#I don’t understand any of this but my friend wanted this to be made and who am I to object

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || next // previously ||

genre(s) -> angst, fluff, smut, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au paring(s) -> ( eventually ) ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> mentions of abuse, anxiety / paranoia, illegal acts mentioned, violence etc. words -> 3.3k

abstract -> fight or flight... what are you going to choose Hongjoong?

y/n's perspective

After a while, I returned to the apartment and made sure my face didn’t tell them I cried. 

I couldn’t let that tiger get to me… but he did. My mind wandered and overthinking everything. I was taught how to differentiate happy hybrids… but I couldn’t now.

His words couldn’t leave my head. 

“Are you thinking of adopting them?” I heard as I saw Yeosang behind me. No… I was wondering if you guys lied to me.

“I know you want to help them–” Did I? They weren’t my responsibility… and frankly, Hongjoong was scary. “–we talked and if you really want to help them, we understand.” he said and I wondered…

Did they want me to adopt them?

“San… he told me how he felt when you adopted me. If he said no, I would've been under her control still and I couldn’t wish that on any hybrid” he confessed and I nodded. 

“You don’t need to feel guilty–” I don't… but if you want me to adopt the tigers then I’d do anything for you three. “–we promise to try to get along,” he said and I noticed Wooyoung and San by the doorway of my room. 

“You’re a good person, without you we would’ve been suffering on our own”

“You do know this is dangerous, right?” Kun asked me as I signed. What was I doing? I couldn’t think straight. Everything was overwhelming… it felt like high school all over again, like almost a year ago when he left me. 

They were dangerous but not to them… to me. 

Seonghwa came out first. He helped me… he was kind but it was to get out of his own hell hole. He only fulfilled his side of the deal, nothing more… nothing less. 

“You? You’re adopting me?” he said with a smile. I didn’t know how to react but I smiled softly… he seemed happy… was he?

“You won't regret it! I… thank you for everything…” I turned him out when I saw the other tiger. He was in a red code protocol gear. “He’s still a code red. The only reason I'm agreeing is because of the training you have… I hope you know what you're doing” Kun said. I don't… I know nothing. I don’t know how to take care of someone… I don’t even know if my own hybrids trust me. If everything was a lie… and I was blissfully just ignorant. 

He looked at me with a smirk.  

I was just a writer… Why was I biting more than I could chew?

hongjoong's perspective

I don’t know how Seonghwa didn’t notice it. Maybe because of how happy he was… but she was scared of us, even him. What could’ve gotten to her head to adopt us when she’s so scared? 

We made it to her building where she was greeted and I could tell this building was expensive. Truly just another rich human with nothing else better to do. 

When the elevator opened it revealed an apartment with three hybrids. Now just how blind were they?

“My name is Seonghwa, I'm a white tiger hybrid” he introduced with a bow to show his politeness. “Hongjoong,” I said while bowing slightly only to get smacked on the back by Seonghwa. Silently scolding me for not making a good impression. 

Why were good impressions even needed? I doubt we’d stay here for long.

Seonghwa was an annoying happy virus. He immediately made friends with the fox hybrid named Wooyoung. The two often cooked together and Seonghwa was a victim to his teasing. I could tell the Doberman and Seonghwa clashed a bit with their personalities but tried to get along for the sake of the humans. 

No one noticed just how… unstable she was becoming. 

I was starting to think my words of her hybrids faking everything got to her head. None of this could be true. She had to have had an incentive for them to act like they loved her. They actually treated her like a mate.

Even then… all of them were blind. She was spacing out and smiling softly and nodding to pretend she was listening to them. Every time she did this and caught my eyes she looked nervous… scared. I felt proud to have done such a strong response to her. 

It's only been three days… but that panther. Something about him made me feel uneasy. He wasn’t easy to approach like the fox or as easy to converse as the Doberman. Seonghwa has tried and he’d only stare menacingly and give uninterested responses.

He started to see what was happening to the human and how she recoiled in his touch. Almost like she was scared of him. Despite that… I overheard the other day that he’ll give her space.

That she might be overwhelmed by too many hybrids around especially since we were from the circus. He didn’t know I was a red code nor Seonghwa had the potential to be one as well. 

I was going to my room when I passed hers… she was in her room. Pacing back and forth mumbling under her breath. I peeked in to see papers scattered around her. She had a pen and was scribbling but she was clearly frustrated. 

Maybe I’ll check that out later. 

y/n’s perspective

I was confused about everything… I wanted to find comfort in them but I couldn’t. And Seonghwa has been nothing but the sweetest hybrid telling me how thankful he is that I adopted him let alone both him and… Hongjoong. He promised that Hongjoong would come around. He got along well with Wooyoung and helped clean and cook… he even enjoyed watching San and Wooyoung play on the TV and shared a love for fashion like Yeosang. 

Everything was… great.

Poor San… he’s been avoiding me. I know it's because I flinched that one time he waved his hand in my face to pull me away from my thoughts. Was I scared of San?

I found myself in the hallway and he attacked me. The broken vase was no longer on the floor, Nothing was on that top shelf anymore. The blood… the sounds of Johnny and his paramedic team. That was almost a year ago now. Why… Why was that flooding my mind now?

I went to my room and turned the lights scaring myself in the process to see Hongjoong sitting on my desk chair. He held up my story… circus.

“Did my performance inspire you?” he said in a mocking voice. I was frozen… “Why are you so scared? I’ll admit, I understand why they like this place so much~” he said, only adding to my pool of thoughts that I couldn't swim out of. 

“The food, the luxury, your submission,” he said as he stood up and I took steps backward. “It's all amusing,” he said and I wondered if that's what they thought. 

“You, however, have been scattered. Did you finally realize the true nature of hybrids? How they like each other's presence but not yours?” he said and I didn’t want to believe it.

San… he told me how much he hated me in the beginning. Why would he change… is it because he didn’t want to live in the kennel? Was it the same for Wooyoung? And Yeosang didn't… want to be with her anymore so what's the difference here?

“This pathetic piece of work is just that! Pathetic” he said as I saw him put both hands on it getting ready to rip it. My only draft… my months of work. I don’t know why my body moved on its own. But it did… and my fingers grazed it as Hongjoong grabbed my wrist and pulled away the packet of paper with his other hand. 

“Let me guess. You were gonna grab the piece of paper out of my hands? Just to what? Punish me? How would you do it? I don’t think you have whips… you don’t look like you'd be into that. Maybe… lock me in the closet? Sleep outside? Or… no food for a week?” he asked as he kept on listing punishments. I couldn’t listen anymore as his grip got tighter the more harmful punishments he listed. His claws dig deep into my wrist. I didn’t mean to cry… I tried to stay strong. They liked the tigers here… I was just collateral. 

“Are you even paying attention–” he asked as he now gripped the back of my neck plunging his claws into my skin. “–you humans don’t care what happens. We’re toys, entertainment, fun to you! Just because you can pay your way in life… just because I was born this way I’m the one made into a slave!?” he yelled as I was now questioning… Was the double vision because of my tears? Or because of the blood I was losing?

“Why do you get all the fun?” he asked and I didn't know with what strength I said it but I gave him a way out. 

“Then why don’t you run?”

hongjoong’s perspective

Run? That… it was an option now, wasn’t it? I could pretend to be a human… go to those illegal surgeries to try my best to look human. 

Why didn’t I think of that before? She wouldn’t be missing the money… wait.

Why wasn’t she moving? I let her go only to hear a thud of her falling down. Why was there so much blood? I tried to shake her awake but nothing worked. I checked for her pulse but I felt nothing?

Did I kill her?

How was I gonna explain that to the four hybrids in the living room?

As much as I tried messing with her head… I knew those three cared about her as stupidly as I thought it would be. Seonghwa… even liked the idea of living a pampered life. While trying to heal his wounds with humans starting with the girl who was bleeding out on her bedroom floor. 

Now was my chance… I could get her information. I could get money and leave. I could… live the life I want. But… It didn't change what I did. My hands are stained with my blood– “What did you do?” I heard as I saw Seonghwa standing by the door. He looked at my bloodied hands and then at her. 

He slammed the door shut but didn’t lock it. 

“Seonghwa, I know what I did was wrong, okay! Just help me find her wallet and maybe even her docu–” “Hongjoong I don’t want to run away and try to get the money for those ridiculous black market surgeries. What did you do?! Why?! She was a good person– Is she even alive?!” he said clearly panicked. He tried feeling for a pulse when he scrambled up to open the door and yell– 

“Call 119!” he said. He turned back to look at me with fear in his eyes… “I told you Hongjoong to stop. You misjudged her… what makes you think you’d survive living as a human? Get a job working with the species you hate! You're an idiot and you might've killed–" "Killed?” I heard as I saw the fox hybrid and panther by the doorway. They looked at her body…

Wooyoung started crying… he immediately went to wipe her face of tears and blood to try to wake her up. Whilst I was tackled to the ground with hands wrapped around my throat… I couldn't breathe and I struggled against him. Why was he so strong?!

He didn’t say anything but I could see the rage in his eyes. He was an animal… he showed pure anger, and bloodlust in his eyes as I started feeling faint. 

“Let go of him!” I could hear Seonghwa’s voice trying to reason. “She’s alive!” the fox yelled, making the panther look at him and loosen his grip, making me cough out and pant for air. 

“Her pulse is there! She’s still alive, we just need the paramedics to get here!” the fox reasoned as I saw the pair look over her dying body. Seonghwa stared at them… what did I do?

A few minutes passed by while we all tried to process everything when we heard people speak in codes. 

I saw a tall man in a uniform that seemed like a nurse. He looked at all of us and then her body. 

He held a radio– “Kun, in her bedroom, four other hybrids have been located” he said as he slowly went to approach her. Realistically… paramedics don’t go towards the body until the threat has been handled but Sna and Wooyoung looked at him hopefully to help her. Wooyoung moved out of the way while San stayed by her side holding her hand. He looked for a pulse. 

He pulled out the radio again– “Faint pulse, get a crash cart ready” he said while now feeling around her wounds.

“Contain all hybrids with a code black status” I heard as I saw the hybrid behavior analysis. He was in charge of me… of seeing if I could ever… live a happy hybrid life. 

“You can help her right!?” Wooyoung said and he could only nod as he took out a syringe and surprised Wooyoung by tranquilizing him.

“Please… help her,” he said last as looked at the other two and me to decide. “San, I need to take her, '' the nurse said and the panther seemed unresponsive, which the specialist decided to go for next, not seeing too much resistance as he started to lose consciousness. “Don’t leave me,” he muttered lastly. 

The nurse took her and before we could react I felt a prick on my neck. I saw the doorway blurrily reveal the doctor from that place. 

“All hybrids have been captured and will be analyzed as a code black” 

The next time I opened my eyes I heard banging and yelling. 

Yells demanded if the human was okay. Where was I? I sat up to see I was on the floor… the kennel? I looked beside me at Seonghwa. The only thing separating us was glass. 

“You're lucky! I should've killed you when I had the chance!!” I heard as I saw the panther. He was in chains and muzzled. Why did he have such intense equipment? It's when I realized… So was I?

Seonghwa didn’t have it. Before I could say anything I noticed a change of smell and the noise of a door opening. 

“These are the hybrids under behavior analysis…” I heard as I saw two unknown staff members with the doctor. “Hyung, there's no way that–” “You can follow the orders I give you and fulfill your request or I'll have someone more experienced do this job” he threatened. He didn’t seem like he was in the mood or cared about the situation. 

“Is she okay?” I heard… that was the fox. “You five, are under analysis. However, no further action will occur once we get permission from your owner–” “She’s alive?!” They interrupted him. He looked to his side to look at me… she wasn’t.

“Or when she gets announced dead” he finished creating an eerie feeling in the air. “Depending on what she has discussed with lawyers in her revised will, I have permission to act accordingly based on your past records and current situation,” he said as he left. The two staff members stayed however to do checkups… her hybrids begged for anything relating to her. 

I noticed San's cage opened. I couldn't see the other two but San did behave for them. “Did she… ever tell you what was bothering her this week?” he asked and I felt my heart stop. They still didn’t know?

“What's been wrong with her this week?” the employee asked. “She’s been… writing more than usual and spacing out,” he asked and the staff sighed. 

“You’ve known her for years… what could’ve bothered–" "Anything really… once something gets into her head, she’s insistent. It must’ve really bothered her if you noticed it. Usually she’s better at hiding it,” he said and I started feeling something eat me up. Was it guilt?

“She’ll be okay,” he said and San didn’t seem to believe him. “She’s dead isn’t she… or dying?” he asked and the face he made seemed to clarify any questions.

They were waiting for her status… but I could see on their faces that they were already mourning their friend… this feels like a dream– not a nightmare.

I noticed my door open. They were the most cautious with me… I felt like I couldn’t breathe. What did I do?!

“Unresponsive Kun.” — “Hongjoong?” I heard the only friend I've ever had say worried for me. Would he still be worried for me if she died? If he knew I tormented her?

“The orange tiger is going into isolation”

seonghwa’s perspective

It was a dream. I got a sense of freedom… I knew that she was scared of Hongjoong and in association was scared of me. But I saw how she flinched away from San. 

I learned that he was her first hybrid… and she became scared of him. Something that Hongjoong said to her. He got into her head… and now here we were awaiting our death sentence.

I know the other three might get another chance but us? We're from the circus… we're gonna die here without feeling how love feels like… we were so close… to feel loved. 

“It's all you tiger’s fault” Yeosang said and I knew we didn’t get along well. I tried my best to get along with them… and they tried their best for my sake. “I shouldn’t have convinced her to help you” he muttered and that made sense. “She adopted us because you suggested it?” I asked and he scoffed. 

“She came back the day of your interviews spacing out and in her head… I assumed she wanted to adopt you two out of pity like she did with me” Yeosang said and San scoffed.

“She didn’t adopt you out of pity… she wanted a better life for you,” he said and I chuckled softly. “She… she didn’t want to adopt us. Not after what Hongjoong told her that day. It makes sense now…” I said and they looked at me like I was crazy. 

“The day of the interview, Hongjoong was a red-coded hybrid. So she brought me with her to help calm him down. But instead, he got into her head… and she ran. He mentioned something about hybrids pretending to love their owners to survive and that we’d do anything to survive. That one day if you wanted to kill her” I explained and I saw how distraught they looked. Wooyoung now had tears running down his cheek and Yeosang hid himself in the corner whilst San… he only stared at his hands. 

“So this is it? She’ll die thinking  what we felt for her was fake?” Wooyoung asked and San tried getting out of his restraints. 

“What are you doing… there's no point in fighting it” Yeosang scolded the panther but San was hysterical. “I’ll never live it down… that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. None of you were there… not when I almost did kill her. She… she wouldn’t have believed that stupid tiger if it wasn’t for what I did! And… and—” he broke down crying. “–she should’ve left me in that stupid adoption center” he finished with his voice cracking. 

The room was filled with silence and even I felt tears blurry my vision. 

San continued to hysterically get out of his restraints when the doctor came in again. “San?” they waited to see and San did not respond instead his cries were painful. He was also injured fighting in the restraints. 

“San, panther hybrid prepare a code purple room” 

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[cheqorb]

OFF-SCRIPT ROMANCE ft. reo, sae, kaiser

you’re both just in a fake relationship for both of your own benefits, nothing more is going on behind the scenes! and it’s definitely not actual love!

NOTES: made in mind with characters aged up to maybe around 20+ ish? i’ll continue working on mer-love requests. im even thinking of opening bnha requests since i’ve gotten back into it recently. can’t tell if kaiser is ooc or not, but i’m sure you guys are sick of my apologies so i’ll try to stop LMAOO

edit: wrote this before kaiser’s backstory and goddamn it.

as the heir to the illustrious mikage corporation, REO knew, deep down, that the time would come when he'd have to step into his parents' shoes and take control of the company. and speaking of which, his parents seem to be growing increasingly more eager to see him settle down, constantly badgering him about finding a suitable partner whenever he visited them. however, his career of being a professional soccer player meant that he would probably only be able to see them if he played games in japan itself, which rarely happened anyway.

he wasn’t an idiot; maintaining a relationship with his schedule would be practically impossible, his s/o would certainly get tired of it after a few months, and he wasn’t keen on the idea of forcing them to travel with him to every single match.

the thought of starting a relationship under false pretenses, merely to appease his parents, left a bitter taste in his mouth. he wasn’t exactly the type of guy who wanted to break someone’s heart over this. reo was stuck wondering how on earth he could pull this off, until by some stroke of genius, you came into his mind.

though not close friends, your paths had crossed enough times for him to recognise your presence. considering your own status as the heir to your own family’s fortune, his parents would also approve of you. plus, you’re already familiar with the expectations such wealth brings, surely, the lifestyle of being his significant other wouldn’t be too different from the one you already had?

as reo stumbled over his words, his usually confident demeanor giving way to a palpable sense of unease, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of empathy. despite his attempts to mask his nerves, it was clear that this request weighed heavily on him, even more so than his typical bravado could conceal.

“so, i was hoping you could consider—“

his tentative smile faltered as you swiftly interjected, a curt “yes” escaping your mouth before he could even finish his carefully rehearsed proposal. the relief in his eyes was unmistakable, though tinged with a hint of disbelief at your response. his expression softened, a mixture of surprise and relief evident in his features. “you…you don’t need to make your decision so quickly,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by your immediate acceptance. “i understand it’s a difficult thing to ask of you…”

reo couldn't help but feel nervous, in hindsight, the arrangement had fallen a little too seamlessly into place. your willingness to dive headfirst into a relationship without a moment's hesitation freaked him out slightly, but it did ultimately solve his problem! with you by his side, he could continue his career while still making his parents happy.

of course, he still had his doubts but you seemed perfectly happy to spend your days in comfort and go on luxurious vacations with your friends if he had matches coming up.

and as if his luck couldn’t get any better, you’re quite the lovely person yourself. even in the absence of his parents, you always go above and beyond to maintain appearances (he thinks that’s what your trying to do anyway?) and ensure he’s happy. whether it was a home-cooked meal awaiting him after a long day or your presence in the stands, cheering him on during matches, your seemingly genuine care for him truly warmed reo's heart.

in return, reo finds himself taking extra care of you, making sure you’ve got nice clothes to wear, randomly calling you in the middle of the night, a slip of the tongue petname here and there…

nagi could only only sigh (internally in his head, it’s too much work to actually sigh) as reo picked up his phone for the umpteenth time this hour. “maybe they’re just sleeping..?” he offers, though it doesn’t seem to help very much.

“they haven’t responded to any texts, they won’t even pick up the phone…” the man laments, sulking in the corner of the room, “my dear (name) could be in danger and i’m not there to help them-“

a quick ding from his phone soon shoots him upright from his misery, a hopeful look now on his face. he only seems more cheerful once he notices it’s a voice message too, he just loves listening to you speak! your voice is always so— ‘reo, please go to sleep, it’s late in (country) right now, isn’t it? call me back in the morning, don’t you dare think of staying up to text me.’

huh? does he really do that?

SAE’s attitude and abrasive personality is definitely one of his manager’s least favourite qualities about him. the midfielder's dislike for interviews and meet-and-greets, coupled with his unabashed insults towards those he found irritating, posed a significant challenge for his public image. while some die-hard fans may have been drawn to his aloofness in the first place, it was hardly the ideal image for sponsorship deals or modeling contracts.

his manager entertained the idea of sae entering into a relationship. perhaps, he mused, the presence of a significant other could soften his rough edges and make him more approachable to the public. though he doubted sae would ever agree to such a scheme, he was a bit desperate now. can’t hurt to try, right?

as you sat outside the room, the tension hung heavy in the air. each candidate that emerged only served to heighten your nerves, leaving you questioning your decision to agree to this dumb offer in the first place. the obvious heartbroken expressions of the people leaving the room, along with the unmistakable voice of itoshi sae uttering the word "rejected," did little to ease the growing pit in your stomach.

finally, your name was called, and you entered the room with as little flair/flamboyance as you could, no need to embarrass yourself more than you already will. his bored expression did little to boost your confidence and you found yourself avoiding direct eye contact as you introduced yourself in a sheepish manner. “hello, uhm, it’s nice to meet you. i’m (l/n) (name).”

despite sae’s initial perception of you, there was something about your genuine yet unassuming nature that intrigued him. you spoke about yourself with an honesty that bordered on indifference, almost as if you had resigned yourself to an inevitable rejection so you didn’t care how genuinely insane the things you were saying were. (seriously, wdym in college you went to a skate park and came home with a horse…)

the words escape his mouth before he can even think of what he’s saying, “look up at me.”

his request caught you off guard, and you couldn't help but stammer out an apology before reluctantly meeting his gaze. under the intensity of his teal eyes, you felt a pang of self-consciousness but thankfully maintained your composure until the end. “but, uh. that’s all I can really say about myself. thanks for listening to me.”

you flash him a smile, before swiftly getting up and exiting through the door without even letting him get a word in. ‘finally, that’s over with…’ you do feel a little bad for sae though, hopefully he would take an interest in at least one of the candidates that came in after you.

you truly believed you had created a lasting impression of someone who was most definitely not a good fit for a prodigy like him (as well as a bit of a weirdo), so imagine your shock at the email sent to you the very next day by his manager. to make a long paragraph short, you got the position! well done..?

and now, his manager arranged for you and sae to meet together for a first date to truly make sure this relationship would, at the bare minimum, allow you to be cordial with one another. well, that’s what he was hoping for anyway. if you’ve got a person like sae on your hands, you learn to not expect things to turn positive.

his blunt remarks and stoic demeanor could’ve easily derailed the evening, but to your credit, you held your own with decent resilience considering how timid you seemed upon your first meeting. in spite of the occasional falter at his words, you continued to only show kindness towards him.

he’d never, ever, admit it out loud but he does feel a little guilty at how you just take his words without complaint. he had expected some form of resistance or annoyance from you, yet you only met his words with a laugh or simply ignoring it, leaving him feeling unexpectedly unsettled. also slightly questioning your self esteem.

just as he was contemplating bringing the date to a close, you suddenly bow your head with a smile on your face. one that really captivated sae because of the actual, sheer sincerity in it.

“thank-you, sae, i mean it. you’ve been very nice to me considering i’ve just been talking your ear off this whole time, so thanks for that. i liked today a lot.”

with your words hanging in the air, sae was at a loss for how to respond. what was he supposed to do after hearing that? not decide right there and then that he wanted to give you the entire world and more? (I’M SO SORRY I CANNOT FOR THE LIFE OF ME WRITE SAE WITHOUT HIM BEING EXTREMELY OOC)

unlike the other two, KAISER’s situation can vary a little more. as in, his reasons for needing a pretend relationship can differ depending on anything. it could stem from dissatisfaction from his management, a desire to maintain his image, or simply on a whim. regardless of the reason, you’re stuck with him one way or another.

his overconfident demeanor can be jarring at times, even though you thought you had steeled yourself for it beforehand. it doesn’t seem to disappear even when the two of you are alone together; which by common sense, should be when you’re most comfortable with each other, no? yet, there are also instances when his bravado feels forced, the occasional slip in his facade.

for better or for worse, you hesitated to say anything; not wanting to overstep any boundaries. you weren’t his actual s/o, you were getting paid like the relationship was a career. besides, would someone as arrogant as to call themselves ’emperor’ even want help from you? if you’re the more compassionate type, you may just immediately cave in and try to help. well, even if you aren’t, you’ll find it increasingly difficult to ignore him, ultimately realising he is unlikely to seek help himself.

initially, he adamantly opposed any attempts from you, making it clear he preferred to deal with his troubles alone or that he didn’t need your help. your persistence is slightly alarming to kaiser, whose probably wondering if you’re trying to increase your allowance or something, but he still doesn’t give in (yet).

suppressing a sigh, you turn on your heel after placing a cup of water and a modest plate of food on the coffee table. staying where you're evidently not wanted seems pointless. "try to eat something before heading to bed, kaiser. and if you need anything, just tell me, kay?" the words spill from your lips almost automatically, uttered countless times before.

as you take a step forward, a sudden tug on your arm sends you tumbling to the floor. "ow-"

kaiser remains silent, clutching your hand as if it were his lifeline. awkwardly, you place your hand on his shoulder, engaging him in small talk. though he doesn’t respond, he doesn't push you away either. it's progress of sorts, you suppose?

after that, there’s a gradual improvement in your relationship! kaiser appears to be coping better, even seeming happier than before. good for him, you think to yourself.

even so, you figured that your dynamic with each other still wouldn’t change all that much. you’d help him out whenever he needed you to, you’d both continue with your lives as usual. however, fate clearly had other plans.

for starters, he’s much more affectionate in private moments rather than it simply being for the public eye. gone are the days when displays of affection were reserved solely for public appearances. now, it’s like there isn't a day that passes without his presence: resting his head on your shoulder, intertwining fingers, or wrapping his arms around your waist. and then there’s also the random pet names he bestows upon you.

another change would be that kaiser genuinely cares if you’re around or not. attending his matches had become routine to you, necessary to maintain the image of being his supportive significant other but nothing more.

while you had no intention of not going, you couldn't help but notice kaiser's new habit of personally inviting you to his matches. with a smug grin, he would insist on you showing up, emphasising how he wanted you in the crowd, cheering him on. instead of receiving tickets through the usual channels (his manager, mostly), he even took it upon himself to hand-deliver them to you!

with the crowd roaring with excitement, signalling the start of the match was close by, kaiser's gaze finds its way to you. he takes a stride in your direction, his hand reaching out to gently lift your chin to face him.

you meet his eyes, a questioning expression flickering across your features, as he lets out a dramatic sigh. "not even going to give me a bit of luck before i step onto the field? i mean, a supportive partner would offer a kiss for good luck, wouldn't they?" he murmurs, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

he’s ever so slightly more unbearable like this though. how awful!!

#[ 𐙚 ] CHEQ. — from the heart ! #[ 𐙚 ] CHEQ. — writing #[ 𐙚 ] CHEQ. — bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #reo x reader #reo mikage x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #kaiser x reader #michael kaiser x reader

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

[catherinnn]

But Daddy I Love Him!!!

Eddie Munson x cheerleader!reader based on "But Daddy I Love Him" by Taylor Swift. words: around 2k warnings: angst if you squint, fluff!!! so many taylor swift references, overprotective parents, no use of y/n, happy ending.

masterlist

You knew that once you made your relationship with Eddie Munson public people would lose it. That’s why you’ve been postposing it until you were both really sure about this. But it’s been six months already, and they have been the best six months of your entire life.

Never has any other boy made you feel this way, so comfortable, so confident, so in love.  He was chaos and revelry in the best was possible, not like these other boys your parents had set you up with over the last years, just because they’re friends with their parents. He was the complete opposite of those boring boys, he had long and messy hair that you love playing with; he dresses in total black with ripped jeans, leather jackets and shirts with monsters painted on them; he’s loud and fun and hilarious; he’s so pretty and so hot at the same time.

There is no doubt of the way he makes you feel and you’re tired of hiding it. So yes, you knew it was going to be controversial walking in hand by hand, letting him hug you from behind whispering sweet nothings in your ear while you grab your things from your locker and kissing him goodbye before separating to each’s classes for the whole school to see. But you weren’t expecting World War Three.

“There you are, pretty girl” he greets you again at lunch.

“Hey you” you greet him back and go to kiss him, wrapped up in your own world when you’re interrupted by a fellow cheerleader behind you.

“Stay away from her!” Sarah protested. You both look at her in shock.

“What?” Eddie asks confused.

“Whatever it is that you’re doing to her, stop it!” she demands angrily, it’s kind of funny.

“Sarah, what do you mean?” you can’t contain the chuckle that escapes mid-sentence.

“What’s going on?!” she asks in complete confusion.

“He’s my boyfriend, he’s not doing anything wrong to me” you explain to her—actually, to the whole cafeteria who’s just as confused and angry as Sarah is.

“What do you mean your boyfriend? Honey, he’s…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, shooting you a look that speaks volumes, her eyes widen and her eyebrows as if saying You know exactly what he is.

Eddie starts giggling but hides his face in your shoulder trying to act modest. You fail to hide you smirk.

“He’s my boyfriend and I love him. I don’t really see the issue here” you put an end to the conversation and walk to his table where he starts introducing you to his friends.

“What a mess” Hannah whispers to Sarah while playing with her pearl necklace.

However, the real problem started when you got home, one that could not be ignored by just laughing about it.

Sarah and Hannah had talked to your parents about Eddie and you. And your dad did not like those news at all.

“You can’t see him anymore, this nonsense stops right now” he demands.

“But daddy, I love him!” you scream.

“Love? You can’t love someone like him. You’re acting crazy, come to your senses and don’t be a fool!”

“No, I’m not coming to my senses. Please, you don’t understand! Just try to get to know him at least!”

“For the love of God, he is crazy! Don’t you see it?” he exclaims

“But he’s the one I want” you cry.

“No! Go up to your room now, I don’t want to listen to this anymore” he didn’t let you say one more word as he slammed the door in your face.

-

“Baby, what’s wrong?” you hear Eddie’s concerned voice through the phone.

“Can you come over? Please” you don’t explain just yet, you just needed him here.

“Of course, I’ll be there in ten” he doesn’t even stop to think about it, immediately saying yes.

“Climb through my window, I’ll leave it open”

That night you only managed to sleep thanks to him, he was the one giving you the peace and calming that you needed. He was the one making your heart flutter.

And for that reason you decided you would not give up so easily. You could not just give up on this thrill he brought into your life, your wild boy and all of this wild joy.

This is why your judgmental ‘friends’—if you could even call them that—still had things to say about your relationship.

“We just want what’s best for you”

“I’m afraid it’s a little too late for that” you started, acting reluctantly, “I’m pregnant”

Every single one of them yelled a perfectly synchronized ‘WHAT?!’And you nodded.

“I’m having his baby” you admitted and they looked at you horrified and shocked, you couldn’t contain you laughter anymore. “No, I’m not, but you should see your faces!”

“We are not joking around! Could you take this seriously?”

“Girls, if all you want is boring and insignificant for me, then it’s just meaningless and it’s still my choice to make” you explained, starting to think that they’re not ‘trying to save you,’ they just hated you.

“But think about your reputation. What would people say about you?”

“I’ll tell you something, it’s still my name and mine alone”

“Please, just think about-“

“Oh my god! I swear, I’d rather die right now than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning! Really!” you interrupted them and without letting them say one more word, you finally left.

-

For the next month you had to sneak around to be able to see Eddie, since your dad had forbidden you to ever see him again. Obviously, that wasn’t even a choice. You were going to see him whether your dad likes it or not. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

So you get out of your house after lying to your parent telling them you were meeting one of the girls for a project. Your mom looked at you warily because she noticed the pretty dress and the make-up you were wearing, but she didn’t say anything about it. She wasn’t the judgemental person your dad was.

You walked two blocks away from your house and there was that Van you knew all too well by now, waiting for you.

You went to his trailer, you couldn’t really do any other plan for a date. You still couldn’t go out in public much if you wanted to keep seeing him.

“What movie should we watch?” you ask him.

“I didn’t rent any this week, I just have the old ones we already watched” he answers.

“Oh” you mumble as you go through the couple cassettes he has. But he’s right, you’ve already seen those a thousand times. He hears your sigh.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just didn’t think we would have to keep hiding here even after telling everyone about us” he explains.

“I know Eddie, but- I’m dead if my dad finds out I’m still seeing you” you insist but he doesn’t say anything back. He’s dozing off thinking about something.

“What if I just go talk to him?” he proposes after a few seconds.

“What?” you question him in disbelieve. He can’t mean that literally.

“No really, what if he meets me in person? I could talk to him, introduce me, do all that ‘what my intentions with your daughter are.’ Maybe he’ll come around”

“That won’t work with him Eddie, it’s just gonna be a really unconfutable moment between you two. Believe me, I know him” you explain.

“But what other choice do we have? Are we just gonna keep hiding until you move out?” he questions.

“I- I don’t know, but at least this way I can still sneak around and see you. If I keep insisting with this, he’s just gonna lock me in my bedroom forever” you started getting nervous. You were so stressed out that no one would believe or even listen to you when you want to explain how Eddie actually is to you.

“Okay, okay, don’t worry, I’m here, I’m always gonna be here” he calms you down by hugging you. Scandal does funny things to pride, but brings lovers closer.

When Sunday comes around, you were setting the table to eat with your family, your dad cooking the meat on the grill, your mom dressing the salad. You hear a knock on the front door, but you weren’t expecting anyone today.

“Honey, can you get that?” you mom asks you.

When you open the door, your eyes must be deceiving you, it has to be that. You’re just imagining him because you miss him and he’s just always on your mind.

“Hey” he softly greets you noticing the surprise on your face. And you confirm you’re not imagining anything.

“What are you doing here?!” you whisper-shout at him.

“Okay- I know you told me not to do this, but I really think it could work. Just give me a chance sweetheart, I mean… my charm worked with you after all, maybe it’ll work on them as well, who knows?” he winks playfully.

"Honey! Who is it?" your mom appears from behind you to see. Eddie presents himself politely, giving her flowers even.

"Oh, thank you Eddie, I didn't know you were coming over" she comments confused.

"I just wanted to introduce myself so you could actually get to know me, and not what... some other people say about me" he explains calmly. He acting so respectful that you're biting your tongue to not make fun of him.

"Of course dear, come in" and just like that, he has your mom absolutely delighted with him.

But as I said, your dad is the tough one.

Eddie goes outside to talk to him, he asks you to leave him go alone for a second and that he'll call you if he needs you.

You let him go by himself but still, you're standing at the door spying on them. You can't hear anything, but you see Eddie talking and your dad listening with a straight face. He's acting tough to intimidate him. But Eddie doesn't seem faced by it, he's just explaining something in the nicest way possible. If the hellfire guys were here to see him, they would never let him live this down.

"Honey, don't bite your nails" your mom tells you after a while.

"I'm just really nervous"

"I know, they've been talking for a while now" she agrees, "want me to go see how it goes?"

"Or should I go?" you start questioning but as if you had called them, your dad and Eddie walk in. You look at them expectantly.

"Can you help me outside?" your dad asks you and you nod quickly. You try to read Eddie's face but he seems relaxed, could it be?

After going outside he stands in front of you and takes a few seconds to choose his next words.

"I'm sorry"

"What?" you whisper. You can't believe what you just heard.

"I owe you an apology for not listening to you when you explained it" he starts, "and I owe him and apology for misjudging him"

"Really?"

"Yes dear, I hope you can forgive me and... I just want you to be happy, and I can finally tell that he is one who makes you happy" he admits and you go hug him before you even think of it. Somehow, now even your daddy just loves him.

Eddie stays for dinner that day and it's beautiful to see them all getting along. You separate from your old friends and find new ones who don't judge you and actually care about you and not what other's might think. Eddie and you stay together and finally have dates outside of his trailer or your room. You officially meet Wayne and he adores you, but Eddie's not surprised about that, he knew it wouldn't take much giving how adorable you are. People still have things to say about you two but you learned not to care about it.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson x popular!reader #taylor swift fic #taylor swift #the tortured poets department

[lucienarcheron]

Heading Straight to You [ Elucien ]

Inspired by @washmchineheart elucien post here. I went a little nuts in the tags again and needed to write it out. A little Bridgerton-inspired Elucien, if you will! I hope you all enjoy it :)

Genre: Angsty/Romance | Masterlist | AO3

shoutout to @zenkindoflove for letting me talk it out with you :)

Gods, Elain had never been so angry in her life.

He had sent her a letter.

A letter.

The nerve of it made Elain snarl under her breath as she stomped towards his humble abode in the Night Court, her anger increasing with each step she took; she was glad Feyre had the foresight not to ask questions when Elain had stormed out. 

Elain wasn’t foolish. Did she even have a right to be this angry? Probably not and yet she was simmering with rage.

She knew she hadn’t made things easy for him. Hadn’t really given him too much of a chance to get to know her. But she had been trying. 

Yes, she was still hesitant and careful and awkward around him. With everyone watching their every move, how could she not be! 

But for him to send her a letter? A letter! As if it would be so easy to answer such a question. As if he couldn’t even dignify her with a face-to-face conversation. 

Elain was in front of his home and pounding on his door faster than she expected. 

Lucien opened the door with a mildly confused expression until he saw that it was her standing before him and carefully arranged his features. 

Elain could only hold up the letter, fuming at his calm demeanor.

“I see you received my letter.” 

“How dare you.” she spat.

Lucien narrowed his eyes before silently stepping back and opening his door further, gesturing with his hand for her to come in. “A note with your answer would have sufficed.” he said blandly. “You didn’t have to come all this way to break the news to me.”

Elain didn’t move from his doorway. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Lucien lifted a brow at his mate, a muscle flexing in his jaw before he answered, “Why would it be a joke?” he asked. “Is there something about my letter that was unclear?”

“You sent me a letter.” she snapped. 

“Yes.” he said again in that bland tone that Elain wasn’t used to and did not appreciate. “Though I fail to understand why you seem so upset by it.”

“You’ve barely spoken to me in the last few weeks and instead of trying to have a conversation about this in person, you sent me a stupid letter asking me that?” 

Lucien watched her as she watched him, noting how his grip had tightened on the doorframe. “Why would I seek you out when the moment you know I’m in the city you hide away or make an excuse to avoid me?” he asked curtly. “I’ve been polite about it enough, I think.” 

He stood before her, dressed impeccably as always, his expression now stoic like he hadn’t sent her a devastating question to answer. It made her want to throttle him.

Elain scoffed then opened the letter, gripping it tightly as she read it aloud,

My lady,

As you may have noticed, the communication between us has continued to dwindle and at this point, I will not continue to delude myself into thinking you have any interest in seeing what could be between us. I have given you as much grace as I can extend, but I am reaching a limit that is impacting my own well-being. Please know that I understand we do not owe each other affection but I had thought we at least owed each other a conversation to see if we could be, at the bare minimum, friends. You don’t seem inclined to want that and as such, I am sending you this letter to ask you a question that will release us both from this limbo we’ve been left in.

Do you wish to sever the bond between us? If so, please let me know. A simple yes will be enough.

Regards, Lucien Vanserra 

“Regards!” she snapped. “This is not the kind of thing you ask someone via letter.”

“Again, you’ve never stayed in the same room long enough for me to ask for a conversation.”

Elain flushed. He was right, of course. She couldn’t really deny that this was one of the things she was stubborn about. 

And at first, she was overwhelmed. And sad. And trying to find herself again. Now…now? She wasn’t even sure. She was nervous. Embarrassed. Lost.

He worked his jaw as she glared at him then gestured again to his home. “Would you like to come inside and discuss this?” he asked. “I don’t think this is the kind of conversation we should be having where we could be overheard.”

Elain scoffed and moved past him, shoving the letter to his chest as she stomped into his living room and tried not to think about the brief contact she made with his chest. 

She wouldn't think about that at all when he was asking her to cut ties. 

“You care if people overhear us but are fine to send this in a letter.”

“And?” he asked, his tone sharper than it had ever been with her as he joined her in his living space. “I’m happy to give you an additional night if you’d like to think about it but given the way you’ve actively avoided me for years and barely speak in my presence, I would’ve thought you’d be jumping for joy at the chance to say yes.”

“Oh, and you know me so well to anticipate what kind of responses I would give you?” She asked, her tone veering on a sneer that she had never heard herself use.

“Considering you act as though I’m a parasite here to infect you, I made an educated guess based on the very loud thoughts you yell my way from the noose of a thread wrapped around our throats.”

Elain pursed her lips, the angry flush on her cheeks deepening. “So you admit it’s a burden and not a gift?”

“It is a gift but if you don’t wish to see it that way, I am not a male who forces his company on anyone and I am sick of waiting for you to grow a spine and request to cut the ties between us.” he snapped quietly. “You toy with me and my time. One day you grant me a moment of your company, the next you pretend I don’t exist. You may think I’m a statue with no emotions but I can assure you, my lady, I can only tolerate so much. This has gone on long enough.” Elain watched him with narrowed eyes as he adjusted his stance, his gaze burning a hole through her body. “So I’ll ask you again, do you wish to sever this bond between us?” 

Elain felt her body heat and if she could burst into flames she would. 

Yes, she’d been resistant. Yes, she’d avoided him. 

But gods, he really had no idea.

She had been human. She was going to be married and had a whole life planned out. She wouldn’t have these powers that she had no control over. She wouldn’t have these nightmares of being kidnapped in the middle of the night. Her brain wouldn’t have to keep reliving the horrors of the cauldron. She wouldn’t have to keep pretending she was fine.

It wasn’t even him that was the problem. It was everything else. It was her life being snatched from her. It was her choices being stripped away as a casualty for a war she had nothing to do with.

It was that he had been nothing but polite to her since they met despite her avoidance. 

It was that this bond made her hate herself for staying away from him because every fiber in her body only urged her to go to him instead.

“You think it is so easy to sever this bond?” she hissed, glaring at him. “I’m not a fool – I understand the consequences that would follow such an action. I won’t be responsible for what happens to you.”

“Don’t pretend you’re worried about me, my lady. If I am to lose my mind at the expense of you being free from the shackles that tie you to me, I will do it.” he snapped. “If only to stop feeling like a beggar for scrapes at your feet.”

“I never asked you to wait.” 

“Your problem is that you barely speak to me, much less ask for anything.”

“Well I never asked for this!”

“And I never asked for you.”

Elain recoiled like he’d slapped her and a pregnant silence filled the room. She could only stare at him and her chest suddenly ached. 

He’d never taken such a tone with her. Then again, she’d barely allowed him to converse with her. 

Elain worked her jaw, the thundering of her heart pounding in her ears and all her senses couldn’t help but focus only on Lucien. The scent of him. The way his gaze bore into her, his mechanical eye clicking as they faced each other. 

She could resist him all she wanted, but Elain had always known that whatever her fate was, it would always find her and Lucien Vanserra had been her fate since the Cauldron spat her out to start this new life.

They orbited around each other enough that Elain knew no matter what she said or did, she knew exactly who would haunt her thoughts the moment she lay in her bed. She could ignore him all she wanted but thoughts of her mate would consume her every moment. 

“For someone that doesn’t want me, you certainly don’t act like it.” she breathed and she had never seen the expression of disdain on his face aimed towards her as he scoffed. 

“For the record my attempts to connect with you is what trying looks like. It is you who does not want me.” he retorted. “I have done nothing but give you space as I expressed interest in getting to know you at your own pace time and time again. It is you who has never taken a moment to even see if whatever this is between us is worth exploring. And now I am sick of waiting.” He took a step towards her, anger radiating off every inch of him. “So answer me.”

“Do not demand things from me when it could –.”

“Answer the question and free me from this torment.” 

“Free you?” she bristled and took a step towards him. “You think it’s torment for you? You think I want you to feel this way? Do you think I want to feel this way?” 

“And what way is that, Elain?” he hissed and the sound of her name from his lips nearly made her shudder. 

“You think I want to be consumed by you? Sensing your every move?” she breathed. “You think I want to think about your arms holding me at one of the most traumatizing moments of my life? You think I want to think about how the sound of your heartbeat has been the only way I can allow myself to sleep? You think I want to think about how overwhelmed I become with your scent that if I don’t remove myself from the room immediately, I’ll do something reckless that I know I’ll regret?”

“Oh? And what reckless action is that?” he sneered. “If it’s a stab to my throat, you’d only be putting me out of my misery.” 

“Do not pretend that severing this bond will change anything about the way your presence clouds my judgment and jumbles my every thought.” she snapped. “Do you think there is a single corner of this land you could go to that wouldn’t feel like you’re taking my very breath with you? Do you think distance would free me from the torment that being around you is?” Elain closed the distance between them and jabbed her finger into his chest. “You – you – you are the curse of my fae existence and despite all my resistance – you – you –” She took a shaky breath as she stared at him, the confession she’d been so desperate to keep secret slipping from her lips, “Are the object of all my deepest longings.” 

Her lips trembled as she watched his hands slacked at his sides, his expression falling into surprise but Elain couldn’t bring herself to say anything else. 

How could she make him understand? 

Love was something Elain had always craved. The courtship. The romance. The yearning.

If the circumstances had been different – if she had met Lucien before Graysen – the idea of a soulmate was exactly what she wanted. Feyre had explained it to her so well and mates was something a hopeless romantic like her would’ve waited for. Would’ve craved. Someone who was her equal. Someone who saw her and loved her, flaws and all.

Instead, Elain had been a human girl who had fallen in love with a human man who threw her to the side the moment she no longer fit the mold he needed her to. She held on to their short-lived romance, to that engagement as a way to keep the last shred of her humanity in any way that she could. She could hide her ears and fight against her visions. She could resist this bond as long as she could. 

But her fingers were bloodied and bruised from how hard she was holding on to something that wasn’t meant for her. She had been trying to shove the door closed on Lucien for years and the door refused to shut. Whenever Elain tried to approach him and see if there was something there, it scared her. It terrified her to feel the way the thread at her ribcage tugged her towards him. To know that everything she’d had before was a waste. 

And now she had confessed just how much he affected her and her cheeks flushed at the shell-shocked silence between them. She had stunned him into silence and had just opened her mouth to spew more at him when a feral look overtook his face and Lucien leaned closer to her as if he couldn’t resist being in her space.

“You think you don't haunt my every waking moment?” he growled and Elain’s brows narrowed, her expression hardening at his tone. “Do you think I have known peace since I've met you? If I am the curse of your existence, you are the catalyst that blew up my life and yet— I can do nothing but yearn for you.” Elain felt her chest rise and fall rapidly as he seemed to breathe her in, barely any space between them. She watched as he worked his jaw, glancing down at her lips then meeting her gaze again before saying, “If I am the object of your longings, know that you have infiltrated my every breath – my every thought and I have never been so thoroughly intoxicated by anyone the way I have been by you. And I can do nothing but let myself drown by it.”

A heart beat of silence passed. Then another.

And Elain felt hot and cold at the same time as a heated silence enveloped them and she couldn’t help but stare at him, taking in his features so up close, even as anger stood between them. She licked her lips as she stared at him and watched as his eyes flashed, the flush spreading to her neck. 

Was there a point to her resistance then? He clearly had no qualms the way she did but –

But Elain was sick of thinking and overthinking. She was sick of it all.

How dare he ask her that question then proceed to confess such feelings to her? 

Lucien’s lip curled, despite the stain of red on his cheeks. “Is there something else you’d like to spew –”

“Shut up.” she snapped and before she could stop herself, Elain yanked him by his tunic and pulled him down to press her lips to his. 

The very air between them came to a halt and it was like the world had tilted on its axis. 

Their kiss was an eruption of fireworks – a dam that was now flooding and the very blood in her veins was singing. Lucien seemed to hesitate for a breath then his hands immediately wrapped around Elain’s waist and she allowed an arm to slide around his neck, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened. 

And it came to her with alarming clarity exactly how foolish she had been the last few years.

She had been holding on to the idea of what Graysen had given her when kissing him was nothing compared to Lucien’s lips on her now. 

He was the light – he was the sun and Elain felt her body glow as she sank quickly into his flames as every inch of her craved more, more, more. 

His kisses were just as hungry as hers, soft noises slipping from her before she could stop them and her embarrassment was only soothed by Lucien’s matching groans. Before either of them could stop, Lucien had Elain pressed against him as he lifted her and turned swiftly to seat her on his dining table and she let him. She let him stand between her legs, her dress riding up as he leaned even closer, every inch of their bodies touching as his mouth caressed her lips in kisses, nipping, and biting in a way that told her he wanted to imprint his lips on hers and gods, did Elain want him to.

Elain was nearly clawing at his back with how tightly she was gripping him as he stole her breath away and she wondered if she had ever actually experienced passion before this moment. 

“Stop – thinking –” he demanded between kisses, his hand sliding to the back of her neck and squeezing gently.

“I’m not –” 

“Don’t you –” 

“Lucien –” 

His lips mapped out a path from her jaw down her neck with a swiftness that made Elain’s breath stutter and she wanted more – more that he provided her with when his lips found hers again in a searing kiss that had her seeing stars.

She felt that tug of fate between them. She felt that magic. 

Elain’s hands traced his muscled back, tugging on strands of his hair as he stole more and more kisses. She didn’t know what to do with herself but let him – she let him take what she’d been so reluctant to give and Elain – gods, she felt and wanted and needed – 

A crash startled them both to a halt and they turned as one to find the source of the noise – a vase lay shattered on the floor. 

Elain blinked at the sight of the familiar flowers that had scattered. Those were from her garden.

And it was like a bucket of cold water had poured over her when she glanced back at Lucien, both of them breathing hard. 

She could only watch him and think about the feeling of his lips on hers, the way his tongue had tasted hers, and the way his hand was touching her skin.

She could only think about her flowers in his home and her expression shuddered as her heart began thumping so loudly. She had been so angry with him and yet she’d been the one to grab him and – embarrassment suddenly coursed through her and she fought to keep her expression from falling.

As always, he seemed to sense the change in her emotions and his expression shifted as he slowly released her and carefully assisted her to slide off the table without looking at her. Her pulse fluttered nervously as she watched him back away a step, taking a deep breath and Elain quickly straightened herself, running a hand through her hair. She licked her lips, feeling the ghost of him. 

“Well.” 

Lucien stole a glance at her and she watched as he shook his head and turned away from her, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’m sorry.” he said tightly and Elain’s brows furrowed.

“For what?” 

Without looking at her, he gestured around helplessly. “You may have initiated it but I allowed it and it’s in exact contradiction to the question I wanted an answer for.” he muttered. “I am a gentleman but I fear that whatever shred of sanity I am holding on to is hanging by a thread around you.” 

Elain bit the inside of her cheek, observing the way he was holding himself. She was sure he felt the way their bond was taut at their proximity, in the aftermath of their kiss.

A kiss she would surely be thinking about more later.

“I’d think what just happened would answer your question.” she finally allowed herself to say and Lucien half turned towards her.

“You say that but how do I know you won’t go back to avoiding me?” he asked. “How do I know it meant anything more than a moment of curiosity for you?” Lucien turned away from her again, tension lining his back. “Anger brought you here. Anger I’m not sure I even understand. I only ask that you don’t toy with me. Please.”

The embarrassment that had washed over her earlier was nothing compared to how she felt now. How it felt to feel his own embarrassment and discomfort sit in the air between them. 

Had she really been that cruel? Had she been so self-absorbed that she hadn’t taken that much time to consider what all of this had done to him?

She frowned. Elain wouldn’t deny it had crossed her mind but Lucien had always done a decent job of keeping his emotions in check around her that she didn’t…feel the need to dig deeper. She was stuck in her head, worrying about herself enough that she didn’t try to venture outside of her own struggles. 

She’d been too busy pretending she was okay. 

Shame coiled in her chest and she felt her shoulders droop. 

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad about yourself.” Lucien said quietly, his back still to her. “I just…can’t keep doing this. This limbo will drive me more crazy than severing a bond ever could. Especially now…now that I know what you taste like.”

Elain’s hands tightened in the folds of her dress and she suddenly felt the urge to cry. Gods, she really had been thoughtless in coming here. She had been angry that he wanted to sever a tie that she herself hadn’t tried to explore further. Out of fear. Out of cowardness. Out of sheer stubbornness. 

Did she just assume he’d lie in wait for her? Who was she to drag someone along in such a way? She hadn’t asked for this but neither had he and Lucien had been more patient with her than most would be. 

He knew how she felt. He could probably sense more about her mental state than anyone else could and maybe that was what terrified her so much. 

But it certainly didn’t excuse her choices.

A heart beat of silence passed then Elain swallowed and finally whispered, “You’re right.” She took a breath then added, “I’m sorry.” 

Lucien seemed to stiffen and she watched as he clenched his hands at his sides then unclenched them. “Is that your answer then?” he asked quietly.

Her heart dropped. “No!”

Lucien turned around to face her with furrowed brows. “Then what are we doing, Elain?”

She licked her lips again and curled a strand of hair behind her ear. “I – I don’t know.” she answered and knew she couldn’t be anything but honest with him as he watched her, his gaze burning through her.

“Then tell me why you came here. Tell me why my letter made you angry.”

She pursed her lips and her throat bobbed. Again, she forced herself to be honest. 

“Despite your belief that I only avoid you – which I did for a while, I don’t deny that –” Elain began slowly. “I had been slowly working my way up to reaching out to you for a few weeks. I was – am hesitant about it because of the time that has passed between us.” She glanced at him and her cheeks flushed further at his gaze. “Your letter came and caught me by surprise.” 

“Did you think I would wait around forever?” he asked softly and though his tone wasn’t accusatory, Elain felt the shame sit heavily on her chest. 

Her fingers tightened again in the folds of her dress. “No.” she answered. “You have no obligation to do so.”

“No, I don’t.” he answered carefully and Elain tried not to let herself deflate at the turn the conversation had taken. 

“I – I understand.” 

“Do you?” he said with a strained laugh. “Because I don’t.” 

She bit her lips and flushed deeply when he squeezed his eyes shut and took a breath. “Now you understand how I feel.” she whispered. “How my brain behaves when it comes to you. I am lost and confused and embarrassed and I – I –” Elain looked away from him, her hand on her throat as she fought the onslaught of emotions.  “I am overwhelmed.”

“Why?” Lucien asked gently. 

“Because you’re supposed to be my soulmate but to me, love is a choice and I didn’t choose this.” she confessed and Lucien blinked then blinked again. 

“I understand why it doesn’t feel like a choice.” he began then tilted his head observing her. “But what we do with the mating bond is a choice. We choose to accept it. We choose to adjust it. We choose to – to sever it. We can choose to make it whatever we want.”

It was Elain’s turn to blink as Lucien continued with a small, albeit sad smile. “It only requires a conversation.”

Elain suddenly felt the urge to vomit right all over his lush carpet. “Fate doesn’t feel like a choice.” she whispered and the beating of her heart seemed to increase as his gaze softened on her. 

“I’ve always found that fate is what you make of it and that is always the right choice.” he replied.

A sense of unexpected relief seemed to wash over her at the understanding that now sat between them. She hadn’t known what to expect when she made her way over to him. Her irrational anger had fueled her steps and now…now Elain felt relieved. Calmer, albeit still a tad embarrassed.

But she had needed this. They had needed this. 

They observed each other in the silence and Elain let herself see him for who he was. She let herself take in his handsome face and broad shoulders – she allowed herself to catalog every inch of him. She should’ve done it sooner.

“So…” she began softly. “Where do we go from here?” 

The corner of Lucien’s mouth lifted slightly. “That depends. I still need a clear answer to my letter.”

Roses bloomed on her cheeks as she said, “Is it still not obvious at this point?”

“A simple yes or no will do, Elain.”

Elain’s eyes narrowed slightly at Lucien and though his tone was teasing, his gaze was not. 

So she cleared her throat before primly answering, “My answer to your letter is no. I do not wish to do that.”

A pleasant tension filled the space between them as they stood a few feet apart as though they hadn’t been drawn to each other from the moment they’d met those years ago. As though they hadn’t just had their hands all over each other. As though their lips hadn’t only just tasted each other and were already tingling, craving more. 

“And…does that mean you wish to spend time actually getting to know each other?” he asked carefully.

Elain’s throat bobbed. Maybe it was time they finally explored what the Mother had given them. Maybe it was time she stopped being so stupidly afraid.

“Yes.” 

Lucien slowly nodded. “Good.” 

“Great.”

“Then you owe me a date.” 

Elain blinked rapidly. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” Lucien said and at her expression, his lips twitched – and it was like all the anger and discomfort that had been between them earlier had simply washed away. “You owe me a date.”

“I do believe I am a lady and ladies are meant to be courted.” she said with amusement. “Unless fae customs are different and I somehow missed the memo.”

“Oh no, my lady – that is the typical structure.” he said and the smile he gave her was the most fae-like expression she’d ever seen. “However, you missed the memo where I have attempted to court you in the past and you shut me down at every turn.”

Elain made a noise of protest but Lucien held up a hand. “Please Elain, I need you to keep it together. There is no need to rush with a proposal at this time.” 

Her expression flattened but her mate only smirked at her. “Feyre did warn me that you have an obnoxious streak but I didn’t think I’d see it so quickly.”

Lucien snorted. “Bold of your sister to say that considering who her mate is.” he said and Elain’s lips couldn’t help but twitch. “Regardless, I do expect you to woo me properly.”

“Do you, now?” she asked with a raised brow and Lucien’s response was a small smirk.

“But of course. I look forward to seeing what you can come up with.” 

Elain could only shake her head in disbelief and they stood in that comfortable silence for a moment before Lucien gestured with a hand to the living room.

“Would you like to stay for a drink?” he asked quietly and though Elain did wish to stay, she knew she needed to process what had just happened between them.

So she shook her head with a small smile. “Don’t you know? I apparently have a date to plan.”

And as she sat at her desk later that evening, she thought about how she had left his home feeling lighter than she had in a long while. She thought about the smile he had given her as they said goodbye. She thought about how he had walked her to his door and felt his eyes on her the entire way home. 

It only seemed right that what started with a letter should continue with one and so, Elain sent him one of her own that same night. 

My lord,

I would like to know if you would humble me with your presence and accept my invitation to dinner this Thursday at 6pm at Servanda’s Resturant. Your charm and chivalry have caught my attention and it would be an honor to spend the evening with you. 

Please let me know your response at your earliest convenience. 

Yours truly, Elain Archeron

His response came an hour later and Elain nearly walked over to his home to truly throttle him.

My lady,

Thank you for noticing my charm. I have no doubt that you are already enamored by me.

As for your request, I will think about my availability. Please note my preferences for sunflowers to roses and plan accordingly. 

Yours truly,Lucien Vanserra

Elain scoffed at his audacity then chuckled softly; it wasn’t like she didn’t deserve his teasing. 

Noticing a small arrow on the bottom of the letter, she quickly turned it over to find an additional message and for the first time in a long time, excitement bloomed in her chest.

PS. I’d be delighted. Thursday night it is.

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien fanfics #pro elucien #gfics #fic: heading straight to you #I was listening to Adele's Sweetest Devotion and well :) #happy monday :)

[tac-owo-sensei]

G/T Comfort Cause I Need Some

I could feel the tears building up in the back of my eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. My breathing was slowly growing more and more erratic. I didn’t understand- why was I suddenly being hit with so many strong emotions? So many things plaguing me now that hadn’t been nearly as bothersome as before. I hugged my knees closer to my chest, squeezing my eyes shut.

So many things going on at once- bad memories leading to more memories, until it spiraled to a point where I was no longer focused on reality.

I didn’t register the tears finally spilling out, nor the thunderous footsteps slowing drawing nearer, at least not until I felt something warm and squishy slide under me.

It was a hand, the hand of my best friend.

I looked up, attempting to wipe away my tears so I wouldn’t look more pathetic then I already did, but they refused to relent.

“Hey…” he whispered, gently rubbing my back with his thumb. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but you’re okay, you’re going to be okay. I turned around and squeezed his thumb into a hug, resting my cheek into the padded finger. I sobbed- finally letting the river flow. He made hushing sounds before gently pressing me against his chest. By now, my back was resting against his palm, my front against his soft shirt. I was completely enveloped by him. I squeezed the fabric of his shirt tightly in both hands, attempting to get as close to him as I could. Eventually, I curled into myself, my eyes beginning to droop as the tears began to slow down. “Are you better now?” He asked. It wasn’t until now that I realized he began pacing around the room, somehow managing to jostle me just enough so that it was comforting rather than terrifying. God- it’s so strange to think that I used to fear this glorified-human(?) teddy bear.

I attempted to nod in response, but it must’ve felt more like I was nuzzling into him. So, I let out a quiet, muffled ‘yes.’ I felt him lightly tracing over my hair with his index finger.

“Would you like me to put you down?” He asked, sitting down on what I assumed to be his couch.

“…Can we stay like this for a bit? Please?” My voice came out soft- shakier than expected. I hated this feeling, feeling so pathetic and needy. It disgusted me, but right now, I wanted to do nothing more then to leave myself completely surround by his warmth. Thankfully, he complied, enjoying one another’s company for a good while, with eventually me drifting off to sleep.

I just really needed this right now and I hope this helps whoever else needs it. Ah, to be comforted by a giant. Unfortunately, a scenario that will only happen in my wildest dreams.

#g/t #g/t scenario #giant tiny #gentle giant #g/t writing #g/t community #g/t comfort #giant/tiny #size difference #sfw g/t

[bullet-prooflove]

Send me a made-up fic title and I'll tell you what I would write to go with it

You Did All Of This...For Me? But Why? Why Would You Do That?

Tagging: @kmc1989 @topmagtiger @ireadfanfictionontheweekends @flopiboni @evee87

Nolan doesn’t celebrate his birthday, he hasn’t for a couple of years now. People think it’s because he hates the idea of getting older but the truth is there’s never been anyone special in his life to share it with. His relationships have always been casual and his friends are the type you talk law review with, they’re more likely to stab you in the back so they can hijack your case than raise a glass to your success.

When he walks into his office that morning, he doesn’t expect the balloons tied to his chair, the birthday banner strung up across his book shelves or the brightly coloured confetti sprinkled across his desk. There’s gift bag perched in the centre of his desk alongside a cake with his name written neatly on it.

He finds himself smiling despite himself because he knows exactly who the culprit is.  He’d let slip by accident that he had a birthday coming up and you’d been appalled that he was going to spend the day like any other. You’d coerced him into dinner that evening, somewhere expensive on you. He’d tried to protest but you weren’t having any of it.

He spends the rest of the day with a lightness in his chest because all of this, it’s evidence that someone cares about him, that someone wants to put their time and their effort into him.

“Why? Why would you do all that?” He asks you over the best pasta in New York that night. “I don’t understand why you would go to all that trouble.”

“Yea you do.” You say, your eyes locked on his as you take a sip from your wine glass. He shakes his head and you sigh as you set the glass back down again. Your hand comes to rest on his, thumb chasing over the hollow of his wrist as you lean in close and say.

“I’m in love with you Nolan, I thought you would have worked that out by now.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#hugh dancy #nolan price #nolan price x reader #law and order

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/749218521745145857/while-i-love-some-queergay-whatever

“Kissing on the forehead isn’t necessarily romantic” makes sense if we are talking about a work of media that is made in a time/place where that was a common thing between same gender platonic friends.

But are you, anon? Or are you talking about like, a piece of Western mass media from the past 50 years? Or are you talking about anime — because if anything, kissing is even more loaded in Japan than it is in the West, especially if there are other people around. (Lots of people in anime fandom love to use “but Japanese culture” arguments to no homo, but are banking on no one reading them actually knowing jack shit about Japanese culture — because it’s almost never true or based on any real Japanese cultural difference, there’s just making shit up. It assumes people will take for granted anything that frames Japan as “foreign and inscrutable and impossible for Westerners to understand” which is just Orientalism tbqh)

Just saying, because I almost never see this shit said about like, a novel from 1820 or something from a culture like, say, some Middle Eastern countries where men kissing other men platonically is a thing…. and almost always see it said about current media from a culture where kissing on the forehead would be seen as something you’d likely not do to a platonic friend of the same gender.

You can’t “impose your cultural norms” on something from the same culture as you lol, or something from another culture that has the same norm! And an (for example) American assuming that modern American media plays by the rules of modern American culture and seeing it through that lens, doesn’t necessarily mean that American is unaware that different norms exist in different cultures. But like… it just makes sense to analyze a current American show for American audiences set in America in the modern day through the cultural standards of 2020s America and not, say, Bangladesh or Namibia or 1850s America.

And on another note, if you were as much of a fan of “queer readings” as you claim to be, you’d know that they often have little to do with authorial intent. In fact, it’s often specifically about reclaiming media that didn’t have you in mind as the audience.

(Seriously, I really doubt you have read many of those queer readings, bc if this bothers you so much, the stuff queer studies academics and cultural critics see as “gay subtext” in old Hollywood movies — hell, the stuff that gay, bi and sympathetic-straight directors and actors and writers often very much INTENDED as gay subtext in those movies — would make your brain explode.)

Anyway, we’ve all been in fandoms where there’s a ship some people insist has a ton of subtext but it’s just two guys sharing a scene occasionally and they just WANT to believe it’s there when it isn’t, and it can be annoying sure if there are so many people insisting this that it’s inescapable and becoming fanon that affects the fic about the ships you like, or if they’re pushy and sanctimonious about it. (My current fandom has a group of people who insist the only reason other people don’t see all the “subtext” for their random rarepair is racism or something, and then ignore how much textual stuff they have to deliberately leave out or misinterpret for their reading to “work” lol. Like scenes where their starry eyed expression is directed at a different character and that’s obvious in the actual episode but not in their selectively edited gif set or meta post.) But that is not the same as doing that with KISSING ON THE FOREHEAD ffs. And also, let’s not pretend that slash (or femslash) shippers are the worst offenders, like het shippers — and the broader culture — doesn’t constantly treat “a man and a woman interact” as meaning “they could/should be a couple,”

If you’re not bothered by that, but you’re bothered by when people do it with two men or two women… yeah you gotta ask yourself why that is. I have an idea why, and it’s not bc of your greater cultural open mindedness lol

--

[cryptidfuckery]

Hey so you don’t have to reply to this but I’ve been having a career crisis lately and considering other vocational paths. One of these careers just so happens to be hair. I was wondering if you could tell me what made you want to become a hairdresser?

Ohhh this might get long but

First things first my mom is a hairdresser. Me becoming one wasn't a case of "I'm going to take over my mom's business" because she's been a sole proprietor booth renter for probably over 30 years now. She doesn't run a salon with other people under her, it's just her and her clients. If I worked under her I would have just been taking money our of her pocket.

But my mom being a hairdresser definitely influenced me! Getting to watch her work and own her own business my whole life helped me understand exactly what to expect out of the industry, and what I would have to do to be successful.

But me actually deciding to become a hairdresser started with me being absolutely miserable in my third semester of college. I loved studying sociology, but school and I don't mix well. I also realized that while I loved what I was studying, I didn't have any real interest in the professions usually associated with what I was majoring in. (Didn't want to do any kind of counseling, hate math so no stats work, research was the most enticing but too close to how school works and I Know would have been Miserable ultimately)

So one day being absolutely miserable and stressed around finals I sat myself down and forced myself to think about what the next 5-10 years would look like. I realized that if I stayed in college it would be to finish, find a job in my degree, then eventually when I have the time and money again I'd go to cosmetology school. (At the time I thought I was going to be a makeup artist. Holy shit fuck that noise. Not for me.)

And it just kind of clicked for me. Why am I spending all this money on a degree i (while I loved) did not really want? Especially when I could finish cosmetology school in under a year with less money than 2 semesters of college would be? Especially since you can start making money directly out of cosmetology school and continuously build after that as you gain more clients.

My final advice is this. There is a hairdresser for everyone and there are clients for every hairdresser. Genuinely the best thing you can do is be yourself and the right people will find you. And then they'll give your their friends, who like you too because you're their kind of people. And you get to choose absolutely what the fuck ever you want to specialize in. You can do exclusively color. Exclusively cuts. You can choose what style of cutting and coloring you want to learn from and you can completely switch that in the middle of your career. You can exclusively do texture treatments (perms, keratins, etc) if you're okay with so many chemicals in your body and bad smells! You can specialize in rat haircuts, which I honestly might try to do. (I have not done one yet. Someone let me do a rat haircut on them. Please. Rat haircut.) You can do everything! Also don't forget barbering!! Whole different school with different subsets and specializations, but many many cosmetologists cross over into both as well! I plan on eventually also acquiring a barbering license so I can truly be a one stop trans chop shop (mainly so I can offer my trans girlies clean shaves between electrolysis/Lazer appointments (iirc one can and cannot. I cannot be fucked to check rn)

So. Yeah. I think trades are absolutely the way to go right now in this economy. We provide services that everybody wants or needs, from hair to plumbing to carpentry to welding to auto mechanics to nail techs. There will always be a broken toilet, an oil change, a haircut needed.

Watch out for pandemics though. Woof.

[steveharrington]

can you elaborate on how fanon nancy is different from canon nancy?

yes <3 when i made that post i was mostly referring to how often i see people seeming to write nancy as like the voice of reason within the group or even the one who provides comfort and stability to others and i just personally don’t think that fits her at all. i think that dilutes what makes nancy so interesting, honestly!! 1. she is not very reasonable and 2. she has trouble expressing herself in a way that other people understand.

1. nancy’s defining character trait imo is her passion. in seasons 1 and 2 she literally v physically cannot accept just allowing barb’s death to be uninvestigated and subsequently covered up, even when steve tries to reason that going along with the cover up is the safest option that ensures no one gets hurt. nancy still can’t allow that to happen and moves forward with her plan to bring barb’s death to light despite it being dangerous and potentially hopeless because she’s acting on her instincts and her love for barb, not on the safest option. in season 3, again, jonathan tries to reason with her and persuade her not to investigate the rats any further for fear of losing their jobs, but in nancy’s mind it’s worth the risk. now im not saying nancy is dumb, because shes canonically extremely smart and even when she does take risks, they’re calculated and planned. but it kinda grinds my gears when people depict her as this levelheaded by-the-books kind of person when she has demonstrated multiple times that she will simply do whatever the fuck she wants, if she feels it’s justified

2. this one moreso, i feel like nancy has fallen victim to that trend of having characters talk like they’re 10 years into therapy. i see this a lot in ship-related content for her, whether it’s jancy or ronance or stoncy, etc. people will often have her make these declarations of love very outright and talk through whatever issues she’s having with someone, which is so….. she doesn’t do that 😭 she historically struggles to bridge the gap between someone else’s position and her own, and it clearly frustrates her. case in point, she isn’t honest with steve until she’s drunk! then afterwards she still struggles to communicate, to the point that in the alleyway scene steve just fully walks away after she fails to respond at all to his questions. with jonathan she’s the same way—their big car argument is clearly frustrating to her and ends with her simply saying “you don’t know what it’s like” after jonathan gives a multi-point argument explaining his point of view. even at the very end of s4, the most recent scene we have of her, there’s so much that isn’t being said between her and jonathan. they’re not being forthcoming with each other. even with robin, she can’t express why robin’s presence is clearly bothering her in s4, even after robin openly gives her the chance to be honest and says “please tell me if im coming off badly”. there’s an enduring lack of communication in nancy’s relationships, and that makes total sense because she doesn’t have a good example of a healthy relationship in her own home. her parents just leave the dinner table when they’re upset with each other. so it blows my mind seeing depictions of her where she’s like “guys our feelings are all valid <3” like she would nottttt say that omg. she may Think it, and Want to express it, but i think it’s a disservice to what makes nancy interesting to just skip 5 years in her emotional development and suddenly have her acting as this mother-figure of the group who addresses everyone’s feelings concisely and plays it safe.

i think it’s a liiiittle bit stemming from misogyny. the “mom friend” trope is kinda pushed on her automatically, even amidst mom steve jokes, because she’s a girl in the group so she MUST attend to everyone’s feelings and make sure all the kids have snacks or whatever. it just does not reflect the more interesting and unique character we see on screen

#answered #anon

[campbyler]

hey!!!! i am so excited for the new chapter drop, and i just wanted to offer some insight into why people might have gotten frustrated last time with the delays even tho you owe us nothing lol. i think it was about information rather than the fic itself… so maybe instead of pushing the drop day back by one day (repeatedly if need be), a whole week, or two week, pushback at a time could frustrate people less... then if it's ready sooner than that, it'll be a lovely surprise for everyone who wasn't expecting it for another week or two!! plus you guys would be giving yourself like an extra week to chill and finish it instead of the pressure of just 24hrs, (which is nothing what with real life etc) and you could even have a few days off before dropping it if you DID finish it early, cos no one would be any the wiser!

just an idea, that's what i'd do i think and that's how deadline pushbacks often work at my college so i thought i'd share :) hope that's not presumptuous :) you might already be doing this who knows :)

hello hello we are super excited for it as well!! re: your insight — we totally get why people are annoyed by delays, because it definitely is frustrating to look forward to something and constantly have it delayed, especially a little bit at a time and multiple times in a row, so trust me when i say that we fully understand that and wouldn’t be pushing it back by these increments if we didn’t think it would fully be done by a certain time. the 1 or 2 day delays for ch9.2 in particular were 1. made when there were only about one day’s worth of edits left to be made on 9.2, so it was a very reasonable guess to us, and 2. extremely circumstantial and unexpected. thea was very very close to being done but stuff kept coming up, like her being too physically tired after working her shift (her schedule is all over the place usually) to keep editing which she didn’t think she would be, or getting delayed at work for hours, or the one time we got that one anon about ch9.2, thea had been actually and literally swarmed by thousands of people at her job and simply was not in the mood to hear someone complaining about a chapter being delayed by another day or two. there also is something to be said about how we’ve seen people complain or get annoyed when it’s pushed back by a longer period of time in advance, which we have also done, so it leaves us kind of trapped between a rock and a hard place — do we overestimate and have people complain, or do we try to give them shorter term update goals and still have them complain?

we fully get why it’s frustrating and aren’t pushing it back little by little in order to be difficult, but either way, we just don’t think people should be in our inbox vocalizing those frustrations to us. they can even complain in dms to their friends about it, we don’t care! we appreciate the sentiment and the insight and we do try to give reasonable estimates for delays as much as we can, but honestly we just don’t really want to hear if people are annoyed 🤷🏽‍♀️ it’s not helpful or productive to us in any way and we would just prefer it stay out of our inbox and out of our sight overall

#we appreciate the input and you saying it so kindly and trust me we get why it’s frustrating and we never intend for it to be #but at the same time it’s just a fic and you all are reading and enjoying it while we are also trying to balance writing it with Life so #we frankly deserve a lot of grace i think even if people are annoyed #😗 #asks

[mitsubachiaria]

My friend made me make this

#hnk spoilers #houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #lotl spoilers #lotl #hnk #game changer #sam reich #I don’t understand any of this but my friend wanted this to be made and who am I to object #I’ve never even read or watched hnk and I’ve only seen a couple of episodes of game changer

[autistic-katara]

there r fics that make u insane (so amazingly good it’s removed ur sanity) and then there’s fics that make u insane (you need to fistfight the author for how they did a specific thing that caused u to rant for hours)

#i know i just posted that other thing but ffs that is NOT how u handle someone in that situation everyone involved made everything 10x worse #yet it’s being treated like the right thing to do (which again ofc they’re cops they don’t understand harm reduction but still) like #seriously everything’s so forceful like u seriously think forcing ur friend to talk to u or forcing a patient to talk to a therapist under #the threat of being admitted to a psychiatric hospital is gonna make her feel comfortable talking to u? or anyone? she’s just gonna trust u #less and get better at hiding it and speaking of which the taking away all sharp objects thing makes sense in theory but like think abt it #for a minute she confirmed she isn’t suicidal and this is her only way of coping so do not just forcibly take away all her coping mechanism #like yes she is hurting herself but it’s a COPING MECHANISM. she’s coping with something. help her with that don’t just take away her penci #sharpers or whatever (which btw since she’s an adult she could easily buy more stuff and yk learn to hide it better) which again has to be #voluntary it isn’t gonna work if u force someone to do smthn they don’t want to like as ur friend u could’ve made it clear u care abt her #and wouldn’t judge her for anything and r here if she wants to talk don’t just say “you have to talk to me” and casually threaten #hospitalisation when she isn’t ready in the moment like seriously if this wasn’t a badly written fanfic she would completely stop trusting #bcz given that this wasn’t even done out of panic i would like ffs u are NOT doing any of this right #oops sorry ranted abt the bad fic in my tags- #it’s not where the author’ll see it and know it’s about them i don’t feel bad abt it #this was my first time even looking at stuff for this fandom so #cw self harm in tags #idk if i need to tag anything else for that 😭 #fanfic #ao3 #ryan shut the fuck up

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Spoke to someone I don’t know over the phone, 11 dead, 32 injured

#I’m all flowery on here but in real life conversation I am the driest most uncomfortably pragmatic person alive #I’ve been scolded for being so task-focused that I forgot to say hello to the secretaries in high school when I went to do a task #or for having an “attitude” with my parents (often when I was purposefully trying to appear humble with an “idk” voice) #so I’ve amended that by fake laughing at everything and keeping my customer service voice on All The Time #0/10 it works flawlessly but I’ve also made myself into a socially anxious doormat #I’ve been the one to break it to people that their friend died on more than one occasion and I always feel bad about how I do it #I usually just blurt it out because I don’t know how to lead up to it other than saying “maybe you should sit down for this” #it would be wrong if I knew and didn’t tell them #so it has to be me… you know? #I’m so disconnected from any feelings of grief (I’ve never felt bereavement in my life) that it feels wrong for it to be me #because I’m physically incapable of sharing in their pain and emotions; I literally don’t understand it #but sometimes I’ll cry reflexively if I see someone else crying even if I don’t have any actual feelings for them or their situation #I’m more disturbed by knowing of people who are alive going through pain than I am by knowing someone died #because death is natural; suffering isn’t #unless the person is a child or otherwise very young #but if they’re old and lived a fulfilling life I recognize they’ve had a fulfilling life and hope that my life #is as fulfilling as theirs was when I go #I’m not afraid of death; I’d just like to not go before I’m good and ready #When I go away I hope that I WANT to go away; you know?

[padfootastic]

Can you be awesome and give me some well thought out prongsfoot headcanons? (If you have the time), I want to write a story with then and I need more on their dynamic, than just the basics.

(Friendship and Romantic! 😁)

omg hi yes!! i’ve never gotten an ask like this, i don’t think, and my hcs usually develop during stories so let’s see if i can do it :p

x

- soulmates in every universe, if not romantic then definitely platonic. they’ll find their way to each other, always.

- james has a crooked nose that sirius loves kissing. he’s very possessive about it, actually

- j might be generally a bit thick bc of the whole spoiled-only-child thing but he’s particularly attuned to sirius’ moods and emotions. i can imagine him writing long ass letters to his parents in the first few years whenever something tripped him up (which was, ykno, everything considering how sheltered he was) to so for help and sirius featured a lot in this (mum, how do i help with nightmares? mum, he doesn’t like treacle tart what do i doooooo, mum he wasn’t allowed to fly as a kid this is a travesty, mum he’s sad a lot and chai doesn’t always help, mum i don’t know how to make him smile etc etc)

- this one’s controversial, i think, but i love thinking of sirius as modelling james’ behaviour. we know he grew up being fed violent hatred + a superiority complex the size of Everest yeah? fully believe his process of unlearning started with james (the first time he used the word mudblood, our boy probably clutched his pearls, scandalised, ‘what are you doing u can’t say that!!’ so sirius started turning to j as a barometer for how to act, sometimes, bc he realised he couldn’t trust his family (and by extension, his own) behaviour. this isn’t instant, mind, but a gradual, time & labor intensive process and even after he grew out of it, i think sirius had this subconscious tendency to look for james’ approval.

- i hate the whole ‘james matured for a girl’ arc so my take on it is that his ‘growth’ came from a combination of ailing, elderly parents + rising war tensions + most importantly, sirius. end of 5th year he got a first hand view into the treatment his best mate received by his family and that horror made him want to be the best he could for sirius. i’ve always seen james as a protector and a caregiver, someone who takes people under his wing & looks after them, and i don’t think it was ever more obvious than around sirius. post 5th year, he gained a focus that he lacked before and would spend a lot of time just picking up on skills that could help him be better. duelling, defence, first aid, knitting, cooking etc etc. anything to feel useful.

- the shift from friendship to romantic would be tricky & probably require outside intervention or a lot of time, i think. they were already so close as friends that it just never occurs to them to take it any further ykno? their hearts & souls are intertwined, they’re super physically affectionate, and they’re already each other’s no. 1. so someone either has to bring it to their attention, they take yeaaaaars to realise ‘huh. this isn’t how i feel towards others’ or they live a wonderfully fulfilling qpp life together.

- i’ve talked about this before but physical!!! affection!!! and not just in terms of like, kisses or hugs but touch. they’re always in contact in some way. it’s comforting, safe. arms around waists, shoulders, hips/chin resting on the other, leg slung across, hand on a back or leg. you get it right? it’s subconscious, it’s natural, and they don’t even realise they’re doing it unless someone points it out

- sunshine and sunshine protector!!!! james was loud and brash and took all the space in a room. he was also sensitive bc he’s not told no often so when it has to be done, u need to do it in a certain way so he doesn’t internalise it as a personal failing and shut down. sirius is the best one to do it bc he can stand up to james w/o being intimidated + realise that the carrot works better than the stick w him. there’s a very real risk of his light fading out. at the same time, this makes sirius very protective of him. it’s why i wrote shovel talk. even in a universe where lily & sirius were friends, i think he’ll have a Talk with her to confirm her intentions. sirius is not willing to take chances with his james.

- pet names! james called sirius darling and my love and honey and sweetheart because he’s an old soul in a young body. sirius called james love (and sometime babe/baby). their go to for each other was ‘si’ and ‘jamie’ respectively, which was a term of affection on its own bc only they used it, no one else.

- james has *always* been attracted to sirius; he just didn’t realise it bc he thought this was how everyone felt towards sirius. ‘oh yeah he’s so ethereally beautiful, it’s just like, a fact of life and everyone knows it’ and thinks the random boners are normal until one day he realised that, no, that’s not actually the norm & he’s just a simp who thinks everything sirius does is perfect (think chin in hand, heart eyes, sighing)

x

ok i’m gonna cut myself off here bc this is already criminally long but i think it’s pretty clear i can go on for days lol. i tried to include both but i’m not great w romantic so i hope that came thru 🙈🙈

pls tag me in ur story when u write it (even if the hcs don’t help lol u can still use them in a process of elimination to find ur niche)!! i’d love, love , love to read it + always here if u wanna brainstorm 💜

#james potter #sirius black #prongsfoot #gosh this became so long. i was worried i wouldn’t have anything to say and then i couldn’t stop 💀 had to cut myself off after a point #friend this is the first piece of fandom content i’ve written in over a month so thank u sm for the ask #still don’t know if it’s any good but hey. it’s something. i’ll take it. #i’ve talked about james as sirius’ moral compass before but i don’t mean it in a ‘he couldn’t think for himself’ way #rather that when he doubted himself—which was a lot—he’d always go to j for confirmation #(it’s a bit of projection for me bc i do something similar w a friend of mine too) #and whenever he worried he was being a little too much like his family—james would set him straight #just wanted to clear that up bc i’ve seen someone vaguing me ab this and i don’t want them to get the wrong idea again lol #also re james: i can relate to being loud & Too Much. someone once told me i talked too much and i stayed quiet the entire day #not one word escaped my mouth. made people v uncomfortable #i’ve done the rubber band against my wrist thing too & i can see james doing something like that #ig regardless of how one writes j&s the one think i’ll look for is this implicit understanding and bond? #like they’re always each other’s no. 1 and it’s absolutely unconditional. like even when they’re fighting they’ll take care of each other #that’s the relationship i look for (which i don’t often get lolcrie) #but yeah. that’s me. doesn’t have to be everyone 💀 #i didn’t mention it here bc i’ve talked ab it so much but also fully think j was the only one who could fluster sirius #like the boy had a great poker face; probably also a rbf; prided himself ron being a master of his emotions #then along comes one jfp with his doe eyes and stupid fluffy hair and bright big smile #sirius has never blushed so much in his *life* #also think people who don’t know them (aka non hogwarts folx) would probably get the wrong-est impression of sirius if they see him around j #bc he’s everything that he’s *not* around him #it’s actually really funny to imagine lol #mhm ok ye gonna shut up now. thanks for the lovely ask anon & sorry for all the word vomit! #pen’s asks #pen’s notes

[syn0vial]

the whole “treat others how you want to be treated” line sounds so easy, but i am finding things immensely complicated by the fact that, in truth, there are many people who do NOT want to be treated the way i want to be treated and will take offense if i try

#personal post #i do not like to have my routines disrupted. so i try to impose on my hosts as little as possible during their day-to-day lives. #i feel uncomfortable when strangers are emotional in my presence. so i stay in my room when i’m upset. #i wouldn’t like to feel obligated to entertain a guest 24/7. #so i try to entertain myself when my host hasn’t made it clear that they have the time. #all these things i do bc they strike me as polite and considerate #but i’m pretty sure all it’s done is earn me a reputation as a cold distant bitch to all my brother’s friends #(or at least his gf and her mom who actually complained about me to him) #(or rather his gf’s mom complained to his gf who complained to him) #i think part of the problem is that my brother and his friends are all highly extroverted and i am highly. not. #so i’m trying to give them space and privacy like i would an introvert friend but they see this as me acting ‘too good for them’ or smthg #it just exhausts me tho bc apparently his gf told him that she doesn’t want her family ‘getting hurt by what they don’t understand’ #and it’s like geez am i really so alien to y’all that you can’t even understand me? #and am i really so incomprehensible as to be threatening? #never heard that from any of my other friends though like attracts like i suppose #when left to my own devices i’m more likely to befriend people who think and feel the way i do #whereas now i’m obligated to befriend my brother’s friends. who likely think and feel differently than i do. #funny thing is: i thought we all got along great until my brother told me otherwise! #but eh. guess i gotta practice imposing more and springing more surprise social situations on unsuspecting hosts. #some people are into that i hear