metallic red garment of clothing

is that..?

no, no you're just having those so-called "digital hallucinations" but to your surprise you took the hanger out of the closet and lo' and behold, it WAS Caine's suit, your face was stuck in a awestruck expression of how you found it, how could that clueless set of dentures lose his fashionable suit? He would probably just make another one with just a snap of his fingers.

You were about to exit your room to return it until you took a good look at it only to notice it almost looked like it could fit you? Well, you were about to find out by trying it on yourself!

Moments later you slid to your mirror and..it was perfect fit..now this is getting weird how did he know your exact measurements?

But it felt so good to look as fly as he does, after all you can admit you got kind of a thing for him..okay a crush! You just never had the guts to tell him but he's probably already heard. Since he hears all, sees all. You just have been holding it in cause you can never get a moment with him alone cause..adventures and stuff.

Turning to see the back of you, a flash of light blinded your vision, only for your sight to return and see the image of Caine with a digital camera. (pun intended but let's say he has an actual digital camera)

"Ah! Caine! I told you nicely to knock before you come in!" you yelped as you jumped nearly out of your skin.

"Terribly sorry my dear! But I actually came in to check on you, but wow do you look stunning in that suit, it could stop traffic and heck, even me in my tracks!" he says clutching his chest dramatically as he pretends to faint.

your face=red from Caine's compliment "th-thanks i guess, I just found it and--''.

"found it? I added it your wardrobe cause..y'know..I couldn't help but overhear you talking to Ragatha about how you could rock a suit like mine! and boy, you were right!" he chirps as he happily floats over to the back of you, placing his hands on your shoulders, admiring how the tux fitted you, that's when it hit you..

Wait..he what?! Oh god, what else has he heard?? hopefully not your endless pining for him, you would metaphorically die!

As Caine faced the mirror, the both of you almost twinning in your matching suits, then he glances at you, a little puzzled of why your face was ablaze from embarrassment, unless..

"So I guess you heard, right?", you question, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Heard what my dear?" Caine asks confused. Well, there was no backing out now, you had to confess or you could go insane before anything else could in this digital hell. You turned to face the ringmaster and explained, "The reason I said I could wear your clothes, is that I have..a..gah! I like you Caine!"

His upper jaw jumps in surprise at your sudden response. A couple seconds of dead silence,his tone stayed ponderous as usual,"....oh. But I don't seem to understand my--"

''Caine, hear me out, I have an interest in you, you're funny, you have alot of personality, and not to mention stylish even if you do wear the same suit everyday, your voice is like music to me and i would listen to it every day. what I'm trying to say is..I want to go out and get to know you more." you confess, finally getting it off your chest as you desperately stare into his dual colored eyes that are now..sparkling?

The A.I took your hands and interlaced them with his as his voice took a softer tone as he asked,"Do you know how long I was waiting for you to say those very words?"

You started to smile brightly, that's one of his favorite features of you ever since he made that one adventure just for you (it was a ballroom that you two slow danced in *sighs lovingly*). "Too long?"

"I didn't know what was going on, at first I thought it was a missing binary code in my system but I realize what this feeling is now, every time I hear your voice, a single glance, your mere presence is but a blessing to me and I would sacrifice all the time in this digital world for you.." he swept one of his hands to push a section of your hair behind in your ear.

His sweet praises make your heart swell with warmth and only causing it to hammer against your chest halting your breathing pattern as you could feel yourself leaning closer and closer until he had to go back to his bombastic ringleader voice,"Now then! My darling, when would you like that date?"

reader.exe stopped working cause Caine called you darling.

"Wh-what about now?..", you stammer, shuffling your feet, "Since we are dressed..fancy."

"Excellent idea, my darling! although the NPC'S may mistake you for me, this should help!" he snaps his fingers as your tux now became a shiny blue with white leggings. It was always amazing of how powerful the A.I was.

Caine being the gentleman he is, links your arm with his as you two head off to the grounds at night laughing and chatting away..who knew a suit could benefit you in so many ways?

[agaypanic]

How about a rodrick x fem reader where she's a preppy girl but goes through a change and becomes a punk rock girl. And Rodrick had already noticed her before but now he's really into because they match aesthetics and she's really into rock music now

New Music (Rodrick Heffley X Jefferson!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: While having to watch your and Rodrick’s younger brothers, he makes a little jab at you about how you only play boring classical music. You challenge this notion by learning a rock piece.

A/N: i could make a part two, bc by the time i was done writing i realized i kinda deviated from the request, whoops… inspired by metal lords and some of the rodrick asks i answered about rodrick x rowley’s older sister (specifically this one)

***

You were used to routines. You liked structure. Every day, you’d have breakfast with your family, take your brother Rowley to his school before going to your own, go to class, pick Rowley up, do homework and thirty minutes of practicing music, have dinner with your family and catch up with each other, then go to bed. Of course, every day differed the slightest bit, and you’d make sure you weren’t constantly overworking yourself, but that was the main gist of it.

And a few times a week, you had to watch after Rowley when he hung out with his best friend, Greg Heffley. And when his mom was forcing him to spend time with his brother, Rodrick had to watch after the boys with you.

More often than not, you’d either be at the Heffley house or a public place like a park or arcade. Very rarely though, you’d all go to your house.

Today was one of those days.

“Okay, don’t do that.” You said, trying to keep the frustration out of your tone as you snatched a fork away from Rodrick while he tried putting some food in your microwave. “My dad doesn’t even like Greg being here sometimes. He’d probably hate your whole family if you burned our house down.”

Rodrick rolled his eyes, slamming the microwave door shut and rolling his eyes. “Oh my god, relax. I would’ve stopped the microwave after the first few sparks.”

You sighed, gripping the fork tightly. You’d think that after years of knowing Rodrick, you’d be used to his behavior. “Look, Rodrick. We already have to look after two little kids; I don’t wanna have to look after three.” Then you handed Rodrick his fork and walked over to the living room, hoping the oldest Heffley could handle himself and his lunch without causing too much trouble.

Rowley and Greg were sitting on the couch, deeply invested in some video game. Your parents didn’t like you and your brother having too much screen time, but you figured another hour or so wouldn’t hurt. You looked at the clock on the wall and realized you hadn’t touched your cello all day.

“Hey, I’m gonna go practice so…” You looked back toward the kitchen, thinking of calling Rodrick over. But instead, you shook your head and looked at the boys again. “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Wait!” Rowley paused the game, ignoring Greg’s annoyed reaction. “Can you practice in here? I like that new song you’re doing.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Sure, Row-Row. I’ll be right back.”

As you ran up to your room to fetch your things, you faintly heard Greg say, “Row-Row?”

You came back to the living room with your cello, sheet music, and music stand. As you set up, Greg looked at Rowley questioningly. “She’s really good, Greg.” He said reassuringly. “It’ll be like nice background music.” Greg just shrugged, unpausing the game and going back to playing. 

You quickly became immersed in your music, somehow tuning out your little brother and his friend yelling at the TV and Rodrick loudly munching on his food as he looked at your music from over your shoulder. 

He was polite enough to swallow his food and wait until you were finished playing to speak. “That was boring.” You rolled your eyes and rearranged the papers on your stand to play a new song. “You could play anything, and you decide to play music by dead guys.”

“Well, you don’t have to listen to it, Rodrick.” You hissed. “I’d ask what you think would be better, but I don’t really care for your opinion on music.”

You started playing again, hoping that it would push Rodrick away. But instead, he got closer. “I bet you wouldn’t be able to handle my type of music, goody-two-shoes.” You scowled, trying to not hit Rodrick with your bow.

“You could spend a year practicing a piece, and I would still play it better if I was sight reading.” You inched closer, making intense eye contact with the Heffley boy. 

“Challenge accepted.”

***

Later that week, while picking up Rowley from school, he said that Rodrick told Greg to tell him to tell you to bring your cello to the Heffley house that afternoon. Part of you wanted to say you had more important things to do, but simultaneously, you were curious to see what Rodrick was up to.

“Black Sabbath?” You read the top of the sheet music Rodrick gave you as soon as you and Rowley walked into the Heffley house. “War Pigs… like the Pig War?”

Rodrick narrowed his eyes at you and furrowed his brows. “What?” Before you could answer, he held his hand up in front of your face. “Don’t. Come on.” Then Rodrick grabbed your wrist and dragged you over to the garage, leaving your little brothers to most likely wreak havoc. 

You rarely came into the Heffley’s garage. Whenever Rodrick was in there with his friends, it was beyond loud and chaotic. Totally not your scene. So you were a bit relieved to see that besides Rodrick’s drums and decorations, the room was empty. He grabbed a chair and set it near his drums, and only then did he realize that he was still holding your wrist. Rodrick quickly let go and grabbed his drumsticks, warming up on his drums while you set up your stand and tuned your cello.

“What exactly are we doing right now?” You asked while tightening your bow. 

“We’re about to see if you can handle my type of music, princess.” Rodrick twirled the sticks between his fingers, giving you a smirk that forced you to take a deep breath and stare at your new music so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “There’s a bunch of stuff before your part starts, so just go when you’re ready. I know where to jump in. And the song’s like eight minutes long, so we’ll only do the first two pages.”

“Eight minutes?”

“Just play, Jefferson.”

You sighed, giving the page a quick once over before setting your bow on the string. You tapped your foot to the tempo written above the first measure, internalizing it for a few seconds before playing the first notes. Rodrick immediately followed by tapping on one of his cymbals. Being classically trained and not interested in this kind of music, you had no idea what each little piece of Rodrick’s set was called.

But as the two of you kept playing, the sound started to grow on you. There was something about the mix of strings and percussion that pleased you. The music relaxed you in a way, despite some of the big note jumps. 

By the time you reached the second page, you were a bit disappointed that it was over. Rodrick silenced one of his big cymbals with his hand, seeming slightly impressed. “...Not bad.”

You nodded along, loosening your bow. “So… what does Black Sabbath sound like?”

Rodrick perked up at your question. After staring at you for a few seconds, he almost fell down with how quickly he got out of his seat to go over to his CD collection. You set your bow on the stand and leaned against your cello, watching him curiously. Eventually, he plucked out a CD and put it into a player connected to a large speaker.

As War Pigs started to play, you realized it was very different from how it sounded when you and Rodrick played. When the song got to the part Rodrick had given you, you started to pizzicato along. Unknown to you, Rodrick watched you intently. 

You were both surprised that you listened to the almost eight-minute-long song without asking for it to be turned off. You quietly played along the whole time, tapping your foot in tempo. When the next song on the track played, Rodrick paused the CD, figuring you had had enough. “Not bad.” You said, which surprised him. “...I think I like our version more, though.” That surprised Rodrick even more.

He laughed a little, slightly amused. He walked over to where you were sitting, crouching down to make eye contact with you. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna go all rock now, goody-goody.” You thought he looked a bit hopeful as he said it. You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“In your dreams, Heffley.”

***

“Oh my gosh.” Rodrick gasped dramatically as he opened the front door. “What are you wearing?”

“Shut up, Rodrick.” You rolled your eyes, but still smiled at him as you pushed Rowley to go into the house first. Once again, you lugged your cello with you. “It’s just a black dress; I’m not going all emo like you.”

“I’m not emo.” He muttered, shutting the door after you entered. “What’s with the guitar?”

“Cello.” You corrected. “I learned all of that song you gave me. Wanna play it?”

Rodrick looked at you, a bit surprised. “Uhh, yeah, sure. Follow me.” You did as told, walking close behind as he led you back to the garage. “So, you like Black Sabbath now?”

“It’s just an interesting piece.” That wasn’t a lie, but it definitely didn’t tell the whole truth. After going home from that first playing session with Rodrick, you decided to look more into the band. Your search led to their other albums, and then other similar bands. Some of the songs you heard were a bit much, in your opinion, but you really liked some of the others you heard. “And, I guess playing with you is fun, or whatever.”

Rodrick’s back still faced you, so you couldn’t see the blush creeping onto his cheeks. The chair he had pulled out for you the first time you played together was still in its spot, like he didn’t want to move it. 

The two of you got situated and quickly started playing. You were a lot better than the first time, but then again, that was a sight reading. When doing your daily half hour of practice, you added an extra ten just for the song Rodrick gave you. You didn’t know why you were so fixated on it, but it was fun to play, which you suppose was all that really mattered.

You ended up getting through the whole song with Rodrick. About seven minutes of uninterrupted playing, so in sync with him despite only practicing together once. 

“That was pretty good,” Rodrick said, popping his knuckles. He watched silently for a moment as you plucked through a couple measures before giving a mischievous grin. “I think I’m slowly corrupting you and that nerdy, good girl image of yours. One day, you’ll be wearing chunky eyeliner and listening to Metallica.”

You shook your head, giving Rodrick an unimpressed look. “Shut up.” Yet the thought of that sure did sound interesting.

***

Rodrick Heffley Taglist: @tweedledipshit

[whoslaurapalmer]

twin peaks but it happens in 2010. laura palmer have iphone etc etc

this ask has been haunting me since i saw it last night oh my god okay okay so

i wanted to lead with laura being an influencer but no one was quite influencing in 2010 yet. but the point here being that i think she posts a lot online and cultivates her online image very carefully (very soft, carefree, excited teenager) and has a LOT of followers on everything and always gets a ton of likes. bc it's laura, she's so beautiful and special and popular, of course everyone is following her, of course everyone is liking all her posts to get a piece of her

she has a twitter (laurapalmer93) where she posts a lot of pictures with little captions like.......'morning donuts at the diner!!' with a picture of the donuts and a milkshake or a Coffee To Be An Adult, 'can you believe this guy? <3' with a picture of bobby making a face (or even.........dare i say it...........doing the dougie), a picture of donna and james with '<33333333' (modern emojis were just getting really big then but i myself was not a big emoji user in 2010 yet, so neither is laura), 'don't tell ;)' with a picture of her holding a cigarette (of course everyone still smokes in the high school bathrooms).

one time she gets away with posting the lyrics to if i die young by the band perry (IF I DIE YOUNG! BURY ME IN SATIN! LAY ME DOWN ON A BED OF ROSES!) (FUNNY WHEN YOU'RE DEAD HOW PEOPLE START LISTENING!) bc it's a popular song. it raises a few eyebrows but it's a song and it's laura. how seriously do you take teen angst, even among your friends? that's just what laura does. what's there to really worry about, huh? (the song was released in may 2010 but let's say the lead up to her death is in 2010)

on facebook she posts a lot of volunteer stuff. school dance photos, which she helps organize. buy some cookies to support the french club!! she's very involved with student council, and she organizes the group halloween costume. her facebook is filled with photos of her with other people, but not really any of just her. she doesn't post a lot of statuses, but they're usually about homework or tests or 'feels like summer!' towards the end of the school year. she's friends with her parents. she definitely takes ap classes.

she has a private vent twitter (lostinthewoods) with zero followers that she uses as a diary bc she thinks it'll be safer than having it physically written down. her childhood lisa frank diary with the tiny lock and glitter gel pens that she kept in her bed post went missing, after all. her vent twitter is filled with sooooooo many tweets bc this was still the 160 character limit days and she would just post and post and post especially late at night. (she definitely has string lights in her room.) she is a MASTER of using her phone with no one seeing -- she has the layout absolutely memorized. she was only caught texting in class once and of course the teacher let it go.

bob/leland finds her passwords and breaks into the vent twitter and leaves her horrifying tweets she sees later, instead of the back and forth they have in the diary and leland ripping the pages out.

i think she has a third twitter, for sex, but i'm not sure if that tracks for the time period? (snapchat wasn't a thing until fall 2011.) or like a forum sort of thing? i think it's still super easy for laura to sneak out, even in an increased security camera world. there's still a lot of stress on the, yknow, ~secret unexposed underbelly of the world especially in a time of more eyes on everything~ in the 2010s.

meanwhile, james posts music a lot on facebook, and also acoustic covers of songs. like. yknow. HEY SOUL SISTER. donna loves the original pusheen stickers. they record the picnic video on her flip video camera. mike loves icanhascheezburger, and he jailbreaks his phone. audrey gets really into audrey hepburn quote posting, Aesthetic France, black and white photos, berets, has a photography phase and carries and actual camera bc it's Vintage. she's an early tumblr user. no one else in school has a tumblr yet, so she feels very cool but also very lonely about it.

harry has very little understanding of social media, however cooper is very into all social media, he finds it delightful. he enjoys a good cat video. he looks through all of laura's photos, her tweets, facebook videos, and i think there's, honestly even more of a feeling of tragedy bc of how much more physical evidence there is available of laura's life, lingering fingerprints, last tweets, last posts, passwords to put in and information to see, cold blue computer light, the even worse voyeurism in people expecting so much of your life to be online, in watching it play out online, in the image laura created for herself online to be the person people expected

donna rereads laura's twitter in the dead of night, just over and over again. goes back through their texts. so much of grief has become so much more public with social media and using it as a teenager, and there's this back and forth in donna of not posting anything and then posting the most miserable statuses about losing her best friend.

i know i should get deeper into the investigation but i keep thinking instead of how laura definitely gets a 20/20 special. it's probably definitely called 'the secret life of the american teenager.' (bc there was that show on at the time with the same name) elizabeth vargas visits twin peaks, is appropriately grim, there's a lot of b roll of the town and the woods but without the grace of twin peaks' cinematography. they play up the creation of a narrative big, as they always do on 20/20. the revelation of her 'double life' is at the halfway mark and simultaneously not discussed enough and overestimated. 'laura palmer was your average, everyday teenager -- she liked horses. cats. she got good grades, was homecoming queen, had a boyfriend on the football team. she volunteered on weekends. she had her whole life ahead of her. or was there more to the story than anyone knew? was there a dark side to the all-american girl?' oh, it's agonizing. the trailers play up a lot of potential spooky woods stuff that isn't followed through on in the actual episode.

now 20/20 prides itself on getting the story right, so i feel like it's.........i feel like they have to say it's leland at the end (and they definitely never get into anything about bob). but i also think, for some reason, it could easily have a 'we never found the killer' ending. especially re: s3........the thing is, i feel like laura's death particularly is the kind of thing that shows up on 20/20, but the rest of the circumstances would've ended up on like the unsolved mysteries website (the last revival ended in 2010, before the netflix reboot in 2019) (especially with WELL OUR FBI AGENT WENT MISSING). and there's so much online to put together in a website about it, there's so much for people online to dig into who have never even been to twin peaks, to think they know a town and the people in it and the girl who died even if it's just literally THE MOST DISGUSTING VOYEURISM IN THE WHOLE WORLD i just think there's such a. horror in that. people have the most, just, enraging takes when they get involved in a Murder That Happened Somewhere Else. people thinking they alone can figure out a mystery they've never seen, they can of course see something no one else has. and it's different than the people in the town ignoring it -- i think a lot of the secrets in twin peaks stay the same, no matter the time period, so of course it's still, a terrible dying town killing the people in it, maybe even quieter than it is in the original, some new infrastructure but old buildings, not all of them occupied anymore, ANYWAY -- like of course yes people in the town ignore the same amount they did in the original, all small towns bury things. but just bc the town itself isn't paying attention doesn't mean that some rando online is going to know more, no matter how much they think they will. there's like an entitlement to details of a murder, an I Must Be The Hero, The Savior, bc i'm on a fucking reddit thread about it

now i have zero (0) idea of how medical science and forensics work, but i have to assume there have been some advancements in the field between 1989/1990 and 2010/2011. the town still rushes the funeral, but would albert have been able to find anything else sooner? what is it he would have found to point to leland sooner? oh........dna testing, maybe? would he be able to find out about leland right away? there's more of a sense of urgency, maybe less of a slowness between events, even more of a shattering horror. maybe leland goes missing in an attempt to cover things up. hmmmmmm.

final note -- cooper gets called mulder as a nickname bc the x files happened as a show in this universe.

[sleepyparalysisdmon]

Enhypen's Ideal First Dates

Requested? Yes! Request: ‘enhypen members and their ideal first date’

Jungwon - movie night Doesn’t have to be at a theatre either. He’s perfectly content to pile up on the couch with tons of snacks and drinks and watch movies with you until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. But before that, expect some deep, conspiracy theory-esque conversations about whatever you’re watching.

Heesung - midnight drive I kind of picture this being an impromptu date. You both can’t sleep and decide to get up and go for a drive. He hands you the aux cord as soon as you get in. If it’s nice out, he rolls down the windows, but if it’s cold out, he turns on your seat warmer and blasts the heat. It’s kind of nice to just get lost, both somewhere in town and in conversation. Might not even realize it could be defined as a date until it’s nearly over. He might be dead tired tomorrow, but he will not regret it.

Jay - cooking dinner together Heavily inspired by the fact that he seems to be the unofficial chef of the group. You both pick a recipe to try. If you like cooking, he’ll be your sous chef, but absolutely doesn’t mind taking the lead if you aren’t comfortable with it. Enjoys the whole quality time thing (of course!!) but this will inspire him to cook for you as a surprise for future dates that he hopes he gets.

Jake - going on a hike He strikes me as someone that likes to be kind of outdoorsy and active. He’ll pick a nice day and then let you pick the trail and the pace. If you enjoy that sort of thing? Great! If not, don’t worry. He’ll do his best to keep it leisurely because it’s supposed to be fun. Totally not offended if you want something more relaxing next time, because he’s just relieved there’s a next time. (He just really wanted an excuse to bring Layla with him to help break the ice.)

Sunghoon - ice skating I’m sorry, but this one is so obvious and I cannot fathom it being anything else. As you both are getting to know each other and you mention you can’t really skate, he is determined to teach you. Will do his best not to show off (today, anyway). Skates backwards and holds your hands as you wobble in the beginning. Does his best to keep you on your feet but doesn’t let you get discouraged if you do slip. Is super proud when you can make laps on your own and is thrilled when you seem to really enjoy it. This will be a regular date, I fear.

Sunoo - cafe date I think he’d keep it simple and go to a cafe to hang out. It’s lowkey and easy to chat without the pressures of a more formal date such as dinner. It’s also nice because he can sometimes squeeze those into a busy schedule, even if it’s just an hour here and there. Bonus points if the cafe has an aesthetic look too it, because I think he’d appreciate that.

Niki - mini-golf He strikes me as someone that’s sort of competitive, so he’ll pick something that you guys can bicker over. It’s all playful of course, but he will not go easy on you. Might even smirk or chuckle when he tallies up how many hits it took to sink the ball, if only so you can pout or look a little angry and elbow him. Totally placating if he wins in the end, but will concede good-naturedly if you happen to win. (He might even let you but you will never know!!!)

[eunxhan]

❝ A burden weighed heavy upon both their hearts, forging a bond neither could escape. ❞

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Ꮺ 💧 Requested ⨾ Hi Hi ♡♡! I would like to request a Ticci Toby fanfic, with a male reader who would be a friend of Toby's before he started homeschooling, and they ended up meeting again years later, when Toby was already a proxy. Like, Toby and the reader had been friends for a long time, but when the whole incident occurred the reader didn't hear from Toby anymore and thought he was dead, until they meet again!

I wish it was something platonic, I'm dying for just platonic comfort with this man. ૮꒰ྀི ᴗ͈ ˕ ᴗ͈ ꒱ྀིა I would also like to say that I love your writing and the whole aesthetic of your profile, it is so good to look at, and your writing is so good and consistent, I hope you are having a great night/day!! (feel free not to write if you don't like it!!) ♡꒰ ´ ` ഒ

Ꮺ Eun Replied ⨾ Hello, I adore your idea! I barely write for platonic and I'm so happy that I finally have a reason to write one— Although I made this fluff with angst at the end and I hope this is to your liking. Thank you also, I tried making my page organized and easy to find my works ^^ I may.. Or may not go overload with the back story yet I'm still not happy with what I came up with.

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Ꮺ Disclaimer — FLUFF, ANGST. UNHEALTHY FRIENDSHIP.

Reader & Genre ⨾ MALE!RDR. HE/HIM/HIS. PLATONIC.

Words used ⨾ 2,318 words 12,781 characters

Character ⨾ TOBIAS ERIN ROGERS. (TICCI TOBY)

Art Credits ⨾ @/6raveyardbat

Ꮺ Links ⨾ My Navigation and Mandates

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6-7 YEARS OLD —

Toby's life had always been filled with challenges, especially when it came to his health. He had always been prone to uncontrollable tics and twitches, which made it difficult for him to fit in with other children. He was often teased and ridiculed for his condition, and it made him feel like a social outcast. It wasn't until [M/N] came into his life that he finally found someone who he could connect with. [M/N] was kind, generous, and compassionate, in his eyes.

When the two boys first met, Toby was like a kitten abandoned under the rain and misunderstood in class. He had a condition that caused him to uncontrollably tic and twitch, and the other children at school bullied him endlessly. But something in [M/N] felt like he wants to take care of him, he saw the good in Toby and became 'friends' with him, even when it meant being bullied by others themselves. Although, it was hard to approach Toby. He looks at him as if he was prey, as if he wanted to do something to him but eventually he manage to get in Toby's side.

Toby was not nice or empathetic at all, he doesn't really understand why [M/N] get hurt when he said something so offensive and insulting. He doesn't understand why [M/N] cries when he slaps him. He was being treated like this, Why can't [M/N] handle it like he does?

11-12 YEARS OLD —

Toby was aware of how other kids treated [M/N], he was vulnerable and yet something in him snapped when a kid touched [M/N]. A kid that isn't him. Leading him to doing something awful. Yet [M/N] makes up excuses to find a reason why Toby had done that, as if he doesn't want to see the real Toby.

For as long as they could remember, [M/N] and Toby had shared a close bond. They had been each other's constant companions since the days of elementary school, and despite Toby's medical condition, [M/N] had never let that stop him from being a true friend. Although their homes were separated by only a few blocks, before and after school, he was right Infront of Toby's window. [M/N] would often make the trek to be with Toby. They would often spend their weekends or even some weekdays after school together, enjoying one another's company. Sometimes, they would talk for hours on end, always finding a way to have their conversation even when they were physically apart. [M/N] would find a spot where he could view Toby's window, and they would talk with each other just by using a pen and paper. Despite their limited means of communication, they never cared how long they spoke, for they knew that their bond was unbreakable.

This friendship has now become a testament of true friendship, not only to Toby and [M/N] themselves, but to everyone who has witnessed their journey. Though everything isn't always happy, this leads him to feeding his delusions, like he was making up scenarios about the both of them. Toby thinking if they keep being like this, nothing will come to them.

[M/N] had always been aware of the hardships that Toby faced in his home life. He knew that his father was an alcoholic and often took his frustrations out on the rest of the family. Toby would rarely talk about what went on in his home, but [M/N] knew that it couldn't have been easy for him. When Toby was caught talking to him, [M/N] was enraged at the unfairness. The fact that Toby was punished by his father and prevented from going to school for a week because of something so simple and innocent was unacceptable. It only served to further solidify [M/N] determination to stand by Toby and support him through thick and thin, no matter how difficult it might be.

[M/N] had always been a gentle presence in Toby's life, always reminding him to take care of himself. He would often check up on Toby to make sure he was eating enough, and would gently remind him to avoid bad habits like chewing his inside cheeks or not taking care of himself. His acts of kindness and compassion were never ceasing, and they often helped keep Toby on the right track.

Toby's mother is grateful to have [M/N] in her son's life yet also afraid about what would happen to him. She know her son well enough, the episodes, the outbursts, she knew. A pure boy like [M/N], Toby will just suck that out of him. For His Sister Lyra? She was overjoyed, she sees you almost everyday outside just to talk to Toby and she covers you up whenever their dad spot you. She talks to you sometimes outside, she was so happy to see you everytime.

However, when [M/N] 's guardian finally found out about him getting bullied for protecting Toby, things took a turn for the worst. It wasn't the first time they heard him getting bullied, none of the teachers were doing anything. His guardian made it clear that they did not approve of their friendship and told [M/N] to avoid Toby at all costs to the point they're moving out. [M/N] , heartbroken and throwing a fit, could not help but feel devastated at the thought of losing his only friend and constant companion.

The news that Toby was being placed in homeschooling only served to amplify his sadness, forcing him to come to terms with the possibility of not seeing his dear friend ever again, it was the final nail in the coffin - [M/N] was devastated knowing he was losing the one person who had always been there for him.

Toby's reaction to his mother's decision to put him in homeschooling is both one of anger and confusion. On one hand, he may view homeschooling as a relief from the bullying he was facing at school, but he was frustrated that he was being separated from his closest friend, [M/N]. Why would she let him get away from [M/N].. He was doing so fine with him? What Toby doesn't see, [M/N] was also suffering from the bullying he was receiving just by Toby's condition getting worse would likely result in him feeling less capable of handling everyday life, which may impact his overall mood and emotions. As such, his reaction could be interpreted as feeling overwhelmed or even hopeless, as he may feel alone and without proper support in such a challenging time..

But as the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, [M/N] started to lose hope. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened to Toby, but he didn't know what. And the thought that he might never see his best friend again was too painful to bear.

17 YEARS OLD —

[M/N] was consumed by guilt and regret; it had been weeks even months since he last spoke to Toby, and he couldn't help but wonder if the worst had happened. No matter how hard he tries to communicate, he had nothing. He even thinks Toby was dead. The thought of losing his best friend, the person who had always been there for him through thick and thin, was unbearable, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow at fault.

Right when [M/N] hears the news about the car accident, he felt his heart drop down to his stomach. A combination of shock, worry, and grief. His immediate concern will be for the safety and well-being of Toby and his sister, and he want to know more details about the accident as soon as possible but [M/N] 's guardian never let him be close to the Rogers'.

It was like everything happened in just a second. This tragic series of events would understandably leaving the poor guy feeling a wide range of emotions - shock, distress, and a deep sense of loss. The death of Toby's father.. And two weeks later, there was few missing or injured teens and one of the suspects was Toby? He was being consumed by worry for Toby's safety and well-being, and the thought of him being controlled by something unknown would further enhance his sense of helplessness and fear.

But something in him had hope, Toby was still alive.

18-19 YEARS OLD —

He decided to take action. He dug through every news article and police report he could find, searching for any sign of Toby's whereabouts. He scoured the streets, asking anyone and everyone if they had seen him, but there was no trace.

With nothing to go on, [M/N] decided to take the search into his own hands, even if it meant putting himself at risk. He scoured the woods and forests, calling out for Toby's name, hoping against hope that he would hear a reply.

And that was it, He saw Toby.. [M/N] was devastated to see what Toby had become. The boy who he had once known as his best friend was now a monster with a thirst for murder, a proxy for some unknown force. But [M/N] refused to give up on Toby - he knew that somewhere deep down, there was still a glimmer of the friend he had once known.

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

The brisk air bites at his face as leaves crunch underneath. Hearing random noises that animals makes, cold wind hits his face. Snaps. he heard, making him turn to the direction where he heard the branch snaps. He sees a man around 5'6, with an old hatchet. [M/N] stumbled upon Toby in the dense forest, a wave of confusion washed over him. His pale face is covered by goggles and a mouthguard, a bit of brunette hair visible that made [M/N] question if that was Toby or not. He had known Toby from a previous life, a time when they were friends, sharing laughter and memories that seemed like a distant memory. Now, however, Toby was a changed man, his once-cheerful demeanor replaced by a cold, calculating gaze.

Toby's eyes widened at the sight of the [M/N], he tried to conceal his emotions. He didn't want the [M/N] to see him in this state, as a proxy and a killer. He truly didn't want to see the man now, after all he have done to run away and escape. Bitterness bubbled in his chest as he remembered the [M/N] departure, the weight of betrayal still heavy on his heart.

"Toby," the [M/N] was cut off by Toby. "W-Why are you here?!" He yelled, making the other flinch. "I was looking for you! You disappeared, and after seeing the news.. I-.. I—" Toby's eyes blazed with anger, his voice rasping as he replied, "Mmm-me?! You left me in the dust, [N/N]. You chose to walk away, and now I'm stuck in this hellhole, killl—ling for my survival."

[M/N] and Toby stared at each other, the weight of their history hung heavy in the air. [M/N] 's heart ached at the sight of his former friend, his thoughts racing as he tried to piece together the events that led to this moment. He can't even walk closer, Toby isn't the same anymore. Not with a hatchet on his hand.

"Your face..." The boy whispered, his eyes widening as he took in Toby's gruesome visage. Blood caked his features, and his eyes held a haunted look that seemed to go beyond the physical damage.

Toby voice shook with anger and desperation, "Sta—y back! You don't want to see this!"

[M/N] hesitated, his gut churning as he considered the offer to help. The police were the last thing Toby needed, and he knew that his own involvement could have severe repercussions. "I... I won't tell anyone," he promised, taking a step forward. "We can leave this place and find a way to fix it. Whatever happened, we can get through it together."

But Toby response was immediate, his hatchet raised in warning. The brunette faltered, his heart pounding in his chest. He could see the fear in Ticci's eyes, a fear that was palpable and all-consuming. "You don't understand," Toby whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion.

Toby was angry, confused, frustrated. He wants [M/N] out of here, he was angry because of him going to such a dangerous place like here. He would never ever want to see the boy be trapped like he was. "Please, Toby," [M/N] pleaded, his voice trembling with compassion. "I'm here to help you. We can run, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Just put the hatchet down, and we can figure this out together. We can go back."

"Do nnnot bring the past!" Toby's eyes searched the young man's face, his own filled with doubt and uncertainty. He could see the sincerity in the other boy's gaze, a shimmer of hope that pierced through the darkness clouding his mind. "I don't need—need to go, All I want is you to get out of here!" he snapped again, his voice cracking. He hated this feeling, it was a long time that he felt something like this again.

"I can't leave you here, Tobias ," [M/N] insisted, his voice filled with determination. "I owe you that much."

Toby's eyes hardened, hearing that name made his blood boil. his voice sharp as he retorted, "Don't you see? This is why you must leave! I can't let you get hurt because of me!— if the others se—es you— they'll —"

"Others?" [M/N] spoke, his heart aching at Toby's words. Who's them? There's more? Toby is with them? He wanted to help, to make things right for the man who had once been his friend. But he also understood the pain that drove Toby, the fear that had taken root in his heart.

"Who's them..? ," he said softly, stepping back.

To be continued...

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Ꮺ ⨾ I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING COPIED OR TRANSLATED.

[lovebaela]

THE DRAGON OF THE NORTH

Chapter 3: Beginning of War

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Pairing: °❆⋆Bran Stark x Targaryen OC .ೃ࿔*:･

CW: fem!oc, mostly fluff, and mentions of murder.꙳·❅°*˖

Rating: Mature audiences - The mature moments will happen later on. In the beginning, it will mostly just be cute fluff.⋆⁺₊❅.

(a/n) helloooo, sooo I recently decided to make a Wattpad account and I’ll also be posting the story on there hehe. So if you don’t like all of the cutesy symbols and the aesthetic on here, you can also read the story on Wattpad without all that stuff :) also I’m making minor changes to the previous chapters so uhhh don’t mind me lol

One night, Rhaella and Lady Stark were with Bran, by his side. It's been a month since she woke up.

Now, they had to wait for Bran's turn to awaken.

He's not dead, I know it, she always told herself.

Rhaella read aloud a book about the history of Winterfell as Lady Stark was making a protective craft. She said that only a mother could make one.

Robb decided to stay to look after his mother. She never once left Bran's side. To the point where Rickon was following Robb around. Robb walked in complaining about it, until he noticed something wrong outside.

"Is there something wrong?" Rhaella asked.

"Both of you stay in here," he said. He quickly ran out of the chamber, leaving them confused. They both rose up from their chairs to look out the window. There was a lot of commotion going on out there. The door opened, making them turn around swiftly. A man they've never seen before.

"You're not supposed to be here," the man said.

"None of you are supposed to be here." They both looked at each other wondering what he meant.

He turned to Bran, "it's mercy for him, really." He drew out his dagger.

"NO!" They both yelled.

Lady Stark ran to the man, preventing him from getting any closer to her son as Rhaella jumped on the bed, throwing herself on Bran. She grabbed the blade, squeezing it so hard that her hands were bleeding.

Rhaella, not knowing what to do, could only think to herself. She didn't know what came over her to use herself as a shield. In truth, they haven't known each other for that long, but he was the closest thing to family, they all were. No, this won't be the day he dies. It can't be. I won't let him, even if it kills me! That led herself to ask the question, would he have done the same for me?

The man threw her off of him and made his way to the bed.

"No!" Rhaella shouted. "Leave us alone!"

Before the man could stab her, Bran's dire wolf bolted in the room, quickly biting at the man's hand. They watched in awe and horror as the wolf dug its teeth into his neck, killing him instantly.

"Thank you," Rhaella whispered to the wolf. He let out a little whine and laid down. At that moment, they knew Bran would be protected, especially now that Summer was huge.

The next day, Rhaella showed Lady Stark where they both fell. They entered inside and went to the top floor. There wasn't really anything in the room. Just a lot of moss, vines, and leaves growing in there. "I found something," Lady Stark said. She showed Rhaella a long strand of golden, blonde hair. Rhaella gasped, remembering the day the king arrived and the feast. The Queen. Her hair was that color. But why would she be in here? And who was she with? "We have to tell Robb," Rhaella said.

They called for a meeting with Robb, Theon, Maester Luwin, and Ser Rodrick in the godswood.

"Pushed?" Robb asked them. "Are you certain?"

"Bran never falls." Theon added.

"We found a strand of blonde hair in that tower," Lady Stark said. "Bran must of saw something he wasn't supposed to see."

"Which led him to get pushed." Luwin said, putting the pieces together.

"What should we do my lady?" Ser Rodrick asked.

"I'll ride to king's landing," she replied. "It had to have been the Lannisters. I must tell Ned."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" The maester asked her. She gave a nod.

"They think they can just hurt the people I love and get away with it?" Robb asked. "And then send an assassin? They will pay for this."

That made Rhaella blush. He loves me!

Lady Stark turned to Rhaella, "I need you to stay by Bran's side. To watch over him while I'm gone.

He's lucky to have a friend like you. I know this is scary, but I need you to stay strong for me." She gave her a kiss on her forehead.

"Yes, my lady," Rhaella said determinedly. "I will."

After she left Winterfell with Ser Rodrick, Rhaella did exactly what she asked her to do. She never left Bran's side. She was very concerned for Bran's health. Since he was in a coma, he couldn't eat properly, only honey and water. His body was growing more frail by the day. Nearly becoming just bones and skin. Rhaella prayed every single day for Bran to wake up, hoping one day any gods out there would hear her.

After feeding Bran one night, Maester Luwin said there was a gift for Rhaella. It was a fancy looking chest.

"It says it's from Majester Illyrio from Pentos," he told her. "Also, Lord Stark sent the both of you gifts." He placed Bran's gift at the side of his bed.

From what she could tell, it looked like a sword wrapped up. Then he gave her gift, it was small and wrapped up. She unwrapped it and smiled. It was a doll.

The doll was quite creepy, but she cherished the thoughtful gift anyway.

After Luwin left the room, she opened the chest.

She let out a small gasp, inspecting the gift. It was a dragon egg! Next to it was a letter, from Daenerys!

Dear Rhaella,

I hope you are doing well my sister. I'm afraid I have some news. I was married off in trade for a Dothraki army. His name is Khal Drogo, and he looks big and scary. We are about to leave with the Khalaasar. I didn't want to marry him, or anyone. I just want to go home. To finally see you! Sometimes when I get scared...I say that I am the blood of the dragon. Dragon's are fearless and brave which is what I should be. You are the only person in this world that brings me happiness. I hope you enjoy the gift I sent you.

Love, Daenerys.

Poor Daenerys, I guess we both have to be brave right now. More than ever.

"Look Bran, I have a dragon egg! Too bad Arya isn't here to see it." Rhaella told him. She liked talking to Bran while he slept. Deep down, it felt like he could hear her. "Bran, please wake up," she whispered, holding his motionless hand. "I need you."

A few tears fell from her eyes onto the furs of the bed. She hesitated at first, but then gave him a peck on the cheek before leaving. She reached for the door knob until she heard a groan. Startled, she turned back to the bed.

"Rhaella?" He asked weakly.

"Bran!" She shouted. She jumped onto the bed and gave him a big hug, "You're awake, finally awake!"

Rhaella told the others about the great news. She could tell Robb wanted to cry, but knowing him, he didn't, at least not in front of her. Rickon, of course, did.

"You shouldn't try walking," Maester Luwin told him. "At least, not yet. Your body is extremely weak and thin because of the coma. If you slept longer, you likely would have been dead."

"If Bran needs to go somewhere, what will he do?" Rhaella asked the Maester. "We will have Hodor carry him," he replied.

"I had a strange dream," Bran said, as he was eating some pigeon pie. "I was falling. Falling the whole time, without hitting the ground. There was a raven there too. It had three eyes. It told me 'fly or die.'"

"Don't think about it too much, it was only a dream child," Luwin said.

Rhaella wanted to tell them about her strange dream, but maybe the Maester was right. Perhaps it was only a dream.

— DAENERYS ೃ࿔*:･

"I hit him," Daenerys said, panicking. "I hit the dragon."

Dany couldn't take Viserys' tantrums anymore. He hurt one of her handmaidens, Doreah, because she told him Dany wanted him to come to supper. He took it as a command. He tried to strike Dany down, but something woke inside of her and she fought back.

"Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon," Ser Jorah Mormont explained. He had met Dany during her wedding, where he swore his loyalty to House Targaryen. "Viserys is less than a shadow of a snake."

"He is still the true king," She reminded him.

"The Magister told the three of us that the common people were praying for his return."

"Three?" The man asked.

"Forgive me," she said. "It wasn't just me and my brother living with Illyrio, our cousin was there with us. My sister, Rhaella."

"I believe I never heard of her." Jorah admitted.

"She was good," Daenerys said with a smile. "A good, sweet, intelligent, and beautiful girl. She was the only thing that I cared about in this world." Her smile faded away, "and he sold her away from me."

"Where is she now?"

"In Winterfell, with the Starks. The people that betrayed my family."

"Forgive me Khalessi, but the Starks are an honorable house. Trust me when I say this, she is in good hands."

"I will get her back one day, I swear it." Daenerys said. "I pray everyday that she is okay, what do you pray for Ser Jorah?"

"Home."

"So do I," she said. I hope she received her gift and the letter.

— RHAELLA ೃ࿔*:･

Rhaella and Bran listened to Old Nan tell her crazy stories. A lot of them were quite strange and boring most of the time. Bran stroked the fur of his dire wolf. He decided to name him Summer. Summer grew so big that soon they would be able to ride on his back. What Rhaella loved about Summer was his beautiful features. He had fire-like brown eyes and fur on his back.

Bran's eleventh name day came and went quickly, but the boy was too depressed to celebrate. He said he'd rather die than be crippled for life, which broke Rhaella's heart. Soon after her eleventh name day passed, but all she requested for was lemon cakes to eat while by Bran's bedside.

Both of them could hear the shouts and screams of Rickon playing with Shaggydog and Greywind outside. "I want to be out there," Bran mumbled. His eyes stung. She could see in his eyes he wanted to cry.

"Would you like to hear a story about a knight?" Old Nan asked as she sowed. "Ser Duncan the Tall perhaps?"

"I don't want to listen to that," Bran said, his voice petulant. The topic of knights seemed to bother him. Rhaella didn't blame his bitterness. The one thing he ever wanted was taken away from him. "Yeah, you already told Ser Duncan's stories many times," Rhaella sighed.

She loved the adventures of Dunc and Egg, but she heard the story so many times, she thought she would pull her hair out.

"It's the scary ones I like." Bran said lowly.

"Oh, my sweet summer child," Old Nan said quietly, "what do you know of fear? Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods."

The children were deeply invested in the story. It was something Rhaella never heard about before, true or not, it intrigued her.

They continued to listen until Theon opened the door, making them snap out of the trance and jump.

"I don't wish to see anyone!" Bran said, coldly.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," Theon said.

"Lord Tyrion wants to see you. Hodor!" The tall giant waltzed in the room, "Hodor?"

"Take Bran to the Great Hall," he commanded.

Hodor did as he said, picking Bran up and left the room. Theon and Rhaella followed behind.

"What does he want from Bran?" She asked the Greyjoy. "I'm not sure, he wanted to see you too."

Once we walked in, she could hear Lord Tyrion say, "so it's true . . ."

Hodor stood before Tyrion with Bran in his arms.

"Hello Bran," he said to the child. He turned his attention to Rhaella, "and hello to you too, Rhaella. Do either of you remember what happened?"

"They barely have any memory of what happened before the accident," Luwin answered for them as he sat at the main table with Robb. With Lord Stark gone, Robb had to take on the role as Lord of Winterfell.

"That's unfortunate," the Lannister said.

"Why are you here?" Robb asked.

"Would you be as kind to ask your charming companion to neil? I'm afraid my neck is starting to hurt," Tyrion asked Bran. He was different from his siblings. He was an "imp" Arya said. He was as tall as Rhaella, and can't grow anymore than that. Hodor obeyed Bran's request to neil.

"Do the both of you like to ride?" He asked them.

Both of the children answered yes. Bran added,

"well, I did like to." Luwin wasn't sure if Bran could ever walk again, but he said they still needed to give Bran more time to heal.

"Lucky for you, I have brought the finest horses for you and blueprints of a special saddle that can even let cripples ride," he told him. "I'm not a cripple." Bran said. "I'm not sure yet."

"Well in case you are, the saddle will still work perfectly for you." Tyrion gave Bran the blueprints of the saddle. It made Rhaella feel warm inside to see Bran's eyes light up as he looked at the paper.

"And for you," Tyrion said, turning to her. " have something else as well. I'm afraid it's not blueprints, but I assure you that you will love it."

Rhaella's eyes brightened up as Tyrion opened a small case. Inside of it was a beautiful golden ring with the Targaryen sigil on it. "I found this where we have the Targaryen artifacts kept. I thought you should have it," he explained. "It is believed to be one of the many jewelry that Daemon Targaryen gave his niece, Rhaenerya."

"Wow," Rhaella exclaimed. "Thank you . . ."

"Is this some kind of trick?" Robb asked, confused and defensive.

"I have a special place in my heart for cripples, bastards, and broken things," Tyrion replied, smiling at the children. They both gave a smile back.

"You have done them a kindness," Robb said.

"Winterfell is welcomed to you."

"No need for the false loyalties, Stark," Tyrion said. "For I will be leaving shortly."

Before he could ride off, Rhaella ran outside to the courtyard. He noticed her approaching him, "ah, it's you again. I had the both of your horses placed in the stables. May the gods bless the both of you."

"I . . .I thought your family hated me," Rhaella admitted. "You are a kind person, I thank you again."

Tyrion smiled, "I am not like my family, unlike them, I have a heart. Take this as advice, young girl. As someone who is not only Targaryen, but a foreigner as well, you will face hardships. Take what makes you different, and be proud of it. That way, no one can bring you down."

Rhaella nodded and watched as he rode off with his men. She went over to the stables to see the horses. Her horse had a beautiful white coat with wavy mane so light, it almost looks white instead of blonde. Bran's horse was a beautiful jet black color with black mane. They complimented each other beautifully, like the stars and the night sky.

Bran spent the rest of the morning getting sigil lessons with Maester Luwin. Rhaella practiced her archery with Theon Greyjoy while she waited for the lessons to be over. Lord Tyrion’s gift lifted Bran’s spirits, but only ever so slightly. He was always a cheerful boy, a sweet Summer child. Now, he was as cold as winter.

Afterwards, Rhaella and Bran spent the afternoon sitting in the godswood under the weirwood tree. He laid on the ground, resting his head on Rhaella's thigh as she read the history book. "Arya would be furious if she found out we finished the Dance of the Dragons," Rhae chuckled.

"Maybe she should have stayed with us." Bran said, bitterly.

She continued to read, "when Rhaenerya's last alive son was crowned king, the small folk came up with many names. Aegon the Unlucky, Aegon the Unhappy, or Dragonbane. Grand Maester Munkun called him the Broken King."

"Aegon the Broken," Bran said. He sighed. "Bran the Broken."

Rhaella slammed the book shut. "You are not broken, Bran!"

"What do you call a boy who can barely walk properly anymore? Broken, that's what." He said coldly. "Now, I can't even be a knight at all! That's all I ever wanted . . ."

"Well, then," Rhaella said, standing back up. "I guess I'll just have to help you walk better again!"

"What do you mean?" He asked cocking his head.

"How about this, everyday, we come here and practice your walking," she said. "Maester Luwin did say you can walk, just not as much as you used to."

"You'd really help me?" He asked. She was shocked he would even ask that.

"Of course!" She said taking his hand to help him up. "Not only are you my betrothed, you are my dearest friend. All I could ever want is for you to be happy." She wrapped his arm around her shoulder, "I'd also like for my egg to hatch, so one day we can fly on dragon back and eat nothing but desserts!"

"I'm glad that we met." He smiled. She smiled back at the Stark boy, "so am I."

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