#the only things i have left are the house of hope and then disabling the foundry and killing gort and doing the final fight stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moon-rivr · 6 months

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treat her better part 2

pairing: miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: angst, reader using someone 🤥 (sorta), unprotected p in v, face sitting

author’s note: hope you all enjoy this part <33 sorry it took so long (i got the planetarium part after watching bojack horseman 🫡)

word count: 4k

treat her better part one

"Wait, what?"

Out of all the things that Miguel could've said, this surprised you the most. Surely, he must've had some idea in the back of his head about how much he'd been neglecting this relationship. “I said I want to break up with you," you repeated, your hands moving nervously as you spoke. "No, no, I heard what you said. But I’ve done nothing but love you, so I'm not understanding why?" He responded, looking down at you as his brows furrowed.

The annoying beeping from his gizmo interrupted your train of thought and you hoped that for once, he would choose you over his other priorities. At least at the end, for what it's worth. "Maybe you should get that," you told him and he let out a small huff, rolling his eyes as he checked the gizmo. "Look, we'll talk about this when I get back home. You're overreacting about this," he said as he turned around and opened a portal to leave. You were unsure of why you felt a lingering disappointment at being left alone once more with the memory of the person you fell in love with.

You decided to lock up the doors and windows and disabled his access to the house through your gizmo. You hoped that it would be enough to convey to him that you weren't putting up with him anymore though a bit of doubt crawled up inside you. You were too much in your own head to get some sleep so you looked up at the ceiling as if it held some answer to your dilemma. You were just starting to fall asleep when a repeated tapping on your window ruined all chances of that happening.

"C'mon, stop being childish and open this damn window!" Miguel yelled from your bedroom window, tapping on it with much more intensity. You stayed in your spot and hoped that he didn't have half the mind to break your window. "It's raining! Look, we can talk about this whenever you want, just let me in!" He yelled once more and you felt a thump coming from next door, your neighbors tapping so you'd shut him up. Eventually Miguel left your window and you could finally breathe normally again, though you didn't get too much sleep that night.

You showed up to the Spider Society a couple days after that, taking a couple more days of your break since you weren't sure if you could handle being in the same building as Miguel. You did your best to ignore the whispers surrounding you and headed to the cafeteria to get a snack before your upcoming mission. You decided on getting a pan dulce with milk, sitting down alone as you scrolled through your gizmo to catch up. You only looked up when someone slid in the spot next to you, one of the more recent recruits of the society.

"Hey darling, I couldn't help but notice how upset you looked all here alone so I thought I'd check up on you," he told you, flashing his teeth at you. You offered a noncommittal smile and gave him your name. "That sounds beautiful. Tell me, what are you doing here all by yourself?" He inquired, leaning a bit forward as he spoke. "I'm going through a break-up right now, so I'm not exactly pleasant to be around," you responded with a small shrug, hoping that he'd leave you alone after that. "Well if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or a dick to ride on, just know that I'm here to service you," he remarked, winking at you.

You were certain you'd heard him wrong and you were about to say something when you heard your name being called behind you. You turned around to face Miguel and he looked like he would kill the guy next to you if his eyes were bullets. "I need to discuss something with you in my office," he told you bluntly and you decided to stand up to follow him, choosing the least uncomfortable option at the moment. "Hey man, what's your deal? I was trying to spit game and you totally ruined my chances," the guy stood up, trying to size up Miguel but failing miserably.

"My deal is that I want to talk to one of my employees and you're acting like your miserable pick up line is working. I'd suggest getting back to work given that you're still on probation," Miguel responded, looking down at the man as he spoke. The guy could've resembled a bobblehead with the way he nodded at Miguel, leaving as quick as he could. You walked back to Miguel’s office in silence, wondering what he could possibly have to talk to you about. Though you couldn't help but hope that it was work-related, a part of you wanted him to acknowledge how much he missed having you around.

You stood around awkwardly in Miguel’s office as you waited for him to speak and you found yourself making conversation with LYLA to try to break the silence. "LYLA, can you leave the room please?" He asked her, coming closer to you. LYLA brought her hand up to salute him before she disappeared, leaving you alone with Miguel. "Is this about work?" You asked him, swaying from foot to foot nervously. "No, it's about our relationship. I feel like we left some things unsaid," he responded, grabbing two chairs from the side and pulled them closer.

You took a seat and waited for Miguel to speak, unsure of what more you could say to him. "I want to know why you broke up with me," he told you, his red eyes boring into you as he waited for a response. "I broke up with you because it felt like I was more so dating the memory of you at the end rather than you. I stuck around hoping that one day you'd realize how much you were hurting me with this whole absent love thing but it didn't happen," you answered with complete sincerity as you looked at him. "I'm sorry for not being what you needed. You deserve better than me."

You blinked as you looked at him dumbfounded, unsure if you'd heard him correctly. "I never wanted someone better than you. I just wanted you to do the bare minimum in our relationship, I just wanted you to care enough about me to be better! But your only excuse is that I deserve better?" You raised your voice as you spoke, standing up from the chair. You were about to leave the room when Miguel grabbed your arm, stopping you from reaching the door.

"I can change you for you, I promise," he whispered, holding your arm so you couldn't leave while he was speaking. "I don't want you to change for me. Because then you'll end up treating me like I matter for a couple days or weeks before you go back to disregarding me and then the cycle repeats. If you want to change, good for you, but don't do it just because of me," you said, leaving the room before you burst out into tears. A part of you couldn't help but wish he'd cared enough to say these things while the two of you were together.

You were unsure if it was because he was something familiar and you just needed to find some release or if it was your subconscious speaking, but you called Miguel to come over to your place that night. You were regretting the decision the more that you waited for him to come to your apartment, but you decided to brush those worries away. It would just be friendly ex sex and that would be it. No strings and no attachments.

All the attachments that you held towards Miguel came rushing through you when you opened the door. You invited him in and let him make himself at home, watching as he navigated through the space like it was his first time being there. "Do you want some water?" You offered him, walking over to the kitchen but he stopped you before you stepped foot in there. "What are we doing here? I have a feeling you didn't invite me here at 12 just to ask me if I wanted some water," he inquired, looking down at you as he analyzed your expression. "I thought that maybe we could use each other for some relief.."

You and Miguel eventually ended up in your bedroom, skipping over the kissing and engaging in some minimal foreplay so as to not blur the lines of this agreement. "Sit on my face," he told you, his face completely serious as he laid down on your bed. You'd done it a couple times when the two of you were together but you were always so afraid of suffocating him. "Stop being in your head so much. I wouldn't ask you to do it if i didn't enjoy doing it."

You sat on his chest as you started to move towards his face, your clit rubbing up against one of the ridges of his abs. You couldn't help the moan that escaped you and he let out a small chuckle. "Ab riding? That seems something worth exploring at a later time," he murmured, his hands on your hips as you settled on top of him. He started off slow, licking around your folds as he got himself acquainted to the taste of you once more. "Missed this pussy so much," he said, delivering a slap to your pussy before he began his attack.

Your hands flew down to his hair, holding you in place as his tongue went in and out of your hole, tasting every juice that your cunt was releasing. Your hips began swiveling against his mouth as your clit rubbed up against his nose, working in tandem with his mouth. You looked down to see his eyes closed as he focused on what he was doing, treating you like you were the finest meal he'd ever tasted. His tongue continued its assault as you kept coating his face with new arousal, your juices glistening on his face as he slurped them up.

He slowly inserted his finger into your cunt, a loud squelching noise following after. He bit down on your thigh, the pain contorting with the pleasure as your cunt squeezed around his finger, coating him with fresh arousal as you unclenched. "Pussy only belongs to me, don't forget it," he whispered before his tongue went straight to your clit. He rolled his tongue around the nub, his finger curling to hit that spongy spot that had your toes curling. You brought your hands up to your breasts, pinching the nipples and tugging at them as you stimulated yourself even further.

You felt your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave, the sensation too much to bear. You wouldn't have been sitting up if it wasn't for Miguel’s tight grip on your thighs as he licked away at your release, eager to taste every drop that you would give him. You got off him a while after and he got on top of you, kissing down your neck. He left a bite on your collarbone before pulling back, probably remembering the no intimacy pact that you two had agreed upon.

"You sure you want to do this?" He asked you, stroking your thighs as he waited for a response. "I do," you told him, watching as he aligned his cock to your pussy. You felt the sting forming in your vagina as he slid inside, stretching you out already with just the tip inside. You did your best to relax and he slid in with much more ease, bottoming out. He leaned down, pressing a kiss on the tip of your nose before he slowly started to take his cock out. All the air from your lungs escaped like a deflating balloon when he pushed his cock back in, filling you to the brim.

Your hands went up to his forearms as you gripped him, holding him as a lifesaver while he thrusted in you. His hips snapped with every movement, his balls slapping against your folds. Your moans filled up the room as he kept going, treating you like you were going to vanish at any moment. "I love you," he whispered so faintly that you weren't sure you heard him right. You chose to disregard it because thinking about it too much would just give you more confusion later on. He kept up with his thrusts, placing your legs on his shoulders as the new angle allowed for him to get deeper inside of you.

Your walls clenched around his cock, almost like they wanted to entrap him with every movement that he made. He played with your nipples, his rough hands kneading them and rolling them between his fingers. One of his hands went down to your clit, rubbing it at the same pace as he was to your nipples. You felt yourself coming up to that crescendo, the fall being nothing less than satisfying. Your juices coated his cock completely, providing him with the easy access that he needed to thrust inside of you. Your walls clenched around him once more and he came inside, his cock pummeling his cum deep inside of you.

He rolled off to the side eventually, catching his breath before the next round. You were coming down from your euphoria, taking a couple minutes to catch your breathing when you felt tears rolling down your cheeks. You weren't aware that you were crying until Miguel pointed it out, wiping your tears away with his pointer finger. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He asked you, using a gentle tone with you as he rubbed small circles on your stomach.

"I thought I could do this whole no strings attached sex with you, Miguel. But the truth is that I can't. I'm still so in love with you and I'm really trying not to be. I'm not completely sure why I called you over," you responded and he retracted his hand, getting up from the bed. You wanted reassurance from him at that moment but he wasn't going to give you any. "Stay safe, okay? I'll see you at work when you feel ready to show up," he told you, putting his clothes back on.

You couldn't help but bury your head into the pillow that he'd laid on, smelling the familiar fragrance of his cologne and shampoo. More tears rolled down your cheeks throughout the night but you couldn't be bothered to wipe them away. You looked up at the ceiling as you tried to fall asleep, eventually ending up in a restless sleep at 3 am.

You ended up going to work the following day, not willing to give Miguel that power over you and you headed straight for his office. You were about to ask him about an anomaly report that had popped up on your gizmo when you looked up to see him holding another woman in his arms. One of the new recruits. you felt your heart fall down to your shoes as you saw him kiss her the same way that he used to do to you. His hand on the small of her back as he supported her up. You almost tripped over your own feet as you quickly shut the door, walking over to the cafeteria.

You were eating your salad alone when the same guy from before approached you, sitting down next to you. "Hey girl, how have you been?" He asked you, though he didn't seem too interested in what your answer is. "Fine," you responded, setting down your fork as you turned to look at him. He took in your expression and folded his hands under his chin. "I have the best breakup playlist if you wanna hear it over at my place," he told you and you decided on going. You knew that it was wrong to use him to replace the feelings that Miguel had once elicited on you but you had a feeling he just wanted to see you naked. No harm, no foul.

Turns out, he didn't have the perfect breakup playlist when you got over to his place. But he did have chocolate covered strawberries and a box full of condoms. The two of you sat on the couch and slowly started to make out, exploring the taste of one another. He brought one of the strawberries up to your mouth and you resisted from eating it in one bite, choosing to eat it slowly and sensually. He introduced himself as Peter, like a vast majority of the Spider Society didn't share the same name.

He placed his hand on your thigh as he kissed you, but you couldn't get into it. His lips didn't feel the same way that Miguel’s did, he didn't know how to touch you the same way that Miguel did, and he certainly didn't make you wet the same way that Miguel did. You felt bad for thinking these things as you were with someone else, but you couldn't help but wish that Miguel was the person that you were kissing. You pulled away from him and got up from the couch, brushing over your clothes.

"I'm sorry but I have to get going. I'm just not really into this," you told him, hoping that he would understand. He got up from the couch abruptly, the plate of strawberries that were on his lap sliding right off. "What's the problem? You're gonna come over and get me all turned on just to leave?!" He raised his voice at you, getting too close for comfort. "I just don't think I'm in the right headspace to be having sex with you right now," you tried to keep your voice calm but you knew that if he kept talking to you like this, you'd end up snapping.

"You fucking whore! This is exactly why you couldn't keep your stupid boyfriend interested!" He yelled at you as you were walking out the door. You came back and slapped him, your handprint evident on his cheek. "And your fucking attitude is why you can't get laid!" You snapped back, slamming the door as you left. As you stepped away from his apartment, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe he had a point. If you hadn't done enough to keep Miguel away interested. If you weren't enough to keep Miguel interested. You brushed those thoughts away and headed back to the society, eager to get to the gym to practice some boxing.

Your life had been going pretty peaceful for the past month, you managed to stop thinking about Miguel so much and you improved on your fighting skills. It was the day of Jessica’s baby shower and you felt pretty good about it even if it was a guarantee that you would have to see Miguel at the event. You walked into the party with a pink dress on, placing Jessica’s gift on a table before going to greet her.

Throughout the party, you couldn't help but feel Miguel’s eyes on you. You decided not to engage and kept your attention on Jessica, a bit jealous of how she glowed when she was with her husband. You went out to the porch to get a bit of fresh air, a drink in your hand. "You seem better," you heard behind you, Miguel approaching you. You shrugged and took a sip from your drink, not offering much to go off on. He let out a small sigh and leaned against the balcony, looking over at you.

"Look, I'm not the best with feelings and all that other shit, and I'm sorry that I made you think for a second that I wasn't in love with you. Because I love you so much that it's physically pained me to be so far away from you so long. I know that I wasn't exactly present in our relationship but I felt reassured in the fact that you would always be there for me that I forgot about you," he spoke up, lifting up your chin so you'd look at him. "So why'd you kiss that woman in your office?"

The question caused him to drop his hand from your chin, letting out a small sigh. "I tried to replace you with one of the recruits. But the truth is, I can't get over you. She doesn't feel like you, doesn't kiss like you, she probably doesn't breathe like you," he admitted and you couldn't help but let out a small, dry chuckle. "Look, I’m not expecting for you to jump back into being my girlfriend but I want you to go out on a date with me. Let me try to earn the honor of being your boyfriend again."

You were about to tell him your answer when Jessica called you both back inside for the gender reveal. You went inside as soon as she told you since you didn't want to feel like you were intruding on her day with your relationship drama. You pulled Miguel aside when the reveal ended, his attention solely on you as you spoke. "Okay. One date and we'll see how it goes."

A few days had passed by and you weren't too sure if Miguel was actually being serious with his plan since he hadn't given you any clues or anything to go off on until you found a box waiting for you at your apartment. It was the dress that you picked out for the first date you had with him. You placed the dress on and followed the clues that he'd left with the box.

You ended up at a planetarium and you noticed that Miguel had set up a picnic outside. "I thought we could talk for a little while here, get some food. I hope you don't think it's too silly," he told you, beckoning you to sit down. You sat in front of him, looking over at the selection of snacks that he'd selected. He'd chosen out your favorite snacks despite the fact that he never seemed to pay that much attention when you two were together.

The two of you ate together, sharing some of your experiences about this time apart. "What an asshole. I hope you didn't believe what he said," Miguel told you when you got the part about Peter. You stayed quiet, playing with your fingers. "I will never not be interested in you, mi vida. You're the most captivating person in every room you stay in pero I got too used to you making excuses for me," he told you, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

As the two of you were at the planetarium, you couldn't help but notice that Miguel’s gizmo hadn't beeped once. "No anomalies tonight?" you asked, slightly teasing him as the constellations appeared. "No, I'm sure there are plenty. But you're more important to me and it's time I started to treat you like that," he responded, holding your hand as he continued to watch the stars showing. You rested your head on his shoulder, knowing that your relationship needed work but you would indulge in this small act of intimacy.

Miguel kept his promise and dedicated himself to spending more time with you, treating you like a priority. It took some work at first but he eventually learned to trust other people to share the burden with him. You stepped into his office, bringing him some food since he was working late. "Hola cariño," he said as you walked in, kissing your cheek once you got close. He held you for a couple seconds before he looked down at you. "I know this isn't exactly the perfect setting, but you I was wondering if you'd let me be your boyfriend again," he spoke up after a couple seconds, gauging for your reaction.

"Of course, Miguel," you said, standing up on your tippy toes as you kissed him.

@miguelcvmslvt @juniperbutnot @s0fia4 @icouldntthinkofanythingclever @migueloharastruelove @mangoslushcrush @skulfan1 @134340ona @death-moth-art @akoyaxs @innercreationflower @m4dyy

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ckret2 · 2 months

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Chapter 41 of human Bill Cipher being really sick of being the Mystery Shack's prisoner: after absolutely terrorizing Gideon for projecting used car ads into Bill's dreams, tries to blackmail Gideon into working for him again.

But not before showing some unexpected sympathy for the plight of a child psychic on whose shoulders the family's financial future rests.

####

Dipper and Mabel were in the middle of a race on a roller coaster track when Bill wandered back downstairs. He sat on the couch armrest next to Mabel and precariously balanced as he crossed his legs. "So I've been thinking over this whole thing," Bill said. "I think I should apologize to Gideon."

"Work that out all by yourself?" Dipper glanced at the clock. "Wow. And it only took you half an hour."

Mabel finished a lap. While the roller coaster track slowly lifted her car to the top of the hill to start the next lap, she turned to give Bill an appraising look, ready to assess his work. "Apologize for what?"

"For terrorizing him! Is this a trick question?"

She nodded slowly—a little skeptical, but so far so good—but had to look away as she regained control of her car. "What's your angle?"

"I'm equilateral, work it out."

"Shut uuup, I'm serious."

"Why do I need to have an angle? Maybe I want to practice some of the apology lessons they're teaching on Color Critters! Aren't you the one who wanted me to be a decent person? You should be thrilled. You are thrilled."

"Bill."

"Okay fine, I want you to stop looking at me like I'm evil incarnate over a silly little prank letter." He nudged Mabel's head with his elbow. She smacked his arm away. "Isn't that the only reason anyone apologizes? To stop people from getting mad at them?" He lifted his eyepatch and squinted at the screen. "Goose in the left barrel."

Mabel swerved left. "Yes! Eat tail feathers, Dipper!"

"No no no no—!" His anguished groan mingled with angry honks. He tossed down his controller as Mabel sailed past his disabled car. "I'm not playing with Bill in the room."

Mabel laughed. "You're a sore loser!"

"I'll be out of your matted hair in a few minutes," Bill said. "You're cranky, go get a juice."

Dipper stomped from the room, grumbling. "Whatever, I'm getting a snack." He pointed at Bill, "Not because you told me to! I'm just hungry! It's got nothing to do with you!"

"Sure." Bill nudged Mabel again. "C'mon, let me use my training. Don't think I haven't noticed you're trying to mold me into a model citizen. Why bother if I never get a chance to act like one?"

Mabel looked at him thoughtfully. "You know what? Okay. I guess not wanting people to be mad at you is a good enough reason to apologize." She'd been hoping he'd land on genuine remorse, but she'd take what she could get.

"Great! Fisherman's out, Questiony's working, Sixer's gonna be in his cave til dinner, Dolores doesn't care—" Bill gestured toward the door, "so let's get the bracelets and get to the kid's house while the adults are distracted."

Mabel grimaced. "Oough. Right. We have to actually visit him."

"Unless you want me to mail an apology letter—"

"Definitely not." She sighed. "Well, if it's for the greater good... put on something other than a hoodie and let's go."

"You got it." Bill hopped off the couch and swung with one hand around the doorframe as he headed to the stairs.

####

Dipper tried to protest, but he'd missed his window to talk Mabel out of it; and so Bill and Mabel headed out, with Bill in a loose smiley face-covered Hawaiian shirt—Mabel approved of the friendly message—an undershirt, the leggings that looked like jeans, and his dress shoes. In other words, about as disarmingly unthreateningly un-Bill-like as he could get. He seemed to get bouncier and more energetic the longer they walked outside, until by the time they were turning onto Gideon's street he was cartwheeling up the sidewalk.

Bill waited for Mabel to open the gate in front of Gideon's house; but while Bill blithely passed through, Mabel lingered behind a few steps. Bill paused and glanced back. "Hey. All good, star girl?"

"Yeah." Mabel laughed nervously and caught up. "Just... haven't been to his house since before he got weird. Kinda gives me the willies now."

"Can't blame you. This is the guy who agreed to be my sheriff in exchange for custody of your bubble key."

Mabel cringed. "Did he really?"

"Oh yeah. Think he was planning to visit you in there until he wooed you? I never asked him. I didn't want the details."

"Ugh." Mabel shuddered.

Bill paused. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned that ten feet from his front door."

"It's... it's fine." She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "Greater good. Right?"

He didn't answer immediately, tapping a foot as he thought. "Listen. Once we're in there, do you want me to go somewhere private to talk with him? So you don't have to worry about him leering at you the whole time?"

"Would you?" Mabel's shoulders slumped as a little tension eased up, relief obvious on her face. "But how will I know if you've apologized properly?"

"That little tattle will tell you if I do an awful job." Bill laughed. "Come on! I don't need you grading me on a rubric! Gimme a chance to prove I can say 'I'm sorry' without my life coach telling me how to behave."

"Thanks, Bill." She gave him a quick hug.

"Sure, any time kid. I'm not about to let any creeps get to you on my watch." Bill stretched his arms out, fingers laced together. "Ready?" When Mabel nodded, Bill knocked on the door.

After a long moment, a worried-looking, gray-haired woman opened the door. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Gleeful!" Bill offered a partial bow. "We're here to visit Gideon, he should be expecting us. Would you let him know we're here?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." Her voice was a hushed murmur, as though she were talking to herself—or perpetually concerned about being overheard. She didn't raise her voice much as she called into the house, "Gideon? You have visitors."

Voice muffled, Gideon shouted from upstairs, "Who is it!"

Joy glanced over Bill and Mabel, but her gaze lingered on Mabel's face. "Oh. Aren't you that girl he...?"

"It's Mabel."

Joy said, "It's Mabel, and—"

Gideon let out an alarmed squawk. "Ohmygoodness. JUST A MINUUUTE! Where did I leave my cologne—"

Joy watched the ceiling nervously, listening to the subtle thuds.

Bill glanced her up and down, as though sizing up what he had to work with; and then he smiled brightly and said, "Well, I'm sure the little star's preparing a big entrance! Shall we wait inside?"

Joy started a little. "Oh—yes, of course. Please, come in." She pulled the door open wider and gestured to the sitting area.

Bill and Mabel took a seat on the couch. Bill crossed one ankle over his knee in a casual figure 4, and gestured to the armchair as though he were the host giving his guest permission to sit. Joy hesitated, but took the seat, sitting straight up without touching the back of the seat, feet together and hands laced over her knees.

"And how has Gideon been lately?" Bill asked. "We haven't had a chance to catch up since last summer!"

"Oh—I'm sure he's probably fine," Joy said, eyes darting around—to the clean carpet, to the framed pictures hanging straight on the wall, to the doorway into the kitchen.

"'Probably'?" Bill echoed.

"Well. He's really closer to his father, you see..."

"Nonsense." Bill lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I trust a woman's intuition on this sort of thing." He paused. "I'd wink here, but uh..." He gestured at his eye patch and shrugged with a helpless grin.

Joy curled her lips into her mouth and, for the first time since she'd opened the door, for a fraction of a second, nearly almost smiled. But it faded quickly; and when she spoke, her voice was low enough that Mabel had to lean halfway across the coffee table to hear her. (Bill didn't even move.) "You should probably know before you see him: he... has seemed a little bit cranky, recently."

"Oh?" Bill prompted.

(Mabel mumbled, "'Recently'?" and Bill nudged her.)

"Nothing like he was when he—" Joy faltered and quickly course corrected, "before his arrest. But, a bit. But then he's going through so much—reintegrating into life on the outside, trying to make friends at school..."

"Say, that's nice to hear! Has he made many?"

Joy hesitated. "He's always been... such a precocious child. It makes it hard for him to relate to other... And honestly, I think most of the children are jealous of his talents."

Bill nodded sympathetically. "I'm sure they are. Kids can be so cruel when they notice someone special. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down."

Joy nodded. "Yes—exactly. And he's so... sensitive."

Bill gave Mabel a warning glance. She pursed her lips tightly and puffed out her cheeks. Satisfied she wasn't about to weigh in on why Gideon wasn't making friends, Bill turned back to Joy. "Do you think that's what's been bothering him lately?"

"Well, yes, there's that."

Voice a tad lower, Bill prompted, "And...?"

Joy paused. She twisted her hands together. "And—I think he might be concerned about his father's business."

"Oh, the auto dealership?" Bill sat up a little. "I hope it hasn't been struggling lately?"

"It's... been a slow few months," Joy said. "It must be weighing on him—"

"He doesn't feel responsible, does he?"

Joy quickly shook her head. "Of course not. It isn't his fault. But he's just a little boy, there's not much he can do to help. Besides perform in a commercial, maybe—and he doesn't like that, we don't make him do that anymore—or..." She trailed off. "Well. Not knowing how to help or what to do... I can imagine he must feel... guilty." She stared down at her hands as she spoke.

Bill's gaze never wavered from her face. He nodded slowly. "I'm sure the business must be weighing on the whole family. It can't be easy for you, Joy—keeping a household running during such a difficult time." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll see what I can do to help you all."

Joy stared at his face, eyes shining. "I'm, sorry—did I catch your name?"

"Mr. Locke is fine, thanks. I was in business talks with your son before his incarceration."

Mabel leaned against Bill and whispered, "You mean he hired you to invade my grunkle's brain—"

Bill elbowed her.

Footsteps scurried down the stairs. "I'm coming!" Gideon rushed into the room, tugging his sleeves down his wrists, all gussied up and reeking of three separate hair products. "Hi Mabel my honey pie! What a pleasant surprise, what brings you by so s—" His gaze fixed on Bill, and his sweet smile twisted into fury. "You!"

Joy quickly stood up. "I should be—vacuuming the dining room." She hurried from the room, giving Gideon a wide berth as she went. The sound of vacuuming quickly filled the house.

Gideon never looked away from Bill. "Just what do you think y—"

Bill was on his feet and sweeping across the room before Gideon could get more out. "Hello again! I don't think we were properly introduced. The name's Goldie Locke." He blinked. "Wink."

Gideon grimaced. "You serious? Goldilocks? That's the best you could do?"

"I thought it was funny!"

Mabel scooted up onto the arm of the sofa, took a leap off, and landed next to Bill. "I came up with it!"

Gideon smiled uncomfortably. "Oh—sure, sure. Real cute."

"We came by so Goldie here," Mabel poked Bill's arm with both hands, "could give you a proper apology for his... 'prank.'" She got behind Bill and poked him in the back, directing him toward the stairs. "So you two go off somewhere private and do that! Go! Go on!"

"Wh— private?" Gideon leaned around Bill to give Mabel a pleading look. "M-Mabel, aren't you coming too?"

Mabel laughed nervously. "No, definitely not. I'm staying right here."

"But—but—"

"It's fine! If he tries any—" her voice dropped to a whisper, "—weird space demon magic—you can just scream. But he's basically harmless! I promise."

"But... I don't wanna be alone with..."

Bill put a hand on Gideon's back, turned him around, and practically dragged him toward the stairs. "And she doesn't want to be alone with you, and I'm going to respect her wishes."

Gideon hissed at Bill. He wasn't quite sure what to do when Bill hissed back. No one had ever done that before.

"You've got nothing to worry about," Bill said, giving Gideon a very worrying smile. "I just want an opportunity to show you the sincerity of my remorse. A little heart-to-heart! And anyway, you and I have a lot of catching up to do."

####

The moment Gideon's bedroom door shut, Bill said, in an exaggeratedly innocent golly-gee-whiz voice, "'Well, Mabel, the thing is, I was just cranky because I haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in days, because Gideon's been broadcasting mind control dreams to the town multiple times a week! Yeah, you know how you've been waking up feeling hypnotically compelled to buy a car? Good ol' Gideon! But you're right, bullying isn't the solution! I should have just asked him to cast his brainwashing spell a little further from the Mystery Shack—'" Bill cut off with a laugh. "I take it you get the picture! Your flesh is as white as your hair! It's—it's creepy. Stop it."

Gideon was already on the far side of the room, holding a floating arm desk lamp toward Bill like a sword. Voice shaking, he asked, "How do you know about that spell? H-how are you even alive? And here like... like this?"

"Does it matter?" Bill meandered around the room, looking at Gideon's matching nightstands, his TV, the floppy teddy bear on his bed. "Here's the only important question: what's it worth to you for me not to spill the beans to your sweetheart?"

Gideon swallowed hard.

As Bill rounded the bed, Gideon backed away from him until his back was pressed against the wall between his vanity and his dresser. Bill leaned over to look under the bed and nudged a rolled-up tarp with his foot. It unrolled across the floor, revealing Gideon's magic circle. "Uh-huh."

"Please stop looking around my room."

"Relax, I just want to see what's changed! This is hardly the first time I've seen your room." He glanced down at the subtle depiction of his face woven into the pattern on Gideon's carpet. "I've had eyes in here since you were a baby."

He leaned over Gideon's bed, studying his knit zodiac blanket. "Although this eye is new. You went with red, white, and blue? How patriotic." He tugged at the blanket's edges, straightening it out. "Lots of pilling on the yarn, this thing's been very well loved. Does it still smell like Shooting Star, you cretin?"

"You keep your hands off of Mabel's blanket, you—!" Gideon swung his lamp toward Bill. It missed by a foot.

Bill didn't even flinch. "You're very lucky that you missed." For a moment, his voice was inhumanly low.

Gideon's blood ran cold. He clutched the lamp against his chest. "W-what do you want from me? I'm sorry I disturbed your sleep, all right? Is that what you want to hear?!"

"It's a good start!" Bill sat on Gideon's bed and made himself comfortable, propping himself up on his elbows, ankles crossed casually, resting in the center of his own zodiac. "Now, promise you'll stop advertising in people's dreams, and everything's forgiven!"

"I..." Gideon bit his lip.

Bill grinned a little wider. "What's the problem, kid? It's not like your daddy needs you running his advertising campaign! The family finances aren't resting on your shoulders!" He laughed.

Gideon just bit his lip harder.

"Oh wait. Maybe they are. Are they?"

He looked down at the tarp. "Mrrng."

Bill sat up, leaning forward until he caught Gideon's gaze again. "So sorry, Star Boy! I didn't realize how serious your situation is!" His wicked smile said otherwise. "Wow, that must be so hard for you—the family breadwinner, at such a young age. Knowing your family needs you to keep them afloat. And it's not like you can just go out and get a job! So what can you do, except... well, whatever it is you already know how to do? Putting on a good show, right?"

"It's not like that," Gideon snapped, ignoring the weight in the pit of his stomach. He looked down at his lamp weapon and tugged anxiously at one of his sleeves. "It—it's not as though we're broke! We just... might have to tighten our belts a little bit, that's all. It's normal, most businesses have their ups and downs."

"Of course. Just no big shopping trips for a while! Pity you're about to need a whole new wardrobe, though." Bill casually pushed himself off Gideon's bed, taking a step closer. "Hey, wanna know when your next growth spurt starts?"

Gideon shrank down. "No."

"It costs a lot to keep a growing kid clothed. And fed, and stocked with school supplies... If father asks for a little help, how can you refuse? If you don't, you could lose the business, lose your house, lose everything... all that, plus knowing it'd be your fault for not doing what you can? It's heartbreaking."

Bill leaned over Gideon, propping himself up with a hand on his dresser, trapping him in his shadow. Gideon cringed; but Bill asked, voice unexpectedly low and almost gentle, "You're so important. There's a helplessness that comes from wielding that kind of power, isn't there?"

The weight in Gideon's stomach grew heavier. Bill must have been watching his life ever since last fall; that was the only way he could have understood what Gideon was feeling so well. And yet—hearing someone else put it into words was a strange relief. He'd cut to the bleeding core of the issue. Gideon was the only one with the power to do anything, so he had to do something. It was a helplessness.

"Yeah." Gideon put his lamp back on his dresser, defeated. "Yeah, there is."

Bill crouched in front of Gideon, meeting him at eye level. "It just so happens that I'm sympathetic to your situation, kid. I get it." It was hard to read the mood in Bill's alien gaze; but for a moment, Gideon was sure he really did see a glimmer of sympathy in his slit pupil. "So how about this: I could help you out. Make some calls, pull some strings... give the family business a little boost," he said. "If you do me a couple small favors first."

Outraged, Gideon shouted, "You're blackmailing me into working for you again?! You—!" With a furious grunt, Gideon shoved Bill away from him.

To his surprise (and immediate horror), Bill lost balance, toppling onto his back with a yelp. But he just rolled onto his side and hopped back to his feet, laughing. "No no no! I'm blackmailing you into knocking off the annoying dream spell. That's all! Cut it out, or I'm telling Mabel. And—heck, how about the police while I'm at it?"

"You wouldn't—"

"I am pals with the sheriff and the mayor. Mind control happens to already be illegal in Gravity Falls, you can thank Quentin Trembley for that—such a forward thinker! I don't think there are any state-level laws yet, but I bet they'll wriiite ooone just for yoo-oou." The last sentence came out as a singsong taunt. "Anyway: drop the mind control. That's all I'm asking for. Okay?"

Gideon had circled around Bill to his bed, where he pulled off his zodiac blanket and bundled it against his chest. He wasn't sure which sounded worse. Prison probably should, but the thought of giving Mabel a fresh reason to hate him... He looked down at the blanket, and heaved a shaky sigh. "Okay."

"So? We're agreed? No more dream advertisements?"

"No more dream advertisements. You win."

"Great!" Bill beamed at Gideon. "But then, completely separately, if you want help saving the family business... well, offer's on the table! In fact, I'd happily offer to help without asking anything in return—"

"—you should, it's mostly your fault—"

"—except that, with my own situation being like it is, what with the limited access to my usual resources... I need you to help me help you." He spread his hands apologetically. "Nothing I can do about it."

Gideon pressed his lips together, looking down at his zodiac blanket. A fold in the fabric displayed part of the ripped heart. Gideon plucked out the blanket until he could glimpse the top of the shooting star.

He swallowed hard. "No. Absolutely not."

Bill blinked. "'Scuse me?"

"I can't accept your help," Gideon said. "I lead a support group of ex-cons—the very same ones I stupidly led into battle for you—and what would they say if they heard I was working for you again?"

The indulgent smile on Bill's face vanished. Rage flashed in his eye. "What would they say if they learned you're the first among them to reoffend?" He pointed at Gideon's magic circle. "Wouldn't they be disappointed. Aren't they your followers these days?"

Gideon squirmed under Bill's glare, backing away until he bumped into one of his nightstands. "F... 'followers'?"

"Your devotees—now that your Tent of Telepathy audience has abandoned you." The new smile that twisted across Bill's face now was hard and cruel, and his eye fixed like a prison searchlight on Gideon made Bill seem much closer than he was. "Isn't being worshiped sublime, Star Boy? That unconditional love? A worshiper will always be more reliable than some girl's fickle heart. But even the most 'unconditional' love always comes with fine print. How far are you willing to go to remain worthy of their love?"

Bill pulled a folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and waved it in the air. "We both know you'll help your daddy's business. The only question is if you'll do it your way, or mine." He placed the paper on Gideon's dresser and tapped it with his finger. "My way doesn't even involve breaking the law."

Gideon shook his head. "I won't..."

"I'll leave it with you anyway."

Bill strolled around the bed. "Well! I think we're finished here, how about you?" He stopped in front of the door.

He turned back. "Gideon, you're gonna have to get the door, I can't..."

"What?" Gideon asked. "Y'can't what?"

Bill huffed. "I'm sort of under this curse? So. If you could just—"

Gideon burst out laughing in disbelief. "The Amnesia Limina curse? You can't open doors?! Are you kidding me!"

"I can still ruin the rest of your embarrassingly short mortal life, you twit. Just—just get over here—"

Still laughing, Gideon crossed the room and got the door.

"Yeah. Thanks. Great."

As they came downstairs, Mabel hopped off the sofa. "Sooo? How'd the apology go?"

"Great!" Bill got in front before Gideon had a chance to speak. "I think we really understand each other better. Isn't that right, Gideon?"

Gideon grumped, "I think it's the worst 'apology' I've ever heard."

Bill gave him a dirty look powerful enough to kill a skittish horse; but he flinched under the weight of Mabel's disappointed frown. He laughed nervously, "Okay, so I still need some practice with my delivery! Human tones are finicky." He stared at Gideon. "But you accept the overall content of it, right?"

Bill was giving Gideon the creepiest smile he'd ever seen. But Mabel, on the other hand, was giving him this hopeful look—like she wanted this to go well so badly, and only Gideon could make or ruin her day. There's a helplessness that comes with wielding that kind of power.

In the world Gideon had been raised in, if someone who has transgressed against you apologizes, you don't have the right to withhold their forgiveness—it makes you as bad as the transgressor. The only way he could refuse was if he told Mabel he hadn't even gotten any apology; but there was no way to say that without admitting what they'd really discussed. "Yeah," Gideon muttered at his shoes. "I s'pose I accept it."

"Yes!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air so enthusiastically she lifted a few inches off the floor. "Great work! Happy face stickers for everybody!" She smacked a sticker on Bill's shirt and Gideon's lapel.

They tugged out their clothes to inspect their stickers. Bill's had a giant yellow smiley face over the words "Good job!" Gideon's had a smiling whale surrounded by the words "WHALE DONE". They were both disproportionately elated by their prizes.

"So can we go now?" Mabel whispered, "I feel like Mr. Gleeful's new clown painting is staring at me."

"Just one second. I should have a word with the missus of the house." Bill waved back at the kids as he trotted from the room. "Be right back!"

Mabel eyed Gideon warily.

Gideon smiled winningly. "So, Mabel. As long as you're already over here, would you like to stay for dinner—?"

"Nuh-uh." She turned and headed for the door. "Goodbye forever!"

"Aw."

Bill followed the sound of vacuuming through the kitchen into the dining room, and rapped on the doorframe. "Knock knock."

Joy flinched and spun around. "Oh." She turned off her vacuum. "Yes, Mr. Locke?"

"Just wanted to thank you for your hospitality before we leave!"

"Oh—yes, of course. You're welcome."

He lowered his voice, "And I also wanted to tell you not to worry about a thing. I'm sure everything will turn out fine for your family—and for you." He flashed her a winning smile.

She hesitantly nodded. "Thank you."

####

As they walked to the gate around the Gleeful property, Mabel said, "You weren't just all talk with Gideon's mom, were you? You actually are planning to help her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Something like that. How'd you know?"

"You told her to call you Mister. That means you mean business!"

A crooked smile stretched across his face. "Hey! No fair, you know too much. You're figuring out all my secrets."

Out on the sidewalk, Bill did a cartwheel, attempted to turn it into a handstand, and fell on the sidewalk. He brushed off a scraped elbow with a grumble and got back up. Well, it matched his burn on the other side.

"4 out of 10."

"I didn't ask."

Mabel snickered. "You know—your conversation with Gideon might not have gone perfectly. But you realized you did something wrong, you apologized for it, and you're gonna do better." She patted his arm. "I'm really proud of you, Bill. That's some serious growth."

"Really?"

"Really."

He beamed. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had been proud of him. (Granted, he didn't generally tolerate relationships in which somebody felt like they had enough superiority over him to feel "pride" toward his actions. Generally "awe" or "admiration" were more common.) He was basking in the praise. He was over the moon. He was euphoric. He was the best person to ever exist.

The fact that the praise was horribly misplaced didn't faze him in the least.

####

Gideon had spent the past minute picking peas out of his pot pie and scooting them to the edge of his plate.

Bud cleared his throat. "Son, you really ought to eat your vegetables. And they'll taste better mixed in with the rest of your food than all by themselves."

"I don't want my peas."

"But they're good for you! Don't you want to grow up big and strong—?"

Gideon flinched. He pounded the table. "I said I don't WANT my peas!"

"All right, okay, that's fine! Just thought I'd suggest it."

Gideon grumpily scooped up a forkful of chicken, carrots, and corn, eyed the carrots skeptically, and took a bite. It was fine. "So, father. How was work?"

Bud sighed. "Oh, it would've made more sense just to close for the day. At least then I wouldn't be wasting money on air conditioning the office."

"Oh." Gideon stabbed at a lone piece of corn with his fork. "Maybe we oughta... stop with the nighttime ads. It doesn't sound like they're helping."

"Ahh, you might be right."

Gideon heaved a sigh of relief.

"I just don't know what else to try." Bud shook his head. "I've tried newspaper ads, TV ads, radio ads, billboards, fliers, sales, cutting brake lines..." He settled his hand near Gideon's spot at the table. "Son, you know I know you're doing the best you can to help our family, and it means more to me than I can say. But, if there's anything else you can think of...?"

Gideon tried to avoid his father's gaze—and instead, spotted his mother. She usually kept to herself during dinner, wholly focused on her own plate when she wasn't setting out dishes or cleaning them up. But tonight, she was looking right at Gideon. Like she expected something out of him, too.

He shrank into his seat. "Well. I've got one other idea I could try."

####

Gideon shut the door to his room—and, just to be safe, stuck his chair under the doorknob. Then he gingerly picked up the paper on the dresser and unfolded it.

The same tall, thin handwriting as on the letter he'd received—but even more cramped, cramming as much text on one torn-out book page as possible. A terse paragraph of instructions, a phone number, a numbered list of questions, a prepared statement.

Gideon got his mobile phone and a notebook, set up to take notes at his vanity, took a deep breath, let it out, and dialed the number. As the phone rang, he looked at himself in the mirror and muttered, "Heaven help me if I'm facilitating the start of Armageddon."

Then someone picked up, and he held the phone up to his ear. "Hello? Oh, right, er—" He read off the paper Bill had given him, "'But rises gold over the pyramid.' ... Yes. Mhm, I'm calling on behalf of... of Bill Cipher. ... My name's not important, I'm just the messenger—oh, oh you recognize my voice! Haha!" He mopped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. "A-always nice to meet a fan! Yeah, we know each other. Small world. N... no, he didn't give me my... I was—was psychic before I met him, actually. Sorry, I didn't catch your name—who'm I speaking to?"

Gideon looked at Bill's list of questions, wrote a 1. in his notebook, and beside it wrote "Sue Blime." One question down. "I have a message to pass on."

####

He pushed harder.

Her skin fractured and peeled off, strand after strand. It filled the spaces between his fingertips, wrapped up his arms. He could shut his eye but he still saw it through his eyelid, still felt it tickling at the corners of his mouth. He let out an angry, hysterical, broken laugh.

And then he laughed louder, and louder—higher, shriller, echoing all the way to the distant stars. "What am I doing?" He opened his eye and looked at his hands, tangled with gold threads and soaked in blood. He laughed again, gleeful. "What am I doing! None of this is real! This is a dream! We're in my dreamscape. None of this matters! I control all of you!"

Bill controlled all of them.

He effortlessly peeled his arm off the plane of his dimension into the third, still tangled in gore, and spun his finger. The golden shreds of skin let go of his hand, rotating around his hand in a loose tornado. Cackling again, he rose up into space, looping like a paper airplane on a breeze, telekinetically twirling the countless golden shreds with him like he was doing a ribbon dance. And wasn't it beautiful? He was changing their color—yellow green blue violet red orange yellow—he was melting them down to floating drops of liquid gold, he was making them vanish into thin air. There was no blood on his hands. There never had been. He had never killed. His mother did not exist.

He glanced toward the stars. "Am I gonna have any meddling from you? Want to sell me any cars tonight?"

The stars didn't answer. Good. He didn't want his show interrupted by a commercial break.

"I control you," Bill announced to the crowd of assembled worshipers below, numb and thoughtless and unmoving while the god of this dream had no use for them to live. "You answer to me!" He jabbed his thumb against his golden face—not the internal organs exposed to the third dimension the rest of the shapes had, but the exoskeleton he wouldn't start wearing until centuries after this memory. "The only life you have is in my head! All of you, all of you have been burned away for a trillion years!" He paused, then flashed two finger guns at a red hexagon in the crowd. "All except you, Hect. Always great to see a long-time fan!"

In the field of frozen shapes, Bill's memory of Hectorgon hesitantly waved.

"But..." Beneath Bill, still as aghast as he'd been so many eons ago, still playing his part to move this dream along, his father said, "But... what are we going to tell your followers?"

"Ugh, you're such a downer. Give it a rest, you old square!" Bill did something no prisoner of the second dimension had ever been capable of doing: he snapped his fingers. His father silently dissolved into origami butterflies and fluttered into space. "You barely even liked her."

He floated back down to the plane, lacing his fingers together to stretch his arms in front of him. "I don't need you," he muttered. "I've got this handled. I've always been the one who had this handled. Now let's end this dream the right way."

Time to sucker his suckers.

He swooped through the open doors to speak to his assembled worshipers as effortlessly as though he'd been doing this a trillion years: "My beautiful, loving believers! I have wonderful news. Your high priestess—my mother—has passed on; but, you should be celebrating! Because she hasn't abandoned us! Her spirit's just ascended—not up, but out of our dimension and into the third, where the spirits of all departed shapes live on! Her spirit's formed a bridge from there to me, and through me to you! She's revealed the true nature of the third dimension—a sublime realm of color and life—and I'll reveal it to you, too!"

The black starry void of the third dimension above Bill mutated as he spoke; now, it was raucous colors, beams of light, and glittery gold. Faraway neon-colored shapes danced deliriously through nebulas and clouds.

"I'll teach you the secrets passed down to us from the enlightened third-dimensional spirits; I'll show you how to see it all for yourself... and if you follow me, if you devote yourself entirely to my teachings, if you trust me blindly—blindly, for I can see what others can't—then I'll guide you INTO the third dimension! I will be your teacher, your divine guide, your muse! So tell me: do you trust me?"

The worshipers cheered.

"Do you worship me?!"

The worshipers screamed.

"Do you love me!"

The worshipers howled, mad with love for Bill, ripping each other apart in a spontaneous outpouring of zealotry.

Bill's shrieking laughter rose up above the roar of his imaginary crowd.

####

For the first time since his death, Bill woke fully rested. Dawn streamed in through the attic window, shining golden on the cloud of curly hair dangling in front of his eyes. And wasn't it beautiful? He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothed it back, and pushed it into the right shape.

He checked to make sure no humans were coming for a while, slid Journal 4 out of its hiding place, and flipped to the page where he'd stuck his "Good Job!" sticker. He'd used his stolen half-dried marker to blacken the sides of the yellow smiley face, turning it from a circle into a triangle, draining the last of its ink in the process. He wasted four pages with every detail he could recollect from this dream, going on and on about how easy it had been to assert his rightful control, how effortless to control time and space. If he ever found the human who wrote that lucid dreaming guide, he was giving 'em a planet.

At the end, he wrote in English, "You'll regret turning me down as your teacher, Stanford. You can't even imagine how many people would have committed murder to get that kind of attention. But I gave it to you."

He tried to remember how that sermon had really gone.

What did he need to remember the truth for? It must have gone something like that. He wouldn't still be here if it hadn't, would he?

####

(Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed, I'd appreciate a comment!! Next week we kick off with more of Bill's history—and then start ramping up for the biggest, longest plot arc so far.)

#bill cipher #(for the art)#human bill cipher #gideon gleeful #(for the chapter)#gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #(I'm disappointed i didn't get to draw Bill menacing Gideon; but i only had time for one illustration and i picked Lots Of Colors.)#(plus it's nice every once in a while to get a reminder of what Bill actually looks like)

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beastofwant · 4 months

Text

oh so Everything everything is falling apart, huh

I didn't get my general assistance at all this month which is my only income, and I wasn't warned or anything it's just gone. tomorrow my phone plan ends and now I can't even afford the most basic of plans to keep it on, meaning I'm going to lose contact with my housing worker entirely as she refuses to communicate any way besides calling me (and not be able to get in touch with landlords),

and my internet subsidy isn't just being cancelled but reversed (so they're charging me, again, More) because my case manager somehow didn't do her research and the initial fix for the phone situation kicked me off of the ACP and had the last ACP payment reversed. so I can't afford my bills as it is but now the things that helped me stay just above water are gone and so is the tiny bit of income I have left and I have to just really, really hope they're not taking my food stamps away too or I will be left with nothing and utterly screwed

I just don't even have words anymore. I'm trying to stay hopeful and trying to keep fighting but this is a fucking nightmare and it's one I've lived before, I just can't believe I did all this work and it's still happening again. being disabled in america is torture it really really is

#mad scrawl

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marlenesluv · 4 months

Text

Lovers to Strangers to Friends. (CL)

summary: Y/n and Charles have been an iconic paddock couple since 2019, everyone loves them, but what happens when a rumor spreads that Y/n is cheating? (ends in friendship, dw)

note: pls note that this smau does not end with y/n being with charles or any driver, it’s only angst lol

fc: greta gabriella kazaren

warnings: angst, cussing

masterlist here -> masterlist link

^ check my list for all posts! ^

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

twitter:

F1 Drama Blog @f1dramaa1 • 2hrs ago

This morning, we have some big F1 Wag need to cover for you guys. Let’s do some background for new fans here: Y/n Y/l/n and Charles Leclerc have been dating since 2019, that’s 4 years! Fans love them, they love how they bring out the best in each other and how Y/n always goes to races and is so kind with the fans! But we have bad news….

Last night, Y/n was seen in New York with none other than Jacob Elordi. We might have glossed over this, but she missed the Monaco Grand Prix to be with Jacob?? And, she wasn’t wearing the iconic necklace that Charles got her, one that she has said, “I will never take this off!”

Let’s not even get into how Y/n didn’t go to the last two Leclerc dinners…. things are suspicious, possibly cheating?

Comments have been turned off for respect of privacy for Charles! Please refrain from gossiping unless you know facts!

*comments have been disabled*

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Charles, you have got be joking?!” you said, following Charles out of his bedroom and to the living room as he had all of your bags packed when you got back to his house from New York.

“I’m not joking, Y/n. Get out. I cant do this.” he shook his head, your eyes filling with tears.

You knew that going to see Jacob last minute wasn’t the best idea, but you were there in order to plan a surprise for Charles, running into Jacob at the store was truly random. You weren’t a cheater either, in your last relationships, actually, you were the one being cheated on.

“You’re breaking up with me because of what Twitter says? This is ridiculous, Cha-“

“You don’t get to tell me what’s ridiculous. I mean, it makes sense! The random phone calls that you wont tell me who they are with? Leaving Monaco to go to New York randomly, also not telling me why. The last two family dinners?” Charles was mad, beyond mad, but he really didn’t need to be.

“The dinners? Oh, fuck you. You knows why I missed those. You seriously think that I can just call off work whenever you want me to? My work is unpredictable, I work late sometimes, I have clients that need things when they text or call, that’s how I get paid!”

“I could just pay for you-“

“No. No, no, no. You know this has been my dream job since I was little. Its not even about the money, it’s about me doing something I love. And you can’t support that. I have supported you during every race, Charles. I have always cancelled my plans to go to your races, yet you never even visit me at work! You wanna talk about our ‘issues’? Okay, here’s one: Why don’t you let me ever explain something before you get mad. Or, the fact that you think the world revolves around you? Or-“ he cut you off with a scoff.

You stared at him and grabbed your bags, “Fine, you want to just throw four years away over a fucking rumor, cool with me. Should have seen this coming.” You slammed his door and cried down the elevator to your car. This sucked, but at least you had a clean conscious since you did nothing wrong.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: isahernaez, lilymhe, and 527,043 others

y/n.user: moved in with my bsf this week! spain is beautiful ❤️‍🔥🇪🇸

view comments…

isahernaez: 🇪🇸❤️‍🔥

*liked by creator*

fpforcha: oh good, the cheater left

↳ f1fp8: right, cause we know for a fact that she did?

f1wags: aw :( even if she is now considered an ex wag, i will still love her posts. hope her and isa have fun

carmenmmundt: stunninggg!!! so happy you’re with isa, you guys will have sm fun

francisca.cgomes: pretty girls!!

user3: hate to see them broken up, but she is glowing

lewishamilton: have fun in spain!! 🇪🇸

↳ y/n.user: thank you lewis!

brocedes4: lewis picked his side of this divorce fr

f1gal9: i love how i came with carlos and charles, but i’m staying with isa and y/n

exwagsf1page: soo, do i start posting y/n now…

*liked by creator*

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

charles’ instagram story:

seen by: arthur_leclerc, carlossainz55, and 1,262,023 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

your instagram story:

seen by: charles_leclerc, kellypiquet, and 587,017 others

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

text messages with charles:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: lailahasanovic, logansargeant, and 538,119 others

tagged: isahernaez and aricason

y/n.user: protecting my peace with my girls, puzzles, and wine 🎀

view comments…

user2: awe, we all love you sm!! so glad you spoke out about the rumors

isahernaez: best trio of the decade

↳ aricason: century

↳ y/n.user: that ever existed

*liked by isahernaez and aricason*

logansargeant: miss doing puzzles together, glad you’re doing well in spain!

↳ y/n.user: come to spain!! i miss you and the puzzles

lsediits: logan + y/n still being friends is iconic

user6: ex wags are the bestttt, they slay (so do current ones dgmw)

f1fp81: angellllllll

lilymhe: miss you, pretty

↳ y/n.user: i miss you too!

user3: red wine >

y/nfp1: charles really dropped the ball with y/n

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Isa! Oh my god, you spilt the marinara-“ you laughed, gripping the island as Isa stared at the floor where she had just dropped the dish that was holding said marinara.

As Isa ran to the counter to grab paper towel, you took a picture of the pile of red sauce, still laughing as Isa ripped some paper towel off the roll.

Living with Isa was a blessing in disguise. The breakup was difficult, yes, and you’re sure it sucked for Charles as well, but now you were happier than you ever were.

You loved Charles, really, you did, but his constant lack of enthusiasm and support for your job was horrible. Being there for him all the time was never a question, sure, it was draining trying to make flights right after work, but you wanted to be there for him. But he was never there for you.

Moving in with Isa made you realize, fully, how much more you deserve. When you explained, in full detail, about how Charles’ behavior and the breakup, she was fuming. Cussing in spanish as she stomped around the house.

“Don’t laugh at me!” Isa said, as she continued to laugh and wipe up her mess, you joined her to clean as well.

“Sorry sorry. Be careful of the glass. I’ll grab the broom.” you got up, jogging over to the cleaning closet and grabbed the broom and pan, going back and cleaning up the glass.

Living with Isa was also messy, and chaotic, but you really wouldn’t trade it for the world.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, and 1,104,824 others

charles_leclerc: 📸

view comments…

f1wags: hmph 😒

cl16: photographer charles!

arthur_leclerc: ❤️

user7: okk…..

y/nsfp7: missing him and y/n together, but she’s better off

lorenzotl: photographer, pianist, and f1 driver

*liked by charles_leclerc*

ferrarifriends: love these pictures!

user3: ferrari men 🤝 being the biggest red flags 🚩

exwagsf1: miss y/n in these photos, but she seems happier, idkk

boomvroom11: these pictures are so cool!!!

joris_trouche: hes the photo man

*liked by charles_leclerc*

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

text messages with charles:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

F1 News Article on Google:

Good Morning, Formula 1 Fans! Today, we have some coverage on Ex-Wag, Y/n Y/l/n, and F1 Driver, Charles Leclerc. If you are not interested in the Wag+Driver world, I would skip this article. Now, let’s debrief!

Charles and Y/n broke up about two months ago, both of them posted on their Instagram stories. Now, they still follow each other on Instagram, Twitter, and Tik Tok, so we know they have public ally remained friendly.

Yesterday, multiple fans have spotted and taken pictures of the broken up couple hanging out with Isa Hernáez, ex of Carlos Sainz, and Joris Trouche, friends with Charles and Y/n.

They were seen getting coffee at a local Madrid Cafe, then some shopping, and all seen getting in Charles’ Ferrari, Y/n in the passenger with Charles driving, Isa and Joris in the back.

We do not think this means the two will get back together, but seeing them as friends makes us all very happy, I’m sure.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

liked by: charles_leclerc, joris_trouche, and 612,024 others

tagged: isahernaez, charles_leclerc, joris_trouche

y/n.user: double date night (me+isa and joris+cha)

view comments…

f1wags: isa and y/n=power couple (deadass)

charles_leclerc: had so much fun!!

↳ joris_trouche: i did too!!

↳ isahernaez: cutest couple ever the two of you!

↳ charles_leclerc: 😒

↳ y/n.user: so true, isa!!!

user3: this actually healed my heart :’)

ferraripics7: loveeee thissssss

dr3edits: i thought they broke up!?

↳ f1wags: they did!! they are friends tho!

↳ dr3edits: ohh ok ty!

lilymhe: cutest

↳ y/n.user: you are

user8: logan rn: 🧍

↳ f1fans: her and logan hung out a few weeks ago and did a live stream on insta LOL

y/nfp123: ICONNNNN

user1: so glad they are friends now!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

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gamchawizzy · 2 months

Text

❗️Mutual Aid Needed🦐

Hello hello, I am Woz, I am a trans guy from the global south, and outside of my day job in corporate, I am an artist. I am the breadwinner of my family, and I also get my younger sibling through school.

For a little more than half a decade I have been suffering with bad mental health and suicidal thoughts, on top of trying to keep my family afloat with what I can earn.

I work two jobs to earn money, on top of tabling at conventions to be able to earn extra on the side. I am the one who pays all the house bills, some groceries, often having to send money to my sibling for school and sometimes tuition. Due to the constant pressure from overworking and the abusive social environment I have been exposed to for the longest time, I am now experiencing bodily pains, shortness of breath, headaches, worsening eyesight, and worsened depression as I clock in 10-15 hours almost daily (including weekends and holidays) trying to make ends meet.

I’m humbly asking for your help so I can get proper healthcare, which has been out of my reach for the longest time due to poverty. I was hoping to be able to afford help a few years ago, as soon as I got a job, but ever since the pandemic, the local price hikes just kept going, and going, until the matter was off the table entirely. The biggest reason why I am trying to get this moving now and as urgently as possible is so I can still receive treatment while I am still mentally and physically able to take charge of my own health.

While I’m still more or less able to function well enough to work, I recently escaped an abusive situation, which was one of the biggest causes of my misery. The fallout from this event brought on a severe impact on my mental health and I was subject to a cult-like shunning by my old community. This has caused me to develop suicidal thoughts again, which eventually led to several self-delete attempts, the latest of which almost succeeded had I not been caught at literally the last second.

At the moment I am stable again and in the hands of trusted loved ones, but I still do not have access to professional help and I don’t know how long this stability will last and the next thing might cause me to spiral again.

We already did some research on getting local help and have a plan in motion, all we need now is the funds to carry it out. The bulk of it will be for the initial consultations and possibly medication, and we’re hoping to have enough to get the ball rolling for a couple months’ worth of treatment as I get myself back on track.

The initial process will be the most expensive as I am suspecting to have an undiagnosed condition that I would like to have checked, as well as possible medication. I do not have a disability ID yet (but I plan on getting one once I get a dx on paper), so we may have to pay full price for initial treatments.

Currently, my primary goal for this would be to achieve psychiatric help, diagnosis, medication, and therapy.

If I’m able to save up for a few months of maintenance and still have extra left over, my secondary goal would be to finally get my knees checked, as I have chronic pain and the occasional kneecap dislocation in them. This has been left unchecked for more than 15 years due to both poverty as well as being outright denied healthcare by the adults around me due to them downplaying the problem. I am nearing my 30s soon. While I’m still able to walk and engage in physical activities without the use of mobility aids, I fear that the complications from this condition if left untreated will only take a turn for the worse as I age.

Direct ways to support me:

Paypal:

Ko-Fi:

I have prints! You can pick up some of my art here:

We do not have a set price goal in mind as it will be a months-long process of beginning treatment and maintaining it, but rest assured all funds received will be set aside for the purpose of my healthcare and well-being only.

I still cannot escape many factors of my life that continue to hurt me, but I am hoping that continuous treatment, therapy, and support will help keep me going so I can keep my family fed without me having to worry about my own health.

Any donation, big or small, helps me so much! Even just a dollar/peso helps, shares and reblogs too! PH Moots, feel free to ask for my GCash in private!

Thank you all for reading! I’m always grateful 😭🙏❤

#mutual aid #mutual assistance #reblogs appreciated!! anything helps 🥺#No deadline on this - we are hoping to start as soon as March/April but happy to keep receiving donos 😭#so sorry about all this but yeah it is a big reason why i haven't been drawing outside of work nowadays. so many Bad things added up

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himimosa · 8 months

Text

attractive things bsd men do pt. III

you know there are things men do without being aware that makes them look hot (fixing watch, undoing tie to relax) I will try to add some more~

jouno, tecchou

Jouno Saigiku: smirking when he catches you glance

You were walking in a hurry to arrive at the meeting room on time. Unfortunately, you didn't have a stable 9-5 job where the tasks and meetings were clear... If you were working for the government's military department, and especially with the Hunting Dogs department, that basically meant that you had no life... You didn't have regularity with your work hours, you could work on a file even if it was pasts midnight, or leave your house for another one because you had an urgent phone call at 4 am...

It was also not very possible to have a relationship with all these messy schedules, top secret files of government, and very little explanation about your life... But well, any of these were not your problem with your boyfriend, since he was a member of the Hunting Dogs too...

When you arrived in the meeting room, you meant to apologize for being late, but when you saw the scenery, you changed your mind quickly. Teruko was having a breakdown because her last victim was so "weak" that he confessed everything the moment he saw the infamous vice-captain of the Hunting Dogs... She was devastated because she wanted to make him vomit blood and cry!... Fukuchi was (kinda) trying to comfort her but he was no better, you could tell from the shake of his hands that this man was still high and woozy. Tecchou was eating some mixture of food you didn't even wanna question what it was and your poor boyfriend was trying to stop him. When you greeted them, Jouno left Tetchou alone quickly and hugged you

"Babe... I am about to lose it... No one has written these in the job description... And they gave me all these idiots without an instructions guide..."

You chuckled lightly "It wasn't also written that you were going to be my boyfriend... Are you regret that too, Sai?" Jouno opposed "Y/N, you know I didn't mean that-"

When the meeting began, you all started to listen Fukuchi and the other more experienced members. You were only making the explanations when a question is directed to you or the topic comes to your files...

You were mostly staying focused on whoever was talking to take notes. But when the meeting started to get out of the topic (as usual chaotic meetings), you couldn't help but stare at your boyfriend from your eye corner. He seemed focused, with his arms crossed and brows frowned. He made some strict yet sensible comments on how to approach the case on the desk. He was so serious, and you love that about him. He wasn't someone who takes his job or injustice lightly.

When your eyes lingered a little longer than usual, he suddenly smirked lightly with one corner of his mouth. You averted your gaze with surprise. Did he notice you? You were not underestimating Jouno but thinking of his disability, it felt too surreal for a second. You thought it might be a coincidence so you wanted to check again. With your second attempt, he smirked again, this time wider. Now you had to cover your mouth with one hand because you felt your blood rushing to your cheeks.

After the meeting ended and everyone left, you couldn't help but ask: "How?.."

Jouno answered with another smirk but softer this time: "I don't need to see to know you are watching... The sounds of your heartbeats and breath tell me enough darling..."

Suehiro Tetchou: stretching and exercising

You looked at the "thing" on the kitchen stall... You blinked a few times. It smelled rice, egg, caramel, and spice at the same time(?) and some... vegetables you hoped so?... For the last ingredient, you could make sure by tasting of course, but getting food poisoning was not on your today's-to-do list...

"I cooked it for you"

You turned your head to your boyfriend's innocent facial expression. The worst part was you knew he was genuine. This man woke up early to make you a surprise, and looking around the mess of the kitchen, you could really say that he tried...

You sighed and slowly put your hands on his puffed cheeks. Tetchou was sulking, you couldn't help but give him a small peck, he was so adorable right now...

"Honey, I love you and appreciate your work and all, but please step out of the kitchen.."

He only nodded. Which made you feel bad, and you tried to offer something else: "What about you go and make your morning stretch while I make us some coffee? Afterward, we can try together to cook something more... beginner-friendly for dinner?"

He nodded but was more eager this time. He took off his "It's not burnt, it's just crispy" apron, this was a gift from Jouno. He meant to give it as a roast, but Tetchou really liked it in the end. He kinda accepted it as an acknowledgment of his big interest in the kitchen and cooking.

When Tetchou left the kitchen for exercise, you couldn't help but smile behind him. Yeah, the kitchen was a mess, but you could clean it up with him later. Even though he was not skillful in this, he was getting better... The "thing" you were going to eliminate later was so much better than his first attempts at cooking (You were still trembling with the memory of frog eggs... No you don't even wanna remember that one now)

You started to make two cups of coffee, Tetchou's taste habits were getting better too... He used to drink his coffee with soy sauce, just the thought was able to make you gag. But now you knew his little obsessions, so you convinced him to add brown sugar syrup.

When you were done, you went to the room where Tetchou was. He was stretching his back at the moment, shirtless as usual. All his back muscles stretching slowly yet clearly.

You could see that Tetchou was so focused so you didn't want to disturb him. You slowly put the cups on a shelf, only to lean on the door while crossing your arms. It was something else to watch him like this. You knew your boyfriend was not always as sweet and cute as he is with you, he was a soldier. A specialized soldier to be exact, to eliminate all threats to the government and innocent people. He was taking his job very seriously, and as the one having the strongest ability in terms of physical prowess, he was caring about his training and exercises too...

When he was about to do push-ups, he saw you standing at the door, watching him intently. You expected a sarcastic remark for a second, instead, he asked "Can you stand or sit on my back? I feel too light-weighted.."

You hesitated for a second "Are you sure? Wouldn't you hurt your back or something?.."

"Don't worry. Jouno stands with his boots on my back all the time, I don't think you could be worse than him..."

ending notes:

this was the last part of "attractive things they do" series. i like hunting dogs a lot (except fukuchi, that pig can go ahead and die in a pit), so i want to write more for them ♡

the fact that amuse me is, pt 2 almost caught up to pt 1, even though i released it later. is it about characters? i am not sure but i want to think of it like that :D

also next week, i will post a chuuya drabble i guess :3

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs headcanons #bsd #bsd headcanons #bsd fluff #jouno saigiku #jouno x reader #jouno x yn #jouno x you #jouno fluff #suehiro tecchou #tecchou x reader #tecchou x yn #tecchou x you #tecchou fluff #hunting dogs x reader #hunting dogs bsd

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animatorweirdo · 1 month

Text

Soundless

Your father discouraged you from seeking the elf, but since you were desperate to have your locket fixed -- you decided to let his words go soundless in your ears. Turns out, the ill-famed Feanor wasn't so bad after all.

[] = Sign language

Warnings: mentions of a dead mother, hearing loss, rumors, Feanor's reputation, softness, and Feanor not being bad after all.

(Note: I decided to take a softer turn for this guy,)

---------------------------------------------

Your life has not been an easy one. Despite being born into nobility as the child of a Telerin lord, you faced your share of hardships from a young age. Your mother passed away shortly after your birth, and then you lost your hearing to a strange illness.

Growing up without the ability to hear the sounds of nature or music was incredibly challenging. Many people looked at you with pity, and some even speculated that you were cursed, given the unfortunate circumstances surrounding both your mother's death and your hearing loss. This placed a heavy burden on your father, who was left to care for you alone.

You two shared a great bond, and he had been genuinely a good father to you, helping you adapt to your disability and trying to make sure you were happy. However, you knew how tired he was and how he held a look of longing in his eyes. He was most likely still waiting for your mother to return from the halls of Mandos.

Your mother had been born with a weak body thus the childbirth took a severe toll on her and her spirit. The Valar and the Maiar assured that she would heal over time, but it would take a long time. There was a high chance she would return when you had already grown into your teens.

Your father was deeply saddened by the news and carried a heavy burden of guilt, believing that he was responsible for your mother being stuck in a state of recovery. Despite any rumors or beliefs held by others, he never allowed you to bear the blame. Instead, he shielded you from such notions, ensuring that you understood it was not your fault and that you were not to blame for your mother's passing.

You didn't want your father to blame himself, so you always strived to be on your best behavior and do things that would make him happy. You also wanted to prove to him that he didn’t always need to worry about you and that you could handle yourself, even if you were deaf. That was one of the reasons why you were determined to learn how to read people’s lips and make communication easier for yourself.

One of the only things you had from your mother was a silver locket.

Your father allowed you to keep it, and you held on to it ever since. Unfortunately, the lock had gotten stuck, thus making you unable to open it.

Your father didn’t know what the locket held inside, so you pleaded with him to have someone fix it. However, since the locket was an older design from the First Age, none of the craftsmen knew how to repair it. They all advised you to dismantle the locket and salvage whatever was inside, but you were unwilling to do so. You were fond of the locket itself and didn't want to risk damaging whatever precious contents it held.

You began to lose hope when there were no more craftsmen to turn to, and even your father seemed less eager to save the locket. He eventually told you to simply keep the locket as a memory, assuring you that knowing what was inside was not important.

You valued your father's advice, but you also couldn't shake the desire to know what was inside the locket. Perhaps it contained a picture of your mother, since you had so few of them in the house, or maybe it held a cherished item she kept as a memory.

You then heard about an elf who was rumored to be one of the best craftsmen known in history: Feanor, King Finarfin’s older brother and the eldest of Finwe’s children. You heard that he had done troubling things in the past and nowadays lived in seclusion with his sons, rarely attending social events. Despite his reclusive nature, his reputation as a skilled craftsman persisted.

You felt hope for your mother’s locket, but when you asked your father if you two could meet him, he suddenly became angry and refused. You were startled as you had never seen him so angry before.

Your father apologized for snapping at you and then explained that Feanor was not someone who should even be spoken about. Despite the passing of many years, the wounds he had inflicted were still fresh in the hearts of many. He was not to be trusted, so it's only for the best that you forget the whole thing.

Normally, you would have listened to your father, but your stubbornness to have your locket fixed strived you forward.

During a celebration event with most noble houses and the city attending, you sneaked away from your father’s side and made your way to the workshop where you heard Feanor usually occupied alone with his gadgets.

You had visited many workshops while trying to get your locket fixed, so you had a good idea of what to look for. It didn’t take long for you to find the place and walk inside. The workshop was empty, as most of the people were attending the celebration. Although it was a bit eerie to be alone, you pressed on until you found a door with light emanating from the room beyond.

You quietly peered inside and observed a dark-haired elf seated beside a table, engrossed in some task beneath the flickering candlelight. For a moment, you were awestruck, realizing that this was the famed Feanor, the elf who had allegedly committed terrible deeds.

With cautious steps, you entered the room, mindful not to startle the elf, and pondered how to approach him without alarming him. Unbeknownst to you, the door behind you closed shut, causing the elf to startle and snap his head towards you.

You were frozen in your place when you locked your eyes with Feanor. His features were sharp and he frowned when he saw you. For a moment, he looked a bit terrifying.

“Child? What are you doing here alone? Where are your parents?” Feanor questioned, but you awkwardly remained quiet as you only managed to catch ‘here’ and ‘parents’ from his lips. Your lip reading skills weren’t the sharpest despite you having been trying to improve them.

You took a deep breath and then tried to explain in sign language why you were there and that you had hoped he could take a look at your locket and perhaps know how to fix it since no one else knew how to.

Feanor gazed intently at you as you signed, and then there was an awkward pause. You weren't sure if he understood sign language, and you mildly regretted not bringing a piece of paper and a pencil, which would have made explaining much easier.

Feanor’s eyes then softened, and to your surprise, he motioned his hand in sign language.

“[Come here…]” he said.

You then walked up to him and handed him your locket.

He inspected it carefully, taking in the design and the lock. After he tested it and tried to open it, he then laid it down on the table. He grabbed one of the vials and what seemed to be a small tool. You looked at him curiously as he started doing something.

He then glanced at you.

“[Take a seat. This might take a while…]” He signed.

You nodded and quietly sat on the opposite side of the table, watching as he gently poured drops on the lock.

“[What is that?] you curiously asked.

“[A type of acid. It can remove the rust that had locked the locket from the inside,]” he explained.

“[Wait! So you can really fix it without having to break it?!]” you asked excitedly.

“[Of course I can. I do need to take the lock apart to clean the excess rust from the inside,]” Feanor explained while dropping drops on the locket.

“[How do you know sign language?]” you asked.

“[I was the one who first developed it,]” he answered, making your eyes widen.

“[Did you or anyone in your family have hearing problems too? ]” you asked.

“[No. I just wanted a way to bad mouth my half-brother without him understanding anything. I was a bit of a drama seeker,]” he explained, making you giggle.

“[Then it was adopted by those who were unable to speak or hear words,]” he added.

“[How long have you been unable to hear words or sounds?]” he asked while cleaning your locket’s lock.

“[My whole life. I lost my hearing somewhere in my birth,]” you answered.

“[Do you want to talk about it?]” Feanor asked, and you became excited. No one else besides your father has spoken to you in sign language this long.

You then talked about your life. How your mother died during your birth, and how your father had taken care of you your whole life. You also talked about how your father seems to be blaming himself for your mother’s death and how you hated when others would look at you with pity and think you had been cursed.

Feanor listened attentively while fixing your locket.

After half an hour of talking and watching him work, you took a break, but then you saw how the elf in front of you placed all the parts back in the locket and opened it.

You looked at him eagerly as he closed it and then opened it, making sure the lock worked properly before handing the locket back to you.

You grabbed the locket and took a look at what was inside. It was a small picture of your mother and father. They looked happy together, and there was also a small gem inside. It was most likely the gem your father gave your mother as a gift, and she had kept it inside the locket for safekeeping and carried it with her. You felt immeasurable joy looking at the picture and holding the gem.

Your father would be so happy when you showed these to him.

Feanor then caught your attention by tapping the table in front of you.

“[The locket should work fine for now, but make sure to take care of it and not leave it somewhere where it could rust again, ]” Feanor explained.

“[I will. Thank you,]” you signed.

“[Now come on. I take you back to the entrance. You shouldn’t be here,]” he said, then stood up.

You followed the elf out of the workshop, and you two then stood on the empty street while the celebration was still going in the distance.

“[Do you need me to escort you back there?]” Feanor asked.

“[No. My father is pretty easy to find, and I don’t think he even noticed that I’m gone. I’m pretty quiet after all, ]” you answered.

“[Very well, and by the way,]” he said, making you look at him curiously.

“[Your mother’s passing was not your fault. No matter how tragic it was, you are not at fault,]” he explained.

You looked down for a moment.

“[But others think differently,]” you said.

“[There will always be people who will judge you for what you don’t have. Don’t let their words get to you. Otherwise, your life will become difficult and harder to enjoy,]” he signed.

“[And remember, hearless or not, your mother would have loved you]” he added.

The thought made you smile. Your mother had a weak body, but it didn’t mean she did not want you. Your father and the rest of the relatives always explained how she was excited to have you.

She might be in Mandos, but she was going to return one day.

“[I won’t. Thank you, Mr. Feanor,]” you said, and he softly smiled.

“[Now get along now. Your father will notice your disappearance soon enough,]” he said.

You then suddenly hugged his legs, making him look at you surprised. He then patted your head as you freed him and began making your way back to the party. You waved at him, and he waved in return till he saw you disappear into the crowds.

Feanor returned to his workshop, feeling pleasant over the encounter.

#silmarillion x reader #middle earth x reader #silm fic #tolkien #silmarillion imagines #feanor #feanor x reader #feanor x child reader #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #middle earth #deaf reader

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purpleyoonn · 1 year

Text

baby (you complete us) 1

C H A P T E R O N E

Summary: Soulmates were a common occurrence, so common, in fact, that the world sought an easier way to find your other half: A bracelet that would scan your mark and match you with those who shared your mark. Within recent years, soul groups were becoming normal, and your own bracelet said you have seven matches.

Or where you wear your bracelet for ten years, and finally give up the hope you would find your soul group, only for BTS to put theirs on and see what they were missing.

Genre: soulmate au, idol au, angst, fluff, eventual smut,

Pairing: Idol BTS x Disabled MC

Warnings: angst, mentions of depression, disabled mc (Ehlers Danlos syndrome), eventual smut, fluff, lots of fluff, mentions of disability, simp bangtan

Chapter Warnings: drunk mc, drunk messaging, mentions of depression, insecurities, parental death, disability diagnosis, negative thoughts,

masterlist // chapter 2

taglist: @imnotlauriane @mageprincess7 @m1sss1mp @0funsite0 @strawberry-moonpies @this-isthe-way @singukieee @btsw1fe @gooooomz @fluffy-canada-pancakes @carolinexkpop @agusfree @sakurarukas @iamkookiesforyou @skyys-universe @toughbook @plutoneu @whisperssuga @welcometomyworld13 @yuzon3 @wittyreader @jnghs @cyd0129 @exfolitae @queen-in-the-shadows @nen-nyy @pandxthings @schniti-is-in-the-house @juju-227592 @jinseartharmysmoon @wooya1224 @ddaeng-angmoh @gratefullygrateful @rorythme

permanent taglist: @yourleftsock @cryingpages @strxwbloody @drissteele @dustyinkpages @crushedblackroses @blaaiissee @iiitsmaria @azazel-nyx @g-h-o-s-t-b-a-b-i @knjkitten @kleirielk @foreverweareyoung7 @lachimolala22019 @namuficxs @94z-93 @kimgmzmc @thenaverse

---------------------------------------

Every morning for the past ten years, the first thing you did was open the Soul app. Each morning you hoped and wished to see a notification on the upper right corner of the app on your screen. And each morning you were once again left disappointed with the zero notifications. Each of your friends had already found theirs, had met up with them and felt the bond cement within their souls.

You couldn’t help but to grow envious and jealous of their happiness, even now, as you watch your closest friends pledge their lives and souls to each other. You were a bridesmaid, right behind her own sister, the maid of honor. You were like a sister to Anna, having grown up with her and her family. But you never felt so out of place, like you didn’t belong as you stood there.

You were beyond happy for Anna and Chris, love in your heart for them as you witness their love for each other. But you couldn’t help but to feel your own heart break at the sight.

Your soulmates didn’t want you; it was the only conclusion you could think of. Ten years, ten years of knowing that you have seven soulmates out there.

Your bracelet made the distinction of telling you that your soulmates already knew each other. Maybe it shouldn’t have. It left you feeling the way you do now, believing that they don’t want you.

And maybe you couldn’t blame them.

For every day, over the past ten years, since you first put on the gift from your parents, you had messaged your soulmates, introducing yourself, letting them know how your day went. Everything and anything you could think of. But once your mother passed away, you slowly started to taper off your messages.

The feeling of being alone had started to sink in.

You had family come in, say their condolences, and leave after a while. Even people you didn’t know were coming in to say their part, but nothing from your soulmates. You never once saw a ‘read’ notification underneath a message.

Then, not even a month after your mother’s passing, you were diagnosed with Hypermobile Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, a genetic connective tissue disorder that affects your entire body. You were diagnosed after your sister took you to the doctors, her concern for your hips and knees becoming too much after seeing you need a cane for walking assistance. The diagnosis took weeks of medical history research and a physical examination.

Apparently popping your wrists in and out of place isn’t as much of a party trick as you thought it was.

After that, you just sort of stopped the messages, only really messaging when you had no one else to talk to. You figured, if they aren’t going to read it, then why not use it as a sort of diary, writing the things you knew you couldn’t tell others.

Today, however, would be the last time you messaged them. You had decided mid ceremony that you weren’t going to continue wearing your bracelet. It was just becoming a reminder of how much your life was not going the way you wanted.

“Thank you so much for being here with me!” Anna spoke to you, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. She had pulled you aside after bridal party pictures. You were having a good day, not needing your cane but having it sat by your assigned seat just in case. You weren’t sure if you wanted to be in the wedding when she asked you, but knowing how happy she was, you said yes.

“I’m glad I got to be a part of your special day.” You smiled back, hoping she didn’t see the small sadness in your eyes. Anna nodded in response; just glad you were happy. She knew how hard your life had been in the past couple years, and she loved seeing the smile on your face whenever it happened. She wanted you to be happy always, never having to feel pain again.

“I can’t wait until you get to marry your soulmates. I will be right here for you, doing everything I can to make your day just as special.” She hugged you again before being called away for more pictures of the family, the bridesmaids and groomsmen being dismissed. While you smiled at your friend, you could feel the tears building.

You wouldn’t get that day, and you knew it.

Fate was determined to see you cry, and this only cemented your decision.

By the time you were ready to message them for the last time, you were drunk for courage, and maybe for yourself as you tried to bury your negative thoughts. You sat on the floor in the bathroom stall, listening as women came in and out, talking about their own happiness with their soulmates, wishes for the bride in her own.

Grabbing your phone out of your bag, you clutched it in your hands, fingers slowing typing out the last message you would send before taking your bracelet off.

“If you do actually read this, just know that I am happy for you all. I hope that you feel the happiness that you wish for.

I have decided that this will be the last time I hope to see a notification from you, a message in return saying that you have signed into the app and would like to meet me.

I am sorry if my messages were annoying in any way. You do not need to read them. They probably wouldn’t mean anything to you anyways.

I understand that you don’t want me, and that is fine. I am used to that. You would know if you read any of the messages I’ve sent.

I am taking off my bracelet in the morning, the hope I have for the bracelet diminished by the time you read this. If you do ever read this.

I wish you all a lifetime of happiness.”

Despite your drunken state, you were proud of how sober you sounded, thanking spell check for keeping everything eligible.

Getting off the floor, you moved from the stall and over to the sink, using the tissues and water to help make your makeup neater than it was seconds ago. You could feel your leg shaking from the amount of time you sat on the floor, your position less than desirable as you tried to make yourself comfortable on the cold, hard ground.

Once you felt more presentable, you decided to say goodbye to your friends, your phone telling you it was past midnight at that point. You also knew you would need your cane soon, the slight limp you had as you walked and the weird feeling in your hip telling you it would shift soon.

It took you a couple of minutes to walk through the crowd of people in the reception hall, but you were glad when you finally spotted Anna and Chris.

“Hye guys. I’m gonna be heading home.” You were tugged into a bear hug by Chris, his hold comforting especially after your feelings for the night were less than good. When you pulled back, you pointed your finger at him, eyes narrowed.

“Congrats bro. Remember, this is my best friend and I will hurt you if you hurt her.” You joked around, reminding him of the first talk you gave him over six years ago. He just laughed, before hugging you again.

“I hope you guys have a fun time at your honeymoon! Don’t forget, my name is extremely cute for babies. Plus, I would be the best godmother slash auntie ever.” You grin again, before bringing Anna into your arms, hugging her tight before letting her go.

Once you finish your goodbye’s, you finally leave the building, get in your car and head home to your apartment.

Your apartment was small, but it was home. You managed to make the place look comfy and cozy, needing all the comfort you could get. You wanted a pet, but your apartment didn’t allow them, and you didn’t have the money to get a service animal like your doctor had once suggested.

It was cold when you walked inside, the heat off as you liked bundling up. You also didn’t want to spend the money on something when you were usually overheated anyways. Placing your keys on the little bowl your sister made you as a kid, you move around the couch and cozy recliner and make your way to your room.

You liked the color blue, and everyone would know by walking into your room. You had different shades of blue everyone, blankets, pillows, even your dresser was a dark navy blue. Placing your cane by your bedside table, you take your time changing into pajamas, just a simple pair of sweats and a large t-shirt you stole from your friend Michael years ago, the logo long faded and worn down.

Your bed consisted of many blankets, your very own comfort item. You loved the softness of them, and the warmth they provided. You had a weighted blanket, a gift from Anna last Christmas. You cherished it and always slept with it. It was a dark grey, standing out against the blues of your bed, but also tying the room together.

Pulling it over you, you let the weight of it rest against you, soothing the unknown and known tension in your body, helping you to be able to drift to sleep. However, the weight of the bracelet on your wrist was another issue.

It was familiar, but now unwelcome as you felt another rush of emotions hit you. You moved quickly, taking the bracelet off your wrist, moving over so you could reach your nightstand, placing the bracelet in the bottom drawer filled with other items you deemed as junk over the years.

The emptiness you felt once it was off your wrist was not a new feeling, but you felt it would be a permanent one.

Turning over, you faced the wall, remembering you had a work meeting in the morning and needed to wake up relatively early.

The last thing you think of was that damned bracelet, wondering if your parents knew the kind of resentment you would have towards it when they gave it to you.

-*-*-

“Now remember guys, this is a collaboration project. You may or may not receive any sort of notification when you put on your bracelet and it scans your mark.”

The man from Soul Connection spoke over the different Hybe groups in attendance. The CEO’s of Hybe chose to do the collaboration after the news that the population within South Korea was declining, and soul bonds were on the way to declining. They had made the announcement a couple days ago, the collaboration already sparking a boost in soul bracelet sales.

Everyone wanted to be bonded to one or more of the idols, especially to the bonded group BTS. Bangtan was a well-known bonded group, having come out to the public once public opinion on soulmates within the industry became better. While the boys may already be a bonded group, they were still under contract and were given their own bracelets.

“What if we receive a notification, hyung?” Jungkook looked up at Namjoon, his hands interlocked with his leaders.

They were all nervous, a small part of them wondering if they had another soulmate out there. It wasn’t a new feeling to them, having all thought this over the years. They had all felt some weird, empty spot within their souls, but ignored it as they became more well-known and more popular over the years, their lives becoming busier with the increasing amount of attention.

But now, they didn’t have an excuse to not wonder about a missing soulmate, not when they were having to wear the soul bracelets that would let them know once and for all.

“Now, once you put these on, they bracelet will take a couple minutes to scan your mark, and plug it into the server, looking for any matches. Once they have found a match, you will get a notification, and will be brought to your soulmates profile.” The small man explained, moving throughout the room as he explained how the bracelets worked.

“But also, you will only be notified if you have a soulmate, but you might not be brought to a profile. You may be given basics if their mark is found in any medical history and the person has allowed it to be disclosed to the company.” The man held the bracelet up, the room of idols growing quiet as the stipulations were said.

“If your soulmate has worn the bracelet, or is currently wearing it, their information will come up, and any messages they have sent will be available to you at the time of identification. Once you get the notifications, your soulmate will receive one as well, notifying them that you’ve been found.” At his words, Namjoon looked over to their main manager, Sejin, who nodded back over. His management team already had a plan in place for, the smallest percentage, if they were to have another soulmate.

Once they got the okay, Jimin was the first to put his bracelet on, extremely curious to know if they were a completed bond, or if they had any missing soulmates out in the world. Like the man said, it took a couple minutes, but his heart broke once he got the notification. Hearing similar dings from his mates, he looked at them, tears in his eyes.

They had another soulmate.

One who had been wearing theirs for ten years.

One who had been messaging them.

And their last message said they lost hope and were going to take the bracelet off.

Next Chapter

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year

Text

never tear us apart

Aemond Targaryen x f!Reader

part five of the prūmia va perzys (heart on fire) series

part one: don't you love me? - part two: and what of your love? - part three: the flames that divide - part four: the aftermath

themes/warnings: injury, language, dragonrider!reader (her house is not stated)

word count: 6.1k ▪︎ masterlist

The Blacks make an attempt to lift the curse cast upon the reader. Aemond does everything he can to reach Dragonstone, in hopes of seeing the reader again. A sinister plot forms, threatening to cast everything into further chaos. Or set everything right. Only time will tell.

Alys Rivers is no stranger to pain.

When she was discarded by her mother at the steps of her apparent father’s castle at a tender age of 10, she felt it.

When her father did not completely recognize her as his daughter, relegating her to be one of the workers of his estate, she felt it.

When she had to fend off an attacker, using all of her meagre physical strength, digging her nails into the man who attempted to overcome her and take her girlhood, she felt it.

Pain is no stranger. And it is no friend, either.

But pain was something that she merely accepted, until she found the Lord of Light. Her mother sought her out years after she abandoned her, telling her that it needed to be done. She needed to leave Alys, so that she might be able to devote her days and nights to the one true Lord.

Alys should have been angry. She should have wept upon seeing her mother again, hurled questions and accusations at her as to why she left her only daughter. But strangely enough, she could not find it in herself to do so. She did not feel it was important then. Does that make her emotionless, devoid of even the slightest connection towards her mother? Perhaps, perhaps not.

All she knew was that she understood her mother’s motives. She found a sameness in how her mother was ready to sacrifice everything to Him.

The Lord of Light. The Red god. Alys found him, but already knew of her. He already knew of her pain, and he promised to take it all away. He promised her a saviour carved out of the very same pain, and strength, and sapphire-blue. The one chosen for her as a vessel into the light. Whether to love or to use as a mere tool to spread the Lord of Light’s power, she does not believe it to be in her hands. What matters is, her one-eyed prince would come and her very being would be devoted to him.

What Alys Rivers did not anticipate was that her one-eyed prince’s heart would already be spoken for. The flames did not impart that she would have to fight tooth and nail for it. For him.

She did not know that Aemond Targaryen’s heart would already be yours.

But then again, she is no stranger to pain. She felt it in the way Aemond squeezed her neck, in the way he dug his fingers into her skin until she almost turned a sick shade of sapphire-blue. Its talons buried themselves deep in her heart when her prince beloved Aemond, in all his unbridled rage, promised that he would never truly love her. Not in the way that he loves you.

No matter. He is merely lost, and I can bring him back into the light. Her delicate fingers graze the bruises on her neck, feeling him. She has already set her plan into motion, but nothing is certain. There are ways to bring you back, and she is aware of this. Her best hand is yet to be played, and there are things about to unfold. Things that will bring untether Aemond from you.

He will be mine, once y/n is consumed by the flames. After all, how can he still love you when you are gone?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Aemond has always been perceptive, ambitious, insightful. Eager to overcome any slight that his disability has added on to his existence, real or imagined.

Even before the fateful injury, he has already possessed a similar sense of pride. Self-preservation, borne out of being a Targaryen prince without a dragon, who also stands to inherit nothing. The second son. Everything he wants, he has had to carve out for himself. To take for himself.

As if to pour salt on the wound, it is clear to everyone that he is far more capable and more suited to the throne than his older brother Aegon. But this matters not, at least not whilst Aegon survives, and his sons along with him.

This thirst to prove himself, to make sure that whoever encounters him sees him as worthy, has always stayed with Aemond. He did all he could – ensured himself to be knowledgeable about the histories, philosophies, High Valyrian, battle strategy and combat expertise, the religion of the old gods and the new, and all else. There isn’t one important volume in the castle's Great Library that Aemond has not gotten his hands on, living and breathing the words, memorizing them.

Every bit of knowledge, each newly honed skill, forms into a new facet of his being. Making him better. Making him whole. All Aemond ever wanted was to belong. To be whole.

But he never thought he could achieve this without effort. Without strife to overcome. This invisible yet ever-present need to prove himself became something like a burden he has to carry. He never felt that he could belong, truly, until you.

But you had seen him. Accepted him. Aemond did not need to woo you with any embellishment, he did not need to tell you how he had memorized the histories of the Seven Kingdoms. It mattered not that he might be the most skilled swordsman of his age, having painstakingly trained each day since his tenth nameday. The allure of his status, of the power of his family, was not something that drew you to him. He quickly discovered that he never needed to impress you, he only needed to love you.

Aemond tried to fight it, but that did not last long. After all, is it not useless to deny oneself what calls out to the heart?

The day Aemond Targaryen allowed himself to love you, and be loved in return, was the day that he finally belonged.

And without you, the one-eyed prince would be unanchored.

Aemond remembers the night that you first met as he sits in his chambers, waiting. Years ago, you had rolled your eyes at him, at a prince of the Seven Kingdoms, when he said something out of turn about your friend Rhaena’s lack of a dragon. You were quick to retaliate, sharp and biting with your words. But the morning after, when you came across him sitting all by his lonesome in the library, you apologized.

Granted, you demanded his apology first, but there was something in his violet eyes. A certain awareness, a melancholy. There might be some darkness creeping in Prince Aemond’s heart, but there is an undeniable light there, too. A remnant of lost innocence. You caved in, and curiosity got the better of you. For hours, you spoke to your heart’s desire, each new subject brought up only increasing your interest in the one-eyed prince. And his interest in you was piqued in turn. From then on, countless days and nights were spent together in the comforts of the great library.

His heart swelled, perhaps for the very first time in what felt like forever, when you had fallen asleep on his shoulder one night, as he read to you about the chronicles of Princess Nymeria.

He hasn’t been the same since.

The night that has passed since he has heard of your affliction has been long and torturous, leaving him increasingly restless and stricken with worry. He had wanted to take Vhagar and fly to Dragonstone right away, without any mind to what his arrival in enemy territory would entail for him. He almost relinquished his part to play in the war. This ceaseless game that is being played out for the Iron Throne is what drew the two of you apart in the first place.

Until his mother stopped him, promising a better plan.

And so he waits.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

At the height of the hour of the owl, in one of the royal chambers of the castle in King’s Landing, something is evidently afoot. The room is bathed in warm candlelight, the shadows reflected on each individual’s sombre faces. Their voices are low, in hushed whispers, ensuring the matter at hand to be clandestine.

Alicent is stern when she commands, “You shall help your prince in this matter, Lady Mysaria. You are, after all, in the debt of your King, and by extension, our family. Whatever slights you had to endure by our hand, we implore you to forget them. Have we not made good upon our word to eradicate the fighting pits in Flea Bottom? To ensure the safety of all the children?”

Mysaria studies the Queen, her shrewd eyes taking her in. She knows that she is not being presented with a choice, not truly. Not with this matter. She notices the grey shade of exhaustion right below Aemond's empty, glazed eye, caused by hours upon hours of worrying over you. His stance is taut, like a viper prepared to strike. Eagerly awaiting whatever impediment will stand in his way, so that he might destroy it swiftly. He would do whatever is needed, even the most distasteful of actions, simply so she would assist him in reaching you.

Aemond continues to say nothing. His eye boring straight through Mysaria. She knows right away that he does not give any mind to her. She is merely a tool for him to use, so that he will see you again.

Mysaria says, in her silky, sly tone, “I know you understand our arrangement, my Queen. I come and go as I please. I give you information as I please. You have had much use for the whispers that I provide. If I were to help you now, it will be of my own volition.”

Alicent purses her lips, “Of course. That it not being contested - ”

Aemond interrupts her impatiently, “Know this, White Worm. I am commanding you to do whatever you must so that I can reach Dragonstone, discreetly. Although,” he stalks towards her, “I will see y/n again, with or without your aid. Should you choose to help me, you shall continue to walk free. Otherwise,” he turns his head away, knowing his point has already come across, “hmm.”

“Are you threatening me, Prince Aemond?”

Slowly, Aemond turns to look at her once more. Mysaria was initially resolute in meeting his gaze, showing him that she will not cave easily. But his eye darkens, his expression a quiet type of menacing, but shadowed with a sense of grim that brought a chill to her very bones.

At once, Mysaria realizes that her Prince Aemond is not to be trifled with.

“I can get you to Dragonstone soon,” she starts.

“Today,” Aemond emphasizes, determinedly.

“On the morrow,” Mysaria counters, “there will be the timed arrival of resources by ship on the island. I can arrange to have you on that very ship, accompanied by some of my trusted… whisperers.”

“That’s not soon enough.” Aemond paces away from her, not satisfied with the solution.

“You should know, my prince, that the Blacks have employed the aid of a certain priestess of the Red religion. Someone who might be capable of countering the effect of the curse laid upon your paramour. They will attempt to conduct a healing ritual tonight,” Mysaria says, knowing every word strikes true in Aemond, hope slowly creeping in his expression.

“And this priestess… Can she be trusted?”

“She has not shown any sign of being otherwise. Rest assured that once you land on Dragonstone, I can have the Lady Y/n in some place which can be easily reached by you,” she pauses, careful to add what follows, “That is, if she will awaken.”

“She will.” Aemond’s eye snaps straight to hers, burning through. “She must.”

Mysaria merely nods once, before addressing Alicent, “Queen Regent, I trust that our arrangement is to your satisfaction? Now that you know how your son will be transported to Dragonstone under my care, do you still wish to move forward with this plan?”

Alicent takes a deep breath, knowing that no matter what her decision might be, Aemond’s mind is already set in stone. He will get to you, one way or another. Better to do it in the safety of the shadows, away from the malicious notice of the Blacks.

Alicent did not fully trust Mysaria, but she trusted that this Mistress of Whisperers understood, that should she play a hand in harming Aemond, then she would not hesitate in subjecting this waiflike serpent from Lys to the worst torture imaginable.

“If Aemond wishes it, then it shall happen,” Alicent finally says, looking to her son for confirmation. Aemond straightens, before nodding, “I shall await your counsel regarding this journey. I trust that you will get everything done right, won’t you, White Worm?”

There is a vague threat lacing the end of his words, one that does not go unnoticed.

The corner of Mysaria’s mouth lifts in acknowledgement, and she curtsies slowly, before making her leave, her translucent skirts billowing behind her.

A mere moment passes, before Alicent strides closer to her son, and takes both of his hands in hers. “Aemond, this will no doubt be perilous. There is no way of knowing what the Blacks might do should they discover you. Is this truly your desire?”

Two seconds pass, four, five. It is not the first time that Aemond has been on the receiving end of his mother’s worried pleas, and he knows it will not be the last.

Taking a deep breath, and comfortingly squeezing her hands in turn, he only has you on his mind. “Yes,” he finally says, “it is.”

Alicent need not ask why. She assents, “Alright. I trust that everything will go well, and you will return to us afterward.”

The last sentence, she says mostly to herself, in desperate need of reassurance. In hopes that no harm will come to her favoured son.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The atmosphere in the room is thick with despair and anticipation. A mixture of strange aromas infiltrate the air, making it hard to breathe.

From one side of the room, Daemon Targaryen’s face scrunches in disgust. And a whole lot of impatience. His fists are clenched on his sides, one foot tapping as the bloody witch continues her work on the seemingly vital concoction.

The Lady Cerrah kneels by the side of your bed, a small cauldron fuming by her side. Her voice comes out in deep, hushed whispers, as she performs the bulk of the spell. Her eyes are shut, and for a task of such importance, she does not seem to give off any sense of worry or agitation.

That fucking witch looks so calm. Daemon paces to another corner of the room. How the fuck can she look so calm with y/n’s very life on the line?

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra beckons to her husband, reaching for his hand, “she will be alright.”

“She best be in perfect health after all this sorcery,” he huffs in response, “otherwise, a certain witch won’t be leaving Dragonstone in the same state in which she arrived.”

Still with her eyes closed, Cerrah calls out, “Make no mistake, my prince. My hearing works just fine. We would not want to distract me from my work, lest it lead to any complication. It would not bode well for the poor Lady y/n here.”

“Our apologies.” Rhaenyra replies, also on behalf of her sulking husband, who continues to irately glare at Cerrah as if she possessed two heads.

“The rest of it, if you please, Maester.” Cerrah says, and Maester Gerardys walks forward and places a wide silver platter beside the cauldron.

Cerrah studies the contents, her fingers drifting over them as if feeling for a pulse. She takes a handful of charred wormwood and drops it in the cauldron. Next, she takes the sliver of dragonscale, retrieved from the hide of a slumbering Fyraxes, and it follows suit. The mixture hisses and bubbles as a result, the fumes growing ever stronger and more pungent.

“Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla prūmia. Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ñelly. Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ābrar.” Cerrah’s chanting increases in intensity, her tone sounding harsher, the words muddling over one another like a single drawn out command.

A cold, biting gust blows inside the chambers, causing the shivers to erupt on the skin of its occupants. The flames of several candles flicker then die out.

Rhaenyra’s hand tightens around Daemon’s, as she senses his distress resurfacing.

Cerrah lifts the chalice of young goat’s blood from the platter, and pours it in the cauldron, which suddenly begins to expel a bright, blue flame. It rises several feet high, the resulting heat so searing that it warms the entirety of the chambers.

Maester Gerardys and his two attendants have to wipe at their foreheads to keep beads of sweat from entering their eyes. But the Targaryens stand still, unperturbed by the blazing heat. The blood of the dragon rings true. Queen Rhaenyra’s violet eyes mirror the flames in their vibrance, fierce and unblinking.

“Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla prūmia. Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ñelly. Āeksiot Ōño, gūrogon ōregon hen zirȳla ābrar.” The words echo again and again, as Cerrah lowers her fingers into the cauldron, her face struggling to mask the pain it brings. Her fingers come out stained, and she stands, relentless in her chanting. She drags the potion from your hairline to the tip of your nose, painting your skin deep red, the colour of the god R’hllor.

Cerrah’s words wash over you, prayers to her high beloved. “Lord of Light,” she pleads, “take hold of her heart.” The ritual is centered on the healing of your heart, as it had been the target of Alys Rivers. Your heart had to cease, to symbolically be set in stone, so that it will not yearn to be united with its other half. The very one belonging to Prince Aemond.

Love has been the catalyst of all this pain, and only love can bring you back. The Lady Alys never would have set her tainted sights on you, had you not been the keeper of Aemond’s heart.

As you still are. As you will always remain.

“Āeksiot Ōño,” Cerrah rasps, passion punctuating her every word, “gūrogon zirȳla prūmia lenton.”

The flame in the cauldron disappears, as does all the flickering candlelight around the room. Everything is enveloped in shadow, with only the pale moonlight peering through the shutters.

All is silent, save for Cerrah’s hushed whispers.

A long moment passes, until Daemon’s growl breaks the stillness, “Why will she not awaken? This procedure has taken up nearly the entirety of a fucking hour.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra chastises, “perhaps you should wait outside.”

Daemon sulks, lowering his head, “No. I want to be here when she awakens.”

Rhaenyra comfortingly strokes his back, almost amused at his disposition, “Very well then.” She understands his qualms over the situation, over the notion of entrusting your wellbeing to this strange priestess. But they were at their wits’ end. They needed you back, hale and healthy.

Cerrah’s chanting stops abruptly. She lays a hand atop your nightgown, just above your heart.

“Is something the matter?” Daemon asks.

“There is… something missing.” Cerrah sighs. “I can feel the Lord calling out to me in return, but he cannot fully take a hold of myself and the Lady Y/n. It does not seem as if he can heed my plea due to a missing piece.”

“What piece, my lady?” Rhaenyra questions, growing nervous.

“A piece of her heart.” Cerrah breathes. “I need a piece of her heart.”

“You’re bloody demented, witch, if you think I will allow you to cut her open like some fucking boar.” Daemon strides forward without much thought, allowing his emotions to overcome him.

“Daemon, don’t - ” Rhaenyra tries but her words fall to deaf ears.

“You said you would bring her back to us,” Daemon grabs Cerrah’s shoulders, gripping tightly, “so, bring her back.”

“I said I would try, Prince Daemon.” Cerrah meets Daemon’s eyes unwaveringly, unperturbed by his anger. “I just need a piece of her heart. Not in the literal sense, mind you. If only you would give me a chance to explain myself first.”

Daemon releases her, stepping back, “You are in no position to reprimand me, my lady.” He adds the title mockingly. “Tell us what you need.”

“I can’t be certain about the object,” Cerrah muses, addressing everyone in the room, “but I need something that she owns, or something that was given to her out of love. A piece of her heart. Something laced with love. True love. Yes… yes, that is what we need.”

“Laced with love,” Rhaenyra whispers, something coming to mind.

Maester Gerardys looks perplexed, unable to come up with an answer. Daemon looks around, his eyes landing on your sword resting on the mantle, “What about her sword? She has fought with it since her youth. Surely it holds a special place in her heart.”

“That may not be enough.” Cerrah shrugs.

“Wait,” Rhaenyra says, before walking over to the round desk in the middle of your chambers. On top of it rests the boxes sent many days prior, the ones containing gillyflower from your own secret field. A thin layer of dust is displaced as Rhaenyra lifts the lid of one, revealing the remnants of wilting gillyflower inside.

She takes them gently, careful not to crumble the fragile flowers in her palm.

“Laced with love,” she declares, meeting Cerrah’s eyes across the room. The priestess only nods in understanding. She does ask any questions. She can feel it, feel that the dull flowers in the Queen’s palm hold something more vivid that anything else in the room.

It is, in essence, a piece of a heart. From your Aemond, for you.

“It will not work.” Daemon grumbles, gripping Rhaenyra’s wrist as she approaches Cerrah, “Look at y/n. How can that one-eyed idiot claim to love her after having caused this.”

“We have no other choice, Daemon.” Rhaenyra shakes out of Daemon’s hold, and extends her palm to Cerrah, surrendering the gillyflower.

In one swift motion, Cerrah lowers the gillyflower in the cauldron. She resumes her chanting, her confidence renewed, “Gūrogon bisa jiōragon. Iā piece hen zirȳla prūmia. Iā object hen drēje jorrāelagon. Dovaogēdy, mijegon sȳndror, vok.” Take this offering. A piece of her heart. An object of true love. Unsullied. Without the strain of darkness. Pure.

She dips her fingers once more in the deep red mixture, and flits them over your lips. With your mouth now stained crimson, the flame reignites in the cauldron.

From the shadows, your spirit awakens. You faintly hear an unfamiliar voice, a woman calling out to you from the void. You sense a light, glowing in the periphery.

“Ivestragī jorrāelagon jemagon se ñuhoso.” Let love lead the way, you hear the voice again.

You gather your strength, aching to find home in your body once more. Struggling against the haze that confines you to weightlessness, disconnecting you from reality, you will yourself to return.

For the final time, the flame dies in the cauldron. The room is neither warm, nor cold. Everything becomes still. Quiet.

All at once, your crimson-stained lips part, panting for air. Your fingers curl at your nightgown, seeking to feel something again, anything.

Nobody can attempt to conceal their amazement.

“Gods be good,” Maester Gerardys gasps in awe.

“God,” Cerrah haughtily corrects, all the more feeling that she has a right to, as she gazes upon the result of her work.

“Silence.” Daemon commands, as he walks over to your bedside, “Y/n?”

At the height of the hour of the owl, nearly a fortnight after being cast in the shadows by Alys Rivers, the Lady Y/n finds her way back to the light. To the living world filled with suffering and bliss. Of hatred and desire.

Ultimately aided by Aemond Targaryen’s love, you had been coaxed out of the darkness.

In the caves underneath the castle in Dragonstone, one particular dragon shakes back into consciousness. A deep, resounding growl builds in Fyraxes’ chest, threatening to escape.

When it does, it reaches even the farthest corner of the island.

Finally, you open your eyes.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your muscles ache as you reorient yourself with movement, leaning against the windowsill. The cool morning air is nothing but a welcome sensation, and you cannot resist taking deep breaths of it, the smell of the sea creeping up your nostrils. Rolling out your neck, you let out a faint groan.

“You should rest, y/n. The maester has advised you from engaging in strenuous activity of any kind.” Rhaenyra suggests. She and Daemon have steadily kept you company since you had awoken, themselves forsaking the comforts of slumber.

“I’d wager that the maester prefers me to not make any movement at all,” you jest, walking over to the table, and sitting down slowly. You take another plum from the plate brought over by your lady-in-waiting, and devour it eagerly, juices flowing down to your chin.

“Easy there, y/n,” Daemon chuckles, “or you might just exhaust Dragonstone’s supply of fruit.”

The doors open, and in enters Jacaerys, a relieved expression on his face.

“Y/n,” he rushes over to you, and squeezes you with both arms, “don’t you ever do that to us again.”

“Alright,” you smile, “I’ll try not to be put under some inexplicable curse. What a burden it turned out to be.”

“Right,” Jace nearly punches your shoulder in jest, but catches himself at the last second, “I am glad you are finally awake.”

“Jacaerys,” Daemon says, “why don’t you arrange for Fyraxes to be taken at the eastern coast, somewhere close to the docks, so that y/n might reunite with her dragon as well as enjoy the morning sunlight.”

Your face lights up at the thought, “She is okay? I would love to see her again.”

“Of course,” Jace nods in agreement, before quickly planting a kiss on your cheek, “leave it to me. Y/n here could benefit from a bit of fresh air. Besides,” he winks at you, “you kind of reek of stale sheets and sweat. The outdoors should do you a world of good.”

A hearty laugh escapes your lips, the first one after a very long while.

“You arse,” you call out to Jace’s retreating back.

“You mean, royal arse.” He counters lightly, humour lacing his tone. He politely nods to his sires, before leaving the chambers.

It is not long after his departure before Rhaenyra decides to address the low hanging question, “Perhaps we should talk about this… curse that you were dealt. A grievous harm had befallen you, and by extension, us. Rest assured that the one behind this assault will be put to justice.”

“I trust that you have some inkling as to who possesses the ability and the motivation to harm you, y/n.” Daemon adds, looking out the window in thought.

Rhaenyra says, “We have determined that it had been the work of a priestess - ”

“A demented witch.” Daemon interjects, sneering.

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, before continuing, “It was a priestess of R’hllor who did this to you. The consensus seems to be that it may have been Alys Rivers, Aemond’s apparent consort. Well, at least she was. Word has reached us that the wedding has been called off, by none other than Aemond himself.”

So, he has followed through on his word. You straighten, letting the news settle over you. They are not to be wed, but what does this entail? He did mention something about keeping her in his employ.

“And if it is that wretch who placed a curse upon you, then it must have been at the behest of her master.” Daemon determinedly says, not a trace of doubt in his mind.

You feel empty. In the literal sense, as you had not been able to consume anything for too long, before this morning. Your head feels light and floaty, like you are a newborn babe finding her bearings.

But it is another matter entirely, the way that possibility makes you feel hollow inside. That Aemond may have been behind this ploy. That he had tricked you, and is not to be trusted.

“He couldn’t.” your voice comes out weak, tinged with doubt, “He would never do this to me.”

“I must admit that I feel inclined to agree with you, as it was the gillyflower sent by him that rendered the ritual effective. We needed something given out of love, and it worked.” Rhaenyra reaches for your hand, “However, it might be best if you do not see him. Even if he did not play a hand in the curse, as you believe, he could still lead Alys to you.”

You shut your eyes, leaning back against your seat. Nodding your head once, you attempt a smile at Rhaenyra, but it does not reach your eyes, “I wish to see Fyraxes.”

“Of course,” Rhaenyra stands, “I shall fetch someone to escort you.”

“No need,” Daemon says, “you’ll find Ser Erryk waiting outside. I had anticipated your desire to see your dragon, y/n, and I have already alerted the knight to keep a close eye on you.”

Rhaenyra pauses, this knowledge not having been shared with her, but she lets it pass. After all, Daemon truly cares about you, and would only be attending to your needs, especially in your fragile state.

“Thank you, Daemon.” You take his arm as he escorts you out of the room at a sluggish pace, your body still lacking its former vigour.

You hope that seeing Fyraxes might keep any thought of Aemond at bay, even though you already know that it will be for naught. Sooner rather than later, he will find his way back to your mind. To your heart.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

The waves have been harsh and unrelenting, the wind threatening to make Aemond’s hood fall to his shoulders. He kept a tight grip on his cloak, as he sat in the quarterdeck of the hunkering supply ship. His royal garb has been exchanged for commoner��s clothing. All measures had to be taken to conceal his true identity.

The White Worm’s supposed whisperers were a pair of fishermen, regular workers on the ship, responsible for gathering the greater part of their freshwater fish reserves. They had stood to the side, always a few feet from the Prince, should any trouble come up.

But fortunately, it did not. The long journey from King’s Landing to Dragonstone remained uneventful.

The ship had docked nearly half an hour ago, and the two fishermen led Aemond further onto the island. The small group had only been walking for a quarter of a mile, before one of the men turns to address Aemond, “Continue down this path,” he gestures forward, “for just a good few minutes, my prince. Then you will find what you came for.”

Aemond looks to where the man is pointing, seeing nothing but the same jagged rocks. There is no path. This might as well be a fucking ambush.

The taller of the men notices the prince’s hesitation. “Head down this way, Prince Aemond. It is understandable if you think that your trust is misplaced in us, but know that the White Worm does not turn back on her word.”

Aemond turns away in contemplation, watching as the waves slam against the eastern edge of Dragonstone.

“Hmm.” What other choice does he have, if he wishes to reach you?

Mindfully keeping his hand on the dagger by his belt, he marches forward, tilting his head in acknowledgement to both men as he passes them by.

Aemond is only partially giving mind to any potential threat, his focus unconsciously straying back to you. He is not even certain of what he will find as he walks further, but he wants only one thing.

To see you again. He holds on to the hope that whatever ritual conducted has been successful, and that you are free from the clutches of Alys’ spell.

That is the one thing that can set things right. The very thing keeping his sanity intact.

You are the final strand of light keeping Aemond from completely yielding himself into darkness.

Not too far away, Fyraxes stretches on a clearing amongst the rocks. Your hands glide over her scales, the feeling of her immediately making you at ease. She groans in satisfaction, mirroring your relief.

Your brow furrows as you notice her tense abruptly, craning her long neck to the side, seemingly sensing a new arrival.

“Skoros iksis pirta?” What’s wrong?

Leaning against her, you can’t help but brace yourself against danger. Dragonstone might be a steadfast fort, easily defensible against explicit attacks, but you now know better than to underestimate the reach of dark magic.

Fryaxes groans, not one of displeasure or alarm, but rather, recognition. Familiarity. A call you knew all too well. Whomever she sees coming is far from an enemy. Could it be Daemon? Rhaenyra? Surely it cannot be Ser Erryk, who has just taken leave to allow you some time alone with Fyraxes.

You take a few steps toward the direction she watches in anticipation, the faint sound of rapid footfall reaching your ears. You think to call out to ask who goes there, but the words never leave you. You see him.

Aemond comes into view, and your knees almost buckle from underneath you, your body seemingly remembering how delicate it has become.

His familiar shapely lips are parted in amazement, taking you in. Reaching up, he lowers his cloak, his silver hair a stark contrast to the dark cloth.

“Aemond,” is all you can say. And that was all it took. Aemond’s legs move on their volition, drawn to the sound of your voice. He pauses right in front of you, his hand reaching to caress your face, and you cannot find the strength to protest. You are not certain that you even want to. Whatever peril he might pose, your skin still yearns for his touch.

His hands gently hold either side of your face. He notices how you appear slightly gaunt, frailer, and it torments him. Immediately, he is compelled to punish the woman who caused you to be this way.

But for now, he relishes in the elation that only you can bring him.

“Y/n,” he whispers, his voice breaking. Carefully, as if fearing that you might break against him, he presses his forehead to yours.

“Aemond,” you say, stronger this time. A hundred questions threaten to spill from your lips, but you reel them in, save for just one. “What are you doing here?”

He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. “What am I doing here?” He repeats, making it sound like the answer is supposed to be the most obvious thing in all the realm.

“What am I doing here?” he scoffs, repeating the question yet again, and right away, you know.

“Avy jorrāelan,” Aemond says, quelling whatever worry remains in you, “That is why.”

I love you. Of course. It truly is the most obvious thing in all the realm.

Your lips meet, finding home in each other once more.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

In another part of the sprawling castle, a clandestine meeting takes place. At the bottom of a turnpike stair, at the end of the long and narrow hallway, there lies a room cloaked in shadow.

Three individuals stand inside, only able to speak freely to one another in this very room. At least, when it concerns Aemond Targaryen… and you.

“Has he reached the island?” The mastermind speaks. Who else can it be but the Rogue Prince himself?

Mysaria replies, “Indeed he has. He is convening with Lady Y/n as we speak. Everything is unfolding according to your plan, my prince.”

Daemon sneers, “Very good.” He turns to the other person in the room, “And you made certain that the Queen remains unaware of what transpires?”

“Queen Rhaenyra does not know that Prince Aemond is on Dragonstone, my prince.” Ser Erryk affirms. “I swore fealty to the Queen, and as you said, this plan is solely carried out in her best interest. I will not turn my back on this.”

Daemon’s pride swells. Soon enough, his beloved nephew will atone for his crimes.

And the rest of the Greens shall fall.

So who suspected that Daemon may be up to his usual serving of chaos? Alys Rivers will still play her role, but the more realistic threat to yours and Aemond's romance will be our very own uncle-daddy. You guys seriously didn't think that he would just everything slide, did you?

Wow did this take so long to post!?!?! I still don't think that long of a wait was worth it, and I'll try my hardest to get the next part done sooner :)

Thank you thank you to all of you who follow this series, routinely flooding my inbox with requests for the next part when I take too long. 🖤 Hehe yous are aces.

Apologies if I missed anyone on the taglist - it has gotten all too long (which is a good thing, after all) but I suck at organizing it, so I hope this post finds you well if I failed to tag you. 🤍

Series taglist: @crazylokonugget @xinyourdreamsx @raging-panda @zelzablues @whitejuliana1204 @caught-in-the-afterglow @a-demon-daughter @meilikki @carlottalhn @aemondswh0re @afro-hispwriter @xcinnamonmalfoyx @ietss @writer-lee5 @solacestyles @noneedtosearch @umavvitch @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @inpraizeof @evye47 @kellzlib @janelongxox @daydreamerblues @hearmeout-inc @marrianena @poisonedsultana @lithebunnyq @nushy @foras @thesheelfsworld @abcrosia @anangelwhodidntfall @kyrieshoka @katefullerrr @gxthicwxrm @bluscryn @lwqfhp @vampxra @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @justsumtuffstuff @verycollectivecreator @chiyausu @mistalli @buttercupstrand @cullenswife @blacpiink @darylandbethfanforever9 @pockcock @alexayoonlee (continued in comments)

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen fanfiction

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