#violet brain rot is so real

[shmaptainwrites]

every time we express (1) thought in the chat it turns into a full blown fic in minutes

[siblingskissing]

Ronance headcanons?

Ronance Headcanons

I have had the BIGGEST brain rot about these two, you guys don't even know, so please excuse my rambling session in this post. As always- feel free to share your headcanons, opinions, thoughts ideas, just be kind <3

-Robin is the biggest simp to ever exist. Nancy mentions liking a color? Guess who's suddenly adding it all over their wardrobe! A favourite food? She's already learned how to cook it. Allergic to something? Robin will destroy it with her bare hands and make it go extinct to protect her girl.

-Likewise, Nancy would and will kill for Robin (come on Robin tell her to kill for you she wants to)

-Their favourite dates include them sitting in one of their rooms, a movie or music playing as they discuss conspiracy theories or whatever story Nancy is working on

"There's been a ton of missing items from farms in the areas. Animals, tools, bales of hay-"

"could it be aliens?"

"Alie- Robin it's not aliens!"

"What? Interdimensional monsters are real but aliens aren't?"

-Many people assume Nancy would get annoyed by Robins carefree joke centered attitude but actually she calms down whenever Robin tries making jokes.

-She doesn't like when people don't take things seriously, but she knows Robin is taking it serious, but using humour to make sure they don't spiral with the problem

-their relationship definitely started off rocky but with some time, understanding and surprisingly really deep conversations they learn to appreciate the little things about one another.

-Robin loves Nancy's drive and her leadership skills. She makes sure that everyone takes her seriously and if the kids complain about Nancy being a hard ass she brings them back to listen.

"Nancy's not our boss!"

"No, but she's the one keeping you dipshits safe- she knows what she's doing so listen up and quit complaining"

-They kids listen to Robin more and so when she follows Nancy with no complaints, the kids unconsciously follow suit.

-When Nancy gets stressed/aggravated Robin will be there to lend her a shoulder. They're very much leader/Right Hand man coded to me.

-Nancy doesn't know much about queer culture so when she does eventually come out Robin is happy to talk to her about it and share what she knows.

"So we use Blue violets because Sappho used to describe women wearing garlands of them,"

"Sappho?"

"... Do you have a spar 3 hours so I can explain Sappho and Greek poetry to you?"

-They take all kinds of cute little Polaroids that they keep at Robins place

(examples of said Polaroids)

-Robins family is more supportive so often Nancy goes over there to spend the night

-when college comes up in discussions Robin mentions that she enjoyed investigating with Nancy, the research was fun when they didn't have death looming over them.

"Yeah, learning Russian to break the code was awesome- the torture kind of ruined it though-"

"The WHAT?"

-Nancy asks Robin 1000X if Robin is sure she wants to go to the same college/same field and Robin promises her that she isn't only going because of her.

"I'd follow you anywhere, but this is also for me- if I have to do one more customer service job I might kill someone."

-They love movie nights, curled up under a blanket watching whatever film they can find. Robin always finds the oddest ones and sometimes some really deep indie films. Nancy also enjoys the foreign films she can find and let's her choose.

-on nights Nancy chooses- she likes care free fun films. Nothing too heavy because she likes the simplicity

-Theyre a gross matching couple- but in a new fun way.

-Mat hing colors in their respective styles, using each other's clothes and making it go with their personal choices, matching patterns/designs.

-They also shared shoes sometimes

-On the 90s Nancy gets a more "Rachel from friends" style like this

-Robin eats it up like no one is watching and often has to hold back from just kissing her 24/7

(also I badly wanna do a look book of the characters so Please someone ask for that because I love fashion)

I definitely probably have more but here you are!!

[justoneofthoseghosts]

Back from the dead to scream into the void about Bridgerton because the Polin brain rot is real. I've watched the episodes twice now and have some thoughts nobody asked for:

Colin with all that new found swagger after his hot boy summer just makes me cringe. That whole montage with the ladies - er, no, thanks. Give me back my sensitive Colin please.

Nicola Coughlan is amazing, truly a superstar. She embodies the role so well, in all the bits - comedy, romance, intimate scenes. Ugh. I hope she gets more leading roles!!

Love that Colin drops all pretenses when he senses Penelope's distress at the first ball - sensitive Colin is still there folks!

Also, I think we moved on too quickly from his apology. "There is nothing more I want than to earn back the favor of the one person who has always truly made me feel appreciated." Luke said in an interview that the best version of Colin was the one when he was with Penelope (or something like that) and it does ring true in the first half of the season even if he comes up with this disastrous and misguided plan to help her find a husband. He's always himself when he's with her - there's no postering, no swagger.

I am a huge rom com nerd so I truly appreciated all the rom com elements in this. Nicola just ate that all up. She was amazing in all the awkward moments in the second and third episodes and Luke did a good job too. You could really see their chemistry and how they fed off each other!

They talk about how they first met. Please 🥺 it's the same meeting as in the book and the way they reminisce about it while walking in the market was so cute, straight out of a rom com!

Kinda cringed at Colin's journals because they were about girls 🤡 should have kept them as they were in the book where they were more about his travels.

"We shall gallop along" is this season's "I oiled my way right in" 😂

The first kiss scene was incredible. I think I prefer it to the book because there is much more emotional connection between them - they've been lifelong friends as opposed to acquittances in the book (even if Colin was starting to see Pen in a new light by then). The connection between them is undeniable but they each get something different from it. To Pen, it's the ending. The last thing she would ask from him before she let him go. To Colin, it's the awakening, the shift of his feelings, the beginning of its growth.

Pining, yearning Colin is not as unhinged and chaotic as in the book but I think he might get there in the second half. At least I hope because chaotic, unhinged Colin in the book was pretty great. I mean, interrupting a dance was kind of unhinged of him to do.

But I do like how down bad he becomes after that one kiss 😂 Luke really portrayed it well in the first few minutes of the third episode.

I quite like Francesca and John even though I know how that will end. Curious to see if they'll take front and center in season 4 or if the show is renewed, it'll be in season 5.

I know it is an ensemble show but there seems to be a lot more subplots this season?

lol at Portia trying to get her daughters pregnant when one of them hasn't even done it yet since getting married 💀

Penelope and Eloise ❤️‍🩹 they miss each other ☹️ also, I do not care for Cressida.

I've always liked Violet's talks with her children and how in tuned she is with each of them.

Can't lie, I loved the carriage scene - Colin's confession, the momentary disappointment that he was getting friend zoned, the intimacy but most especially towards the end where they could just laugh together because at the heart of it, they were very, very good friends first.

Also, that look Colin gets when he realizes he's going to marry Penelope? Chef's kiss, 10/10, no notes. Luke really delivered and I think it helps that a lot of the Bridgerton actors are theater actors because they have a distinct way of showcasing little nuisances in their facial expressions.

Needless to say, I enjoyed it. Even if there were some key departures from the book, I think it was a fairly good job. I can't fault them for bringing in an external force (another suitor) to help Colin realize his feelings even more. In the book, a lot of it happens in his head, which can be hard to translate to a show. At least we got rid of the suitor early and it didn't become a legitimate love triangle.

I do need a Lady Danbury and Penelope alliance though. I loved that in the book and I hope they don't drop it!

[askblueandviolet]

DF Announcement

Hey guys :DDD I'm here for an update on you all. Unfortunately, the 'real' chapter seven is still not done :'))). I want to blame it on the fact that I was legitimately sick for a little less than a week, but it was also due to some intense procrastination, haha! Don't worry, I did make progress on it! With enough discipline and motivation, it should be done by next week!

Though, instead of working on the series, I was in fact working on something else. Perhaps you could all take this as some sort of apology gift? If, this one shot fic would interest any of you?

Again, I'm expecting that Blue and Violet will be up and running next week! So until then, I hope you all enjoy this little silly thing I wrote as the result of like four days of brain rot lmao.

[kayforpay]

curious to know ur thoughts on equidan.....ever since i saw that post abt pretty boykings wrecking their big tough guards they've been kicking the shit out of my brain and i need to infect others

I love equidan! I think it's one of those ships that has a lot of potential because they're both at really similar mental spaces, in this case "being weird fucking assholes for seemingly no reason (but it is later revealed they had reasons and could change)".

would be a really cute situation of like, no game AU, equius being the first person eridan looks to for hired muscle once he's making the rounds as Someone To Know because he still clings to feferi for the sake of fame if not for actual closeness with her. equius probably wouldn't be thrilled but you can't break a bunch of expensive shit every day and expect your inheritance to cover it forever, big boy

so he's put in charge of eridan's health, which he assumes at the start would mean "be around to punch if absolutely needed" but immediately learns "also make sure he doesn't just rot in his recupracoon all night. oh my gog. when is the last time this guy has drank water instead of an energy drink. didn't he used to like tea? why does he have so much takeout in his fridge and nothing else"

and really sincerely equius is NOT trying to be some kind of quad for this guy. he doesn't worship highbloods so much anymore, and he has a very wonderful moirail who would just be too delighted to see it happen. but he can't say he's keeping eridan safe and see him walk out of some dodgy club wasted off his ass, hanging off a shady-looking violet's arm, and not say anything.

eridan for his part isn't playing it up; he likes to party and live fast ever since he got dumped by the first and potentially only person to really truly mean something to him; he likes vriska still, but not everything can be flarp, as much as he desperately wishes it could be. at least not for him, not since the media caught sight of him and feferi early in her showing as heir.

they fight a lot, mostly equius trying to get eridan to take care of himself, but over the course of equius cleaning and cooking and keeping him mostly safe, he starts to seem kinda cute. who knew a giant sweaty bag of horse ass could blush like that, right? and when he takes his sunglasses off he's got really pretty eyes, actually, and his jaw is cut, too

so eridan hits on him, first subtly, because to be frank he doesn't want to rush into it and get surprised by equius finally learning the real use of his "sculptures". then he gets more overt, because for Some Reason, equius doesn't respond. which sucks. he used to be easier to rile up, but he's also had to physically wash the vomit off of eridan's nude body before, so the charm might have gone.

I could see eridan staging an elaborate date where Somehow he keeps missing the intended second, so why doesn't equius just sit in? and at the end they end up back at his hive, and equius is still being proper, so eridan has to pull out the stops and go back to what he thinks might still work, despite all the time that's passed:

telling him to get on his knees and beg for it.

[skores]

heya,

who are your top ten favourite characters? Can be from tv shows, books, games, other media etc. List them 1-10.

Oh man that's hard err

Glamrock Freddy (This animatronic will always rank first place for me because GOD DAMMNIT FNAF BRAIN ROT)

Luz Noceda (Relatable protagonist for me personally)

Gregory (The kid is the literal embodiment of chaotic energy which says smth because he is from FNAF AND ISNT DEAD....yet)

Kieran (Ah man they did Kieran really dirty in The Pokemon Scarlet and Violet DLC he deserved way fuckin better- by far my favorite rival in the games)

Charlie Emily/Puppet (Sad ghost gurl she didnt deserve to die- None of them dead. Rip to the Missing Children)

King Clawthorne (Essentially God of the isles. HE IS FUCKIN AMAZING)

Hunter (The bad but sad boy. Also his arc as Golden Guard is pretty pog, he was a real smug asshole)

Anne Boonchuy (She's a decent protagonist- True colors and All In really sold me on her character tho)

Cassie (She was just locking for her best friend but then got dropped down a blood elevator shaft-)

Spyro (Specifically the skylanders version, been a fan of it since 2016 I was so hype when it got a Netflix series, brings back so much nostalgia)

[lady-starbind]

One thing I look forward to about playing Pokemon Violet is learning more of that sexy Grusha lore! I’ve seen ppl on here talk about him, one person mentioned that they had read about the Gym Leader in the library of the game if I’m not mistaken? (ik one of my besties had said that there’s a library in the ingame school w books about the Gym Leader) I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT GRUSHA FJDBLFVNDLKVNFDL If any of you guys have pics of what the Library book says ingame or something... or literally any canon lore, I’m all ears! (idm spoilers honestly... The brainrot is so real and I need a better understanding about my fave fictional jock) ALSO HIS BACKSTORY?! SO SAD THAT THE BEAN HAD TO GIVE UP HIS DREAMS! ;w; ...I’m no expert on snowboarding, but ik that it takes a very fit and athletic person. Is his injury so bad that he couldn’t go back to being pro? ...You sure there isn’t a way that maybe, if he was determined enough, he could overcome impossible odds and snowboard again? Anyways I love Grusha.... he has a very special place in my heart~ (Lowkey he’s actually got me obsessed and brain rotting over my icy oc girl Cryo and her lil bestie Tom jkbvksbksbdssdjk) I definitely ship Grusha and Cryo.... maybe there’s an AU where they fall in love and smooch?! I already have a cute name for the ship: “Crusha” (I love how it has the word “crush” in it lol) ...as far as a proper Pokemon sounding ship name? idk lol... Ice Shipping? IcyLover Shipping? IceLover Shipping? StoicIce Shipping? kdvbdakjbvdskvdbjkss ....Also what dynamic would an icy jock w dashed dreams and an icy bookworm who hates everyone have? I even have a self indulgent character arc idea in mind for Cryo that she’ll go through, where she “almost” ends up with romantic feelings for Grusha. (but narrowly dodges it bc girl hates le romance lol) ...may even write fanfiction for it! :D tldr: I am obsessed w Grusha and would happily accept any canon lore on him, even if it’s spoilers bc the brainrot has hit me hard. Grusha reminds me of my oc Cryo, and I ship the two romantically even tho Cryo hates romance... May make fanfiction w my oc Cryo avoiding a crush on Grusha. PS: I love how Grusha’s name has Slavic roots.... I have Slavic in my blood as well, so that makes me very happy to see a pretty boy with a pretty Slavic name ;w;

[milapurr]

Hi! I'm Star, and I'm a gamer and roleplayer that came from Twitter and Reddit, and I've lived here before those two anyway. Pronouns are any, really. I'm genderfluid <3. Nothing very cool about me outside of the internet, really. Kind of a lame human with 3 dogs and 1 catto who listens to heavy metal sometimes. I'm over 30 and tired.

For real, I swear, I'm just a gremlin in human skin. A tired, sad little gremlin. :)

Art tag: Doodle Time

List of Fandoms I'm in:

INCOMING!!

Tales of, Dragon Ball (Waiting for the next season.), FFXIV (Currently playing, sometimes), Pokémon (Violet Hype!), Demon Slayer (Big Nezuko Fan), Naruto, Bleach (Caught up, feed me more content Kubo), Space Aesthetics, 90's Aesthetics, Vaporwave, Space in general actually, Marvel, X-men (Big fan of villains here.). I also roleplay, think I mentioned that already. There's too many games to list that I'm into I'm so sorry OTL.

As for music I like: Metal, Punk, Alt Rock, Phonk, I'm into high BPM drum and bass type music quite often.

(I do art from time to time!)

CATCH ME IN THE FGC! (SF6 (Juri), GGST (Testament and Baiken), DBFZ (Blue Gogeta, Blue Vegeta, Frieza), Tekken 7 (Lucky Chloe), Soul Calibur 6 (Tira) )

Also rollback for DBFZ woo.

ALSO: Man I have Bleach BRAIN ROT SO BAD.

(Dividers: kaeyaphile, saradika, redjayg, the Tira/Juri/Baiken one's mine!)

[dj-yukio]

Pokémon Scarlet and Violet hurt me in ways I didn’t expect so now I have too many ideas for an au

Spoilers ahead:

Honestly had only one bug in the entire game (an unclaimable pokeball item in the lake of false dragon titan), so my gameplay was great and I loved the story, looks like Pokémon is now leaning hard on the friendship zones more than having to catch them all or become champion or what not

I really like Area Zero’s soundtrack, gives me those mystical vibes like something powerful lurks here beyond one’s comprehension. Also love that we have our friends with us, more to share the trauma!

Poor Arven with his parent, but like I think the AI managed to traumatise everyone individually, because there’s nothing worse than realising you can’t do anything even with our preparations (nemona can’t battle, which is pretty damn bad when your opponent is known to have killed and possibly will kill again, and penny can’t hack us out of the situation)

Our poor protag too, can you imagine going like “ah we’re gonna help this famous professor, wanna come” and then thirty minutes later going “I have just killed all of us, we’re gonna be like the professor, no one will know we died and our bodies are gonna rot here forever or be pokemon food” like holy shit the AI battles were nightmare fuel like professor chucking master balls with barely contained Pokémon within from a height and then our poke balls being locked too

The whole game gives me Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz vibes for some reason, like we’re Dorothy, and all of our friends are a mix of the scarecrow, tin man, and lion (penny is def lion, but I can’t quite agree on nemona and arven being which one), and the whole time we go through a journey to find a treasure and head to Area Zero (the land of Oz), only to find that the wizard isn’t real

But anyways bad AU idea time, hear me out

Look we know that there were a bunch ofscientists before Sada/Turn took over the whole thing alone (and with themself as an AI) studying terastalizing including clavell and others

And we also know that the crystal is what powers the AI and why they cannot leave etc.

So all I’m saying is that the likelihood that the other initial researchers weren’t almost as brilliant as Sada/Turo is low

Which brings me to the concept of our protagonist being sort of an AI

I already said this was a shit idea don’t hate me

Okay but like let’s just say that our protagonist (who is 12-16, look nemona and arven are def older and in that range, plus no ten year old masterminds an operation to stop bullying), so it’s still possible that we can have the protag’s dad working with the professor

And now our protag has a serious illness (say cancer in the brain touch wood) that is in its late stages, so by the time the dad is no longer working with the professor he’s trying to look for another solution to save his child

to the point of obsession

biomedicine has failed him, and so he turns to a little souvenir that he brought along with him from the paldea

and actually creates a solution

it’s not a hundred percent perfect (unlike a certain AI-powered robot), but he manages to craft a mechanical brain powered with the crystals that can analyse situations and respond accordingly

And one night he takes the kid and does the transplant (he’s working at a pharmaceutical facility or hospital, either one)

Our protag lives! Sort of

See the thing is these sorts of projects cost money, money he doesn’t have

So he embezzles funds from his company to fund this project, and on this night the police are staking him out

And when they come out to catch him, it looks worse for him than it ever is

His child is in a coma, there’s blood everywhere, and the dude is covered in blood

He gets sent to jail, the real truth of what they saw is covered up (ie only the embezzlement is covered), and the mom looks after the protag who is in a coma

So at the start of the game this is why there’s no mention of the dad at all, partially because of the crime, partially because the protag’s mom knows that whatever he did might have potentially saved the protag’s life, so it’s a very touchy subject

But before that, when our protag wakes up, they don’t know that they’re an AI, instead it’s just feeling empty and numb. This is coupled with a great overprotectiveness from their mom. But word spread about the very ill child suddenly making a recovery after the dad’s arrest, and eventually the mom takes the flight back to Paldea just to shield the protag from the rumors

Which is when the game starts, when the mom finally is willing to let the protag explore their surroundings a bit

But as the story progresses, the protag learns about being human, learning to feel again, and friendship :D

Also this is a bit random but due to the AI, the protag doesn’t have the ability to terastalize. This is partially because I hardly did during my gameplay, and also because I feel like terastalizing is a bit similar to mega evolution, so for an individual to terastalize a pokémon they need to be in sync with their pokémon, same with wild pokémon terastalizations, either they cannot control it or they’ve just become very in sync with themselves. Instead, the protagonist gets a really bad headache when they try (the crystals syncing with their skull is not fun)

As for what happens to Area Zero, I have plans

[stegrossaurus]

Forgive and Forget

Forgive and Forget

By Sylvia

I’d have never guessed that I could run so fast. I’d have never thought my heart could beat so hard without rupturing. I’d have never believed that the distance between my house and the stop sign would feel so far.

And I certainly would have never dreamed that what I’d seen could be real. 

I kept running down the street, clutching my bruised arm, with each step vibrating the sore painfully. There was no flash of light or ominous sound when it had appeared; it just materialized in front of me like a nasty thought. I had been out for a walk, trying to clear my head and forget...certain things, when, in the time it took me to blink, it was in front of me. Bleeding and swollen and growling with barely contained fury. And then it had charged.

I didn’t look behind me, I just ran. I could hear that it was following me, matching my footsteps, hurling curses and insults in a raspy voice. A familiar voice. My voice. My arm pulsed with each syllable. The wretched thing that I just barely managed to close the front door on was me; an uglier, mangled, and bruised version of me. I slammed the door, locked it, and backed away, my head spinning and the bruise on my arm throbbing.

“Oh Christ, what are you doing back here?” my sister, Iris, snorted from the couch. Until a few seconds ago, she was the scariest and nastiest thing in my life. Now I can barely think about her knowing what’s waiting for me outside. “I thought you were busy crying outside. Or did you finally grow--” Before she could finish, the door exploded inward, knocking me to the floor and letting my evil twin inside.

“You boney-assed little bitch,” it gurgled acidly through swollen lips. “I’m going to enjoy peeling skin off and breaking your bones. One! BY! ONE!!!” It thrust one hand at Iris and she levitated off of the couch, gasping in pain. It opened it’s other hand and let a rusty ax materialize there. Then it advanced.

I struggled to my feet and tried to beg, “Wait. Please.” My arm pulsed with pain at the sight of this creature. She turned to me with a growl. “You don’t have to do this. You can--”

“Shut. Up,” the thing hissed through gritted teeth, leaning close. I could feel anger, my anger, surging off of her warped, red-and-purple skin. That’s what this creature is, my anger given form. “And let me finish this. One of us has to.” 

As she lumbered towards my floating and helpless sister, my mind raced for something to do. A weapon or a distraction or someone to help. But I just stood there, paralyzed with terror, praying to God that something would save Iris. I’d never be angry at her again, I’d never think another mean thought about anyone if someone would just help!

Then the space between my sister and my anger exploded with gold and pink light. When it died down, my sister was released from the telekinetic choke-hold and there was another me there. If my anger looked like me at my worst, then this one was me at my best. She was as heavy and short as I was, but her gorgeous gold and pink dress, perfect hair, and glowing smile helped her carry her weight and small size beautifully. Even her glasses and braces are pink and stylish.

“I think it’s time for you to go back where you belong,” the lovely version of me said in a soothing tone. Her voice felt like my brain was being wrapped in a warm hug. The bruise on my arm healed in a second as if it were never hurt. A ray of sunlight shot from her hand and boiled Anger’s already damaged skin.

Anger roared in pain, but didn’t fall. “NO! NOT THIS TIME!! I’M NOT GOING BACK UNTIL I’VE PUT AN END TO HER!!!” 

Anger’s own light, violet and murky, surged out. Love’s light faltered and the house began to twist and warp. The splintered remains of the door jamb grew into gnarled teeth and the threshold snapped shut, cutting off any escape. The floor grew slimy and moldy, the furniture dissolved into piles of rot and insects, the ceiling calcified into bloody stalactites. My sister and I ran for the fungus-infested staircase, dodging the warty hands reaching out of the family pictures as we ran upstairs. Even when we shut ourselves in my room, we could still hear the Anger’s raging and hollering and the effects of her light didn’t stop. 

“Sylvie, what the hell is going on?” Iris panted as my room began to expand and patches of gore began to well up on the carpet. “What are those things? Why do they look like you?”

I didn’t know what to say. I knew what they were, my Anger and my Love battling for dominance, but I had no idea how they got to the real world.

“Spit it out, goddammit! You know something! What did you do?!” Iris started getting frantic, grabbing me by the shirt front and squeezing my arm. 

The room was getting worse. It was the size of a backyard with bloody quagmires, small hills of melting plastic, a black fire covering the ceiling. My stuffed animals were the size of bears and looked twice as savage and dangerous. My anger was doing this. And I needed to undo it.

“It’s me, Iris,” I say, nearly crying. “That thing is my Anger and she...well, sometimes...”

“You hate me,” she finished coldly. “You want me dead, is that it? Your own sister!” The stuffed beasts had noticed us and were coming closer. But they were moving slowly. I needed to keep going.

“No no, I don’t hate you! You just get me so angry sometimes. I would never want to hurt you. I swear.” Shame burned under my skin but I kept going. I needed to forgive her or we would die. The closest stuffed beast was just a few feet from my sister.

Then the floor erupted into Love’s gold and pink light. She rose from the light like an angel. “That’s good, Sylvia,” she said in her calming voice. The soothing effect of her voice wasn’t as potent this time. “Let your anger go. Forgive and forget. None of this rage and pain is worth holding onto.”

I looked around and saw that the floor beneath our feet and stuffed beast returned to their natural states. But that was it. The rest of the room was still warped and the patch of floor and plushie were already started to mutate again. In fact, I could feel that the bruise on my arm was coming back. Had Love actually done anything?

“Yeah, she’s fucking everything up! Again!” Anger shouted from behind me, responding to my unasked question. She stomped through the snaggle-toothed mouth that used to be a door. “But I can make things better! For real, not like that cotton-candy delusion you keep hiding me under!” She pointed a crooked and swollen finger at Love, who just stood there serenely in between Anger and Iris. “But you won’t let me, will you?”

When she turned to glare at me, there was a simmering fury in her eyes instead of a raging boil; she was losing steam. I was winning! So why wasn’t I excited?

“Because you know that this is wrong!” Anger wailed, grabbing my shoulder. “She keeps doing this! They keep doing this! And you keep letting it happen! Look at this, for Christ’s sake!” Anger roughly grabbed my hand and lifted it to eye level, forcing me to look at the bruise, the one Love couldn’t truly erase. The one Iris gave me. 

“She didn’t mean it,” I said automatically. “We were fighting. She was just--”

“Angry,” Anger finished, chuckling humorlessly. “How many excuses are you going to make for her? How long until calling you fatass and warthog and breaking your stuff and spreading rumors about you and smacking you around stop being ‘just the way sisters are’?” She mimicked the excuse I’d made for Iris multiple times. And I knew she was right. “I keep trying to do something about it, but you,” we both turned to Love, “keep stopping me. WHY DO YOU KEEP STOPPING ME!?”

“You’re not worth the trouble, Anger,” Love said gently. “Raging at Iris won’t get us anywhere. We just need to forgive her and move on.” Suddenly, Love seemed a little off. Her placid expression and perfect appearance hadn’t changed at all, but now they made her look kind of...fake. Substanceless. A sugarly layer over a bitter situation.

There was a long pause in the action and when it was over, the room began to warp back to normal and the emotions started to fade.

“I can’t make you do anything, Sylvia,” Anger said, her voice sounding further away. “You have too much experience keeping me stuffed down. But please do something. Or people like Iris will always treat you like this. Always.” I nodded. This was Anger’s job after all: to push me after what I deserved. 

A few seconds later, the house and everything in it was back to normal. Iris hadn’t caught anything we’d said, she was too busy cowering to hear. She responded the way she normally does to things she doesn’t like: a punch to the stomach and a few screamed insults. Then she ran out of the room, leaving me to gasp for breath. And to think. I thought for a long time before deciding what to do.

That night, before bed, I psyched myself up and asked Mom if we could talk about something.

[cheesus-doodles]

You truly are his simp- Winky Wink

Also, here to vomit another brain rot for romantic(?) Yandere stuff for Izana cause that’s how much you love him. This one takes place in the future where Izana took over Toman along with Kisaki. they are probably real yakuza at that point in time, so they probably gonna open a few companies or two as a cover for their shady business. The reader worked at one of those company and Izana take interest in them whether for their personality, looks, or both, so he harassed her(sexually or not, it’s up to you,boss). The reader could not take this shit anymore so they wanna quit before my man Izana pulled his smartphone and talked to his lackeys ordering them to kidnap the reader right in front of them, telling them their personal info from how they look like to their home address. After that he threatened her like every yakuza would.

i wear my Baji simp badge proudly Winky Wink anon - proudly i say - and i like this premise + i need more Izana love, so Izana get hcs here, gonna have to start a yandere Izana tag sooner or later after all

‎

Masterlist

tw: afab reader, yandere, violence, sexual harrassment

‎

Innocent Bystander with Yandere Izana HCs

you started off as probably just someone Izana bumped into while out and about

literally bumped into, you know he really doesn't care that he walked into someone, would usually just continue walking on in a straight line and let Kakucho handle the offender

but what catches his attention would be your eyes - brimming with life and emotions, the complete opposite of his blank, empty violet eyes

it was almost like reading an open book, the sincerity of your words clear as day on your face as you repeatedly apologised to him, before you quickly bundled up whatever you had dropped - something he didn't even notice beforehand - and then rush off

it wasn't something he see very often, if not at all, not with the kinda of business and dealings he handles

would probably be pretty shocking for Kakucho to see the usually unflappable Izana actually move aside to give way to you as you ran past, though it would be more so that he could follow you with his eyes rather than common courtesy

this tanned boy would probably be rather confused of the way he is feeling even if his face showed no emotions, like what is this warm feeling spreading in his chest, why did he feel sad that you were leaving

just kinda stand there wordlessly and watch you until you disappeared into the crowd, Kakucho having to step in frantically call off the men that were starting to move to take care of the person that had the gall to walk into their boss - having been Izana's right hand for as long as him, he thankfully could guess the next course of action

Izana would probably never ask or even breathe a word about the new emotions that he was feeling, but would not bother with disguising his interest in you - he wanted to see those doe eyes once more

its around this point that Kisaki would hear about Izana's sudden interest in a random girl, and no doubt he would be very confused, since the tanned boy had never displayed any interest in pursuing romantic relationships, but if Izana wanted you, then he would get you

and Kisaki would pull the strings necessary to get you to his side as soon as possible

tracking you down would be difficult with a very vague description of you to go by, but once Kisaki gets his hands on the CCTV footage from the nearest shop - an easy task if you literally run the underworld - its just a matter of hours

and the next day, they had tracked you down to, of all places, a cafe that is part of a chain they use as one of many front companies for their more unsavoury businesses

you were just another college graduate looking for a job, and this cafe position was supposed to be just a temporary job for you to get by

and scrap by you did, with the cafe pay being just enough to keep you afloat

to think that you would fall into his hands this easily would be something that pass through Izana's mind when he strolls in and orders a coffee, just like any other customer would

and you treated him just like an ordinary customer as well, greeting him with those bright, genuine eyes and that soft smile that made his heart skip a bit, taking his order and passing it on to, much to Izana's irritation, a male colleague of yours

absolutely unacceptable that you were not only talking to, but working alongside other guys?

someone's not leaving the cafe at the end of the day

actually no one's leaving that cafe alive, save for you, but he have Kisaki deal with the clean up later

for now it was to make sure that you got into his hands safe and sound - unlike much of his other businesses where he barely blinked at a cold body hitting the floor, Izana couldn't quite bare to think what would happen if the same thing happened to you

some bruises and what not to get you to behave would be probably be okay though

honestly, Izana doesn't do much except look at you for a bit, take his coffee and leave - he already has all the information he needs, and more importantly, he only just realised how much he was looking forward to seeing you again

that kindness you seemed to bathe each and every of the unworthy scum you called a customer for just the bare minimum to get by - it should be reserved only for him

a king needed a fitting queen after all

your manager looked extremely nervous the next day when you got to work, standing next to a well dressed man with a large scar that started from beyond his hairline and crossed one blind eye, and a man with shaggy white hair

your customer from yesterday, you recalled, as you cautiously approached, your manager bumbling to introduce the two men, Kakucho and Izana, as the owners of the chain of cafes

he was all but ordered to leave after that introduction, tail tucked between his legs as he scrambled into the back kitchen

of course, what you wouldn't know is that that piece of trash would be dragged off to a warehouse and disposed off within the next hour, but that wasn't information you needed to know

what you did understand was that they were scouting you to be their personal barista, Izana being highly impressed with your service - and the number that they were offering as a salary literally had your eyes watering with the number of zeros behind

no doubt you didn't want to be a barista forever, but with that kind of money in talks, you thought that you wouldn't mind taking that job for a few months, maybe a year tops, and then trying your luck again with the market

plus Kakucho seemed like a decent guy, very professional and respectful, and they even had a legitimate contract and all, even if Izana was a little creepy with those large, blank eyes

unknown to you, the money had just been a lure, and now with the trap baited and you willingly walking into his hands, it was time to catch his prey

would start off like any other job, you turning up in the most professional clothes you could dig out of your old, shambling wardrobe, neatly pressed, only to instantly feel out of place in front of the enormous skyscraper and its luxurious lobby

mumbling to the security guard that you wanted to go to the top floor didn't seem to help your case, the man in the tuxedo only shooting you a suspicious look and demanding to see verification of your claims

lucky for you, it seemed that at least he took pity on your trembling form and watery eyes enough to make one phone call to the top, to which after some exchanged words, he instantly sat up straight, apologised furiously and personally escorted you to a private elevator in the back

which somehow seemed even more extravagant, with its shiny black granite floors and what not

were the only two buttons actually covered in gold?

the ride was awkward and silent, and you couldn't stop your knees trembling as the lift came to a stop

but at least it was a familiar face that greeted you at the top, Kakucho having come to pick you up from the lobby and bring you to your workstation, where Izana was already waiting for his morning brew

the workstation was larger than your cafe and the shop next door combined, yet the machines were familiar, you taking his order with your usual smile, your body basically on autopilot as you whipped out the same order from back in the cafe

empty eyes followed you as you whirled around with ease, the layout being exactly the same as you were used to

and the more Izana bathed in your gaze, the more he was certain that only he was worthy of it - that you deserved the best that life could give you, and of course that would be being by his side

love - that was what a quick search online told him - he loved you

and that meant that you had to love him back as well

or rather that meant he had to ensure that you loved him back

everything about you started to seem more and more perfect in his eyes - your gentle tone when you ask him how his day was, the worry in your doe eyes when you handed him his fourth cup of coffee, or just your overall innocence next to his tainted self

no one else was worthy, was the only conclusion he reached, day after day, and he would make sure no one else had the luxury of interacting with you

the guard at the lobby was suddenly switched for a female guard, who only shrugged when you asked where the man who helped you was

and a few days was all it took for the harassment to start

it would begin with just seemingly innocent questions about your background, your life behind becoming a barista

and it was always Izana that did the talking, Kakucho seemingly content with just standing behind and listening, occasionally leaving to take a phone call

and you were always invited to eat with Izana, and sometimes you accepted, sometimes you declined, feeling uncomfortable with just rich everything seemed to be

he always insisted regardless

but all of a sudden, everything seemed to just be turned up a notch

Izana starting to intrude into your personal life, asking if you were seeing anyone, if you had a boyfriend, a lover previously

what were you wearing, what he thought you should wear

and then being ordered to change into a specially prepared uniform one day, one whose shirt seemed all too tight, and whose skirt was way too short

yet your requests for changes were denied again and again

and Kakucho just kept watching, silently analysing if you were staying truthful to his boss

day by day you became more and more uncomfortable, the smile on your face becoming more and more strained as Izana started to make his moves, insisting on cuddling up to you, lying on your lap when he wanted to nap

to Izana, it wasn't weird, it was what lovers did after all, and you were already his in all but name

so it came as a nasty surprise when you one day turned up for work with your eyes red and puffy

Izana grabbing your face with uncharacteristic anger, soft yet dangerous voice asking you what happened, only to have you voice your desire to leave, just two months into the job

you didn't elaborate, but Kakucho had already seen this coming miles away - knowing that the root cause was Izana being too eager, too anxious to mark you as his

and he had already briefed both Kisaki and Izana on the possibility of you trying to break your contract and leave, as well as the steps that he had taken to prevent this, though Izana was reluctant to seat through that particular meeting

but it seemed that all paid off, when Izana simply pulled back, retrieving his phone, and telling someone over the phone that it was a go

what was a go?

apparently something related to you that is, the tanned man holding up his phone to show a picture of you

a picture of you half-dressed in your room at home

a swipe to the next picture had someone taking a picture of them in your house, sitting at an extremely familiar table, holding up a picture of your family to the camera

fuck

in an almost casual tone, Izana told you as he tugged you to his favourite spot on the cushy sofa, that if you left him and broke your contract, he'll have his men kidnap you right there and then

it was tossed out almost like any other sentence, an offer for lunch, an offer for an escort home - you missed it the first time, blankly letting him pull you over and lie in your lap

and they were sure you heard it when you finally processed what was said and your face just went ghostly white

mumbling something about needing to get away, to get to the police, only for Izana to laugh that humorless laugh of his, reaching up to squeeze your cheeks together

informing you that the police couldn't help you now, not when you were involved with Toman as deeply as you were, and it was only then that you realized exactly who the two men standing in front of you were

only to look up and see the man with the golden hair that just exited the lift, one that you recognised from the newspapers, wiping some red substance off his hand disinterestedly on a hankerchief

just what did you get yourself into?

[branwendaughterofllyr]

Branwen reads ASOIAF (again) - AGOT Daenerys I

Alright, fam. Confession time. The first time I ever read AGOT, I loved Dany. She was absolutely my favourite character, and I would skip ahead to her chapters to find out what happened next. As I continued through the series, I absolutely believed that Dany was hero. A complicated hero, with flaws and mistakes, but still fundamentally a good person who was going to pull through in the end. And then I read ADWD. 

And, uh, Dany does not come off well in ADWD. I can’t remember if it was when the bones of the child eaten by Drogon was brought before her, and she didn’t really seem as bothered by as it as I was, or if it was when she’s wandering in the grasslands, and committing to “fire and blood,” and “dragons plant no trees” that made me go “oh, she’s a villain now, isn’t she,” but I definitely remember having that moment. Yeah, I was more than a little upset, and on the second go around, all I could see in AGOT was how her descent begins early. 

I still think AGOT Dany’s story is so damn compelling, and I will always have soft spot in my heart for baby Daenerys, but I’m going to be real about the darkness that leads to that realization moment I had in ADWD about where she’s headed. Okay? Okay. 

So here we are, at the beginning once again. 

Viserys is showing off Dany’s fancy new dress to her, a fine smooth cloth, gifted by Illyrio. 

She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away.

It makes me very sad that the first emotion we ever see Daenerys experience is fear. And it’s made clear from the start, that she's not had a very happy life so far. 

“Is it really mine?” “A gift from the Magister Illyrio,” Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. “The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised.

Illyrio is a liar, and Viserys seems to be the only one who doesn’t realize. As a side note, we are already introduced to how unusual the Targaryens look, starting with the purple eyes. I don’t know about the rest of you, but that sounds like it would be a little odd to encounter in person. Just saying.

Tonight you must look like a princess.” A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known.

I mean, she really hasn’t. She’s spent her entire life moving from place to place, reliant on the good will of others. She has no idea what it means to actually be a  princess, or to be much of anything. 

“Why does he give us so much?” she asked. “What does he want from us?” For nigh on half a year, they had lived in the magister’s house, eating his food, pampered by his servants. Dany was thirteen, old enough to know that such gifts seldom come without their price, here in the free city of Pentos.

Dany is only a kid, and she already knows how this world operates. There’s no such thing as a free lunch, especially in the Free Cities. 

Which, ah, I hope that she remembers later. Something, something, ships  two books from now. 

“Illyrio is no fool,” Viserys said. He was a gaunt young man with nervous hands and a feverish look in his pale lilac eyes. “The magister knows that I will not forget my friends when I come into my throne.”

Yeah, I’ll buy into the theory that Viserys has syphilis and it’s contributed greatly to the brain rot. I can see it. Or maybe he’s just regular Targaryen crazy. Or both. 

And Viserys is right. Illyrio isn’t a fool. Which is exactly why he’s not banking on the skinny weird kid with weird eyes. 

Dany said nothing. Magister Illyrio was a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragonbone, and other, less savory things. He had friends in all of the Nine Free Cities, it was said, and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside the Jade Sea. It was also said that he’d never had a friend he wouldn’t cheerfully sell for the right price. Dany listened to the talk in the streets, and she heard these things,

So, I just have a question. Who exactly is Dany talking to that she hears these things? There’s for sure gossip about Illyrio and how shady he is, I’m just curious about who Dany would be hearing this from at this stage. I guess the servants. It’s really not that important, but I think we’ll make note of the fact that baby Dany actually pays attention to what’s going on around her, and tuck that away for later. 

Also, Illyrio has his fat fingers in all the pies. Can’t wait for that payoff. Spices, gemstones, and dragonbone, and other less savory things feel like they could be references to other things and people, but I doubt it, lol, and I’m not going to figure it out.

but she knew better than to question her brother when he wove his webs of dream. His anger was a terrible thing when roused. Viserys called it “waking the dragon.”

Oh boy, oh boy. She knows better than to question Viserys when he weaves his web of dreams. Web of dreams. This feels very significant, beyond just characterizing Viserys. Let’s put a pin in that.

Is this entire chapter just going to be me saying “That seems significant” and moving on? Yes. 

But also we establish very early the connection between anger and dragons. Specifically with “waking” a dragon and rousing anger. I’m sure this will in no way be relevant later. 

And Viserys is an abusive little shit, and Dany needs an actual adult around. 

Her brother hung the gown beside the door. “Illyrio will send the slaves to bathe you. Be sure you wash off the stink of the stables. Khal Drogo has a thousand horses, tonight he looks for a different sort of mount.”

NO, not that adult. 

Viserys is literally selling Dany like a horse, my god. 

He studied her critically. “You still slouch. Straighten yourself.” He pushed back her shoulders with his hands. “Let them see that you have a woman’s shape now.” His fingers brushed lightly over her budding breasts and tightened on a nipple.

EW EW EW EW.

Will people in these books stop molesting little girls??????? If I had to read that again, you do too. 

“You will not fail me tonight. If you do, it will go hard for you. You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Leave her alone! 

We’re going to keep making notes of whenever “wake the dragon” comes up. For reasons. 

It’s so clearly tied into her messed up childhood, and we’re going to have to unpack that, since Dany clearly doesn’t.

Her brother smiled. “Good.” He touched her hair, almost with affection. “When they write the history of my reign, sweet sister, they will say that it began tonight.”

I mean, the history of a reign certainly begins tonight. Just not yours. 

When he was gone, Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun. Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires and the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

Alright, what I am looking at here. 

Dany went to her window and looked out wistfully on the waters of the bay. 

I’m also going to start taking notes of Dany’s connections to water, especially large bodies of water like this. I don’t think that this line has any particular significance in and of itself, but Dany does have a lot of large bodies of waters at certain turning points in her life, and I’ll count this as one. 

The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the setting sun.

Ah, square brick towers, you say? Black silhouettes against a setting (red) sun, you say?

I wonder if this is at all relevant to anything. Brick and black and red, against a setting sun. Hmmmm.

Dany could hear the singing of the red priests as they lit their night fires

Night fires and red priests. Interesting that these make an appearance in literally her first chapter. (Also, fire and singing. Feel like I should also make another of that.)

the shouts of ragged children playing games beyond the walls of the estate. For a moment she wished she could be out there with them, barefoot and breathless and dressed in tatters, with no past and no future and no feast to attend at Khal Drogo’s manse.

So, I think there are two things going on here. One has to do with Dany herself, who is pretty much trapped by her past, both her personal past and her familial legacy, and her refusal to see how that influences her future later on. _If I look back, I am lost. This also feels like it might have something to do with Arya, _a barefoot child in rags, with no past and no name. (Also maybe Viserys, who ends up in rags as the “sorefoot” king. Eh, I’m not committed to that, unless it’s also foreshadowing for Dany as his parallel.)

This entire paragraph of Dany looking out through a window, could be read as looking out into her future, with added Arya as no one foreshadowing. Hmmm. 

The history of her reign really did begin tonight. 

Somewhere beyond the sunset, across the narrow sea, lay a land of green hills and flowered plains and great rushing rivers, where towers of dark stone rose amidst magnificent blue-grey mountains, and armored knights rode to battle beneath the banners of their lords. The Dothraki called that land Rhaesh Andahli, the land of the Andals. In the Free Cities, they talked of Westeros and the Sunset Kingdoms. 

Alright, lets start keeping track of what Dany thinks of the Seven Kingdoms. Westeros as the Sunset kingdoms comes up pretty much exclusively in Dany’s chapters (at least until Tyrion makes his way over to Essos.) Sunset and setting suns come up lot with Dany, and Westeros is very much associated with it in her story. Is this significant?   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

But also look at how romantic her view of the Seven Kingdoms are. I see the Crownlands (green hills), the Reach (flowered plains), the Riverlands (great rushing rivers), possibly Harrenhal (towers of dark stone), and the Vale (magnificent blue-grey mountains). I think that the omissions of Westerlands, the North, and Dorne might indicate something, but probably not. I think the point is to establish how romantically she thinks of Westeros, especially with the knights under the banners of their lords. 

Her brother had a simpler name. “Our land,” he called it. The words were like a prayer with him. If he said them enough, the gods were sure to hear. “Ours by blood right, taken from us by treachery, but ours still, ours forever. You do not steal from the dragon, oh, no. The dragon remembers.”

Blood right, huh? Taken by treachery, huh? “ours forever”, huh?

Crazy ramblings about right by blood, and treachery. The true sign of peak mental health. 

The dragon remembers. What does the dragon remember? An excellent question. Perhaps it’ll be answered later. 

And perhaps the dragon did remember, but Dany could not. She had never seen this land her brother said was theirs, this realm beyond the narrow sea. These places he talked of, Casterly Rock and the Eyrie, Highgarden and the Vale of Arryn, Dorne and the Isle of Faces, they were just words to her. Viserys had been a boy of eight when they fled King’s Landing to escape the advancing armies of the Usurper, but Daenerys had been only a quickening in their mother’s womb.

Again, Dany doesn’t know all that much about Westeros, she’s never been there and only knows what the extremely stable Viserys has told her.

Casterly Rock, the Eyrie, Highgarden, the Vale of Arryn, Dorne, the Isle of Faces.

Does this mean anything?????? I can I change my answer from the Crownlands to the Westerlands for “green hills” or is that cheating? I’m going to say it’s interesting she doesn’t mention the North at all, but we do get the Isle of Faces.

Also, our first mention of “Usurper.” We’re going to be seeing a lot of that in the future. 

Yet sometimes Dany would picture the way it had been, so often had her brother told her the stories. The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved. The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark. Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

Oh boy, oh boy. There’s a lot going on here. 

Again, Dany just knows her brother’s stories about Westeros, a reliably unbiased and reasonable source. And she’s picturing it “the way it had been” in her head. Am I making a point here? yes, but it won’t be relevant for a couple chapters, shhh. 

The midnight flight to Dragonstone, moonlight shimmering on the ship’s black sails. 

Why do I feel like we’ll get a redo of this? Also, midnight and black sails. Hmmm. Just making a note. 

Her brother Rhaegar battling the Usurper in the bloody waters of the Trident and dying for the woman he loved.

Oh, here we go, with Rhaegar and the trident. Let’s make a note of the “bloody waters”, shall we? And Dany seems to go back and forth on whether Rhaegar loved Lyanna. This is also the first mention we get of that story. Interesting, I guess? 

The sack of King’s Landing by the ones Viserys called the Usurper’s dogs, the lords Lannister and Stark.

Oh yeah, the first time we see “the Usuper’s dogs,” Lannister and Stark. There is no difference between them, in this telling. 

Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar’s heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. 

This will never not be sad. Poor Elia. 

(I’ll just note that Aegon is not named, and he’s specifically “Rhaegar’s heir” rather than his son. And way to not mention that it’s Elia’s baby! Sorry, I just get heated when it comes to Elia. I’ll save it for later.)

The polished skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly from the walls of the throne room while the Kingslayer opened Father’s throat with a golden sword.

Kingslayer, skulls of the last dragons staring down sightlessly, a golden sword. I know Jaime wore his golden armor, but did he have a golden sword? Also, the skulls of the last dragons watching sightlessly feels like something. Maybe they’ll see another Targaryen ruler dead? Unclear. Maybe it’s just cool writing. 

She had been born on Dragonstone nine moons after their flight, while a raging summer storm threatened to rip the island fastness apart. They said that storm was terrible. The Targaryen fleet was smashed while it lay at anchor, and huge stone blocks were ripped from the parapets and sent hurtling into the wild waters of the narrow sea. Her mother had died birthing her, and for that her brother Viserys had never forgiven her.

The most obvious thing is the Tyrion parallel, being blamed by a sibling for their mother dying in childbirth. But also a summer storm specifically? Am I allowed to add this to the “Dany is Azhor Ahai” evidence pile? I feel like I am. Also, more  Dany surrounded by water at a key moment. We’ll return to the Dragonstone stuff later, when we actually get to see it. 

She did not remember Dragonstone either. They had run again, just before the Usurper’s brother set sail with his new-built fleet. By then only Dragonstone itself, the ancient seat of their House, had remained of the Seven Kingdoms that had once been theirs. It would not remain for long. The garrison had been prepared to sell them to the Usurper, but one night Ser Willem Darry and four loyal men had broken into the nursery and stolen them both, along with her wet nurse, and set sail under cover of darkness for the safety of the Braavosian coast.

Uh, I guess more Dragonstone significance? It’s all of what remains of their kingdom, but not for long?

Also, our first House Darry mention. I will figure out what is going on with House  Dary, even if it kills me! 

Stolen from her nursery by five men, alongside her wetnurse? How many men did Ned bring with him to Dorne? Five, but that makes six total. Damn. I was going to say it was a parallel, but now I feel upset with the numbers being one off. 

She remembered Ser Willem dimly, a great grey bear of a man, half-blind, roaring and bellowing orders from his sickbed. The servants had lived in terror of him, but he had always been kind to Dany. He called her “Little Princess” and sometimes “My Lady,” and his hands were soft as old leather. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window. After Ser Willem had died, the servants had stolen what little money they had left, and soon after they had been put out of the big house. Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever.

A great grey bear of a man? I smell foreshadowing and parallels. He never left his bed, though, and the smell of sickness clung to him day and night, a hot, moist, sickly sweet odor. First mention of sweet smells in Dany’s chapters, and it is not off to a good start! (Could this be foreshadowing another “sweet” old bear? I don’t really care, frankly.)

And the house with the red door and the lemon tree.

Listen, the whole lemon tree conspiracy theory is ridiculous, there’s nothing in Dany’s chapters to indicate that it matters all that much if the house itself is in Braavos or not, and Braavos is clearly based off of Venice and other Italian city states, all of which have lemon trees. This isn’t the important part, shoo. 

The red door is the important bit. So we have our first red door=home. Red, what an interesting color for a Targaryen to associate with home. Also, “the red door closed on them forever” sounds very ominous. Let’s keep an eye on that!

They had wandered since then, from Braavos to Myr, from Myr to Tyrosh, and on to Qohor and Volantis and Lys, never staying long in any one place. Her brother would not allow it. The Usurper’s hired knives were close behind them, he insisted, though Dany had never seen one.

Uh, why aren’t the lemon tree truthers jumping on the fact that Dany stayed in Qohor? That seems way more interesting to me. 

Dany is skeptical of Visery’s paranoia, and we get confirmation that Jon Arryn and Robert never sent any assassins after them. We’ll see how long that lasts, lol.

And it’s not a very unreasonable fear that Viserys has since an heir in exile can cause a lot of problems. It’s just one that never has any backing for them specifically. I guess nows a good time  as any to bring up Dany’s Henry Tudor parallels in the Wars of the Roses. An heir to a defeated house in exile, retuning with an army for the crown. Let's put a pin in that. I’m sure George is in no way planning to subvert or play with that trope/parallel.

At first the magisters and archons and merchant princes were pleased to welcome the last Targaryens to their homes and tables, but as the years passed and the Usurper continued to sit upon the Iron Throne, doors closed and their lives grew meaner. Years past they had been forced to sell their last few treasures, and now even the coin they had gotten from Mother’s crown had gone. In the alleys and wine sinks of Pentos, they called her brother “the beggar king.” Dany did not want to know what they called her.

Yeah, no free lunches in the Free Cities. So, it’s made clear that Dany and Viserys are pretty down on their luck before Illyrio picks them up. Makes it clear why Viserys is so desperate. Also, the selling of their mother’s crown, and Viserys being the “beggar king.” We all know when we’ll see this again. 

Dany did not want to know what they called her.

I’ve always found this line kinda interesting. The surface meaning is of course, that Dany doesn’t want to know what horrible names and insults call her, a princess without a crown or home, relying on charity. But I wonder if this is the start of Dany’s need to name and title herself, so someone doesn’t do it for her. And maybe that she might bury her head in the sand at times?

“We will have it all back someday, sweet sister,” he would promise her. Sometimes his hands shook when he talked about it. “The jewels and the silks, Dragonstone and King’s Landing, the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms, all they have taken from us, we will have it back.” Viserys lived for that day. All that Daenerys wanted back was the big house with the red door, the lemon tree outside her window, the childhood she had never known.

Visery’s shaking hands? Feel like a reference to Aerys. And more fuel for the syphilis theory lol. @starkmaiden, don’t ever say I never give you anything. 

“Viserys lived for that day.” Hmm. I feel like I might bring this back around when Dany starts her relentless journey forward. 

Also, it seems like Dany has two choices here. The Iron Throne, or the house with the red door, “the childhood she never knew.” The two seem to be presented at odds with each other this whole chapter. 

Ilyrio’s servants enter, to help Dany get ready, and we get this line. 

They were slaves, a gift from one of the magister’s many Dothraki friends. There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves.

Uh. This feels significant. Is Daenerys I just one big block of foreshadowing for what Dany’s going to do in the next books? Sure feels like it. I feel entirely justified in interpreting what she sees out the window as foreshadowing now. 

The old woman, small and grey as a mouse, never said a word, but the girl made up for it. She was Illyrio’s favorite, a fair-haired, blue-eyed wench of sixteen who chattered constantly as she worked.

Do these descriptions mean anything? @istumpysk‘s reread has me hyper attuned to see grey rodents everywhere. I’m going to say no, aside from the Doreah introduction.

They filled her bath with hot water brought up from the kitchen and scented it with fragrant oils. The girl pulled the rough cotton tunic over Dany’s head and helped her into the tub. The water was scalding hot, but Daenerys did not flinch or cry out. She liked the heat. It made her feel clean. Besides, her brother had often told her that it was never too hot for a Targaryen. “Ours is the house of the dragon,” he would say. “The fire is in our blood.”

Hot, scalding water? Back to back with the icy pool in the godswood? If that’s a coincidence, I’ll eat my copy of AGOT. 

(Also, is it just me, or does Dany have a quite a few Cateylyn transition chapters? Or am I just making that up. I guess we’ll see.)

But also, Dany loves the heat, it feels cleansing to her. “the fire is in our blood.” Do I even need to explain it? (mother of dragon, bride of fire plus Mel’s cleansing flame!? Anyone!?)

The girl scrubbed her back and her feet and told her how lucky she was. “Drogo is so rich that even his slaves wear golden collars. A hundred thousand men ride in his khalasar, and his palace in Vaes Dothrak has two hundred rooms and doors of solid silver.” There was more like that, so much more, what a handsome man the khal was, so tall and fierce, fearless in battle, the best rider ever to mount a horse, a demon archer.

Aside from the absurd rumored wealth of Drogo, I swear my head whipped around at doors of solid silver. DOORS! I don’t think it means anything, but just, doors, there are lot of funky ones in this series. I need answers. The description of Drogo feels like it might matter, but I don’t really care, so let’s move on!

She had always assumed that she would wed Viserys when she came of age. For centuries the Targaryens had married brother to sister, since Aegon the Conqueror had taken his sisters to bride. The line must be kept pure, Viserys had told her a thousand times; theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men. Yet now Viserys schemed to sell her to a stranger, a barbarian.

Someone call CPS, I am begging. 

Nevermind. Knowing Pentos, CPS is actually just a brothel. Child procurement services. I think I just made myself throw up a little.

Back to the text, I feel like I need to break this down a little. 

So, wedding brother to sister is a Targaryen custom, from Old Valyria. It’s meant to keep the blood pure. 

theirs was the kingsblood, the golden blood of old Valyria, the blood of the dragon. 

Can I say blood magic? I’m going to say blood magic. Considering how much emphasis there is on kingsblood in Dude!Dany’s chapters, and how suspicious I am of anything Valyrian, I’m calling blood magic being the basis of this tradition.  And also weird superiority complex. 

The idea that the Valyrians practiced incestous marriage to maintain whatever spells they needed to maintain control over their dragons isn’t an unreasonable idea, but I’m highly skeptical that blood of the dragon is required to ride dragons or that it protects a person (poor Quentyn).

But the line that really caught my attention was this one:

Dragons did not mate with the beasts of the field, and Targaryens did not mingle their blood with that of lesser men.

Dragons don’t mate with the beast of the fields, you say? Is there a character strongly associated with beasts? Perhaps has even been called a beastling? Is currently vacationing in the head of one such beast? I’m sure this could be construed as positive foreshadowing for a relationship between Dany and such a character! 

Just pointing it out.

When she was clean, the slaves helped her from the water and toweled her dry. The girl brushed her hair until it shone like molten silver, while the old woman anointed her with the spiceflower perfume of the Dothraki plains, a dab on each wrist, behind her ears, on the tips of her breasts, and one last one, cool on her lips, down there between her legs.

Yeesh. Talk about a yeast infection. Stop writing this type of perfuming George, it’s weird and I don’t like it. 

(I haven’t really mentioned it, but Dany and Sansa have a ton of parallels this chapter, but the perfume on their breasts is what finally broke me. Stop describing this, George. Please.)

Magister Illyrio had sent up, and then the gown, a deep plum silk to bring out the violet in her eyes. The girl slid the gilded sandals onto her feet, while the old woman fixed the tiara in her hair, and slid golden bracelets crusted with amethysts around her wrists. Last of all came the collar, a heavy golden torc emblazoned with ancient Valyrian glyphs.

PLUM! But what does it mean????? Also amethysts. (like another child bride? Purple and silver and Targaryens).  If anyone brings up the Bloodstone Compendium, I’ll be shooting on sight. And I don’t think we get any pay off yet for the Valyrian glyph torc, really? I actually kinda hate Valyria. Just tell us about the blood magic, and go, George. 

A princess, she thought, but she remembered what the girl had said, how Khal Drogo was so rich even his slaves wore golden collars. She felt a sudden chill, and gooseflesh pimpled her bare arms.

Dany and slavery, again and again. Golden collars, iron collars, it’s about more than just the collar, kiddo. I’ll accept the Dany as being sold imagery for now, and more along. 

“Regal,” Magister Illyrio said, stepping through an archway. He moved with surprising delicacy for such a massive man. Beneath loose garments of flame-colored silk, rolls of fat jiggled as he walked. Gemstones glittered on every finger, and his man had oiled his forked yellow beard until it shone like real gold.

Ah, I guess we should make notes that he’s nimble, and dresses in flame, gold, and jewels? Illyrio symbolism escapes me sometimes. 

“May the Lord of Light shower you with blessings on this most fortunate day, Princess Daenerys,”

Can I count this as “Dany is Azhor Ahai” foreshadowing? 

“She’s too skinny,” Viserys said. His hair, the same silver-blond as hers, had been pulled back tightly behind his head and fastened with a dragonbone brooch. It was a severe look that emphasized the hard, gaunt lines of his face.

The boy is a mess. Who gave him a sword?

“Are you sure that Khal Drogo likes his women this young?” “She has had her blood. She is old enough for the khal,” Illyrio told him, not for the first time. “Look at her. That silver-gold hair, those purple eyes … she is the blood of old Valyria, no doubt, no doubt … and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new, she cannot fail to entrance our Drogo.” When he released her hand, Daenerys found herself trembling.

I hate this chapter so much. HATE. 

Menarche was not the normal age for marriage in the Middle Ages, George. Stop doing this!

Viserys is a piece of shit again, but this time with racism! (I’m going to have to talk about the Dothraki. I don’t want to talk about the Dothraki yet. 

Anger flashed in her brother’s lilac eyes. “Do you take me for a fool?” The magister bowed slightly. “I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common men. My apologies if I have given offense.”

*Sniff sniff* Is that foreshadowing I smell? For Dany and literally every other ruler in these books. I think so!

(also, look at Illyrio having to be Viserys’ yes man so he doesn’t make scene.)

Dany could smell the stench of Illyrio’s pallid flesh through his heavy perfumes.

Another perfume note! Just putting it out there. 

“We won’t need his whole khalasar,” Viserys said. His fingers toyed with the hilt of his borrowed blade, though Dany knew he had never used a sword in earnest. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers. 

You sure about that? Seems to me like Westeros as martial culture is probably decently suited to handle the Dothraki. Armor, and castles. Armor and castles. 

The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” He looked at Illyrio anxiously. “They do, don’t they?” “They are your people, and they love you well,” Magister Illyrio said amiably. “In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to your health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of your return from across the water.” He gave a massive shrug. “Or so my agents tell me.”

House Darry again! I see you.

Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy. 

What an interesting list, along with Dorne. I’d be willing to bet that these houses will all join a Targaryen coming to Westeros. It just won’t be Viserys. Also, a big lmao at the small folk waiting for the Targaryens to come back. They literally just want to not die. And we know that most of Westeros doesn’t really care if the Targaryens come back. 

But also the slippery “or so my agents tell me.” 

Dany had no agents, no way of knowing what anyone was doing or thinking across the narrow sea, but she mistrusted Illyrio’s sweet words as she mistrusted everything about Illyrio.

Dany noticed it, lol. Also, mistrust and “sweet,” together again. Hmmmm. (but also, Dany has no idea whats going in Westeros, and that doesn’t change much.)

“I shall kill the Usurper myself,” he promised, who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”

LOL. Viserys really being read to filth here. You love to see it. 

“That would be most fitting,” Magister Illyrio said. Dany saw the smallest hint of a smile playing

I mean, there’s nothing Dany can do, but that's extremely suspicious We know now what Illyrio and Varys’s real plan is but its pretty obvious from the get go they never meant to back Viserys. I’ve always wondered post Young Griff, what exactly was the point of Dany being married off to Drogo? Since it seems like they don’t care all that much what happens to her afterwards. 

Nodding, he pushed back a curtain and stared off into the night, and Dany knew he was fighting the Battle of the Trident once again.

This entire chapter is just providing foreshadowing for Dany’s entire story, isn’t it????? My god, the sheer amount of fodder for Dany and Viserys parallels later. And none of it is positive!

The nine-towered manse of Khal Drogo sat beside the waters of the bay, its high brick walls overgrown with pale ivy.

Nine!? What is with George and this number? It keeps coming again, mainly with the Starks.

Their palanquin was stopped at the gate, the curtains pulled roughly back by one of the house guards. He had the copper skin and dark almond eyes of a Dothraki, but his face was hairless and he wore the spiked bronze cap of the Unsullied. He looked them over coldly.

There’s even an Unsullied. Fam, the writing has been on the wall since literally the first chapter. Dany’s entire story is foreshadowed in this chapter. 

Dany noticed that her brother’s hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his borrowed sword. He looked almost as frightened as she felt. “Insolent eunuch,” Viserys muttered as the palanquin lurched up toward the manse.

Remember how this chapter is just covered in foreshadowing? Maybe take note.

The khal must protect his guests, yourself chief among them, Your Grace. No doubt the Usurper would pay well for your head.” “Oh, yes,” Viserys said darkly. “He has tried, Illyrio, I promise you that. His hired knives follow us everywhere. I am the last dragon, and he will not sleep easy while I live.”

More paranoia. I suspect calling the would be assassins the Usurper’s knives was deliberate. (I literally cannot stop seeing Arya everywhere. I think I might have a condition. We’ll have to do a round up of all the knife and Arya connections in Dany’s ACOK and ASOS chapters. I'm still on the fence for how Dany dies but @istumpysk​ may have converted me from the Icarus death, which is what I thought for ages. We’ll see)

The curtains were thrown back, and a slave offered a hand to help Daenerys out. His collar, she noted, was ordinary bronze.

Is this important or just a story beat for this specific chapter? I think the latter, but putting it here anyway.

Inside the manse, the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pinchfire and sweet lemon and cinnamon. They were escorted across the entry hall, where a mosaic of colored glass depicted the Doom of Valyria. Oil burned in black iron lanterns all along the walls.

I looked up what pinchfire is, and it’s something that exists only in the books. The wiki thinks its a plant. But also- a mosaic depicting the Doom of Valyria? What an interesting choice, especially with the black iron lanterns. 

Beneath an arch of twining stone leaves, a eunuch sang their coming. “Viserys of the House Targaryen, the Third of his Name,” he called in a high, sweet voice, “King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. His sister, Daenerys Stormborn, Princess of Dragonstone. His honorable host, Illyrio Mopatis, Magister of the Free City of Pentos.”

We’re starting in on the title stuff early. (also, I’m sure a eunuch singing their coming has been interpreted as Varys being apart of brining Dany to Westeros. Maybe?) First mention of “Stormborn” as a title. 

Award for best bit of descriptive wiring this chapter goes to:

They stepped past the eunuch into a pillared courtyard overgrown in pale ivy. Moonlight painted the leaves in shades of bone and silver as the guests drifted among them.

(Thank god, I was worried it was  going to go to the description of the Dothraki mustaches.) I am hyperfixated on plants described as bone. Is this significant or just nice writing? No clue!

Many were Dothraki horselords, big men with red-brown skin, their drooping mustachios bound in metal rings, their black hair oiled and braided and hung with bells.

I don’t want to talk about the Dothraki. Let’s just note the description and try to finish this chapter. 

the man behind him is Ser Jorah Mormont.” The last name caught Daenerys. “A knight?” “No less.” Illyrio smiled through his beard. “Anointed with the seven oils by the High Septon himself.” “What is he doing here?” she blurted. “The Usurper wanted his head,” Illyrio told them. “Some trifling affront. He sold some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver instead of giving them to the Night’s Watch. Absurd law. A man should be able to do as he likes with his own chattel.” “I shall wish to speak with Ser Jorah before the night is done,” her brother said. Dany found herself looking at the knight curiously. He was an older man, past forty and balding, but still strong and fit. Instead of silks and cottons, he wore wool and leather. His tunic was a dark green, embroidered with the likeness of a black bear standing on two legs.

BOOOO. Go way, Jorah. You're no Iain Glenn. 

Notes on this chapter? Jorah is an anointed knight, by the High Septon himself. A false knight? Yeah. 

He’s also a slaver. That’s his introduction. He’s on the run for selling people into slavery. And Viserys, and later Dany, don’t really care about that.  Also bear symbolism. He’s an old hairy dude. 

Khal Drogo was a head taller than the tallest man in the room, yet somehow light on his feet, as graceful as the panther in Illyrio’s menagerie. He was younger than she’d thought, no more than thirty. His skin was the color of polished copper, his thick mustachios bound with gold and bronze rings.

Yay. He’s only twice her age and then some, instead of four times. woo.

Copper, gold, and bronze. I’m sure it means something, but it might just be the general metal comparisons every seems to get. Also, light parallel to “copper” Renly, who also gets got before actually fighting in Westeros, rofl. 

“When Dothraki are defeated in combat, they cut off their braids in disgrace, so the world will know their shame. Khal Drogo has never lost a fight. He is Aegon the Dragonlord come again, and you will be his queen.”

Okay, Viserys. Drogo is Aegon the Dragonlord come again? That doesn't sound quite right. And hair and bell symbolism, something something. 

Dany looked at Khal Drogo. His face was hard and cruel, his eyes as cold and dark as onyx. Her brother hurt her sometimes, when she woke the dragon, but he did not frighten her the way this man frightened her. “I don’t want to be his queen,” she heard herself say in a small, thin voice.

Don’t worry, the Stockholm syndrome will set in soon. 

“Please, please, Viserys, I don’t want to, I want to go home.” “Home?” He kept his voice low, but she could hear the fury in his tone. “How are we to go home, sweet sister? They took our home from us!” He drew her into the shadows, out of sight, his fingers digging into her skin. “How are we to go home?” he repeated, meaning King’s Landing, and Dragonstone, and all the realm they had lost. Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio’s estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him.

No true home for Viserys. And perhaps, no true home for Dany either. 

“We go home with an army, sweet sister. With Khal Drogo’s army, that is how we go home. And if you must wed him and bed him for that, you will.” He smiled at her. “I’d let his whole khalasar fuck you if need be, sweet sister, all forty thousand men, and their horses too if that was what it took to get my army. Be grateful it is only Drogo.

BLEGH. 

“Smile,” Viserys whispered nervously, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. “And stand up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is.” Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.

BLEGH

I’m never going to get this taste out of my mouth. 

Okay, I guess my final thoughts on this chapter, is that the seeds for Dany’s story have been planted from the literal beginning. We’ll keep coming back to stuff from here for a while yet.

why did I spend so long on this chapter? 

I’m so tired. 

[madsinfiction]

Pokemon Scarlet and Violet Predictions

hello. I have Pokemon brain rot. And a bachelors degree in Spanish. I think this is a beautiful combination to talk about my predictions for Gen 9. 

Some New Pokemon I Think We Could Get

a donkey pokemon that evolves into a beautiful horse. The Don Quixote vibes are real

 Sticking with Don Quixote, a windmill Pokemon. You can’t tell me this isn’t something TPC wouldn’t totally make. There’s literally a key pokemon. 

Some kind of pig pokemon. Iberian ham. that is all.

Some kind of amphora/sangria bottle pokemon. We got a tea kettle last gen. 

if we are including Latin America in this region (which I think they will, because hello, quaxley is obviously a blue footed booby) that opens so many options

La Llorona ghost type, llama, something gold, calling to the legend of El Dorado, a manatee pokemon

Just so many possibilities. 

The Legendaries 

Alright, so there’s a lot we could do here. The Iberian Peninsula has a lot of history, from the neanderthal cave paintings, to the Romans, to the Islamic expansion, to, very unfortunately, colonialism. We could see a lot of different things which will inspire the Legendary. I think history, like in Gen 8, will play a huge, huge role in the story line. Because my other bachelor’s degree is in history, I’d be disappointed if that wasn’t the case. 

If we look to Latin America for inspiration for our Legendaries, I think we have some wonderful contenders. We could have a snake legendary, modeled after Quetzalcoatl. As of this moment, that is my favorite theory. 

Maybe a condor or a jaguar would be other good models, for their cultural significance to many cultures in Latin America. 

Again, I think history will be really important, and Latin America as a whole has a plethora of cultures with rich, unique histories to which Pokemon could look too for inspiration for their game. 

Let me know what your predictions are, I’d love to hear them!!

[beels-burger-babe]

Lady Harlow Headcanons

***Since I am currently incapable of stringing together a sentence apparently since I am experiencing My Time at Portia brain rot, I'm afraid this is all I have to offer you all for the time being. I am sorry for not having an actual update to give you. So here ya go, @lovevictoire Hope you like it! -B *** Don't know who Lady Harlow is? Meet her in my fic, The Facade of the Suitor, HERE

A tiny bit of a spoiler for upcoming chapters, but Lady Harlow would only originally pursue you for her own needs.

Sure, you're attractive to her, and yes, she can absolutely see what all the hullabaloo about this powerless human is about.

But as the Demoness (or Lady if you will) of Manipulation, she has always worked by her own agenda first and foremost (which I shan't spoil 😘)

She comes on strong and hard, pulling out all the stops. She wants to woo you and have you wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.

There will be eloquently written love letters, invitations to private dinners at the fanciest restaurants in town, gift baskets delivered directly to your room with all of your favourite things, not to mention invite you to her house where she will offer drinks by the fireside.

However, let's say that as she did all this she, much like the brothers, began to catch feelings for the squishy human.

She'll be careful to maintain her big bossy lady, over-the-top energy, but will start making an effort to get to know you more.

She'll become more personal, and dare I say softer, as your words begin to light up her eyes and the sound of her laugh makes her melt into a pile of goo.

She'll become a little cheesy in her compliments, but one look in her doe-like, love-filled, violet eyes will tell you that she means every word.

Should she succeed and capture your heart, she will first and foremost want to rub it in the brothers, mainly Lucifer's, face as much as possible.

*sees Lucifer downtown* "Oh, Lucifer! I didn't know you shopped here (totally did). I was just coming to pick up my partner, MC's, favourite food. I do love to take care of them. Such a pity you boys were never quite able to do so. *begins to walk away* Well, I guess there really is nothing like a woman's touch~"

She's definitely clingy and always wants to be near you and touching you in some way or form. Whether it's as simple as holding your hand, or as risque as her hand on your ass (only if you're comfy of course).

As a partner, she is greatly attentive.

She doesn't have anyone in her life that isn't just another means to an end or who she actually sees past the labels and MANY past misdeeds that she has committed.

She doesn't want to lose you and is new to this whole "genuine affection" thing. She'll need reassurances that this is real and that she's doing okay.

She's wanted many things in her life but has never wanted a person as badly as she's wanted you.

And if she somehow gets you, she'll refuse to let go.

That being said if she catches real feelings and you don't reciprocate them, you can expect her to go full yandere.

TAGLIST @thegrimgrinningghost @henry-and-the-seven-lords @satans-beloved-riv @cosmixbun @sufzku @pebblethepetrock @lovevictoire @obey-mes-treasure @kissed-by-a-dementor @yukihaie

[courtlyharlequin]

Amaranthine

Warning(s): female reader, mentions of anxiety, slow burn (I think), 17K word count, self-indulgence, Vivi’s Vil brain rot with no plot,  not proofread

Summary: There was this monster inside your head. It went by the name of Anxiety. To you, it was, and always be, more so of a parasite you couldn’t live with, but you also couldn’t live without. It looked after you in the strangest of times. For the most part, it was a hindrance, cluttering your mind with dark and bitter thoughts, assuming the worst in people you’ve never met before, jumping to conclusions, and crying over the smallest things. It made you extremely aware of yourself and others, for better or for worse. That was Anxiety, the monster in your head. The exact moment in time when it nestled instead into your mind is unknown to this day, festering in the back of your mind. Then there was Vil Schoenheit, your lover, your soulmate, and most importantly, your pillar of support who cheered you on in his own way. He taught you how to tame Anxiety. But alas, a monster will always be a monster.

A/N: It’s my birthdayyyyyy~ so I made a very, very, very self-indulgent fic for myself. While I did write it as a reader insert, it pertains to my mental health, particularly my anxiety, and there may be aspects of it that you may not understand. That is okay. I wanted some feels with Vil on my birthday because I have a case of Malleus syndrome;;;

A/N²: To clear things up, the reader in this fic is female. She is not Yuu (I usually write the reader as Yuu and yes, I’m aware they can be two separate entities). She likes to scrapbook, bake, and wear lolita clothing. She also attends NRC though her dorm is left pretty open-ended. However, it might not make sense if you’re in Pomefiore. This might not work if your birthday is in March either. I’m sorry asdfghjkl;

Disclaimer: Please note that this is not a fanfic that romanticizes mental illnesses. A significant other cannot solve everything. They shouldn’t solve everything. They aren’t meant to fix you; they’re there to bring out the best in you and be by your side when you need them to be. By no means, is it their job to help your completely overcome your mental illnesses. It’s a common trope in fanfiction and gives off mixed signals to me. This self-indulgent fanfic of mine is not meant to give anyone false hope. It is simply a love story that I always wanted to experience. Think of it as my own anxiety story. The only thing real about this is some events like the presentation meltdown though my partner eventually turned into my middle school bully so I just replaced him with Vil because Vil>>>>>>

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Fwip!

You flinched. You looked up. Vil had flicked your forehead. His eyes were filled with worry, brows creased and his lips strung in a frown.

“Fairest, is something on your mind?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.”

“Hold still for a minute. This lip tint is watery,” he said in a stern tone, tilting your chin upwards

He lined your lips in red and handed you a small mirror.

“Beautiful, my love.”

You stared at your expression. Vil was right. You were beautiful, all dolled up in this getup. You were prettier than usual, that’s for sure. However, the look isn’t for you or your hollow eyes. He snapped his fingers.

“Fairest,” he paused, sitting down on his bed, patting the space next to him, “Come here.”

You obliged.

“Now, talk to me. Don’t deny it. Something is on your mind. You’ve been zoning out all day. If you need a break just say so.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking?”

“Yes. About the past and whatnot. Trivial things! No matter,” you dismissed, leaning onto his shoulder.

Vil crossed his legs, “How could I help you if you give me such a vague answer?”

Had he truly forgotten your special day, the only day you were willing to break out of your shell and be showered in compliments and praise without feeling like an alien? While you didn’t have a cake to share and you were certain that he wouldn’t want to eat it either, you expected he would remember the date as your lover of seven months now. So far, he only asked you to drop by his room for makeup practice as he just landed a part-time job as a makeup artist. Not that you minded of course. He made you feel beautiful, one of the many reasons you loved him.

“I don’t think it’s something you can help me with. I was thinking about middle school and—”

“Don’t waste your time with those fools.”

“I told you it was trivial.”

You nuzzled against his shoulders.

“It’s been hard lately, you know? I’ve been overthinking again. About silly things. Group projects, you know? Presentations too. Ah, there was this one person who told me to shut up because of a misunderstanding and everyone laughed and I felt— But you mustn’t hurt them!”

You clutched his arm. His posture had stiffened. He gave you a blank expression though his eyes told the whole story.

“I felt a little out of place. Things were going fine until they showed up. It’s not their fault, don’t worry. I was excited to talk to them, but it ended up going downhill. I felt like I was overstepping my boundaries. It was embarrassing,” you continued.

“I know you don’t like it when I say this but it’s not as bad as you think it is. Know that you made progress compared to your pot– first year self,” Vil said, squeeze your hand, “If you want help with your presentations, then I’m here for you— as always.”

Straightforward as always. He never tolerated things he deems piffling, but you were glad he didn’t pity you, not one bit.

“I’m sorry for bothering—”

He placed the tip of his index finger on your nose.

“What do we say instead of apologizing for something we cannot control?”

“T-Thank you.”

“Go on now.”

“...for listening to me.”

“My pleasure, Fairest.”

His finger shifted as he cupped your cheek with one hand, leaning in to kiss your forehead. He must’ve forgotten your birthday, but you mustn’t going to ruin the mood. You watched his back as he gathered his makeup brushes. Vil was a busy man though that was something you were used to as his lover.

[ Two Years Prior, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Are you just going to sit there while everyone picks their partners, little potato?”

You flinched at the sudden comment. Potato? You had a name. Did you do something to be labeled in such a way? Moreover, what was the Vil Schoenheit doing standing in front of your desk? You prayed for the conversation to be brief. Part of you also prayed for him to ask to be partners.

“What are you staring at? Answer.”

You shook your head. This was bad. You were staring at him for too long. While you were dying from embarrassment, you let your gaze linger for a little longer. He was gorgeous. You loved how his blonde hair transitioned into a pale lavender, complimenting his violet eyes, eye makeup, and fair complexion.

Vil snapped his fingers before your field of vision.

“I know you aren’t mute. Answer.”

“Probably…” you said.

“Hah? That won’t do, potato. I’ll be your partner then.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘I’ll be your partner’. Now, move over.  We’re in direct sunlight here and it won’t do any good for our skin if we sit there everyday for so long even if we are indoors.”

You nodded, sliding one seat over. He sat down next to you, arms and legs crossed. He seems mad, concerned with something, something else. His body language didn't match his facial expressions though he wasn’t hard to read. 

“Why me?”

You bit your lip, cringing at your own inquiry.

“You seem responsible enough to be my partner for this project,” he said, propping his head on his elbow, turning to face the blackboard.

What did he mean by that? Sure, you were responsible, but were you worth noting of? You were decent, not the best but not the worse either. Failing a class meant coming the topic of conversation when a teacher asks you to stay after class for a brief checkup or tutoring sessions. Excelling in a class meant being called out on your exemplary work by teachers. Anxiety was not equipped for either circumstances therefore it tried to help you maintain your grades discreetly. But Vil noticed, indicating that you were overachieving. Perhaps you should purposefully miss a few questions on the next quiz. You got a perfect score last time. It wouldn’t hurt. However, you were partnered with Vil, someone who strived for perfection, someone who stood out against a crowd. The phrase goes “...like a sore thumb”, but Vil stood out like a well polished and manicured appendage. He was beautiful, so beautiful that one had to stop for a moment to admire his beauty.

That was Vil, your partner. You could feel heavy stares in your direction. They were directed at Vil, but you couldn’t help feeling nervous. You fiddled with the ends of your hair, fixating your eyes onto your textbook.

You flinched when Vil pushed your back lightly. You shot him a widened stare, opening your mouth to ask him why he touched you. He placed a finger on your lips.

“Bad posture isn’t good for you. Straighten up and pay attention.”

Heat rose to your face as you adjusted your posture. 

[ Library ]

“Mind telling me what this is, potato?” Vil said, throwing a stack of papers onto the table.

Your shoulders tensed. You set your textbook down, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s our project.”

“No. It’s your project.”

“I wrote your name on it too so don’t worry about it. I don’t mind sharing the credit.”

“It’s not about the credit. It’s about the integrity. I dropped by Crewel’s office hours today with a question about this project and he told me that we had already turned it in. Fortunately for you, I’m good at improvising so we’re off the hook. I got our project back so we can work on it together.  Scoot over so we can get started. I’m assuming you also did the slideshow, but I–”

As usual, you complied to his demands, allowing him to sit next to you. He was a bit too close for comfort. Your peers could manage with this proximity so you probably could too if you took deep breaths every now and then. 

“We only have a day left, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why bother?”

Vil clicked his tongue, throwing his French braid over his shoulder as he slid the stool closer to the desk, “I bother because we’re a team.”

He paused, pondering, “I don’t like things being handed to me either.”

“That’s gold especially since this is coming from someone who’s always too busy to even reply to my texts,” you replied.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you bit your tongue. Was that too much? Should you have just listened to him? Kept quite? How will he react? Will he shame you on social media? Spread rumors? Tell Crewel?

“Listen here, potato. I work various part-time jobs and I run a club. I apologize for my poor time management, but I am here now. You, on the other hand, have only sent me one text pertaining to scheduling and this assignment during the three weeks we had to do it. We are both at fault, got that?”

“Yes,” you murmured, pulling out your laptop.

“Wonderful. You won’t have to rewrite everything. Just subtracting here and adding some words there for smoother transitions. It’ll sound better.”

You bit your lip. You were hoping that because you made the entire presentation, Vil would take up the speaking part out of guilt. Unfortunately for you, he was too self-righteous to give in. He can’t be persuaded either. His eyes were glued onto his own laptop, typing the evening away.

You’ll have to make due.

[ Presentation Day, Alchemy Classroom ]

From the brief time you’ve interacted with him, you knew that Vil was meant to be in the spotlight. He shined brightly, you could feel his charisma even from the back from the classroom. His performance was worthy of a standing ovation. You could never compete with him, let alone get through a single presentation. You had made it through all of your slides, but every time Vil spoke, you felt out of place. Your hands were shaking and you were on the brink of tears. Your peers must think you were incompetent. Their intense stares were unbearable. Did they pity you? Or Vil?

“It’s your turn,” Vil whispered.

You refused. His hand twitched as he grabbed your shoulders. This exchange was awkward enough yet your silent plea for help didn’t reach him.

“Go, potato.”

“No.”

He enunciated his words, “It’s. Your. Turn”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” you cried.

Vil’s expression softened. He reached for you and you braced yourself yet it never came. He huffed and proceeded with the rest of the slides.

Ah… crying in the first semester as a first year in high school? Because of a presentation overwhelming you? Wonderful. You’ll never be able to live that down. Should you transfer to RSA then? No, that won’t do. They had mandatory choir classes or so you heard. Maybe an ordinary high school from your hometown then? But what if the headmaster disapproved?

You meekly walked up to Crewel, “I’m going to the infirmary.”

Your instructor only nodded with reluctance. Dissatisfaction was written across his face, but turning down a frantic student in tears for an unknown reason would be frowned upon. You heard him mutter something about the puppies this year being too sheltered. You gave Vil a second glance before heading out. He brushed you off and continued with the deliverable. 

You were hopeless.

[ Infirmary ]

You pulled the covers closer to your face, hiding behind your hair. He was there. Why?

“(y/n),” he said.

You inched away from him. He finally called you by your name. Not by “potato”. Why were you a potato in the first place? Was it because you were beneath dirt? Were you that ugly to be beneath him?

“Are you just going to stay here forever? Curfew is soon. You should hurry and get to the mirror chamber.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, potato.”

 You were beneath him. The tears won’t stop falling. You were trembling.

“What did I do this time?” he sighed.

His voice was firm. He must’ve been irritated by today’s stunt.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just leave me alone... please.”

The blanket shrouded your eyes. How pathetic. How could you let him of all people see you in such a miserable state? You’ve only seen his social media profile once or twice. Was he the type to post and gossip about others?

The mattress sank as Vil sat down. You hugged your sides.

“Fine then. Be a stubborn potato.”

“... You honestly did nothing wrong. I’m the problem. I can’t function as a human being. I can’t talk to people. I can’t- Well, I can but it’s...”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah.”

“What is there to be scared of? Follow that trick where you pretend everyone is potato.”

Is that where the potato shtick came from? How reassuring. His tone was unchanging in pitch. Was he trying to comfort or criticize you?

“It's more complicated than just being shy. It’s tiring. I don’t have a clear mind. I worry too much. I spend my days in fear. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Vil pulled the covers off your small figure. You turned to him in a haze.

“I believe the term is ‘anxiety’, potato,” he said.

“Y-Yeah. Was it obvious? It probably was. Pretty silly now that I think about it, but anyways curfew–”

“Did you think I was stuck in some era where I don’t even acknowledge mental health? And would look down on you because you have anxiety? Please. Give me more credit than that. I’m not close-minded. You’re still a person and you have feelings. So you have anxiety. What of it? Certainly no less of a person.”

Oh how your heart fluttered.

“Get up. You can stay at the Pomefiore dorms tonight. I should get you cleaned up. I can’t stand the sight of those red and puffy eyes…. Cheer up a bit, will you?”

He held out his hand. Was this his way of apologizing? It wasn’t his fault you crumbled in the first place so why? What did he want? Did he want to help you out to boost his reputation?

“Why are you helping me?”

“You clearly need help don’t you?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes or no, potato.”

“I can’t burden you more than I have,” you shook your head.

“I talked it over with Crewel. You’re fine.”

“I suppose I’m not excused either.”

You shrugged off the blankets and took Vil’s hand.

“No, you are. He seemed to be under the impression that you were actually ill,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek.

“Then–”

“Leave it for now. We can discuss this over tea. After we clean you up though.”

“Do you pity me?”

What if you sounded desperate? What if you sounded needy? Was that needy? Would he change his mind? 

You clamped a hand over your mouth. Vil squinted at you as if he was trying to inspect a stain on a fine textile. He proceeded to grab your cheeks, squeezing them. He exercised his authority.

“I. Do. Not. Remember that. I don’t stoop that low. Good grief.”

“Then... what’s the price?” you cried.

“Excuse me?”

“Your time is valuable, isn’t it? You’re clearly busy. Why are you wasting your precious time on me? Shouldn’t you be compensated for the time I’ve wasted?”

“Yes, my time is valuable, but we can talk about compensation another time.”

He let his hand go, leaving you to gasp in sheer terror. So forceful… he scared you. What did he want from you?

“You coming, (y/n)?”

“Yeah.”

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Hold still. After you cleanse your skin with this superfruit cleanser, you have to apply this fir extract to exfoliate. It’ll sting, and it’s even worse when you get it in your eye, so be careful. Try not to move too much, potato.”

Vil dabbed the cotton ball on your face meticulously. You felt like a celebrity with your own hair and makeup team.

“There. All done,” he beamed.

He spun the chair around so you faced the vanity mirror.

“Beautiful. One hundred points for you.”

You gripped the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t say things like that and expect you not to combust. What’s more was that this attire was incredibly lewd. What if someone came in and got the wrong idea? What if they spread rumors? You were wearing nothing but his shirt after all. It was long enough to reach your knees, but it was his shirt regardless.

“What do you think, potato?”

“It’s nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s not for me?”

“Well, I think it does,” he said.

You patted your cheeks. Soft. Oh dear, you were soft.

“Ah, ah. Don’t touch,” he scolded, prying your hands away.

Goodness you were hopeless.

“Eh? Stop crying. No! Don’t rub your eyes either. Let me get you some tissues.”

Annoyance was etched into his speech, but his actions betrayed his words. He never left your side; he wiped your tears with his own thumbs. You held his wrists tenderly. His touch was like a thousand butterfly kisses.

“I’m sorry. I just… Annoying… Nobody… I’m not.. You…”

He sighed, “Don’t apologize for your feelings. You’re not that annoying as you think. Instead, why don’t you try saying thank you?”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, something like ‘thank you for listening to me’. That shouldn’t be hard for you now, is it?”

“Thank you… for not being annoyed with me.”

Vil palmed his face, “Not that bad. We’ll work on it. Twenty points for you.”

You sniffled and broke out into a small fit of laughter. He smiled too, standing up straight. He towered over you. He was a giant. You watched his back as he approached his bed, fluffing up the pillows.  His heels clicked and clacked against the flooring. He was still in his school uniform. When was he going to sleep? Didn’t he say he wanted you to stay here? People would really get the wrong idea now. You tugged at his sleeves. Vil turned to you, waiting for you to speak.

“I’ll be going now.”

He grabbed your wrist, “Stay.”

You pulled away from him.

“No, not like that. I’m not going to do anything to you, potato. You really have to stop associating me with other potatoes. I meant stay for some tea. Of course, if you really feel uncomfortable then you’re free to go, but at least let me walk you back.”

“I’ll stay,” you said.

“Wonderful. Give me a moment to fix the bedding. The tea should be ready by then.”

When did he prepare the tea? When you were bathing? When you were changing into his pajamas?

“Vil, if I do stay the night, where will I be sleeping?“

“We have one spare room left over since one student never showed up to the ceremony so you can sleep there.”

You sighed, shoulders at ease.

“Did you honestly think I would let you sleep here? No, potato, I need my beauty rest.”

“No, not at all.”

“You are terrible at lying.”

“I’m not dirty minded I promise!”

“Did I say you were?” he smirked.

Vil had a frisky side to him… how unexpected. Nevertheless, you were relieved. You had insomnia already. If you had to sleep next to Vil… you would never see the dawn again.

“Potato, your tea.”

You jumped.

“Careful! It’s hot and these pajamas are made of silk. I dare you to stain them,” Vil scolded.

You nodded. He handed you a tea cup. 

“I was hoping to talk some things over with you, but it’s getting late. You can take this to the spare room down the hall and relax. Self-care time if you will. Here’s a bag for you to put your dirty clothes in. You can drop it off in the morning to the ghosts for laundry. When you get the chance to change, return the top to me. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh...” you mumbled, turning to the door, fumbling with the tea cup.

“(y/n),” he said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t disturb my beauty sleep.”

“Got it.”

“You didn’t let me finish, potato. You can disturb me if you need help with anything else regarding your anxiety. I won’t do things on your behalf, but I’m there to hold your hand. Just not during my beauty sleep, okay?”

“Okay…”

Vil was not lying when he said he wouldn’t treat you any less of a human. Even if there was a monster in your head, Vil treated you like he would anyone.  Perhaps he wasn’t so bad. But how could he say such things with a straight face? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. 

No, no, (y/n). You mustn’t catch feelings for someone this quickly. If anything, you were in love with the idea of him, his kindness, how he helped you out and cared for you. But was it even kindness?

Even if these feelings weren’t spawned from the idea of loving him, Vil would never return them. He seemed to be the type to be into someone independent. Or at least someone who was not broken. 

Mainly the former, it would seem. He didn’t pack your clothes even though he was the one who demanded that you strip, plunging you into a rose petal and lavender sprig bath. Admittedly, it was relaxing. He said something about lavender having a calming effect earlier. You smelt nice too. 

Maybe for today, you could be comfortable in your own skin. Just this once. You smelt really nice.

[ Four Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Alright, puppies. We have another lab project. The details are in the packet. You are to concoct a potion using the ingredients we learned about this unit. Any potion is fine, but Amortentia is forbidden– as usual. This project will be due in two weeks. You will present your findings to the class in small groups. You can choose your partners. You were good puppies for the last few weeks so I’ll let you choose this time. Do not disappoint me,” Crewel said, cracking his whip.

You watched as the class swarmed into a chaotic mass. Students laughed and embraced one another. You scanned the crowd, looking for someone as unfortunate as you, someone without a partner.

“(y/n). Would you like to be partners?”

Oh. Vil. After all this time, you were baffled by the fact that he continued to interact with you after your meltdown weeks ago. What’s more is that he even followed you back on Magicam. He engaged in conversations with you, asking to check answers with you despite passing tests with flying colors just as you did. You never minded per se. Vil always had something to say. He wasn’t talkative, but he was captivating and civil with a hint of sarcasm. He had a lot to critique. Moreover, you two were from different worlds. Whenever he shared stories about his life, from modeling to troublesome classmates, you felt like a child with a new toy. You were immersed, zoned out of your surroundings, your focus on that one, single thing. In turn, you shared your own anecdotes, anxiety struggles and small victories— to which he celebrated with you through small, almost satirized, cheers and affirmations. 

You were comfortable around him. Anxiety kept you from advancing your acquaintanceship to a friendship, but you were more than happy with sharing homework answers and making small talk. Vil most likely wanted to work with you because, as he said so before, you were reliable. Or was it responsible? Whatever the word was,  you were useful to him. You were noticed in the best way possible. A twisted way to put it, but that’s simply how you felt.

Vil was not what Anxiety said he was and that was more than good enough for you.

“Sure,” you said.

“Wonderful,” he smiled.

You slid over as he took a seat next to you. Away from the sun, just as he liked it. You remembered your first encounter well.

“We’re presenting in small groups this time so you don’t have to worry that much about it,” he paused before continuing, “We can practice. When are you available?”

“Any time, really, I don’t have any clubs.. Or part-time jobs.”

“How does this Friday sound then? I’ll ask my manager to clear my schedule for that day.”

“You don’t have to clear your schedule. I can manage even if you come back late… Just don’t come to me the day before the deadline?”

Were you being too bold with this request?

“Friday then,” Vil said, flipping through the packet, “What type of potion do you want to make?”

“You can choose. I’m not really sure.”

“No, you are sure. You keep staring at that one page. I know you’ve read everything the moment it was handed to you. You certainly weren’t zoning out either.”

If there was anything worth noting about Vil over the short time that you’ve known him, it was that he was observant. Profoundly observant. Perhaps even more than you.

Vil clicked his tongue: “Spit it out, potato. I won’t judge you. I don’t have much of a preference either. We can compromise if we don’t agree.”

“Amortentia,” you winced.

“Now, that we can’t do,” he waved, “Didn’t you hear the professor say?”

“I did, but the structure of this potion is so intricate. I want to try.”

“Aphrodisiacs are prohibited. We can’t do it.”

“I know. I can dream though.”

“Do you have a boy in mind, potato?”

“It’s not like that,” you huffed.

If only he knew. You were head over heels for him– or rather the idea of him, someone who accepted you wholly without ever wanting to tame the monster inside your head. You weren’t sure if you loved Vil for who he was or what he did for you as a classmate. Do mere classmates have afternoon tea in each other’s dorms? Did they engage in small talk frequently?

Vil chuckled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, potato.”

[ Friday, Library ]

“You’re late, (y/n),” Vil said, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry.”

“I hope you weren’t planning on skipping out.”

“No, sir.”

“Sir? I’m not that old, you potato.”

You weren’t fond of the session already. While you enjoyed talking to Vil, his strict attitude was oftentimes a trigger for Anxiety. Vil made it rage, rattling against the cage that encasing your heart. It didn’t fancy that. Neither did you.

“Come sit,” he walked over to the desk.

His braid swayed back and forth. You followed him in suit, taking a seat. Vil reached for your shoulders and the small of your back. You yelped.

“Posture is the first step to confidence. If you shrink, you’ll portray your nervousness in the most obvious way possible. Feet flat on the ground and shoulders back.”

You felt exposed, flustered, but not to Vil’s touch. You felt vulnerable to a nonexistent crowd. 

Vil stood up and took a seat before you, staring at you intently.

“Now, deep breath. Scan the crowd and focus on a point behind them, away from their eyes, but still in their direction. Remember to look around occasionally so it’s not obvious that you’re staring at the back of the room. You don’t have to make direct eye contact.”

You nodded sheepishly and obeyed. It wasn’t difficult. You could stare into his eyes forever. You hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward if you kept your gaze fixed on his.

“Shall we begin?”

[  Two Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Hold still, potato,” Vil hissed.

He held your jaw steadily as he applied a glossy red lip tint onto your lips. In a classroom. In public. How many people were staring at you two? What did they think? Did they think you were his plaything?

“I don’t see the point in dressing up.”

“Please. Lip tint and a few touch ups isn’t ‘dressing up’. Plus, you’ll feel more confident if you look confident. Own it, my friend.”

Friend? You were his friend? You could feel your cheeks getting rosy. At the same time, you felt a surge of adrenaline. Was it confidence? You were on cloud nine, feeling unstoppable. If he said so, then Vil would be your first friend at Night Raven College outside of your dorm. 

But… what if he didn’t mean it?

No, no. he meant it. There was no need for Vil to lie. For him, lying was pointless. It was a waste of time; he preferred to get straight to the point even if it might be harsh on someone’s feelings. You’d learn to accept that his words come from honest intentions.

Crewel blew his whistle, signaling start time. Students flocked to their not-so-small groups. Vil had volunteered for the both of you to go first despite your protests, saying that it would be best to go first so you would not overthink and compare your presentation to others. 

“I’m Vil Schoenheiit.”

He squeezed your thigh. The gesture was of chaste intentions, you were sure. Your leg was the only place he could touch in hindsight. Or so you assumed. Regardless, it set your insides on fire, but it made his presence known— as if to say “I’m here, don’t worry.”

Your breath hitched: “And I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

[ One Day Later, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Potato, what are you doing here? It’s the weekend.”

You hugged your sides. He was sweating. You’ve never seen Vil in anything but his school uniform, Pomefiore’s dorm uniform, and pajamas. There he was… standing right before you in a stormy gray tank top. While he was wearing pajama bottoms, the look was foreign to you. What should you say? You never knew he worked out.  Were those weights heavy? Is he training for a certain role?

“I have something for you: a small thank you gift for yesterday,” you said, brushing past your thoughts.

“Oh? You don’t have to thank me. I wanted a good grade too so don’t think too highly of me… Simply improving is enough.”

You shook your head, “I insist. I want to do something for you too. I would feel guilty if it were any other way.”

Vil rested his palm on your head. You looked up at him attentively. The height difference between the both of you was immense. Compared to Vil, you were a dwarf.

“What is it that you want to show me?” he sighed.

You jumped with excitement, handing him a small container. He took them.

“What’s this?”

“Open them.”

“Alright, alright. Such a demanding potato…”

You watched him gingerly pop off the lid to reveal your culinary creation. Your eyes wandered back to his violet orbs.

“Potato, what is this?”

Did he honestly not know or did he think you were jesting?

“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies. I made them myself. It’s all organic ingredients, I promise. There’s apples in it too. I know you watch your diet, but I think it would be okay if you ate just one. At least?”

You scratched the back of your neck while Vil stared at them in bewilderment.

“Just one.”

“Yay~”

His furrowed eyebrows softened as he took a bite, “Not bad, potato.”

He placed it back in the container and closed the lid. Your heart sank. Was it just for show? Were they bad?

“Don’t take it personally. They are delicious. I don’t eat too many sweets though. I… also have a meeting with my producers after this. So perhaps later, my dear.”

“Oh alright.”

[ Someday– Your Birthday, Alchemy Classroom ]

You weren’t sure what kind of strings were pulled or if this class had free seating, but Vil gradually sat closer and closer to you. Now, his seat was next to you. He said that it was because he could not stand the other potatoes near his old seat and that he’d much rather sit with a friend who helped him stay on task– which in turn made your heart melt.

Answers weren’t the only things you two shared now. You often brought snacks to share with him. You brought healthy ones like apple crisps and celery sticks for accommodate the diet of your classmate. He only consumed workout smoothies in the morning. He would drink one before he went for a run with no post-workout smoothies to make up for the calories he burnt. For someone who claims to life a healthy lifestyle, Vil was oftentimes too busy to keep up with it. He rose when the sun kissed the tips of the hills. Granted, he could have risen earlier so he could consume his post-workout meal, but his work trails later in the night. Sleep was important to him. Between balancing his beauty sleep and fitness regime, he frequently came to Alchemy with his hair still wet from a morning shower, his eyes caked with concelaer, and an empty stomach.

The first time you offered him something to munch on and regain the calories burnt, he declined. But as these days became more frequent, Vil caved.  

“Potato.”

He slumped against his desk– a rare sight from the Pomefiore student.

“You should stop pushing yourself,” you said, taking out a container.

He shook his head.

“A break would be nice once in a while, Vil.”

He rolled his eyes, slipping off his gloves to take off the lid. God, he was so stubborn. He was going to burn out one day.

“I don’t mind sharing food with you, but you should pace yourself. Take a day off”

He shook his head again. Why though? Did his schedule not allow him to? Vil worked late sometimes, but was it worth it?

“Potato.”

“Hm?”

“Do you have anything aside from these cookies?”

You inhaled sharply, closing the lid and shoving it in your bag. They might have crumbled, but you didn’t want him to know. 

“Unfortunately, no sorry,” you sighed, clutching your bag’s handle.

“Fine then. I’ll just eat one then.”

“No.”

“Why not? “

“It’s not healthy for you.”

Vil lunged for your bag. His stomach growled. You did your best to stifle a giggle. 

“You just said it was alright to take a break,” he said.

“You can’t have them.”

“How come?”

“They’re for me…” you whispered.

“Come again?”

“These are mine.”

He hummed, clearly not buying into your excuse. Perhaps excuse was not the right word because they were for you. They were self-indulgent treats that you made for yourself around this time of year. They were self-indulgent with a miserable origin. 

At this point, he was gripping your wrist. Since when was VIl this forceful? He never crossed any boundaries. He was never nosy. Was he concerned? Or did the madness of hunger consume him?

He was akin to a stray kitten. You were the one to offer him food in the first place. There were two cookies. One wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine. Just one. Please don’t eat the other though. I’d like to eat one on my birthday.”

“Birthday? Potat–”

You put your hand over his mouth on impulse. He was going to throw a fit with you for placing your “breeding ground for bacteria”  on his face, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you pleaded, “But, yes, today is my birthday.”

Crewel’s footsteps echoed through the room, “Silence, puppies!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vil hissed under his breath.

“I’m not big on birthdays. The attention is too much– plus, rarely anyone celebrates with me.”

“You honestly remind me of that one miserable Diasomnia first year from the class next door.”

The conversation was left at that.

[ A Few Hours Later, Courtyard ]

“Potato.”

“Vil?”

Where did he come from? How did he find you? Class had ended a few minutes ago. What’s more is that you only saw him every other day due to the Alchemy schedules. It was the only class you had with him. You never saw him outside of class, aside from rare encounters in the cafeteria. You ate in the library to avoid people so that was partly your fault too.

“Come with me.”

“Pardon?”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You are the birthday girl, after all.”

He struck his signature pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointed, barely touching his cheek. When did he develop this again?

Wait. What did he just say?

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Here. This is an anxiety journal. Think of it as a diary to write your thoughts down in case you don’t have anyone to talk to”

“Vil, I can't take this,” you said, pushing the notebook away.

“I insist.”

“Still…”

“You said you didn’t celebrate. And that others didn’t celebrate either, no?”

“Yes…”

“If you don’t put yourself out there and let people know, then how are others going to celebrate? And then you go mope around and eat cookies all by yourself in the library with the ghosts?”

Was he watching you? You were sure that there was no one there when the ghosts sang you happy birthday.

“I never said I was moping. I don’t care if I’m all alone. I don’t mind at all. I’m perfectly okay with that. I don’t need to be acknowledged or receive any gifts of pity so please just leave it at that…. I appreciate the gesture though.”

He leered. You took a step back. Was he angry? Why? This doesn’t concernto him. Why was he getting angry?

“I care. So take it.”

You caved, taking the journal. It was similar to the Pomefiore dorm leader’s grimoire: leather bound, decorated in gold decals in floral patterns and peacock feathers. It was pretty. You were a fool. A sensitive and broken fool. You were crying over a notebook, a gift put together at the last minute with tender loving care by a classmate you barely knew. It had been a long time since you felt this happy, this acknowledged.

Vil grimaced, “Oh stop crying already. I told you that I was here for you.”

He embraced you. It was awkward, but wholesome. You never hugged him before. He was warm. Perhaps a little bony for it to be of any comfort, but that was most likely due to the position you two were him. His head pats were stiff. It was ill at ease, but endearing.

Vil was your friend. Though not the closest, you treasured his actions. You weren’t sure how he put up with you. Or why even, but all you were concerned in at this moment was that he cared. It would be lovely to not assume the worst in people for once.

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

What would Vil surprise with you this year? He hasn’t mentioned anything yet.

The makeover was nice, but you weren’t big on makeovers. Did you get to keep this dress? It was embellished with lace and frills– fancy. It was white, pink and floral like the Heartslabyul croquet court. You felt pretty albeit out of your own skin. Vil hummed a soft song whilst cleaning his makeup brushes.

Would that be all?  It was your first birthday as a couple. Were you ungrateful if you asked if there was anything else? His schedule was tight. What would he say if you mentioned that today was your birthday? What would he say if you asked if he had forgotten? Would you sound narcissistic? 

Would he say the same thing he said to you when you were second years?

[ One Year Ago, Someday– Your Birthday, Hallway ]

“Vil!”

You were so excited to see him again. You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him.

“(y/n).”

“I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you? Congratulations. It’s a bit late though. How’s being Pomefiore’s new dorm leader treating you?”

He brushed his hair off his shoulders. Ah... a new hairstyle. He was wearing the barette you made for his birthday. You missed the French braid, but you felt that he was more relaxed when he let his hair down (literally).

“Rook. Guide the baby potatoes back to our dorm. Give us a moment,” Vil said to the person he was walking with.

Rook, you assumed. He was bizarre with his exaggerated features and hat. You were certain that the accessory violated campus dress codes. Needless to say, he was beautiful in his own way– just like any Pomefiore student.

“Oui, Roi du Poison. I shall leave you with ta chérie~” he breathed, prancing away with the first years.

“Ta what now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Vil said, “I am doing well, thank you, (y/n).”

No “potato” this time? Not even once? You hadn’t seen him since your second year started, only keeping up with his life through Magicam and story replies. Sometimes, he messaged you to check up on you or ask to compare answers for Alchemy and Potions. You packed snacks for him though that routine eventually ceased as Vil began taking better care of himself, opting only to run when he had the time.

You missed those days, but his well being was more important than your own selfish feelings. You had grown fond of that nickname since he used it so often. It was a term of endearment. It saddened you that he called others potatoes as well.

“Happy birthday by the way,” Vil said.

“Oh! You remember?”

“There you go again. I don’t have the memory of a goldfish– of course I remember. Though I don’t have a gift for you this time around.”

Did you offend him? Did you sound needy? You weren’t asking for any presents. Did it come off that way?

“I don’t need anything so it’s fine.”

Or rather, you didn't expect anything.

“Good grief. It’s your birthday. Chin up. Have the attention on yourself for one day. It’s your day after all. Anyhow,I would love to chit chat more, but my schedule is tight. I cannot dilly dal–”

You reached for his hand, “W-Would you like to hang out at a café sometime then?”

You cut him off. Was that too abrupt? Rude? Uncalled for? You should have let him leave even if you did miss being around him, being friends with him.

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to. I was just thinking that maybe we could spend some time together and catch up. We haven’t seen each other in person too much. I’m not comfortable with too much attention either so yours is more than enough.”

God, what were you saying? That was cringe-worthy. You prayed that he would decline your impulsive proposal.

“I don’t see why not. Very well then, (y/n). Text me the details so I can adjust my schedule accordingly.”

Wait. He agreed? Was he pitying you? No, no. Stop doubting him. Vil was your friend. He must’ve missed being around you too.

[ One Month Later, Cafe Rosé ]

When he said he was busy, he meant it. A month had passed since your birthday and just now were you able to meet up.

You sat in the café idly. He watched you consume your third plate of strawberry shortcake. You glanced at him then at your growing pile of dishes. He squinted. Should you stop?

“Don’t.”

Did he read your mind?

“No, I’m not a mind reader.”

“But you did it again.”

“Your expressions are easy to read. Do yourself a favor and don’t feel bad if you  enjoy something and I don’t. Someone who makes you feel bad for getting excited about something– something harmless, something you enjoy, is the worst kind of person. Enjoy your cake, birthday girl. Don’t let me, or anyone for that matter, stop you.”

Vil sipped his hand-pressed superfruit smoothie vehemently.

That was oddly inspiring despite having relevance to your self-esteem and cake. Funnily enough, you did feel better about yourself.

“Excuse me? May I get three more slices of this cake? And another teapot, please?” you called out to a server impulsively.

What on earth were you doing? Was that rude? Did she find you demanding?

“Anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now.”

You turned from the waitress, bringing your attention back to Vil. You cocked your head to the side: “What?”

“Consume cake in moderation, you potato.”

There it was. You’ve been waiting all semester to be called a potato. Pomefiore first years have expressed a strong dislike for the nickname. You, on the other hand, treasured it. Time and memories were built into that nickname.

“It’s fine. I’m paying anyway so don’t worry.”

“You are not paying on your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday though.”

“We’re here for a belated celebration.”

“So an unbirthday?”

“No, no. Don’t bring the Queen of Hearts’s rules and gimmicks into this,” Vil waved his hand.

He set his smoothie down, The ice shifted, echoing throughout the café.

“I want to pay. I wanted to go here in the first place.”

“Think of this as my belated birthday present for you, atonement for not getting you anything or talking as much we’d like.”

“Vil, I don’t require anything from you. You’re busy. You don’t have to talk to me everyday. I think I would combust if you did. My social battery would drain.”

“That’s reassuring.”

The waitress cleared her throat. Vil nodded, sliding his glass to the further end of the table. She placed the cake slices in a neat triangle before setting the teapot down in the center. Then she followed up with the teacups–one for you, one for Vil. He raised an eyebrow at you. Your server gave a polite bow and dismissed herself.

“Eat one slice. Then I’ll let you pay,” you beamed, sliding him the plate.

He glared at the confection, “Alright.”

[ March, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Bonjour, bonjour! What brings you to our humble dorm?”

Rook was his name right?

“Hello, Rook. I was hoping–”

He scared the living daylight out of you. Where did he come from? Why was nobody else around? You spun your heel and scanned the hall. It was empty.

“Echanté, mademoiselle! Let me guess!”

You yelped, falling backwards. Where did he come from? He was behind you a moment ago. His eyes widened as he lunged for you, hooking his arm around your waist, catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Careful, careful, little fawn,” he chuckled.

Fawn?

He set you straight then pointed at you. His gloved index finger barely touched the bridge of your nose. This man, Rook, was sending your nerves in a downward spiral. 

He smiled at you, resuming like nothing ever happened: “Let me guess– you’re looking for your darling Roi du Poison?”

“Darling… Roi du Poison? Who? Vil?”

“Oui.”

“No, he’s not.. we’re not. We’re just friends. I’m looking for him though bec–”

“Are you here for compensation?”

Rook set Anxiety loose. With a few words, he sent shivers down your spine. Compensation. Would your friendship end the moment you fulfilled his request? It had always been in the back of your mind. The thought of Vil using you to make him feel better about himself shatters you into a million pieces. The thought of owing Vil something for helping you, for being your friend, was heart-wrenching. Was it pity after all this time? Was it so wrong to want to hang out at yet another café? You looked forward to those every month– ever since your unbirthday date. Was your relationship that superficial?

No, it wasn’t a date. You wanted it to be, but it was not a date. You never quite shook off those romantic feelings you felt when you saw a different side to him. Beneath the surface of the poised, strict and sometimes narcissistic prefect, Vil was extremely hard working, passionate, and observant. He was the greatest friend you could ever ask for. You can’t say that he was your best friend, but he was close. If he didn’t feel the same, then that was okay with you. You weren’t even sure if it was love. You’ve had this debate with Anxiety before. It kept telling you that you were in love with the idea of him fixing you. That was not love.

You shook your head. Vil genuinely was your friend. If those feelings were not returned, then you would still be friends.  He told you time and time again that you should never feel sorry for the way you feel. If so, then would it be alright to tell him one day? And feel terrible about it later?

“He’s here, isn’t he?” you asked.

“Oui~”

“Rook, (y/n),” a voice from the end of the half coughed.

Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader crossed his arms and gave you a smug smile. Vil. He was decked out in a trench coat and a black turtleneck. Stylish as always, but his hoarse voice told a different story. You rushed to Vil’s side.

“Vil, are you alright?,” you tugged his sleeves, “Your eyes are so puffy. Have you been crying? You’re burning up too. You should rest. Go back to bed this instant. Our café rendezvous can wait.”

He staggered: “No. I want to go with you. I finally have the time.. to see you… I have to make it count...”

“No, Vil. You have a fever. You need to rest,” you said, sliding his arm over your shoulders, ready to haul him back to his quarters.

Rook hummed a bird’s song.

“Would you mind helping?”

The height difference between you and Vil was awkward. His legs are dragged across the floor in a languid manner. One could imagine how uncomfortable that was.

“Non non, little fawn! My hands are dirty. Roi du Poison wouldn’t allow me to taint his beauty with such bacteria. Désolé!”

“Can you at least get the door then?”

“Will do, milady,” he bowed before complying to your request.

He held the door for you as you dragged Vil to his bed. You gasped as Vil’s limbs tighten around your neck.

“Would you mind getting the sheets too? Pull them out so I can tuck him in?”

Rook hummed in response. You plopped Vil onto the mattress. Your companion’s eyes widened, hands thrown in the air.

“Mademoiselle! Careful! Roi du Poison is fragile like a flower’s first bloom.”

“He’ll be fine don’t worry. Now if you could–”

Where did he go? You blinked for one minute and the vice prefect was gone.  You shook your head in dismay, turning to Vil and tucked him in bed. He looked so peaceful. His eyes were so distraught and dull before. Did he overwork himself to the point of tears? His room was a mess– shreds of fabric and crumpled balls of paper were discarded on the floor. You could hear his breathing as you made way to his desk.

What’s this? A script? And a sewing machine? What was he making? His sketches were stunning. Was this a side project of his? Was he too busy with films to continue with it? But why were his eyes so puffy?

Whatever the case was, it wasn’t your place to pry. Your fingers trailed off over the sketchbook as you made your way to his bathroom. You didn’t know where he kept the medicine or what kind he used, but it was worth a try to look around.

You opened the cabinet and your face fell. At a glance, he didn’t have anything aside from comesetics. There were a few bottles of potions, but you couldn’t make out the labels. It was best not to guess and check. The least you could do was place a wet on his head to cool down the fever. You peered over the bathroom’s door frame.

He wouldn’t mind. He was breathing heavily. You’ll face the consequences later if it violated his beauty regime. Hurriedly, you grabbed a small towel off the shelf, rinsing it in cold water in the sink. You squeezed off the excess and rushed to Vil, cursing at intervals where the water dripped onto whatever expensive material the flooring was made of. Was it expensive? You couldn’t tell. You placed it on his head gingerly. 

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Holy… what did you just do? You were taking advantage of him when he was out cold. If he was awake what would he say? Why did you do that? Why did that make your heart flutter?

“F-Feel better, Vil. I’ll be going now. Tell me when you wake up,” you sighed, patting your cheeks down.

You were a fool for initiating such an intimate act while someone was sleeping. You were also talking to said someone as if they were listening. It was best to excuse yourself now. Though maybe a little note would be helpful for when he wakes up. Your sleeves dipped. Your eyes went to the source of motion: Vil.

“Fairest… can you stay?”

You were at a loss for words. Vil called you “Fairest”– as if your other nickname didn’t exist. His face was flushed from the heat and his eyes were red and teary. What to do? What to do? What to do?

Vil tugged at your sleeves and pulled you onto the bed. Your mind went blank. You were on top of him, preventing yourself from crushing him with your weight, hands pinned on each side of his head.

“V-Vil?”

He pulled you onto him, then turned to the side, causing you to face each other. The blankets were ruffled, wrapping you two into a contorted position. The towel slipped off his face. You scrambled out of bed. Vil lunged for you, pulling you back in.

“I said stay,” he pouted.

“I know, I was just getting out of bed to get back in. Wait that doesn’t make sense?”

“It does,” he said, lifting the sheets so you could climb in,

You yelped as he pulled you into his chest, “Vil? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you today.”

“I’m here.”

“I wanted to go on another date with you.”

Date? Does he think it was a date too? Every single one? Great Seven, have mercy…

“You should rest. We can hang out here if you want.”

Your hold on his waist tightened. You inhaled the faint scent of his cologne. Perhaps to him, this was a fever dream. Stil, all love takes patience– if what you both felt was love, that is.

“Thank you for staying , (y/n).”

“...Do you want to talk about it? Usually you’re the one listening to me, but I’m here for you too. ”

Vil buried his head into your shoulders, “Nothing much. Just overworked. Stress came to me in the form of sickness, unfortunately. How inconvenient.”

He clicked his tongue while you giggled. Even if bedridden, Vil’s mind was as proactive as ever.

“Were you crying?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer.”

How do you comfort someone? You’ve always been the one comforted, especially from Vil. Were you gaining more from the relationship than Vil did? You wanted him to cheer up though...

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s better to get it off my chest while you’re still here.”

What did he mean by that? You weren’t leaving. Why would you? How could you?

“Do you think I’m more than my appearance?”

He was shaking. Vil was shaking. What could have possibly happened from the last time you saw him? Was he alright?

“Why do you want my opinion? We both know you’re more than a pretty face.”

“Answer the question.”

“Alright, alright. I do think you have a pretty face. You’re gorgeous, very handsome… but you’re also hardworking, diligent, strong-willed, driven, intelligent, observant and more words that I can’t think of to describe how I feel about you. Oh and a great alchemist and friend I might add. Vil, you’re pretty. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”

Your heart hurt. Calling him your friend didn’t sit right with you. He threw his head back in a fit of laughter.

“Did I ramble too much?”

“No, not at all. I feel much better so thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better then. Whatever happened, I hope you know that it doesn’t define you. If you feel like it does, then remember that I’m your biggest fan.”

Ah, too cheesy. You’ve gotten too comfortable around Vil to think about Anxiety or your verbal filter. When you were with him, words flowed as freely as time.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

He didn’t say anything much about it. Was that not weird for him? Did you offer the solace he was looking for? He merely pulled away from your embrace. You thanked the heavens that his eyes were closed. If he made eye contact with you while you two were still sharing the same bed, you might as well ascend to the afterlife.

“Why do you ask though?”

“Oh I just had a miserable case of self-doubt is all. My manager kept taking roles that type-casted me as beautiful as the main character. I know I’m worth more than my looks- I want to be more than my looks-  but so far the industry has told me otherwise… but thank you, (y/n).”

He stayed like that for a while, inhaling and exhaling softly. Was he sleeping? How much time had passed?

“Vil. I have a question for you. You don’t have to answer if you’re not up to it. I know you have a lot on your mind right...” you said, breaking the silence.

“Shoot.”

“Will I be able to see you again after I compensate for the time I’ve wasted?”

“You don’t waste time. You don’t have to compensate for anything. I’m glad you’re here with me. If anything, I wasted your time.”

“But you said that we could talk about compensation later. It’s been over a year, Vil,” you whimpered.

“What do you mean by compensation?” he asked firmly, opening his eyes.

You choked on your own words. This was a bad idea. It might even offend him. Would if offend him? You wanted to know.

“Our first presentation. My anxiety attack. The infirmary. You helped me. I asked why then you said there was a price and we could talk about it later. But that conversation never came up. Why is that? Why did you come to the infirmary that night? Why did you take me in? Why am I here? Why do you still talk to me?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from spewing all of the questions you had for these past months. You needed to know. You needed your heart to shatter.

He sighed, “Good grief, (y/n). You remember all of that still? It’s not as bad as you think.”

He was offended.

“Please don’t say that.”

He inhaled sharply. 

“My apologies, potato. I didn’t mean it like that. But to answer your question, I felt guilty especially since I was the one who forced you onto the podium and made you redo the presentation because I couldn’t manage my first major acting role and my academics at the same time. I am sorry that you had to suffer the consequences.”

Vil turned onto his back. He brought his forearm to cover his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Did it hurt his pride? 

“I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry that I ruined our project because I couldn’t manage to improvise.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t either. Your feelings are just as valid as mine. Even if you don’t have anxiety, you still can feel anxious and overwhelmed.”

“Touché.”

“And the compensation?”

“You needn’t worry about that. My time is valuable indeed but you’re not a waste of my time at all. You’re worthwhile.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you muttered.

“Hm?”

“What would have been the compensation?”

Vil turned to face you, rustling the sheets, “Are you that curious, Fairest?”

“F-Fairest?”

“Hm, yes it suits you now more than ever. Close your eyes for a moment. This should be quick.”

You obliged, closing your eyes. Vil wouldn’t do something terrible to you would he? He gripped your shoulders and pushed you flat on your back. You felt him shift his leg so he could straddle you. You instinctively cursed yourself in a ball.

“You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You loosened your muscles, trying hard not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter. You were scared.

“Fairest.”

“Yes?”

“How was your day?”

“Well, it was—mmmphhh!”

Vil had told you to keep your eyes closed, but how could you? Not when he was kissing you. You had waited for this moment. You fantasized about it, daydreaming, pining for him on the daily. You never saw it coming. Did he return your feelings? After all this time? You mewled as he bit your bottom lip. You were hot, feverish just like your beloved prefect. Was he alright? He was flushed, coughing as you pushed him away.

“My time has been compensated,” he smirked.

His expression quickly changed, “Hey! Why are you crying? Did I hurt you? That was too bold wasn’t it… Goodness (y/n)...”

You cupped his cheeks.

“Not at all. I’m just so happy that you feel the same.”

“Feel the same?”

You faltered. Was he toying with you? No, he wouldn’t…

“I-I like you a lot, you know. I don’t know of a time I didn’t. You’re so confident and I adore you for that. I love how you’re always there for me, how you always listen to me, and how you lean on me too. I love how you include me and see me no less than anyone else. I love you so much that my heart hurts,” you paused and moved your hands to clutch your chest, “But if it isn’t love then I suppose that’s fine too. I think I might be in love with the idea of you. It might be a little presumptuous here, spouting nonsense to you, but I don’t want to be just friends. Even if I am broken, I want to make you happy so please accept my feelings-!”

Cheesy. Too cheesy! You’re oversharing, (y/n). Stop. It. Death suddenly seemed like a viable option. You loved him so much that you must die. Yes, that was the only way.

Vil kissed you. This time, it was more of a peck.

“This whole time… you… I love you too, Fairest. I accept you and your feelings.  Thank you for being so patient with me,” he kissed the trail of tears running down your cheeks, “You already make me so happy. I love your innocence, your beauty—inside and out as you would say. I admire your strength to help others despite being in a world of your own. I love your selflessness and... your adorable reactions to situations that make you anxious. Please, tug at my sleeves some more.”

You pouted at the last bit. Vil was observant. You’ve come to learn that the hard way. The trait never withered.

He continued: “I will be in your care from now on.”

Ah. He was crying. Smiling too. What a sappy mess of emotions you two were, sobbing in each other’s arms over a mutual confession.

He flicked your forehead, “And don’t you dare call yourself broken. You are not below me and I am not above you. We’re in this together. I love you and you love me and you better love yourself too. You hear me, potato?”

“Yes, but–”

“Did I stutter?”

You pressed your forehead against his, “Will do, Vil.”

He lowered his weight onto you, nuzzling into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck and combed through his champagne gold locks. You were sniffling. You were relieved that he loved you the way you loved him. You were relieved that you didn’t fall in love with potential. He loved you for you and you loved him the same. What if you weren’t good enough for? No, no, he said he felt the same. Stop overthinking, (y/n). 

You were drained after all this worrying. Being plagued by thoughts assuming the worst about him and the worst case scenarios concerning your confession consumed your mind. There was not a single day where your head was clear.

You were exhausted. So, so, so tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of Anxiety. Sleep seemed nice right now especially with Vil laying on top of you. The monster inside your head had gone dormant. All there was the thought of Vil being by your side, loving you and Anxiety all the same.

Your consciousness faded.

[ April, Someday– Vil’s Birthday, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Vil. Vil!!!”  you squealed, tackling your lover from behind.

He staggered on his toes, but recovered swiftly. He was tall. The stilettos made him taller. You were up to his shoulders, giggling, slipping under the long sleeves of the Pomefiore dorm uniform.

“Au revoir, Roi du Poison. Mademoiselle (y/n),” Rook chuckled and excused himself.

Vil gave Rook a look of disdain yet the vice prefect skipped along the halls, paying no mind to the daggers coming his way. Your beloved turned to you and smiled.

“Happy birthday~”

“You’re frisky today.”

“I’m excited.”

“I can see that. Thank you,” he pats your head.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up something. You’re welcome to wait in my room. Might I tell you that you look beautiful today? Red lipstick suits you.”

You followed him into his quarters, seating yourself on the bed, fiddling with the ends of your hair. He called you beautiful. You were giddy over something trivial. It was normal for one to call their significant other beautiful. In truth, he was the fairest, not you. You never minded. You loved watching him flourish in the spotlight.

You watched him undo his bun, letting his hair fall loose. The ends were curled, bouncing on his shoulders. He stepped into the bathroom to shed the dorm uniform off, opting for a black suit with faint floral patterns. Your eyes widened, coming to terms with the fact that he wore no dress shirt underneath the suit.

“You’re eighteen now, Vil,” you mused.

“What of it?”

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking.”

He hummed in response, “Is that so?”

“It feels like yesterday when we were both- what? Fifteen? Nevermind that. It’s silly. Would you like to see your gift now?”

“How does after the party sound?” he asked, lining his eyes with a thick eyeliner.

A thin smirk creeped up on his lips.

The look was similar to the standard ceremonial robes makeup. His silver chain-like earrings, leather choker and red heels threw off the professional look. Vil was striking. From what he told you, his producers had invited him to a party celebrating the release of a film he starred in. It was conveniently on his birthday. He spent the last few weeks convincing you to go with him. 

You gave in, but the thought of attending a social gathering with people you had never met before worried you. Vil reassured you that he would remain by your side at all times. You agreed on the spot, putting on a brave face for his sake. He promised to spend time with you afterwards. Just you and him. He even agreed to eat cake.

“I’m okay with that.”

“Thank you. I know you’re excited, but I want to save all the birthday related things for after.”

He set his makeup down and handed you a container of gel, climbing onto the bed while you got on your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You never let me do your hair.”

“Think of it as a reward for coming along with me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that,” you said, letting go of your embrace and popping off the container’s lid.

“I’m thankful, but don’t push yourself for me.”

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I want to. You’re going to be busy after today. I want to spend as much time as possible with you today.”

He smiled and helped you push his hair back. Dipping your fingers into the cool aquamarine substance, you combed through your lover’s hair, bringing his bangs back. When you finished, he turned around to kiss you. He caught you off guard, but you leaned into the kiss instantly. It wasn’t passionate nor was it chaste. It was somewhere in between as to not smear your lipstick. You reached for his hair to deepen it, but he grabbed your wrists. Right. You had forgotten. 

“Later,” he whispered.

Your cheeks were dusted with a rosy tint. Later? As quickly as he pulled away from you, Vil slid off the bed. He passed by his mirror, patting down his suit and hair. Then, he extended his hand to you, “Shall we go?”

[ Land of Pyroxene, Venue’s Rose Gardens ]

Vil said it was a small social gathering. A small party. The amount of people was fair to his description, but the setting was overwhelming. It was sophisticated. There were fae servers and ice sculptures. You were surprised to learn that the soirée was held in his homeland. You were expecting a carriage yet he simply led you to the mirror chamber where the headmaster bid him farewell.

And here you are. You were in a rose garden differed from Heartslabyul’s greatly as the roses were as white as snow. They grew on pickets and hung over your heads like grape vines. It was scenic, ethereal, like something out of a fairytale. There was also a castle in the distance, adding to the regality of the venue. 

“Vil! Oh thank goodness you’re here. I almost thought you were going to leave me to fend against all of these actors wanting to know more about you,” a stout woman said, scrambling towards him, “Oh? Is this your– ohhhhh–”

“Adella, this is (y/n). Fairest, this is Adella, my manager.”

Vil paused, cueing you for an introduction. He glanced at you.

“Chin up, dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Adella was Vil’s manager. Like he said, she’s nothing to be afraid of.

“P-Pleasure to meet you,” you extended your hand out.

She took it with a death grip. Sheer willpower prevented you from wincing. 

“No, no, the pleasure is mine. Vil has told me so much about you. And my, he calls you ‘Fairest’ how adorable~”

“What has he told you?”

You heard his breath hitch. Vil’s arm slithered back to his side. Was that too much? You were curious, but what if that made him uncomfortable? You should apologize later. 

“Nothing much. I didn’t even know what you looked like even! His pet name for you suits you so well. Oh! I do know that he frequently asks about his schedule because he said that he wants to spend time with the s–”

“That’s enough now, Adella,” Vil said, crossing his arms and putting his weight on one foot.

Shoot. He was displeased. 

“Yes, yes, sorry. Shall we go greet your colleagues? You are free to mingle afterwards. I know that there was this one actor who was practically begging me to see you. You weren't here yet though so what could I do? Fufufu~”

“Are you coming, (y/n)?” Vil asked, turning his head to see you trailing behind.

You halted and pointed to the dessert table, “You can go on ahead.”

He nodded and followed his manager to the east side of the garden. You made your way to your own destination. While you wanted to go with Vil, meeting Adella set your nerves ablaze and drained all the social energy you had. Plus, you felt out of place when you stood next to Vil.

Compared to him, you could never pull off silver earrings. A pair of red heels simply looked better on him than they ever would on you. Then there was Adella who was also gorgeous with her messy bun and nude lipstick. She wasn’t a public figure yet you felt small around her presence. She exuded a lovable aura that drew people around her.  If you had to meet more people who were meant for the spotlight, celebrities no less, you could never manage through the night. If you avoided strangers, you should be fine. There were cake pops amongst other treats at the table. You were going to have a ball of a time.

You plucked the confection off its stand, examining it thoroughly. It was as luxurious as the party’s decor. The dessert resembled the poison apple the Beautiful Queen from the stories you were told as a child. Gold foil acted as the poison while a red coating of candy melts acted as the skin of the apple. You bit the top off. It was a vanilla sponge cake. Odd for an extravagant event like this as you assumed the flavors would be bolder. Maybe it was the kind expensive vanilla. Were they all the same flavor? You plucked another one from the stand, biting into it. Oh this one was red velvet with a cream cheese filling. Were there other flavors?

“My, my, you sure like the cake pops, don’t you?” a voice cooed.

You turned your head to meet the owner of that sweet voice. He had hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown. He wore a yellow jumpsuit with a red ribbon which was complemented by a black beret. He strained a smile at you.

“You needn’t look at me like a deer in headlights. It’s okay I like cake pops too,” he laughed.

“Who are you?”

“Eh? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head. He blinked twice. 

“I’m Neige LeBlanche, lead actor of the film. But, say, since you don’t know who I am, I’m assuming you’re someone’s plus one? You seem kind of young though...”

He took a cake pop from the stand, peeling off the gold foil.

“I’m Vil’s plus one.”

“Vil? I would have never guessed. I thought he said he wasn’t bringing someone. He didn’t seem like he wanted to either...” he mumbled something and paused, “As expected of my senior! Say, what are you to him?”

You pulled the ends of your hair, “I-I’m his girlfriend.”

“Is that so? He never mentioned having a girlfriend. I always thought he was going to end up–”

“We started dating a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my, that’s–”

“I have to go so if you’ll excuse me, Neige. It’s been nice meeting you. Congrats on the film,” you waved.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine, (y/n). I’m glad I got to meet Vil’s girlfriend. You were so sweet! I hope we can talk some more in the future! Oh I know–You should follow me on MagiCam! We can talk there,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands around yours.

He was so bubbly… You didn’t know how to handle him. Was this interaction not awkward to him at all? Your cheeks flushed as you excused yourself. You held your head down low and avoided eye contact with everyone you crossed paths with. Where you were headed to was a mystery, even to you. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere secluded. Anywhere without people, but close enough to trace your footsteps back to the rose gardens should anything arise.

Of course, that was the ideal scenario. In your situation, nothing was ideal per se. You were lost. You had trudged forward whilst looking at the ground, not getting a good look of your surroundings at all. It was hard to tell where you were. If you had known better, you would say that you were in a children’s book. The rose bushes towered high above your head and the castle was closer than it was before. In the center of it all was a gazebo adorned with intricate floral details. There was also a well to the side of the structure. You made your way to the gazebo and sat down on the bench, gazing upon the beauty of the raven sky. It glittered like a thousand fireflies.

You sighed, “The moon is beautiful tonight.”

[ Some Ungodly Hour, Venue’s Rose Garden ]

“Nghh…”

“You’re awake now?”

Vil? What was he doing here? The moon was high in the sky. It was late. You were resting your head on his lap. You sat upright in an abrupt motion.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Ruining the party by running off and falling asleep, wasting your time when you could have been talking to someone more important–”

Vil put a finger to your lips: “I was getting exhausted of people commenting on my looks anyway. You did worry me by running off though. To think that I had to ask Neige of all people too.”

That last part about Neige. Did he not like his co-star? He ran his hand through his hair while you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You opted to lean your head on his shoulder. Vil reciprocated by placing his head on top of yours, nuzzling it.

“The party is still ongoing so don’t worry,” he said, “Though you could have told me where you were.”

You exhaled. Thank goodness. It would have been embarrassing if it ended.

“Sorry about that.”

“Was it that exhausting for you? I told you not to push yourself for my sake. It makes neither of us happy.”

“At first, no, I wasn’t. I was a bit nervous around your manager but then Neige threw me off for a bit–”

“Neige? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He just asked what I was to you and I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

Your stomach growled. You looked down at the ground. Suddenly the grass below your feet was the most interesting thing in the world. He took your hand firmly. His grip was different. He held you as if he was about to lose you.

“I had talked to everyone I needed to talk to. I’m done for the day and so are you. I would like to celebrate my birthday now with my dearly beloved if she would please.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. There was no room for apologies.

You rose from the bench, grimacing at the soreness and took his hand, following him to the mirror.

[ Midnight, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Was he mad? He said he wasn’t. But then why was he handling you so roughly? Vil pulled you into the bathroom. He turned the faucet on, drawing water into the bathtub. He grabbed a bottle of bubble bath product and rose petals. He emptied the contents and discarded the containers onto the cool tiles. They rattled and echoed. Vil turned to his cabinets, searching for something. Strands of his loosely gelled hair swayed back and forth as he sifted through his cosmetics. He muttered gibberish as he found makeup wipes. Pulling you towards him, he began to wipe the gunk off your face. His motions were rigid, frantic, like he was wiping at a stubborn speck on a mirror. He turned you around and undid your dress’s zipper. The process was akin to a kitten’s first yawn. Slow, drawling yet somehow winsome. The act was intimate. Vil manhandling you was a first. It spawned many mixed motions. The positives outweigh the negatives, but was he alright? His eyes were ready to cry. They were glossy to the rim. When the zipper reached the end of its path, he pushed you aside and tended to his own face with a new wipe.

“Strip and get into the tub,” he instructed.

Strip? That was off-putting, especially from him. He didn’t want to have birthday sex did he? Or would he leave when he was done with his makeup? It had to be the latter. You held your sides, preventing the dress from slipping down your shoulders. But what if he did? What if he wanted to let out his frustrations on you? Was that it? He said he was more worried than upset, but his actions betrayed his words. He was tense. He could burst at any moment. Vil, as he was now, was a time bomb, ticking away. You feared he might break.

Vil snapped his fingers before you. You flinched. As you regain focus into the real world, you come to the sight of your lover in the tub, hair wet and his body leaning against the edge. His clothes were hanging on the laundry hamper. You looked away, excusing yourself under your breath. A tug on the hem of your dress stopped you in your tracks. He had broken. His eyes were red and puffy though no tears trailed down his fair complexion. You knelt down beside the tub, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Vil…”

“Could you stay?”

“In the tub?”

“Only if you want to.”

Why is it that he could always see through you? Was your discomfort obvious? No, no, he was merely attentive. Then again, you were equally observant to everyone, especially towards Vil. Your darling was an open book, an easy read– the merit being that his words rarely matched his actions. He was a novel full of metaphors, eloquent tones and arbitrary words. Underneath the complications, he was as simple as the next composition. He was as insecure as any other person, if not more. To read Vil Schoenheit, you mustn't analyze his speech. Words fail in this case. You had to look for the little things: his weight shifting on one leg, his shoulders tensing, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, his shortness of breath, his eyes.

In this very moment in time, Vil needed you. He said there was no obligation, but the small frown on his lips told you otherwise. He was aware of your own boundaries, but at times like these, when he needed you most, your instinct to reach for him, to hold him, triumphed over your murky thoughts. There was mutual trust between you and Vil, two profoundly regardful people. One was observant because he had a keen eye for details and all things beautiful. The other was observant because she was wary of the opinions of others.

Vil turned away from you as you let your dress and undergarments fall to the ground. His eyes were closed when you climbed into the tub.

“You never have to push yourself for my sake, Fairest,” Vil said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back closer to his chest.

“I don’t mind if it’s for you. I will tell you when I can’t do something, I promise.”

“You better,” he sighed.

You turned around and cupped his cheeks, “What about you? Are you alright? You’ve been so stiff ever since we left.”

You scooped some soap suds onto his hair, lathering and combing though his silky locks while you waited for him to formulate the right words.

“Fairest, do you think I am more than my appearance?”

You stopped mid-caress and nodded. His looks were always a touchy subject. Vil had a severe case of type-casting, a situation where he was only casted for roles with “beautiful” as the main attribute of the character. At first, he was content with them, but as time went on, he felt defined by his appearance. His hard work was futile in an industry that valued beauty over effort. Comments such as “you only got to where you are now because of your face” was a stab in the heart for Vil. He often sought out you or Rook for comfort. It came to the point where Vil frequently declined callbacks.

He continued, “No matter how much I talked to others about my role in the film or attempted to make more connections to those in the industry, they would always comment on my ensemble first. Sometimes they comment on how I look and nothing more.”

“So you feel invalidated for your efforts?”

“Yes, I feel like none of the work I put into getting where I am now. I feel like all I had to do was look pretty and everything will be handed to me… just like Neige. I want to be as pretty as him. I want to be as popular as him. I want to be recognized for my skills and get casted for the best roles. Not superficial ones. I want… I want....”

You embraced him as he choked on his own words.

“This is hypocritical since it’s coming from me, but you should never compare yourself or your efforts or progress to anyone else. You are enough as you are, at your own pace.”

His arms engulfed you. He kissed you, intertwining his tongue with yours.

“I’m sorry,” Vil said, pulling away. 

“I’m sorry too.”

“What did I tell you about saying sorry for something that’s out of your control?”

“But you’re apologizing too,” you laughed.

He snorted.

“But I do feel guilty for leaving you alone though. Maybe I could have said something for your sake. I feel even worse since it was your birthday.”

“We’re both pathetic in that regard.”

You scooped water onto Vil’s head. He did the same for you. You looked him into the eyes before averting your gaze. They were as intense as ever.

“I accept your apology though. In turn, you should accept mine.”

“I can’t. Sorry, Vil. You told me that I should never apologize for how I feel. Neither should you.”

“But I don’t have anxi–”

“You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to have a bad mental health day. You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to feel insecure or worthless. Those feelings are valid for anyone”

“You do have a point there,” Vil said as he tousled his hair.

“I have something for you. It may not be your birthday anymore,” you glanced at the clock, “but we haven’t slept yet so in my mind the day isn’t over yet.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“Does it still feel like a ninth of April to you?”

“Yes, but technically it’s not.”

“Think of it as a feeling then,” you said and climbed out of the tub.

Vil assisted you in the process and got towels for you both. He languidly dried your hair.  His touch was soft like a ghost’s embosom. You could barely feel his touch. Then, he waltzed over to his dresser and gave you one of his silk pajama tops. While he was getting dressed, you grabbed your gift for him, sitting on the edge of the mattress waiting for him.

Shortly after, he plopped down on the bed. The pillows bounced on impact. You held the gift bag over his chest. He looked up at you then at the bag. Sitting up, he opened it.

“Well?”

Your lover tore through the tissue paper, revealing a small box wrapped in brown wrapping paper, red ribbon and twine. His eyes sparkled like a child on Christmas Day.

He read the present tag aloud: “‘To my darling: Vil Schoenheit. Happy birthday.’”

He undid the bow, careful not to ruin the label. He found the edges of the wrapping paper and picked off the tape piece by piece and discarded it on the ground. It fell with grace. Vil lifted the lid of the box.

“A book?”

“Open it.”

Granted, you were more nervous than he was. Would he like it? Today was not his day. You hoped to make him feel better. If he didn’t like it in the slightest, you wouldn’t know how to feel. You wanted to see him smile. It was his birthday. He did not deserve to feel insecure because of soirée guests. He did not deserve to feel so small when he was your world. In fact, he deserved the world for all that he was. He worked too hard not to. His efforts deserved to be paid off. Perhaps not every day, but for his birthday, he should have. It was his day.

Vil obliged, turning to the title page.

“Eighteen things I love about you,” he read.

You leaned over his shoulder.

“Did you honestly write an essay about your love for me?”

“No,” you said, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “Just look.”

“I jest, Fairest.”

Vil licked his finger and turned the page.

“Ah. A scrapbook? Let’s see… ‘Number one: I love how—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “It’s embarrassing if you read it out loud.”

“I think it’s endearing. Besides, I live for your flushed face.”

You whined and he let out a laugh.

“I’ll spare you. I’ll only read the first one aloud.”

“That’s fair,” you mumbled.

“I hope it is. Anyhow… ‘Number one: I love how you carry yourself with utmost respect. I love how you know your worth. I love how angry you are when you are undermined– because you know you are worth more than what the current situation offers. Your confidence is contagious as it inspires me to acknowledge my own worth, to be bolder and seek opportunities that are on par to my own capabilities.’”

He paused.

“What?” you asked.

“I like how you included a photo of us as freshman potatoes,” he said, running his fingers over the image as if he was wiping away dust.

“You always were always like a star to me, ever since we first met. It was hard to start off this scrapbook without referencing that.”

You twirled the ends of your hair.

“I’m glad that you see me in such a way.”

His voice was so soft, inaudible even.

“Vil?”

No response. He flipped the book to page two. Then to page three and so forth. He was still. His chest did not rise and fall each breath. He didn’t even blink. He stopped at the last page. It read: “I love you. You as a whole– the person you present to the crowd and the person you present to a select few. I love you for every flaw and insecurity. I love and accept you in the same way you love and accept me and more. I promise to love you forevermore– no shunning, no judging, just staying by your side and watching you grow into a person I fall in love with more and more every day.”

He pushed you down onto the bed and kissed you, dropping the book onto the ground.

“V-Vil…”

A sense of déjà vu washed over you.

He was vulnerable. He knew, you knew. His lips were quivering and his eyes were glossy. But did he like it? You tried so hard not to say that you liked him because of his looks. That was a touchy subject for him. Did that last one come off as too cheesy? You were told you were quite sappy on top of having an ability with words but still…

“What are you doing writing a bunch of wedding vows, you sweet potato?” Vil muttered as he cuddled you.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. We’re barely a month into this relationship so that’s out of the question. I’m pretty sure we’re still in our honeymoon phase too. But that’s how I feel right now. So… What if I wrote a bunch of wedding vows to you? What of it?”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Hopefully, he didn’t find your sudden confession cringe-worthy.

“I never said it was bad... I feel the same.”

He let the last part of his sentence trail off into silence.

“Do you feel better now?”

Was that out of place? Did that kill the mood? What if you soured his mood?

“Much better, thank you. I appreciate it and… I love you too. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I think you know that already.”

“I do.”

He peppered your face with kisses. Some were on your lips, Others were on your cheeks and forehead and occasionally trailed down your jawline.

“I also have something else for you,” you spoke up, pushing him off of you so you could grab another bag that you left by the foot of his bed.

“You spoil me, Fairest.”

“It’s not much. Just a cake I made for you.”

“A whole cake?”

“A cupcake, I mean. I know you’re not one for sweets.”

“And you left it in my room with no refrigeration.”

You pointed to the ice pack. He nodded. You pulled out a cake box, propping it open on Vil’s hands and told him to hold still. You placed a candle in the center and lit with a little spark of fire magic.

“Make a wish~”

“What am I? Twelve?”

“You have to make a wish.”

“Fine,” he said as he blew out the taper, “I wish to be with you for as long as possible.”

“You can’t say your wish out loud. It won’t come true!”

“Do you have any intention of separating from me?”

“N-No.”

“I don’t see why my wish won’t come true then,” Vil said as he cut the cupcake in half, handing you a piece.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Careful. If you get crumbs on my bed, you’re sleeping in the spare room.”

“...Understood.”

[ Present Day, Pomefiore Hallway ]

One moment he was dolling you up, the next he was wrapping a blindfold around your eyes and led you down the hallway to god knows where. You were still walking straight so you only assumed that you were still in the Pomefiore dormitories. Unless you walked through a mirror. Or maybe you simply had a terrible sense of direction. Whatever the case was, it did not change the fact that you were trembling.

“Vil. Where are you taking me?”

He exhaled. You could hear his chest heave.

“Darling, are you scared?”

Like how you could read him like an open book, he knew you like the back of his hand. You nodded and you felt him undo the blindfold. He held the ribbon in his hand and yours in the other. You looked into his eyes for comfort. He was wearing a single French braid. It was nostalgic. It was like you were first years again. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but it was enough to stir up fond memories. Instead, Vil wore a casual ensemble with a kimono-esque silhouette. He wore a white dress shirt with a pair of shapeless, high-waisted black dress pants. A cardigan with an ornate pattern accentuated the look, He wasn’t wearing the barrette you made him for his sixteenth birthday either, but you felt nostalgic regardless.

“I still need you to close your eyes for me though,” he said, putting the hand with the ribbon over your eyes, “I know you’re scared, but please hold on for a little longer.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. You felt his hand leaving your face, but the other was holding yours tightly, guiding you to your destination.

“Fairest, are your eyes actually closed?” Vil asked, breaking the silence.

“Y-Yes.”

You had been walking for a few minutes now. Where was he taking you?

“Vil, do you know what today is?”

No response.

“Vil… You’re scaring me.”

“We’re almost there, don't worry.”

Would it hurt to trust him for a little bit? You trailed behind him aimlessly. Your steps lagged behind his.

“You ready?” he asked, cupping his lanky fingers over your eyes.

You nodded. Whatever could it be? Lacking sight made Anxiety rattle against your skull. Was Vil going to push you off a cliff? Send you to your doom? No, no, no. He wouldn’t. That was too extreme, (y/n). Calm down.

He lifted his fingers off of your eyes, whispering a faint “happy birthday” to you. You gasped. Pomefiore lounge decorated with streamers and balloons– color coordinated to match both the dorm’s interior as well as your favorite colors. Rose petals were sprinkled on the ground. You heard Vil step away from you. You jumped as you heard something pop and turned around to find the source. Before you could react, a swarm of confetti went your way followed by a loud “surprise!”

You blinked twice, pulling bits of paper out of your hair..  You stepped forward and spun your heel. Were you dreaming?

“Hey, are you crying? I forbid you from crying. Your mascara is going to smear. Stop touching your face,” Vil scolded, running to your side, whipping out a handkerchief to pat your tears dry.

He had no confetti on his person. He was pristine.

“Vil… it’s wonderful. Thank you. I’m so glad you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget? You must give me more credit, Fairest. I may not have the time to be with you every day, but I’m not cruel as to forgot your birthday,” he huffed, pulling you into a hug.

He was right. He could have never forgotten. Was he mad that you doubted him? He didn’t seem irritated. It wasn’t like him to forget such an important date. You’ll give him credit for being a good actor; he fooled you well. He ignored you for almost two weeks. Whenever you brought up your birthday, he brushed over it and changed the subject. You were on edge the entire time. A weight was lifted off your chest.

“I know you’re not one for parties, but I figured I’d go all out for a small group of people you are comfortable with. You’re seventeen now. Rejoice, my dear.”

You pecked his lips, “This is fine. Thank you so much.”

Snap!

“Cute~ Hashtag: Vil-Did-Not-Forget. Hashtag: (y/n)’s-Growth Record. Hashtag: (y/n)-And-Vil-Forever. Hashtag: Birthday. And posted! Happy birthday, (y/n)-chan~”

“Ah. Thank you, Cay-kun.”

“Did you have to do that?” your lover asked, hands on his hip.

“It’s fine, Vil.”

He nodded. You hoped he wouldn’t bicker too much with Leona as the upperclassman was lounging a bit too close to the throne for [Vil’s] comfort. You sighed as he went to the refreshments table.

“You’ve grown for much,” Cater said with crocodile tears, hugging you.

“I’m still the same height.”

“I didn’t mean that, silly.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Nothing, much. You just look happier. Anyways, here’s your present. Continue to blossom, m’kay?”

You took the gift: “Alright?”

“Cater. Mind your manners. You’re being rude. According to the–,” a voice called.

“I don’t think I am, right, (y/n)? Tell Riddle for me~” he pouted.

His eyes widened as the complexion of Heartslabyul’s prefect grew as red as his hair. 

“Hey now. Let’s not fight,” Trey, the vice prefect, hurried over to pat Riddle’s back.

You sighed, “There’s nothing to worry about, Riddle.”

You could have sworn you saw a vein deflate on his forehead as he mumbled something about the rules. He handed you a bouquet of roses.

“Happy birthday, (y/n).”

“Let’s take a Heartslabyul selfie to celebrate! Say cheese!”

No one said cheese. The flash flickered before your eyes as you held the flowers close to your nose. Riddle’s eyebrows were scrunched together. He was socially awkward in that aspect.

“Hashtag: Heartsla…”

Cater’s words faded. Since when have you been comfortable taking pictures with him. It was nice. You felt pretty today. Was it because Vil dolled you up to a T? You hugged the bouquet closer to your chest as you walked towards the refreshments table.

“Oi. Herbivore. Watch the tail,” an all too familiar voice groaned.

“Good afternoon to you too, Leona.”

“Here’s your present.”

He handed you a small box and he waved you goodbye. Was he not going to stay? You watched his back get smaller and smaller as he walked out of the Pomefiore Lounge. He wasn’t big on parties either. That was alright.

You continued the refreshments, stopping occasionally and accumulating presents here and there, engaging in idle chatter. Soon, your arms were full of trinkets and parcels. You panted as you set the gifts onto a spare table.

“You’re quite the attraction,” Vil said, sipping on a glass of apple cider.

“I don’t really think I’m–”

“Own it for a day, will you? You look absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, Vil.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “My pleasure, Fairest.”

[flowercrown-bucky]

Trouble has never looked so good - But then again, it’s never been wearing a push-up bra before.

Fandom: 1970s!Loki Multi-Chapter

Pairing: Loki x ConArtist!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, drug references, later death, later smut, crime, loki and the reader are con artists..... It’s a wild one y’all, hold onto yo’ seats.

Word Count: 3084

[Something Wicked This Way Comes - Chapter One] 

Loki’s life on Asgard has become vapid; uninspiring. He’s got the taste for a little danger. 

During a trip to earth, he finds just the danger he’s looking for.

A partner in crime - in every imaginable sense. 

TAGLIST IS OPEN - EITHER COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED. 

LIFE on Asgard was unbearably normal.

It was fine. If anything, it was too fine.

There was only so much feasting and so many council meetings one could take, you know?

Loki had stalked off to his chambers, muttering to his brother that he needed time to focus his magic.

He didn't, of course. Odin's lecturing on diplomatic decorum had simply become mind numbingly dull and it seemed like the most suitable excuse.

Loki's chambers were in a prime position. It was, after all, the reason he had coerced his older brother into switching with him when they were both around three hundred years old. He was roughly a hundred yards from the palace kitchens, something that well suited his secret midnight-snacking habit, and about as far from the Allfather and Allmother's chambers as he could possibly be, something that well suited his secret midnight sneaking-out habit.

However, the thing he loved most about his chambers, was the proximity to the palace orchard. If he stepped through the doors onto the balcony, he could grip the railings and sort of kamikaze himself over, before dropping the two-or-so-feet distance between him and the floor, and it was this that had made him want to occupy this chamber so badly.

He'd loved the orchard ever since he was a little boy. It was his safe spot, somewhere he had gone to hide from the world, where nothing could harm him or make him feel anything he didn't want to. He liked to take a book with him, and read under the shade of the apple trees until someone came to retrieve him.

It was here he had considered retreating to when he remembered the girl kneeling between his legs.

She was, Loki believed, a princess of Vanaheim, visiting Asgard with her father. Sex was not something that particularly concerned him, but he had left the council hall feeling rather frustrated, and the remarkably attractive woman had practically thrown herself at him.

If a beautiful woman desired to fellate him, who was he to complain?

It was, however, doing nothing for him - so much so he had forgotten she was even there.

"You can stop now." He wasn't entirely gentle when he tugged her off him, opting to do so with the help of a handful of her hair, but ,hey, he was extremely frustrated and she had been no help in the easing of that frustration.

"I can-"

"Nope." He waved a hand dismissively at the woman, leaving her to gather her clothes and dignity from where they'd been discarded in the floor. Girls were far more his brother's thing.

The only satisfying sexual encounter he had ever had had been on Midgard, some ten years before. Her name was Elizabeth, and she wanted to be an actress. With a head of carefully constructed dark curls and unusual violet coloured eyes, she was positively electrifying. She'd liked Loki's regal manner, assumed he was important. He'd been looking for a way to unwind and had yet to find it in a bottle of whiskey. They had, you might say, used each other equally.

He wondered what she was doing now.

Midgard, however, didn't seem like too bad an idea.

The mortals, he thought, were funny. Their funny little ways, their funny little habits, their funny little emotions.

He rather liked that idea. Midgard it was to be, then.

--

Las Vegas, was perhaps, the worst place he had ever been. Crawling with perhaps the worst specimens humanity had to offer, and drowning in immorality, Vegas was perhaps the physical embodiment of iniquity. 

Perhaps the underbelly of the world, Vegas combined all aspects of bigotry - racism, misogyny, pride. Men traded their lives away to pay to warm the sheets of women condemned to a life of misery, destined to while their days away in some clandestine pact with dingy hotel rooms. 

Not Vegas, Loki thought to himself. 

New York, he was not particularly fond of either. It was much too cold and full of self importance. The people were, largely, cold and unpleasant, and the food was something he could never get behind. 

Europe he had not visited for a long while since. It had been stricken by an unpleasant pox last time he had visited, covering the suffering with boils as large as the palm as his hand. He’d begrudgingly lent his healing skills to the ailing people. After all, he really didn’t like the smell of rotting flesh. 

 He wasn’t altogether pleased with the likenesses the people later formed in the name of worship.

In all honesty, they made him look rather greasy and weaselly.

—

Montecarlo, Loki thought, might be a little more interesting than he'd initially thought. Possibly, his favourite place he'd visited on Midgard.

It was like a hive of temptation, the culmination of human greed. Nowhere on earth quite said luxury like a city dressed to the nines, and Loki loved it.

It was far better than his previous visits, wherein he had found the planet stricken by various bouts of violence and deadly plagues. 

1973, with its penchant for sex, drugs and rock'n'roll was far more to his taste.

He had, in the short time he'd been in the city, become very well acquainted with the calibrate of person who liked to visit. Men with enough class to never let an expletive pass their lips within company, but perfectly happy to snort narcotics off the seats of public toilets using a ten dollar bill that was on its fourth use.

Women loyal enough to remain on the arm of one gentleman for the whole of an evening but not opposed to a quick fuck in a back alley from a tall dark stranger with a mysterious smile.

Sex was not something Loki was particularly concerned with, but he did enjoy the sense of power he got from looking directly into the eyes of a man whose wife he had made come undone not ten minutes earlier.

Humans, he noted, were no different to the savage tribes of Muspelheim. They just hid it better, under expensive clothes and university degrees and layers of makeup.

This was not something he necessarily was bothered by. He was having far too good a time for that.

Casinos, he had taken a real liking to. Money was another thing that held no meaning for him, but cheating pompous assholes out of what they believed was rightfully theirs?

That, he could get behind, and it seemed he was not alone in that.

He had been watching you all evening, as you worked your way around the room.

You were dressed to kill, and the man you'd turned your attentions to looked like he would gladly die if it would please you.

One hand stroking his *ahem* ego, and the other stealing his wallet.

You were perfect.

Mischief was on his agenda, and you looked like a wonderful accomplice.

He'd approached you quietly, a gentle hand on your shoulder, his lips by your ear.

"Well, hello." He'd murmured, as you turned to face him. "Who might you be?"

You'd practically preened at the sudden attention, clearly very pleased with the idea of a second conquest of the evening.

"Darling, I'm your worst nightmare." You bit your red painted lip, your eyes trailing the length of him. Your glance was cold, calculating - pretty much everything Loki appreciated in a woman. 

For a moment, he wondered if you were to kill him, how you would carry out the act. He felt almost as if he would appreciate it. 

You looked like a poisoner, he decided. Less messy, less loose ends to take care of. 

“And what, exactly, does my worst nightmare take to drink?” He could feel the smug grin growing on his face. “I am well acquainted with the torment of the unconscious mind.” 

You were taken aback, that much he could see from your face. For someone so experienced with hustling card games, you did not have much of a poker face. 

His smile grew. Unsettling people was one of his very favourite things.

“Champagne.” You still gnawed at your lip, but the reasoning, he could tell, had changed - if he didn’t know better, he’d think you were quite literally biting back a smile. 

“A lady after my own heart.” He replied. “You have good taste.” 

 “Only the best.” You lifted your glass towards him. 

“I’ll drink to that.” 

-- 

The course of the evening made abundant to Loki exactly how you operated. You were fairly certain you had him in the palm of your hand, that much he could tell - and it was certainly amusing to play along with it. 

You played your role well, and that was something he admired. You allowed him to lead the conversation, showering his ego with praise and affirmation. You fiddled with your hair as you spoke, twisting it around your index finger before draping it over your clavicle, trailing towards your ample bosom. 

You occasionally - intentionally - licked at your lip as you spoke, your tongue coyly tracing your plump bottom lip, tilting your head to the side as if to show how truly intrigued you were by what he was saying, exposing a good deal of neck in the process. 

It truly was a shame, he thought, that mortal men were unable to see the brains, the intellect, behind the beauty - or more specifically, the bust. 

Midgardian men were truly unable to see exactly what they possessed, but on Asgard, you would’ve been celebrated, treasured even, for the power of your mind. 

It was a great pity, Loki thought, and rather unfortunate for their wallets. 

You’d kept him on his toes since you’d first spoken. You were keeping him on his toes now. 

He watched you as you spoke to the woman next to you. You were so careful, every movement deliberate, purposeful. 

You played your part well. In a knee-length blue dress, you largely left the curves of your body to the imagination. The imagination, however, was aided by how the material clung to your hips and your more than ample bosom. Almost every male eye in the room was on you. 

You made your way back over to where he lent on the bar. You seemed to enjoy toying with him. As to why, he could not fathom. 

You waved a bottle of champagne in his face, before topping up his own glass. 

“Consider the favour...” You flashed a smile at him that was utterly to die for. “Repaid.” 

He ran a hand through his long hair, catching your gaze. 

If he was an ordinary man, he would be truly fucked. 

“So, tell me.” His voice came out as something closer to a purr than anything else. “How does a woman such as yourself turn to petty crime?” If it were possible to display every element of the spectrum of human emotion in one simultaneous instant, Loki was sure it would look very similar to how your face currently looked. 

Almost as quickly as it had come over you, it was gone. The mask returned and you flashed him a coy grin. 

“What gave me away?” Your left eyebrow quirked. 

“I’m perceptive.” He smiled. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m better.” 

“What are you, a cop?” Your voice was calm, level. It was almost completely impossible to detect the emotions behind it. 

“Please.” He scoffed. “I have a proposal for you.” 

Your arm dropped to your side. Your face remained unchanged, but the mischief, the slight twinkle in your eye, was gone. 

“Meet me outside the toilets in five minutes.” Your voice was hoarse. You turned away from him with a swish of apple-scented hair, taking a step away from him. 

He reached out, catching your wrist. You stumbled slightly, grabbing at the bar to steady yourself. 

“I’m not interested in sex, if that’s what you think.” His voice dropped. 

“Then what do you want?” You spun to face him. 

“If you show me, I’ll show you.” He grinned at you. 

“Show me, what, exactly?” You asked, intrigued. 

“Everything.” He whispered. His hand came up to your face, taking your chin gently inbetween his forefinger and thumb. He turned your head gently from side to side, before tilting it back. You watched with curious eyes, but allowed him to rest his hand on your forehead. 

He closed his eyes slowly, his consciousness seeping through his body, penetrating your mind. 

--

It was an odd place, your mind. He’d never been in any other quite like it. There had always been a lot going on, in people’s minds. They were.. furnished. Most appeared as a place, at least - a childhood home, a favourite place - but yours was remarkably empty. 

Enormous black units surrounded him, rows upon rows of boxes reaching as far as his eyes could see. The only other thing present within your mind was a chair, upon which you sat. 

It was tall and as black as the shelves. The back faced him, your legs slung either side of it, your elbow resting on the top. Your chin rested on your fist, and you watched him as he adjusted to your surroundings, one eyebrow bemusedly quirked. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” You smiled. “Sorry about the mess. I don’t get a lot of visitors, you know, inside my head.” 

Loki laughed. 

“Your mind is intriguing, little one.” He walked towards one of the units to get a closer look, lifting a hand to open one. It didn’t budge. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls.” You teased.  

“Just the pretty ones.” He tugged again, a little harder. “What’s in these boxes?“

“My deepest secrets.” You replied curtly. “How do you do this, anyway? You don’t get many people who can waltz into your mind uninvited around here.” 

“I told you, you show me, and I’ll show you.” He left the boxes, walking over to where you sat. He circled you a few times, looking around for anything else within your mind. “I am not of this world.” 

“No shit.” You grumbled. 

“Ladies first.” He grinned. “I want to know how you do it. Then you will get your answers.” 

“Then get out of my head.” You replied. “The only person in here to scam is you, and it’s not quite the same when someone knows you’re going to rob them.” 

“Very well.” Loki snapped his fingers. 

You opened your eyes with a gasp as he lifted his hand from your forehead. 

“Never do that again.” You warned. 

He chuckled, lifting his hand to support his head, looking at you expectantly. 

“I’m waiting.” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Where shall we start?” 

--

You leant across the table towards Loki. 

“That one.” You tilted your head towards the left. 

He lifted his head, looking up for the man you’d singled out. The ginger in the double breasted suit? The lanky blonde with the knock knees? The man bun? 

No. 

He knew the one. 

“Clammy hands.” He mused. “Look at the discoloration on the front of his trousers. The pigment has been lost from repeatedly wiping his hands on them. He has sweaty hands.” 

“Can I keep you?” You tilted your head to the side. 

“Why him?” He asked. “How do you choose?” 

“I don’t.” You replied. “They sort of... reveal themselves. They look at me. Stare at me. All I have to do is look back.” 

“And from there?” 

“The art of robbing someone just comes down to sleight of hand. Same as hustling a card game.” You glanced over at the man. “I used to do magic tricks with cards and make people’s car keys disappear as a kid. I picked it up from there.” 

“Impressive.” He leaned back in his seat. “Why do you do it?” 

“This world has not been kind to me.” You sighed. “Besides, life is so much more interesting with a little chaos.” 

He chuckled, placing both of his elbows on the table, hands clasped together in front of his face. 

“Do you fuck all of them?” He raised one eyebrow. 

“Just the pretty ones.” Your face cracked into a wide smile. 

He stared at you for a second. This beautiful, conniving woman in front of him, the poison that resided in your mind, the deadliness that lay in your hands. 

In all honesty, it excited him. 

You’d intrigued him since he’d very first laid eyes on you, and every moment since, that  intrigue had grown. Who were you really? What were you? 

For the first time that evening, it occurred to him that he didn’t even know your name. 

He got the feeling that if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him the truth. You weren’t that stupid. 

You were hiding from something, he was fairly sure. Being in hiding was something he was all too familiar, and if there was anything he had learned in his five thousand years of life, it was how to spot when someone was on the run. 

“I believe you are exactly what I’ve been looking for, little criminal.” He murmured. 

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” You pursed your red painted lips. 

“A partner in crime.” He replied. “A fellow mischief maker, if you will.” 

“You could be a serial killer.” You crossed your arms over your chest. 

“So could you.” He said curtly. “I entered your mind and you’ve just explained how you con and rob people, but yet, here we both still are.” 

You blinked, shifting so you were leaning on your left side. Your expression was thoughtful - you were considering his suggestion. 

“And what exactly do I get out of this deal?” You asked. 

“You saw what I did earlier.” He leaned forwards on his forearms. “I will open your mind to things you cannot currently even begin to comprehend.” 

“Okay. I’ll bite.” You lifted your drink to your lips, taking a sip. “I accept your offer.” 

“I must tell you.” He warned. “You will be playing with fire.”  You set your glass down on the table, before leaning back in your seat. You turned your head to the left briefly, tossing your hair over one shoulder. You crossed one leg over the other as you turned back to face him. Your eyes found his, a gaze that truly seemed to be looking into his soul, and you smiled. 

“Luckily for you, I like to watch things burn.” 

TAGLIST: @possessedjoker​ @amour-delicate