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running-with-kn1ves · 1 year

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Too Close For Comfort

Male! Co-worker X GN! Reader

A/N: Turns out you can write so much when you have free time :0 Anyway I spent way too damn long on this so… here we are! I hope yall enjoy :’) (There are so many things wrong with this piece which is EXACTLY why you do not procrastinate, kids.)

TW: christmas/holiday themes, sour mood on the holidays, drugging, forced kissing/ touching, yandere themes, alcohol/ intoxicated characters

Synopsis: Feeling like an odd one out at your office’s christmas party, you find an overly eager co-worker to spend your time with-- who seems to prove that no company may be better than bad company.

Word Count: 3300

When most thought of the winter holidays, great cheer and comforting cold weather took priority. Whether it was staying inside from the bitter cold with a cup of warm tea, or decorating with shining lights and pine tree scents, there was always fun to be had. Even the music was jolly, no holiday song consisting of a sorrowful melody when it came to the season.

However, you unfortunately did not share the same holiday spirit as most during December. Those who had fun on Christmas or their yearly holidays usually had someone to spend it with, a person or people to keep them company from the windy chill and the loneliness of solitude. You had no such company; your family was unable to make it this year for the holidays, and you had yet to find a spouse that could enjoy the Christmas spirit with you.

You tried not to bring your disheartened attitude in with you today at work, but it was a real struggle when it came to watching your co-workers mingle with one another. You had yet to make any stable friendships since you started your job, which your huddling form in the corner showed quite obviously.

With eggnog in your hand and an ugly sweater covering your chest, you couldn’t help but frown at the floor as you listened to the sound of jingle bells and Michael Bublé for the 100th time this month. You desperately wanted to go home, to cry to a hallmark movie and down 3 cups of hot chocolate before passing out on your couch. But your boss insisted that everyone in your office stay for the christmas party else they’ll have to stay late on new years.

You didn’t have any particular plan for new years other than your yearly ritual of drinking your sorrows away while the clock strikes twelve, but it would be nice not to spend it in the office with a bunch of people you hardly knew. So, you stayed. You listened to the bad karaoke and watched as your co-workers got slammed on spiked eggnog.

A particular person who displayed such a description was your boss: a man in his 40s, currently ‘busting it down’ on the makeshift dancefloor to some holiday rap.

“He’s having a bit too much fun, wouldn’t you think?” A voice said next to your ear.

You turned to find one of your co-workers faces right next to yours, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he grinned. You jumped at seeing him so close to you out of nowhere.

“Sorry, I just thought you wouldn’t be able to hear me over the music.” He apologized.

The man’s flurry of bright blonde hair and fair skin seemed to appear out of nowhere, his face flushed with a slight pink that must’ve been from the cold.

“No its alright. Klaus, right?” You asked.

“Yeah,” He laughed and rubbed the back of his head. “I’ve actually been standing behind you for a while now.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, not expecting his choice of words.

“I mean-- I’ve seen you around the office quite a bit, but haven’t gotten the courage to talk to you ‘til now.”

You almost flushed at the sound of that. Someone had noticed you, and was really that afraid of talking to you? You had thought no one batted an eye at you after the first day of your arrival.

You remembered seeing Klaus around the office a few times-- he always seemed to be nearby, never doing anything important but never so visibly available that you felt confident enough to talk to him. He seemed very popular with your other co-workers, always chatting it up with someone and getting a giggle out of them. Sometimes you’d make eye contact with him, but you turned away too quickly out of embarrassment to let it linger any longer.

“Actually I’ve been standing here for 10 minutes hoping you’d notice me.” He bashfully admitted.

Oh.

“What really? I’m so sorry--” You tried to apologize, feeling yourself grow hot at how oblivious you were.

“No don’t worry. I’m just glad I’ve finally caught your attention.” He gave you a small wink, leaning in closer to make himself more hearable.

You widened your eyes at that, surprised at his forwardness-- you couldn’t remember the last time someone came onto you so obviously. Or rather, at all. You had been sort of avoiding the dating- slash- hookup scene ever since you moved for your job.

“O-oh.” You weren’t exactly sure how to respond, taking another large gulp of your drink.

“In fact, I thought you were looking rather lonely over here.” Klaus said, moving forward closer to you. You stepped backwards in time with his movements, afraid of getting too close to him. He didn’t seem to mind, keeping eye contact with you as he licked his lips and smiled.

“Oh, really? Well… I’m, alright. Don’t worry about me.” You laughed awkwardly, caught completely off guard.

He placed a hand on the wall behind you, standing beside and yet in front of you, in a non-threatening but trapping manner. Taking a sip out of his own drink, he watched as you fumbled to fill the silence he seemed so comfortable with.

“Hey everybody! A shrill voice called. “Guess who’s under the mistletoe!”

One of your female coworkers pointed towards you and Klaus in a drunken stupor, her dark skin flushed from the alcohol and showing mischevious excitement.

You looked up to see a hanging green plant, ripe red berries intertwined in its leaves with a red bow holding it from the ceiling. Klaus didn’t bother looking up, continuing to stare at you as you admired the greenery.

It wasn’t until a chant brought you out of your thoughts did you feel your stomach drop.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Your female coworker started, shaking her fist in time with her intoxicated slurs. She stumbled and clapped her hands, the rest of the office following suit. Your boss even chimed in, becoming the loudest with his tie tied around his forehead and his shirt unbuttoned. You hadn’t realized how unraveled the party had become until all the attention was on you. The chant got louder as more joined in, Klaus looking at you for your reaction.

You looked back at him and to the crowd, unsure of what you should do. Klaus looked prepared, trying to appear casual yet undeniably eager.

“Should we give the people what they want?” He asked, though you could tell what he was hoping for.

Yet, you hardly knew him! This was your first time talking to the man, and he was your co-worker-- someone who you’d have to see day in and day out 5 days a week. The world of problems this one kiss could bring, was a risk you weren’t sure would be worth it.

Despite knowing that, you began to lean towards him. Maybe it was the eggnog or the fear of disappointing the party attendees, but you kept moving forward as he grinned a bit too excitedly.

Immediately Klaus’s hand shot to your back, pulling you so the inside of his thigh warmed your knee. His hand on your back pressed against your sweater and gently moved to support you, the other coming up to cup your cheek. You expected the kiss to be a short peck-- enough to satisfy the drunken herd, but Klaus’s movements read romance.

His hands were warm, likely from holding his hot drink of choice all evening. He smelled faintly of snow and hot chocolate, his breath hitting your nose as he stood over you, waiting to get closer. His fingers fell to your chin as his pointer and thumb gripped to pull your face towards his softly. You let him take the lead, holding onto his cold jacket as he pushed you up to meet his height.

You could feel the burn of a hundred eyes on you, all staring; watching, anticipating.

Klaus’ lips touched yours, his mouth parting just slightly for yours to fit in like a puzzle piece. He didn’t dare shove his tongue down your throat or slime you with saliva like you bet half of the drunks here would have, instead squeezing his lips around yours with a hand on the back of your head, deepening the act of affection as if he waited a millennium to give it to you.

Thankfully, cheering commenced from the boisterous crowd, though you couldn’t hear it from the blood rushing in your ears. Neither you or Klaus wanted to let go-- though for vastly different reasons. Hands rushed to pat you and your male counterpart on the back once you forced yourself to break away. Klaus still held onto you, moving his hands to hold your waist as the crowd trickled closer to congratulate. The music got louder, a shout of more drinks being poured gaining another cheer from the crowd.

They all shouted words of praise and excitement, some more inebriated than others, but nonetheless all happy and excited with a holiday glow in their eyes and cheeks.

Once the drinks were poured and called to be given out, the attention on you and Klaus was gone. The crowd moved away, diminishing all to go back to partying and their own groups of familiarity. Though Klaus still hadn’t let go of you. You looked at him, awkwardly shuffling backward as he let go reluctantly.

The music had somehow gotten louder, though the attention was now pulled back to your tipsy boss making decisions he’d surely regret in the morning, and everyone else focusing back on their own groups. You felt out of place again-- though now with a partner instead of alone. You weren’t sure if that as any better though, since now it was two all alone rather than one.

“Do you want to go somewhere more quiet?” Klaus asked, leaning once again uncomfortably close to your face. “Somewhere with less, you know, people?” He put a hand to the small of your back, hoping to gently push your decision.

“That’d be great.” You sighed with a smile, glad to be escaping in some way, even if it meant spending time with an awkward acquaintance.

Klaus grabbed your hand with his, bringing a comforting warmth to your chilled fingers. He slid by the twinkling christmas tree, pushing past people with an urgency that would’ve concerned you if you weren’t so eager to leave yourself. You almost tripped over the small presents meant for white elephant underneath the tree if you hadn’t watched your step, trying to move carefully as Klaus lifted your hand to make it easier.

“Thanks,” You said, though you doubted it could be heard over the loud chatter and high note from Mariah Carey on the radio.

You realized Klaus had been leading you back towards your desks, into a small hallway that only held your bosses office and a small janitor’s closet. People still paraded around the office everywhere you went, a few couples making out in their cubicles with the only light source coming from strung up christmas lights on the walls. You squinted your eyes, unable to see in the dark except for Klaus’ shoes in front of you.

You bumped into his back as he suddenly stopped in front of the closet, letting out a small ‘oomph’ into his thick jacket.

“Sorry..” You mumbled, though he only seemed to let out a small, teasing laugh.

Opening the door, he led you into the closet. You gulped, thinking this was a strange place to gain privacy. You thought perhaps the two of you would go outside, or maybe head back to one of your cubicles, even if it wasn’t the best way to be alone. Yet, you still followed him into the closet, hoping maybe you could take a breather without hearing incessant jovial laughing or wet drunken kisses from your co-workers who couldn’t keep themselves off each other. Hoping in, Klaus shut the door with a ‘click.’

There was no light in the closet, and no switch to turn on even a hanging light bulb.

“Well, here we are.” You said, hoping to lighten the thick air.

“Yes.” Klaus said, his body in front of you though you couldn’t see it. You shuffled around, trying to get comfortable despite unknown items at your feet and on the shelves next to you. You stood in silence, soaking up the fact that there was no distractions to remind you of your loneliness. And, well, you weren’t alone. Atleast, not right now.

Klaus’ breathing got heavier, loud enough to fill the silence of the closet.

“I can’t believe…. We’re alone together.” He exhales.

“Yeah….?” You say, unsure of what he means.

Though the hands on your shoulders seem to put forth his meaning more clearly.

“I thought we’d never be able to get away from them.” He chuckles, pressing his chest against yours this time, pulling you into a hug. “Though, I didn’t think the mistletoe would go that smoothly.”

Klaus rubbed your back with a sensuality you didn’t expect, humming into your ear as he embraced you moreso than co-workers-- or even friends should.

“I can’t say I expected you to kiss me so easily..”

He let go of the unreciprocated hug to cup your face with his soft hands.

“So, does this mean you have feelings for me…. too?”

“W-what?” You back away from his hands into the supply shelf. “Klaus, uh,” You chuckle for a moment, trying to come up with an answer. “We’ve only talked once, and that was 5 minutes ago!”

You tried to keep your tone light, giving a small laugh to hide your nervousness.

“But our kiss,” He argued. “Our kiss. Didn’t you feel something from that?”

He huffed and brought his hands down to your shoulders.

“Not only that--didn’t you feel any sparks when we made eye contact last tuesday? When you brushed by me in the break room? Come on.” He spoke as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, shaking your shoulders and pressing the toe of his shoe against yours.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even remember that--” You tried to find his eyes in the dark, but could only make out vague shapes of his face. “I thought that kiss was just-- peer pressure.”

Klaus went silent. His hands limp against your shoulders, the male hung his head in defeat.

“....Nothing? You haven’t… noticed me at all?” He sounded pitiful, voice cracking ever so slightly. “And our kiss, was just an act to you?”

Klaus bit his lip to stop himself from letting out a sob, his worst fears commencing together to build a crushing momentum.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t know, it meant that much to you. I don’t know you that well, so I really don’t have any room to say I share the same feelings.” You sighed, patting his hands sympathetically.

Well, that was certainly a turn of events from what you expected.

Yet, Klaus perked up at hearing you.

“But that doesn’t entirely rule out the possibility, right? You could still… find yourself falling for me-- potentially.”

“Klaus, I don’t really think--”

“It’s possible, with enough time, with enough-- convincing.” He interrupted.

You were about to refute his rationalization, trying to let him down gently. That was until the feeling of familiar lips crashing onto yours came, devouring you faster than the first kiss had. Klaus shoved you against the supply shelf, forcing your head back with his as his nose bumped into yours. Tight lips wrapped around your mouth as the man desperately tried to convince you.

“Klauth--!” You tried to muffle out, feeling your struggling hands forcefully pushed against the shelf.

“No--! Just let me--” He huffed between kisses. “Give me the chance to convince you--! I’m worth it!-- I promise--”

Thumps could be heard outside the closet, cleaning and old office supplies falling off the shelves as the two of you danced in a struggling fashion.

You let out a series of noises against his mouth, mostly poor attempts at trying to tell him to stop, to get off of you, all of which were futile compared to how overpowering Klaus’s desperation was. He was determined, and there was little that could stop him.

Though with a rightly timed shove and a bite of his lip, you managed to push the man into the door. It let out an echoing clatter, Klaus being unable to catch himself beforehand.

“What is the matter with you!” You managed to huff out, balling your fists up.

Klaus ignores your upset expression, wiping his lips.

“I’m really not a bad guy, you know. I don’t use things like chloroform or handcuffs.” Your heart dropped, panic beginning to set in. “I didn’t even really plan on bringing this with me tonight…. It was just a precaution. So I hope, you won’t think different of me.” Klaus frowned, coming closer to you with heavy footsteps.

“What are you even on about!” You tried to back away, about to tell him to stop once more. The more he came closer, the more worried you became. Clearly, there was something wrong with him on a level that you couldn’t understand, and you weren’t waiting to find out what it was.

But before you could react, a pinching feeling was running down your thigh. Something stabbed into your leg, unwavering as Klaus’ hand covered it. His other arm moved up to shove against your mouth, your teeth biting into his arm as you tried to struggle away. He spun around, pushing you against the closet door as you tried to frantically get free. Klaus thumbed the end of the syringe, making sure the entirety of the sedative entered your system. Once he felt it hit the bottom, Klaus pulled the needle out of your leg and threw the syringe to the floor. He used the rest of his weight to keep you steady and silent.

You tried to scream against his arm once you realized what he had done. You didn’t know what he had just injected you with, but it certainly was not something benign. Your arms tried to flail but could only wiggle within Klaus’s grasp as he held them down.

Only a mere few seconds passed before you felt something strange occur within you, a limpness in your limbs beginning as your eyelids lowered. It was small at first-- just a nagging tiredness in your body. But it soon grew to a point that you could no longer counsciously comprehend, your mind flatlining.

“You’re so much work,” Klaus said with a struggled laugh, trying to keep you down while brushing a stray hair away from your slowly relaxing face. “But worth it. I promise, I’ll prove myself to you. I’ll make you beg for me.”

You could feel your spit drool down your chin from Klaus’ sleeve, your attempts at biting and removing his arm leaving you a mess. It didn’t take long for the tranquilizer to work its effects, your eyes having gone hazy and body nearly falling to the floor. If it wasn’t for Klaus’s reaction time you would’ve slammed against the door, which would’ve been preferable when it came to Klaus’s intentions. Instead, he caught you with his arms, fighting to keep you upwards.

“You’ll be convinced before new years, sweetheart.” Klaus planted a small kiss to the side of your mouth, cleaning the drool from your face. “Merry Christmas, my little present.”

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theforgottenmcrmy · 5 months

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Oaths~ Part 1/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 21 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, super mildly suggestive themes

Summary:

But the core issue at hand was not of your own fate, or even your husband’s. You did not think yourself as strong as Rhaenyra; having to bury any one of your children just might destroy you. And Rhaenyra had pleaded with you to consider all of your options. If betraying a friend of many years and sacrificing whatever semblance of honor House Tyrell still had could ensure the safety and survival of your children, why would you not consider it?

A/N: As stated in the preview, I have no excuses, only apologies. Thank you to everyone who has continued to read this story. 🖤 And to anyone who's new since the last update, welcome. I hope you all enjoy. Next part is planned to be posted 11/23.

The late night had given way to the earliest hours of the morning.

After finding a mutually agreeable means of which Harwin and you could expend some of your pent up energy, sleep had finally claimed you at long last. However, not unlike the vast majority of nights over the past few weeks, your sleep was light and mostly dreamless. Not even your arrival at the haven that was Dragonstone had been sufficient enough to subdue your inner turmoils and ever-growing fears.

It was not long at all before you rose. It was prompted by a gentle, but still very apparent, dipping of the mattress beside you.

You blinked several times, trying to will the haziness away. You felt your face scrunch, a frown coming to your lips as you looked over at the space beside you with mild confusion. “Harwin?”

Though your sight was still a bit foggy, you took the silence that followed as your answer. Most assuredly, had someone besides the two of you been so bold as to have entered your chambers unannounced, Harwin would have had some sharp words at the ready for them.

If not a well placed strike with his fist or sword.

Once the grog had lifted, you were able to make out your husband’s figure standing across the room. His back, still bare, was towards you. In the blink of an eye, he had swiped up whatever it was that he sought, and moved to return back to the bed without delay. You lifted up the sheets for him as he neared, and he softly smiled at you in silent gratitude.

He hastily settled into the bed once more, tucking the sheets back around himself before scooting over closer to you. He pressed a brief kiss to your temple, and his next words out of his mouth were little more than a quiet mumble. “Forgive me, My Love, I did not mean to wake you. You should get some more rest, whilst you still can.”

Between the mere fitful bouts of rest you had been able to snag thus far, and the simple fact that you knew your husband was now wide awake, it was abundantly clear that there was little chance of Harwin’s suggestion coming to fruition. Instead, with a raised eyebrow, you pivoted, “What do you have there?”

Sheepishly, as if knowing his own refusal to succumb to sleep was part of the reason you would not be resting either, Harwin presented you with the object he had deemed necessary to retrieve from the other side of the room at the odd hour.

The letter from Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower.

“I could not sleep,” Harwin explained as he cautiously began to unfold the letter. With the seal having already been broken by you earlier, the parchment gave him little resistance at all. “I know you wished to discuss this with me later, but my curiosity got the better of me.”

It was as best a time as any to have the conversation, you supposed. You had wished to discuss Alicent’s letter with Harwin immediately after returning from dinner with the royal family- before the two of you had gotten swept up in one another. But in hindsight, you had no qualms about how you and Harwin had chosen to spend the time that had passed since.

Besides, Queen Rhaenyra expected an answer from the two of you in the morning, by way of whether you and Harwin attended the council meeting she intended to call.

You had been wary of Harwin’s reaction to the letter ever since it had been presented to you. You carried that hesitancy with you still, and silently watched with an increasing sense of apprehension as Harwin read the dowager queen’s letter line by line, word for word.

The look on Harwin’s face as he finished reading over the terms was practically indiscernible. Perhaps that was what gave you pause the most.

“Say something, Dearest,” you bid him pleadingly after a moment, concern painting your every word.

Harwin’s eyes remained locked on the parchment in his hands.

Since the day you had met, he had been mindful of his infamous temper, and how he managed it, around you. But something of this nature was almost completely uncharted territory for either of you.

You reached out for his closest hand slowly. “Harwin?”

Hearing his name, along with your hand coming to rest upon his own, finally snapped your husband out of his stupor. Harwin blinked up at you blankly one, two, three times. “... I do not know what to say.”

Of all the ways you had imagined Harwin would react to Dowager Queen Alicent’s letter, a lack of a reaction altogether had not been a possibility that you had considered. Regardless, you felt the response was completely valid.

You pursed your lips, still waiting for Harwin to make the first move.

As you had initially expected, anger was the first emotion Harwin eventually settled on after the shock had passed. His brows furrowed sharply, his normally calming eyes turning dark in the already dimly lit room.

“The nerve of that woman. Is the dowager queen truly so daft as to believe her demands are anything less than an insult to any one of us? Not only would we be stripped of our own birthrights, but how could she truly expect us to disinherit Selwin in such a disparaging fashion? … The Crown may have many powers, but whilst members of our blood still live, the line of succession for House Strong and House Tyrell is business of none other than its current lord and lady.”

You remained silent, sensing that was not the end of Harwin’s musings. Your suspicions were proven true less than a moment later.

“And I’d rather eat my own boot before pawning off my son to carry a sword for that insufferable Cole, let alone that oaf of a cousin of hers all the way over in Oldtown.”

You fought your initial instinct to laugh at your husband’s chosen phrasing. “If we take the Usurper’s offer, it would mean sacrificing our plans for our houses’ inheritance, yes.”

You had intentionally refrained from acknowledging Harwin’s final phrase- any topic dealing with the disgrace that was Ser Criston Cole had the propensity to send your husband on a long-winded tangent. Perhaps rightfully so.

“If we take the Usurper’s offer?” Harwin countered. He looked over at you with wide eyes, and in a tone more imploring than harsh, he questioned, “You cannot seriously be considering such a thing?”

Despite knowing that Harwin meant no harm, you could not help but flinch. Fortunately, the movement was so miniscule, Harwin had not even perceived it. Withdrawing your hand from Harwin, you sat up straight, taking the sheets on your side of the bed along with you. As serious of a conversation as it was, conversing in anything less than a decent state would have felt a bit improper.

“I do not wish to concede to the Usurper’s terms,” you assured him truthfully. “But our queen has asked us to at least give some thought to it, and I agreed to heed her. We owe her just as much, do we not? The realm is on the brink of war, Harwin- we cannot pretend that whatever decision we make, whether it be to support Rhaenyra or join ranks with the Usurper, will be entirely free of consequence.”

Harwin sighed, making him sound even more tired than you already knew him to be. “I know, My Love. But conceding to these terms would be foolish at best, and could spell disaster for our family at worst… Did you read of their intentions for Luciya?

A grimace that sprang to your lips at the thought. Still you persisted. “She would have a title of her own…”

“And though I think she is equal to her brothers in deserving as much, and though I believe with my whole heart that she would grow to be just as capable as her mother in shouldering the responsibility that would come along with it, would any of it be truly worth the price we would pay? The price she would pay? We would be selling our daughter to your foul cousin’s son. Is that something you could make peace with? … Whether or not you’d be able to stomach it eventually, I do not think I ever could.”

You suspected Harwin would have a difficult time coming to terms with any betrothal arrangement for your daughter, but the point he was attempting was fair. If the proposed betrothal and subsequent marriage went through, Luciya would be nothing but a pawn in the long-standing and twisted game your cousin Lord Garrett Redwyne had been attempting to engage you in for the better part of twenty years. If wed to Luciya, the young Lord Justan would inevitably become Lord Tyrell in all but name. And far be it from your cousin to rise above attempting to exercise control over his son as a means to achieve his own ends.

“I detest the very thought of it, Dearest. But they are both young, and would not have to wed for some time. And in the meantime, I would still rule in Highgarden as regent. Ten years, if not more, is ample time for us to find a way to undermine the betrothal. We could agree to the terms now, and make our own arrangement, one more agreeable to us all, for Luciya after.”

“And how would such scheming transpire, when your every move will be scrutinized by an advisor of the Usurper’s choosing?”

It was your turn to sigh. Though sleep did not call to you, your mind felt suddenly heavy. Your eyes fell to your hands, where your fingers weaved in and out of one another with absentminded worry. “I understand that all I have said may seem futile. But I am only wanting to ensure we have discussed this matter thoroughly.”

“That you are attempting to see any good at all in this egregious proposal from the dowager queen speaks to more than just that.”

Your fidgeting hands stilled when Harwin’s gently captured them. You took a moment to watch your entwined hands, before looking up to meet his gaze.

Harwin’s eyes held nothing but love and concern. It was a damning combination that had proved you as more than a willing victim to his multitude of persuasions time and time again. It was so moving- practically overwhelming, really- that it was very tempting to look away. But you could not.

“What is on your mind?” he pleaded. “If you have any doubts, share them with me. There is no need for you to shoulder such burdens alone.”

Never, in all your years, had you doubted your decision to support Rhaenyra as the successor to her father’s throne. Nearly twenty years past, your own father, joining many other lords and ladies of Westeros, publicly swore such an oath. When he’d passed, your brother had done the same.

And when fate had placed the lordship of House Tyrell upon your own shoulders, you too had made such an oath. Now, you were bound to Rhaenyra’s cause by honor. Honor you had inherited, both by the name of House Tyrell and by the actions of your father and brother, and honor you had intended to carve for yourself. You had knelt before King Viserys and publicly swore that you, your house, and each and every one of your bannermen would uphold Princess Rhaenyra as King Viserys’s one, true heir.

Even as the years passed, and when not one, not two, but three sons had been born to King Viserys since your father’s oath had been made, doing anything but keeping the honorable word of House Tyrell was simply unfathomable. The thought of breaking the oath you and your predecessors had made had never, ever crossed your mind.

Until today.

It was no mere whim that tempted you to break your oath. Just the thought of betraying Rhaenyra was nearly painful. So harsh was the idea, that it almost outweighed the fear that her inevitable wrath would inspire.

You were a Tyrell long before you had become Harwin’s wife. As the lady of your house, you owed just as much to the Tyrell name as Harwin owed to that of House Strong. You and Harwin were blessed with a union that was mutually agreeable, and working together to further the interest of both your houses proved easy more times than it did not. But ultimately, the fate of House Tyrell, and the furthering of its line, rested upon your shoulders alone.

Becoming fully entrenched in a war was a gamble, and a risky one at that. Whatever glory House Tyrell could possibly earn from bloodshed in a quest to restore the rightful heir to the Iron Throne would be all for nought if you paid for it with the lives of any of your children. What was the point in furthering the grandeur of the Tyrell legacy if there was no one left to inherit it?

…

Neutrality was not an option, so it was a shame that Alicent’s terms were simply unacceptable. Not only were the terms demanding, but you had little to no faith in her ability to keep whatever petty promises she had made. Perhaps her intentions, however misguided as they were, were as pure as she suggested in her letter… But Otto Hightower’s certainly were not. And, as Aegon’s supposedly chosen Hand of the King, it would only be a matter of time before that forked tongue of his earned him the Usurper’s ear and trust. Whatever power the dowager queen believed she may still have of her drunkard of a son would undoubtedly dwindle with time.

Your family’s safety could not be guaranteed, regardless of what Targaryen heir House Tyrell chose to support. But you knew, beyond all other doubts you may have held, that you would not meekly step aside and let others dictate your fate. You would not sign away the future of your children to save your own neck. And you would not be bullied into silent obedience.

“I am bound to House Tyrell, as you are to House Strong- but I will not side against you in this. We must be united in our decision.” You lowered your eyes, your line of sight falling upon your intertwined hands once more. “We will support Rhaenyra, as we have both sworn to do.”

“But?” Harwin encouraged.

“We cannot lose. Rhaenyra must succeed.”

The unspoken sentiment behind your words clung heavily in the air between you.

Failing to win the war would mark you both, along with Rhaenyra, and any other of her supporters, for certain death. And you had an eerie suspicion that the Usurper’s method of choice to place you into the hands of the Stranger would likely be more fiery in nature than merciful. None of you, not even the children, would be likely to escape the resulting flames of his ire.

Harwin’s grip on your hand tightened. It should have been almost uncomfortable, but at that moment, it was particularly grounding.

“She will. If war is to come, so be it. But when the grounds have been scorched, the flames have dwindled, and when nothing but embers are all that remain, Rhaenyra will be the one atop the Iron Throne.”

You let out a joyless laugh. “You say it so simply. It almost makes me want to believe you.”

“Then believe.”

Something about Harwin’s insistent and clearly intentional flippancy of the matter did wonders to shatter the tension that had been built. You let out a half-heartedly frustrated huff and turned to look at him with narrow eyes.

“You are far braver than I to place so much faith in Rhaenyra’s imminent victory.”

“Nay, I doubt that very much… Although, perhaps I am better at feigning my courage.”

Despite everything, you found a small genuine smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Perhaps you have chosen the wrong path in life then. A fancy for acting would have suited a traveling performer far better than it would a lord.”

Harwin grimaced playfully, the thought crafting a rather amusing image in both of your minds. Harwin, in colorful garments, performing dramatically, and most definitely comedically, for an audience? It was impossible not to snicker at the thought.

“Though you propose quite the humorous painting of my life, taking such a path as that would not have led me to you.”

“Some would argue that there is more to life than finding love, Harwin.”

“Perhaps some would. But a life without love, and a life without you, is not one I’d care to live.”

You smiled through the overwhelming feeling his flattery so often bestowed upon you.

“Shall I?” Harwin questioned, raising Queen Alicent’s letter with his free hand.

The flames in the fireplace across the room were very demure by then, but certainly still hot enough to fulfill Harwin’s intent. Once you confirmed your consent with a quick nod, Harwin rose from the bed for the second time, letter in hand.

As he approached the fire, your mind felt suddenly more at ease. Harwin was willing to admit that supporting Rhaenyra was not without risk- but you both knew it was the honorable thing to do. Loyalty was earned, not bought. Rhaenyra had won the loyalty of House Strong and House Tyrell before either you or Harwin had ever had a true say in the matter. Your queen’s victory was not guaranteed, but Harwin was confident in her ultimate success. It was hard not to take heart from his steadfast belief.

But as soon as Harwin tossed the letter into the fire, and the parchment began to light aflame before being reduced to ash, words from your last conversation with the dowager queen echoed in recesses of your mind.

“…When loyalties become one’s only purpose for being, you will be lost to the bigger cause. Your loved ones will soon be as good as dust, if they weren't already.”

You shook the eerie thought from your mind as Harwin returned to bed with a smile on his face.

“Now,” he began, plopping rather unceremoniously back onto the mattress. His unruly curls fell haphazardly into his face as he propped up his arm to support his head. Finally, he turned to face you. “How are we to convey our unyielding support to the queen? A formal letter, signed and sealed? A dramatic declaration before the court?... Or, presenting her with Otto Hightower’s head on a spike, perhaps?”

You rolled your eyes with light hearted scoff as you turned over and mirrored his posture. “No such theatrics will be required, I’m afraid. She intends to call a council meeting tomorrow morning. Our attendance will be sufficient in reassuring her that she has our support.”

Harwin hummed thoughtfully, his eyes glistening and soft smile unwavering as he looked over at you. “Why, morning can’t be more than a few hours away by now…”

You reached over to absentmindedly brush some of his curls up and away from his face. “So it would seem.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

“Now would be the most opportune time to rest,” Harwin admitted. “‘Tis almost a shame I do not feel tired in the slightest.”

“Is it?”

Harwin eyed you unabashedly, and without a trace of shame. “No.”

A freeing laugh escaped your lips as he unceremoniously pulled you closer to him, his lips brushing against your neck.

Unlike what felt like a leisurely pace of a day before, something in the air of the new dawn suggested that something meaningful was about to transpire on Dragonstone.

The shared guest chambers of young Tyrell-Strong lords, while nearly cavernous in nature due to the dark and cold stone walls, were still comfortable enough. And despite the rather eventful last few weeks, Derrik found that he had slept more easily there than he could recall in all his recent memory. With the warmer weather and changing season rapidly approaching, the luxurious furs provided were more than sufficient to keep warm. And that was just as well- fire of any sorts still left Derrik, and his younger brother Selwin, feeling fidgety and anxious. And leaving any fire unattended, even a small one, whilst they slept was simply not an option.

The fire at Harrenhal had been many years ago. Some of the finer details of that night had been lost to memory, but some of the more harrowing moments Derrik had seen that night were stuck with him still. The horrid images had never strayed too far from his mind.

Perhaps they never would.

After a surprisingly fruitful night of rest, Derrik and Selwin had risen on their own before the sun. Without much direction otherwise, it was not long before the elder of the two suggested they meander back out into Dragonstone’s halls. Selwin had been a bit apprehensive about it, just as he had been the day before. But a few quick words of reassurance from Derrik was all the motivation his younger brother needed to ultimately agree. It wasn’t that Derrik desired to cause trouble- it was quite the opposite, in fact. Besides, Selwin was far more inherently likely to find himself in mischief than Derrik ever had been.

But something was brewing within the realm, and even on Dragonstone, isolated from the mainland, he could feel it just the same. And as Prince Daemon had so tactlessly pointed out the night before, Derrik was near the age his father Harwin had been when he had first come to King’s Landing. His father’s knightship had followed shortly thereafter.

It wasn’t a knighthood Derrik sought, but the Rogue Prince’s comment had reiterated what Derrik had known for some time: he was no longer a child. Most anyone in the realm, if asked, would readily agree that he was a man. Even if he was a considerably young one at that.

And with the realm on the fringes of war, he longed to be more. He wished to be more than some entitled young lord idly passing the time, waiting in the periphery of the political arena until the Stranger met with one of his parents and the torch was finally passed off to him. Be it House Strong or House Tyrell, the holdings of one was to be his inheritance. So too would be the name. And Derrik longed to be of use in whatever way he could to help his family and secure their safety- their survival.

Though some holed up just across Blackwater Bay, over in King’s Landing, there were no immediate enemies to stand up against. Even if there were, Dragonstone was as well-guarded and patrolled as the Red Keep at the moment.

All of this led Derrik to the inevitable conclusion that the most viable way in which he could be of use to the family was to conduct a bit of information reconnaissance.

The rising sun’s rays had yet to reach most parts of the castle as the Strong boys’ soft footsteps echoed off the stone corridors. Though many armed guards were undoubtedly awake and about, if the queen and the rest of the royal family had yet to rise, it was easy to infer that the protectors would be more centralized near their living quarters instead.

They had come across the kitchens during their perusal of Dragonstone the day before. What had seemed like an observation of little import at the time had proved to be quite the opposite come the new day.

Because of their intent, or perhaps by just pure sheer luck, Derrik and Selwin made it to the kitchens without having been detected. As the boys descended the stairs on light feet, all the usual sounds of a kitchen coming alive could be heard from within the archway at the bottom of the landing. There was an unspoken balance to be struck- the two knew they needed to close enough to the bottom of the stairs to hear anything of significance, but the closer they drew, the more they risked being seen from those within. Regardless, it was a hurdle that both of the Strong boys were mutually agreeable to tackle.

Once they could reasonably hear the voices from within the kitchens, Derrik silently gestured for Selwin to follow his lead. The two pressed their backs against the nearby wall in an effort to remain out of view. After a few more careful paces forward, the two paused and listened with bated breath.

“... -Maester Gerardys has requested hot water be brought where?”

“The Sea Dragon Tower.”

“But I have already taken out all the pots of hot water the royal family requires for the morning. Why must I drag another all the way over there? Aren’t our guests being accommodated in the Windwyrm?”

"The Sea Dragon Tower is where they have put him.”

“Him?”

“The Sea Snake!”

At this, Derrick exchanged an intrigued look with his younger brother briefly as the conversation from within the kitchens continued.

“The Sea Snake? When did he arrive?”

“His ship docked no more than a few hours ago. Her Grace the Queen thought it best to keep his lodgings closeby to her own.”

That was not surprising to Derrik at all. It was an ill-kept secret that Lord Corlys’s fleet and well-seasoned sailors would be a boon of great magnitude to whichever Targaryen he ultimately chose to support in their vye for the Iron Throne.

“Princess Rhaenys has been with him since they arrived; I heard she refuses to leave his side. Poor woman. She might just be one of the strongest women in all the Seven Kingdoms, but I have always said her only weaknesses were her husband and their children- gods rest their souls.”

“How does Lord Corlys fare? Does Maester Gerardys think he will live?”

“He suspects as much. Although, with all the great hopes placed in his healing capabilities, I do not know if he would dare say otherwise, even if it were true. Regardless, as it stands, Maester Gerardys says the wounds are certain to haunt Lord Corlys for the rest of his days.”

“Do you think he will be well enough to attend the council meeting Her Grace has called today?”

A meeting with the queen’s council was to be held? That was news to Derrik. Judging by the surprised look on his face, it was news to Selwin as well.

“Perhaps. Maester Gerardys said he was lucid at some point, although it comes and goes. If he is awake, I am certain Lord Corlys will at least make an attempt to be present. Although, I would not be surprised if Princess Rhaenys does not try to dissuade him, if only to ensure he continues to get some rest.”

“Well, the Sea Snake’s presence at her council meeting is not the only one Her Grace will be anticipating, I would venture.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I ought not tell-”

“Then you best not.”

“-However, yesterday morning, I had gone to the queen’s chambers to retrieve the pots of hot water that I had brought in earlier that morning. When I arrived, the doors were closed, and I realized that Her Grace was present.”

“And so, you left, so as not to disturb her?”

“That was my original intent. But then I overheard Her Grace from within, and she was speaking to another-”

A gasp. “Surely you did not-”

“-I did not mean to, but my curiosity got the best of me, I suppose. I overheard Her Grace speaking with Lady Tyrell.”

“That is what all this fuss is about? Why, that is hardly surprising at all. The two of them are known to be close.”

“The Usurper knows this as well. Apparently, Dowager Queen Alicent sent Lady Tyrell and Lord Strong peace terms on his behalf, all in the hopes of persuading them to join his side, and to turn cloak against Her Grace.”

Another, if not more appalling, surprise. After another quick glance at his younger brother, he determined that Selwin looked just as disturbed at the notion as Derrik felt. Neither of their parents had made any mention of such terms… not that he would have wanted them to, or believed they would, ever accept such an offer.

“That is a bold move, to be sure, particularly when their family is being hosted by Her Grace here. But how is any of it relevant to the council meeting today?”

“Her Grace strongly advised Lady Tyrell to discuss the matter thoroughly with Lord Strong. If they attend the council meeting today, she will interpret that as reassurance that she has both of their houses’ support.”

“... And if Lady Tyrell and Lord Strong do not attend the council meeting?”

“Her Grace shall have her answer either way.”

“Please?”

A moment of silence was followed by a soft, yet regretful, sigh.

“I am sorry, but I do not think it wise.”

The hopeful looks on Derrik and Selwin’s faces fell. In the chambers their parents were given for their own accommodations, it appeared that you and Harwin had had great success in making yourselves feel right at home. The two of you sat at the table near the fireplace, breaking your fast. On Harwin’s lap, Luciya sat with a smile, taking food off of his plate as she pleased.

The scene was not unlike one Derrik might have witnessed at home. But Highgarden was leagues away. And beneath the seemingly calm exterior, he could sense something was amiss between you. The sun had just risen, and yet, your shoulders were tense. Even Harwin, who was normally quite expressive and joyful around Luciya, was more quiet and reserved than normal.

Not even Derrik’s revelation that the Sea Snake had arrived in Dragonstone, and was believed to attend said council meeting, was enough to sway you to give in to your sons’ request. It did, however, cause a look of surprise to flash across your and Harwin’s faces- a fact that Derrik allowed himself to take some small joy from.

“How did you learn of the council meeting?” you inquired, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at your sons as you refilled your goblet.

“I- We- It is of little consequence,” Derrik sputtered, ultimately deciding against confessing the truth, lest he lose all of his leverage, existing and potential. “The queen has called for one, has she not?”

“She has,” you answered carefully.

“And you and Father have been invited to attend?”

“Aye,” Harwin supplied.

“Will you attend the meeting?” Selwin chimed in. “We know the Usurper and Dowager Queen Alicent have sent you terms to try and win your support. Do you mean to accept them?”

You cleared your throat, narrowly avoiding choking on what Derrik suspected was wine. Once you had regained your composure, your lips settled into a frown.

Across the table from you, Harwin did a double take, though he was still mindful to steady Luciya as he did so. “How did the two of you come to learn about the dowager queen’s letter?”

“What terms the Usurper offered in exchange for the support of House Tyrell and House Strong?”

“Does it matter?” Selwin countered, giving Derrik a look of bewilderment. “We cannot accept them!”

“We?” You echoed, chuckling dryly. “I do not recall the two of you being addressed in the dowager queen’s letter. It was only addressed to your father and I. Was it not, Dearest?”

Harwin merely hummed, seemingly finding Lucyia’s attempt to snag a loaf of bread off his plate suddenly far more interesting than the conversation at hand. After a moment of her struggling, he gave her a helping hand, ripping off a portion of the loaf and depositing it into her small hands swiftly. The frown upon your lips softened, eventually giving way to a fond smile as you watched the scene from across the table.

“It may not have been addressed to us, but if you intend to agree to them-” Derrik held out a hand to stop his brother from protesting beside him- “we deserve a say in that decision as well.”

The room fell into a brief, uneasy silence. It was not often that any of you had argued with one another. Every family had squabbles, or at the very least disagreements, and your family was no exception. Even so, disagreements were a rare occurrence. You and Harwin had instilled respect and understanding in both Derrik and Selwin from a young age. Discussion, not aversion, of problems had always been the example set for the Strong boys.

But the stressful events over the past few weeks, combined with tiring travel and an undeniable uncertainty about the future, weighed very heavily over you all. And Derrik knew that if he did not redirect the conversation, and soon, an argument would be the least of his concerns. Stirring up unnecessary strife would not be helpful in the slightest, particularly when to be of help was the only thing he had had on his mind that morning.

“Is that so?”

Though you appeared somewhat affronted, based on your raised eyebrows, crossed arms,and puffed up chest, the neutrality of your tone betrayed you. You might have been asking Derrik to explain his rationale- but you were not demanding it. Instead of forcing him into a corner he had so neatly placed himself in front of, it almost seemed as though you were giving him an opportunity to free himself. It was as though you were posing a challenge to him.

A test.

“Selwin and I’s cooperation with the terms are essential to the Usurper’s proposal, are they not?”

When the contemplative look on your face faltered slightly, Derrik’s assumption was proven correct. Though you recovered quickly enough, he took the opportunity your slip presented to press on.

“You and Father are too close to the queen. Perhaps Aegon is as daft as everyone jests him to be, but anyone with their wits about them would know that Otto Hightower is anything but. And if he is counseling the Usurper, he would be certain to impart to his liege that, should you and Father be welcomed back into his good graces, Aegon would be foolish to trust the two of you outright. However, if Selwin and I were to be installed in your places-”

“I will admit to this,” you interjected, holding up a hand. “Dowager Queen Alicent does mean to displace us both. After we will have sworn our allegiance to Aegon, she would have your father and I renounce our titles. But what would transpire with the succession beyond that is not what the two of you may think.”

Selwin asked quietly, “What would happen?”

You looked away from Derrik then, turning to Selwin with a softer look in your eyes. Though the root of which was still unknown to either of the Strong boys, you offered Selwin a sympathetic smile. “‘Tis nothing I would burden you with the details of, My Darling.”

“And far too insulting to repeat,” Harwin agreed under his breath, breaking off another piece of bread from the loaf and handing it over to Luciya.

Anxiously, Derrik prodded, “So, you will not accept the Usurper’s offer?”

“No.” Your attention shifted once more to Harwin, who gave you a reassuring nod that was so subtle, Derrik might have missed it, had he been looking anywhere else. “As we have sworn to do many years ago, your father and I will support Rhaenyra as the one true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms… But as for the two of you, neither of you have yet made any such oaths. And as long as that remains true, your presence at the council meeting this morning will not be required.”

Gods, you were stubborn. Fortunately for Derrik, it was a trait he had inherited from you. A trait he was rather proud of.

“It may not be required, but let us attend anyway. Let us observe, let us help. I wish to be more than a mere pawn in all of this. As much as you and father may try, neither of you can protect us forever. If the realm is to go to war, we will be vulnerable. It is time for you to teach us what you kno, and to help prepare us for the responsibilities that Selwin and I will one day inherit. Arm us with the tools and knowledge that we need to fight for this family… to survive.”

For a few long moments, all was quiet, save the soft crackling of the nearby fire. Harwin’s eyes flickered between Derrik and Selwin, and you. However, your focus was reserved for your sons alone. Your eyes narrowed, your lips in a tight line, the look on your face was ruminative.

Meanwhile, Derrik stood tall. He met your strong gaze with what he hoped was a look just as firm. Selwin shifted on his feet beside him, visibly uneasy with the tension.

Even Luciya went still in Harwin’s lap, her interest in the food having been temporarily abandoned in favor of taking in the suddenly silent shift in the room. Her wide eyes flitted to Harwin, to you, and to Derrik and Selwin with a speed Derrik had not thought was possible.

…

Finally, you rose from your seat. Wordlessly, you stepped around the table, plucked Luciya from Harwin’s hold and settled her into your own arms. Then, you turned, and walked across the room. You came to a stop before your two sons, and gave them each an appraising look.

“So often you are soft spoken. It has been far too easy for it to slip my mind just how clever you truly are,” you told Derrik, gentle pride lacing your tone. “But I needed this reminder. As I also needed to be reminded that you and Selwin are no longer boys, but young men… Will the two of you forgive me?”

Derrik did not hesitate. “There is nothing to forgive, Mother. I know you mean well.”

“And still, I will strive to do better,” you promised the both of them. Balancing Luciya in one arm, you reached out with the other, and grasped one of Derrik’s hands in your own to punctuate your point. After a brief squeeze of his hand, which Derrik could only interpret as a form of gratitude, you turned to Selwin.

Selwin watched silently as you smoothed out the collar of his doublet, which had likely gotten disheveled during the escapade to the kitchens earlier. Once you were satisfied with your efforts, you smiled at him, sparking a smile that mirrored your own to be returned.

“See to it that you tidy yourselves up a bit before the council meeting. It would not do for any member of House Tyrell or House Strong to appear anything less than impeccable.”

“Yes, Mother,” Selwin vowed, his smile deepening as he and Derrik’s victory had begun to be realized within his mind.

“And do not speak unless you are spoken to,” you added seriously. “We narrowly avoided a spat with the Rogue Prince last night, but I do not believe we are fortunate enough to get away with such a feat twice in two dawns.”

Derrik nodded obediently. “We shall keep quiet.”

“Good… Now, I ought to return Luciya to Bryna’s care.” You raised your daughter further up on your hip, and met her inquisitive gaze. “Unless you wish to attend the council meeting as well, Sweetling?”

Luciya said nothing, and once she realized that all eyes were upon her, she turned and shyly buried her head into your shoulder. Laughingly lightly, you smiled at your sons once more before heading towards the door.

Once you had disappeared from view, Derrik waited an additional few moments to allow for you to make your way down the corridor. Once he was certain he would not be overheard, Derrik turned to Harwin and raised an eyebrow.

“We could have used your support, Father.” For a moment, Derrik had lost all hope that you would make any concessions at all.

Harwin merely smirked. “You should know well by now that your Mother and I are of the same mind on most matters. And even when we were not, I have better sense than to question her judgment in front of the two of you…. There are not many things in this life that instill any sort of fear within me, my sons, but the wrath of your mother is certainly one of them. I can only hope you heed this lesson for when you have wives of your own one day.”

Selwin rolled his eyes playfully as he crossed the room to take the seat that you had abandoned. Derrik followed after him at a leisurely pace.

“Besides,” Harwin continued, pausing briefly to finish off his goblet of wine, “I was led to believe, as young men, that the two of you were more than capable of having a simple conversation with your mother, no?”

Derrik groaned tiredly at his father’s light hearted teasing.

A/N: Thank you for reading!🖤 Next part is planned to be posted 11/23.

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massacreturtle · 3 months

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Hazbin Hotel theory of mine:

Alastor is Abel, the first ever victim and son of Adam.

It's a bit convoluted, but I'll try to make my thinking comprehensive.

When you Google the name Alastor it says..

Meaning:man's defender; avenger. An epithet of the Greek god Zeus, Alastor is a striking masculine name sure to inspire its bearer to strive for the greater good. Meaning "avenger" or "man defender," Alastor is by no means a name for the faint of heart

Yes it is a bit farfetched, but hear me out.

First of all, it is odd that Adam was referred to as the first human soul to enter heaven in eposide 6. why is that, when he canonically died after his sons? Because as far as biblically accurate this show is trying to be, Cain and Abel were born from Eve after they had inherited the sin from Eve eating the apple. Adam, the slooth, mustve convinced god that he was tempted by Eve and got out or something like that, but his sons were BOTH already branded as sinners and revengeful for their father. So they must be in hell somewhere,but until now they werent even mentioned. So I think they will be part of the plot sooner or later, and what better way to make the most unhinged, mystical man introduce himself someday as Adams son?

Alastor came into hell and had powers beyond anyones dreams, killing off overlords right from the start. but as the show explaines, power can be gained by owning souls or heritage, like Charlie being born between the first woman created by god, Lilith, and Lucifer, while overlords deal with human souls to become more powerful. So, Alastor being one of Adams sons could explain his powers BEFORE he even made deals presumably, since Mimzy told us that people werent fond of Alastor and stayed clear of him first. So, there shouldnt have been people willing to make deals with him that risked their souls.

(It COULD be that Alastor was already a demon when Mimzy met him in her lifetime, but he disguised himself as a human, like in helluva boss, making deals with humans on earth first, before trying out other demons, like grinding in a video game before fighting underleveled. Would be cool for a backstory but it's more like my second headcanon)

There is also the 7 year time gap where he disappeared, just like Lilith. Now, fans theorize that Lilith is the one owning Alastors soul but I think thats a bit too obvious (for my liking, could be cool depending on how they reveal it). But what if Lilith made contact with Cain then made him own his brothers soul? Or that Cain made contact with Abel and THEN took him to Lilith? She gets both sons of her hated ex husband to her side AND make one help her daughter, rehabilitating sinners and eventually strip heaven of some of its powers.

I mean, why IS Alastor helping Charlie with the hotel? He is an avenger, maybe of his own death caused by his brother, maybe he is repulsed by his fathers actions, maybe he hates all of heaven for punishing him for no other reason than inheriting sin from his mother. Simply being bored and wanting to see the hotel fail feels kinda not right.

But also, IF he gets his orders from Lilith,why is he still killing so brutally everyone who gets in his way? I can't imagine Lilith being a bad person, not when Charlie described her as thriving and singing when hell opened, even when her people are sinners,she would command Alastor to not kill anyone ever. That fact changes when Lilith gives a basic command,but Cain is the one in control of it. So, Alastor would've gotten killed, punished and humiliated and then again owned by his killer like that would turn anyone sour or insane. Alastor said he likes to give off Steam, as if he is stressed for some reason.

We'll have to wait and see.

But in the end he IS the defender of the hotel, so IF he is one of Adams sons, I dont think he would be the first killer but the poor unfortunate brother. (Please note that english isnt my first language and I am severly sleep deprived)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #helluva boss #amazon prime #vivziepop #hazbin charlie #hazbin theory

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acapelladitty · 2 years

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Michelangelo (A Sandman Fic)

Pairing: Corintheus (Dream/Corinthian)

Word Count: 1.7k (nsfw)

Summary: An unexpected visit from his maker forces Corinthian to consider the odd dynamic which they share and how blurred the line between fear and love truly is.

His knees pressed into the worn carpet, a slight flush of warm shame pierced through the chill of surprise to knock at Corinthian's senses as he looked past the dark figure before him to survey the unfortunate tackiness of the hotel room he had been using as his home for the moment.

Lime coloured walls, offset by a beige carpet, outlined the comfortable room with only a few meagre bits of furniture littered around. A luxury double-bed, its use limited to the odd fuck when the mood grabbed him, was the main centrepiece and his heels brushed the edges of the duvet as he kneeled by the side of it.

Shaking away the thoughts of the room, his fingers splayed themselves against his thighs and his spine straightened with subtle defiance against his unexpected visitor.

Dream of the Endless.

Morpheus.

The Dream Lord.

A being of power beyond anything which the humans he tormented could comprehend.

His creator and the source of the conflicted thoughts which heightened his senses as a torrid mixture of arousal, of danger and anxiety, swirled within his chest.

"Why are you here?" He questioned, throwing the words at his maker like a wicked accusation as his mind whirled with the possibilities.

He had toed the line since their last meeting, ensuring that his influence within the waking world was limited to terrible acts on those who deserved his blade. He had even agreed to return to serving his role as a nightmare, to reflect the darkness of humanity back at them during their time in the dreaming as he had been designed to.

Through such an agreement, his greed for human experience had been much more reasonable and his hungers sated.

He had been good.

"Fulfilling a promise I made to myself when I allowed you to continue to roam the waking world."

That voice.

So confident and self-assured in its purpose, every word was measured like the finest silk as it weaved a sense of calm familiarity.

A familiarity which only serves to set his many pairs of teeth on edge.

He hated it as much as he craved it.

"I swore to keep an eye on you," Dream continued, taking a tentative step towards his creation with a simmering pleasure open on his expression as he acknowledged the compliant position Corinthian had chosen to adopt at his appearance, "and to make sure you were kept safe."

Safety.

A feeling which he robbed from every human to encounter him. His very presence was enough to spark the hairs on their arms to rise and a gnawing sense of wrong to alight within their chest.

Some found it terrifying, others arousing, but regardless of the outcome, it was always present.

An immutable truth of his existence.

As a nightmare, he feared no mortal, but that did not mean he was without his own anxieties, and a shudder of apprehension rolled down his spine as his maker continued his approach.

As though following his train of thought, or perhaps noticing the slight tremble, Dream paused for only a moment before heaving a weary sigh.

"What thoughts could be so terrible, as to strike fear into the heart of a nightmare?"

"You."

The growled admission brought a small curl to the edges of Dream's lips.

Of course he knew the answer but it never hurt to have it so openly acknowledged; a stark reminder that any further willful betrayal on Corinthian's part would be met without mercy.

"You would be foolish to not hold some apprehension towards me," Dream acquised as he came to a halt before the other man, "but true fear?"

A note of distaste entered his tone.

"It would pain me to harm you, just as it would any of my exquisite creations."

As if to make his point, a gentle thumb dipped to brush down the side of Corinthian's face and it took every inch of his willpower to not lean into the affectionate touch as he exhaled shakily.

"You can unmake me." Corinthian accused, unexpected vulnerability making him snap like a wounded beast. "Have me ripped from the waking and sent back to the darkness to disappear from existence."

Moving slowly, as though not to spook the anxious man before him, Dream dropped to one knee before his creation in one smooth dip.

His fingers slipped down the Corinthian's cheek to his chin and tilted his head up softly to meet his own, the dark sunglasses remaining as a barrier between them.

"I would only ever resort to such extreme measures if I felt you were a true danger to myself or mine." Dream confessed, allowing his thumb to brush momentarily against the slightly pouting lips, holding back a smirk as they parted without thought. "Are you?"

"No." The confession, like poison against his tongue, bit out from between clenched teeth as Corinthian acknowledged the fatal truth of his intentions. "Not anymore."

"Then why should I destroy something so beautiful."

Cupping his cheek, Dream did not miss the slight tremble which rolled through Corinthian's body as skin, much warmer than his own, pressed into his offered palm.

"Besides, we both know that there are other, more favourable, ways of unravelling you, my sweet nightmare."

A thin hand ducked even lower to sweep over the straining bulge of Corinthian's crotch with just enough pressure to make his mouth drop open with a sharp gasp.

The touch of a god, as familiar as it had grown to be over their twisted time together, never ceased to rip his breath from him like a prayer.

"I toiled over this body for months," Dream offered in a slow, almost melodic tone, "shaping and carving it from the void to absolute perfection."

Deft fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper and Corinthian was unable to prevent the tightness of his chest as blood pounded within his skull.

Pleasure, he was familiar with.

Decades of seedy encounters, of chasing whatever hungers took his fancy with whatever partners he could charm into his bed, had gifted him a fantastic understanding of why humans were so hung up on instant gratification.

But this was different.

No human experience could compare with the soft touch of his maker as it soothed the very heart of him.

"I know what you crave from me. You may not dream, my little nightmare, but you wear your desires on your sleeve and I do not need to be my sister to see that."

His body responding to the excruciating arousal, as it often did when his maker was involved, a low moan punctured the air when cool hands slipped within Corinthian's tan slacks to wrap around his painfully restricted cock.

"My lord." A broken plea, one which had been uttered many times, breathed itself from Corinthian's lips as his body curled towards his maker, seeking more.

"You know my name," Dream stated with only the slightest hint of teasing as his hand moved slowly to free the length within his grip from its confines, "and we are beyond formality, so it would be rude not to use it, my nightmare."

"Morpheus."

His lips breathing the word with a twisted reverence, it felt almost blasphemous as his right hand rose from its position on his knee to press against the solid chest of his maker. The skin there was as unyielding as marble through the thin fabric of the dark shirt, a reminder of the strength contained within such a wiry figure.

"To have such intimate knowledge of your creator must be a heady concept for any creation. For any masterpiece."

The light cotton of Corinthian's t-shirt, chosen mostly for its comfort, felt suddenly restrictive as it pressed against the heated skin of his chest. The material brushed against his pebbled nipples like a lovers caress as his knees widened against the carpet, allowing his maker as much access as he needed.

Every word swathed him like a balm, giving him the positive regard which made his lungs burn and his cock throb as Dream's fingers worked along his length. His hips twitched dangerously as he fought the urge to simply give in fully, his pride making it difficult.

"I love you as Michelangelo loved David."

Love.

The mere concept constricted within his chest, causing his head to throb, and he concealed the effect which the simple words had on him as he flashed a brilliant smile.

"I don't think Michelangelo ever did this with his statues."

The words were cocky, confident in a way which did not reflect the myriad of emotions which heightened the arousal that seemed determined to consume him.

The cool hand around his cock tightened, drawing a wanton moan to replace the grin as his lips fell open, and his hips thrusted up with a desperate quiver.

"Mouthy." A soft chuckle escaped Dream as he loosed his grip slightly to run his thumb along the senstive cockhead. "You will never be able to resist being that which you are."

"I- I am what you made me." Corinthian stuttered, his leaking cock making thoughts difficult as Dream spread the pre-cum there across his length for easier movement, his hand picking up pace with every movement.

"And so much more."

Each word was almost a purr and Corinthian's hand scrambled against the fabric of Dream's shirt while an impish desire to push the teasing of his beautiful creation to new levels gnawed at his thoughts but was quickly dismissed.

The Corinthian had fulfilled his purpose in the waking beautifully since their last meeting and deserved to bask in the rewards that such loyalty awarded him.

"My beautiful Corinthian, the perfect nightmare."

The heady praise, freely offered with such affection, was enough to push Corinthian over the edge and a broken groan slipped free of his lips as his hips bucked desperately within the hand which goaded him to completion.

Every nerve in his body tensed with pleasure as his release arced messily atop the hand which continued to stroke him, drawing every possible sensation from him with a loving firmness as he gasped and grunted out his acceptance.

Dream, for his part, could do little more than feel a vaguely smug sense of pride as he held true to his earlier promise and watched his creation be unmade by his own hand in a far less terrible manner.

Also on AO3

#the sandman #morpheus x corinthian #dream of the endless #corinthian #the corinthian #sandman dream #sandman corinthian #dream x corinthian #sandman netflix #corintheus #boyd holbrook #tom sturridge

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emotionallychargedtowel · 25 days

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sécrétions pas si magnifique

Once @wen-kexing-apologist brought the existence of the perfume Sécrétions Magnifiques by Etat Libre d’Orange to my attention, I felt like I had to at least smell it once. It has a unique marketing angle--it's supposed to smell like sex, to put it briefly--and reviews for it are highly polarized and fascinatingly vivid, particularly the negative ones. And yeah, the name means Magnificent Secretions. Naturally, I wanted to investigate.

A friend of mine got me some perfume samples as a belated Christmas gift and I asked her to include a sample of Sécrétions in the order. It took me a while to try it because I wanted to do so on a day when I was at home on my own and could put it on early in the day to give it a chance to fizzle out before my family got back. After all, some reviewers had said it was absolutely rank. A little while back, the right opportunity arose and I gave it a go.

My notes on the opening (the initial, soon-after-application scent):

Definitely aquatic, sweeter than expected (almost fruity), with a slight powdery quality. A really sharp metallic note (according to my info, this metallic note is via an aldehyde so it’s no surprise that it hits hard in the opening). Any muskiness seems to have been mostly swallowed up by the sweet gourmand note. The milky coconut notes are mostly just reading as sweet at this point. The whole thing is a really weird mixture. It’s not a complete juxtaposition, so I guess some skillful blending is happening here since the notes are so disparate. But it’s still a decidedly odd combination of elements.

And the drydown (the part after it has, you know, dried down):

It comes across as much more blended at this point. Aquatic and metallic notes that seemed volatile, like they wouldn’t last past the opening, stick around longer than expected. The gourmand notes get more distinctly lactonic and the salty aspect of the aquatic notes is a bit more noticeable. So at this point, it smells more like what I expected from its description—salty, metallic milk. The musk note is also in evidence but I really had to look for it, and it gets lost in the composition quickly.

(Segueing out of writing up my notes and into the general discussion...)

The sex smell concept makes a bit more sense at the drydown stage, but it’s still not a comparison I ever would have made unprompted. When you’re looking for it, though, it’s at least somewhat possible to read it that way. It’s not much like any sex smell I’ve ever come in contact with, but you could imagine it being one under certain circumstances (particularly since these sorts of smells vary so much between individuals). But even if I give it the benefit of the doubt in this way, it's still skewed in a direction that isn't entirely up my alley.

Basically, there are a number of secretions the name of this fragrance could theoretically refer to, and a good sex smell fragrance would, I think, smell at least a bit like all of them. The main ones would be sweat, semen, and vaginal fluid. And of the two I can sort of make out in this fragrance if I squint hard enough, the most prominent by far is what I can only call a semen accord.

Which may have something to do with why even when I could kind of see a way in which they accomplished what they were going for, this didn't appeal to me that much. A perfume that's supposed to smell like sex that is this bereft of pussy is, well, a choice. I dunno, maybe I’m just too bisexual for this stuff.

All of this might seem less glaring if it weren’t for the fact that the musk component wasn’t very noticeable either in the opening or the drydown. After all, sweat is pretty much the one universal sex smell. But I kept losing track of the musk entirely. It’s striking that seemingly volatile notes like the aldehydes in this stuck around for a surprisingly long time but the musk, which was never prominent, faded quickly. (I haven’t tried a lot of musk-heavy perfumes but my understanding was that musk notes usually stick around for longer than this.)

The saltiness combined with the metallic aldehydes caused this fragrance to give me a very distinct feeling in my nose. The combination of the smell and the nose feeling reminded me of the weird feeling/smell you get when you do a somersault in a chlorinated pool, something I haven't experienced in at least thirty years. That was a weird association to have side-by-side with the sex smell association. I found myself trying to imagine what sort of highly specific sex situation would result in this combination of elements. Things involving chlorine? Being upside down?

I guess there is one other thing I could liken that nasal sensation to: the feeling you get when, uh, ingesting certain substances through the nose. Not something I have a lot of familiarity with and what little I do have is decades old, but there was a similarity there. Once again, these associations evoke some pretty specific scenarios. Together, the chlorine/cocaine sensation and the predominance of the semen accord over any other "secretion" notes suggest some pretty specific scenarios rather than more general, highly relatable sexual situations. I couldn't help wondering what it might say about this perfumer that this is what he comes up with when commissioned to create a sex smell fragrance.

To sum up, this perfume sent me down a weird aesthetic rabbit-hole with some surprising associations. It was at least interesting to try. I think the perfumer would have liked it if this had caused some kind of bonkers erotic version of Proust's madeleine effect in me, but instead of bringing back memories it just made me feel compelled to somehow reconcile its weirdness with its marketing claims in a way that led to some truly random trains of thought. I didn't find this stuff repellent, like a lot of people do. I didn't find it sexy at all, like at least some others seem to. It was rather middling in terms of quality for me. There's something impressive about the fact that the perfumer was able to make something relatively cohesive out of such disparate notes, but just because it's not a total cacophony of unrelated smells doesn't mean it actually smells good. I guess if I had to say what the worst thing about it was, it's that it was, no pun intended, rather masturbatory. Because it turned out to be a pretty gratuitous exercise and it has the air of something that its creator/s thought was a hell of a lot cleverer than it actually was.

#secretions magnifiques #l'etat libre d'orange #perfume reviews

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arcanusarchieves-if · 29 days

Note

I was wondering how the ROs would think of the MC that looks like Johnny Depp's version of Grindelwald (minus the racist supremacist part ofc, that's just awful) after they reunite?

Truthfully, most probably wouldn't care/notice. While Grindelwald's appearance wouldn't be considered normal or anything, it's also not exactly odd to see a Magus looking like that. In order to make the answer a bit more interesting, I decided to add the fact that it was a pretty big change in appearance. I hope you don't mind :).

Also, I apologize that Maeve and Jasper's are much shorter than the other three's - they didn't know MC previously so to them this is how MC looks.

Astoria's eyes haven't left your face since you've entered the room. If it were anyone else, you may have felt scrutinized but with the pure warmth radiating off of her, all you can feel is a disorienting sense of deja vu. One second, you're an adult, returning to a world that you once knew like the back of your hand - the next, you are a child, stumbling through the doors of a school that you were never supposed to be at. A fraud of a student. A mockery of a Magus. A third second passes and you return back to the present. Astoria is still staring at you - her curiosity this time seems sated though because she grants you a gentle smile before speaking. "It's very nice to see you again, {MC} - it has been quite a while. I'm embarrassed to admit but it took me a moment to recognize you. I-" Her gaze darts towards your single, pale silver eye, but she quickly looks away. Clearing her throat, she continues to speak. "If I may - I think that you look rather striking. Very...different. Not bad but...it will take some time to get used to!"

Caspian's sharp gaze has been burning into you since the moment you reunited. Initially, you were willing to wave it off as it being related to the anger and bitterness over your decrease (and eventual lack) of communication over the years - but it hasn't wavered, even after your apologies and his (supposed) forgiveness. You open your mouth to question him but are immediately interrupted. "I've been meaning to ask about the...you know." He motions vaguely to your entire body with a raised brow, huffing in amusement when he sees your baffled expression. Seeming to realize that wasn't exactly specific, he continues, firmly grabbing your jaw so he can tilt your head up and get a better look at your features. "What, the war ended, and you decided to get a make-over? Don't look at me like that - it's not bad. It's just different. I mean, between the eyes and that hair, you're kinda asking to stand out a bit. I can't believe that you actually got away living near non-magicae folks looking like that."

Dark pools of violet glare into you from across the room. That's not exactly new, but the frequent rate that it is happening is definitely a bit different. Back in school, Solaine would usually look away after a few seconds, a small but very directed scoff leaving their lips as they did so. Now they are silent - and staring. It's uncomfortable, scrutinizing. You don't want to risk their ire by bringing attention to it. Luckily you don't have to. Unluckily, it's because they approach you instead. "...I see that you decided to alter your appearance. While it's definitely more...refined...compared to before, it's also more eye-catching. I was under the impression that you were attempting to keep a low profile. Clearly, I was misinformed." Their words are as sharp as their gaze, they don't even give you a chance to respond as they smoothly pass by you to slip through the door. They hesitate at the last second though, turning to look at you once more. Their mouth opens as if they are going to say something - but they end up just letting out a scoff and turning back towards the hallway - their footsteps not as assured as they usually are.

It's taken you a while to get used to the unfamiliar feeling of amber eyes glaring into you. You and Maeve had gotten off to a...unique start. Honestly, it felt more like the Circle was introducing two new cats to each other instead of two new members. You open your mouth as if to speak to her, perhaps to maybe break the ice, but are quickly interrupted. "...I thought you'd look different. I mean, you don't look bad or anything but...I heard that you were living in the...you know. Guess I thought you'd look a bit more lowkey. I dig the hair though - and the eyes too. Very mystical. Bit unsettling though. Kinda reminds me of someone..."

"I was expecting you to look a lot different." Jasper's soft words pull you out of your thoughts. You stare at him for a few moments, trying to dissect the meaning of his statement. He seems to realize how abruptly he came across, his face flushing slightly, as he stumbles over himself to explain. "It's not bad though - obviously. I-I was just...you look very nice! Just different to how I expected you to. I-I had heard that you were living in non-magicae towns, so I had just assumed - I really do apologize. I honestly think that you look very...striking? Sorry, is this weird? I'm making it weird, aren't I?"

#✎ ↳ Ask #❖ ↳ Reaction Ask #✎ ↲ Answered #♔ MC (Character)#❥ All (RO)#✵ Arcanus #✵ Arcanus Archives #❀ ↳ Lovely Non-Anon

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 2 years

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One thing I have to say, is that many do a disservice to how much Shen Qingqui himself is in love with Luo Binghe as he was the one to take initiative to "marry" him and make that move for the both of them. The last extra solidifies that through the work, it is Shen Qingqui that is the one to cross over that line of reciprocal romance and each of their relationship milestones.

It's just a bit reminiscent of the time Shen Qingqui was the one to tell Luo Binghe to share the spare room in the bamboo house, as Luo Binghe himself would never ask for more than what was really and genuinely given to him in life.

Heavens, proposing, a young man like him using such a word, this was really too frightening!

Just as well, in his attempt to say those few words now, he’d probably practiced countless times in secret, he’d gotten so nervous he ended up entirely out of character, acting odd, unable to so much as speak, even tripping over the threshold when stepping through the door, and to top it off he stuttered upon finally saying it.

And yet, he actually didn’t have the slightest urge to ridicule him, nor did he want to verbally reject it since his body told the truth—that’s right, Shen Qingqiu realized to his alarm, the scariest thing about this, was that he was actually, just a little, overjoyed.

Luo Binghe was clearly still nervous; his Adam’s apple bobbed, and seeing Shen Qingqiu remove his face from his hands, seemingly wanting to speak, immediately said: “Shizun, if you don’t want to, then there’s no need to answer this question of mine! Even—even if you don’t answer me I’ll understand what you mean. You absolutely mustn’t say it aloud, it’s not a problem, if you find it troublesome you can just ignore me and move it from your mind. You can think of it as me telling a joke, it’s fine…”

Shen Qingqiu was suddenly so angry he swung his fan at Luo Binghe’s head with a whap, saying: “Fine my ass!”

Having gotten a fan strike to the head, Luo Binghe rubbed at the spot, blinking; he clearly didn’t understand why he’d been hit. And Shen Qingqiu was angered beyond belief by the innocent look on his face.

Just now he’d been feeling secretly happy, but then the next moment this boy had to come out with a “It’s nothing, no need to answer me, just pretend I was joking”!

Shen Qingqiu was abruptly indignant over that last line, swinging his arm to deliver another blow with the fan: “Is this the kind of thing you can joke about!?”

Luo Binghe obediently took the beating, then said in an apologetic tone: “I was wrong…”

Shen Qingqiu said: “Of course you were wrong! To think this teacher was almost about to accept you just now!”

“I…” Luo Binghe was going to apologize again, when he suddenly froze, then cautiously asked: “Shizun, what did you say?”

Shen Qingqiu said: “Nothing at all.”

Luo Binghe turned anxious: “Shizun!”

Shen Qingqiu let out a sigh, not speaking, and raised a hand to motion for Luo Binghe to approach.

Luo Binghe went as signalled, only to see Shen Qingqiu motion towards him again; being beyond familiar with his every movement, he was able to understand his meaning with no need for verbal commands, and obediently poured a cup of wine. After that, Shen Qingqiu took the wine pot, poured himself a cup as well, and had Luo Binghe take up his own cup.

Luo Binghe said: “Shizun, this…?”

Shen Qingqiu picked up the cup he’d poured himself, and wound his arm around Luo Binghe’s own.

In an instant, a humongous burst of vitality and radiance burst forth from Luo Binghe’s handsome face.

His hand was shaking so hard he could barely hold his cup, his arm trembling to a frightening extent. Shen Qingqiu’s arm was intertwined with his, and was practically about to spill the wine in his cup all over his chest from being shaken along with him.

Luo Binghe said: “I-I-I thought…I thought…”

Shen Qingqiu expressionlessly said: “You thought you would certainly be rejected, is that right.”

Luo Binghe: “……”

Shen Qingqiu said: “That’s why you said you didn’t want to hear my answer. Because you thought you would certainly be rejected.”

Luo Binghe said: “…I’m so anxious.”

He looked straight into Shen Qingqiu’s eyes as he spoke: “Shizun, that day, when you asked whether I really hadn’t thought of that sort of thing before? I really never had.”

Shen Qingqiu said: “You’re allowed to.”

What’s wrong with thinking about it, it’s not as if thinking about it is a crime, and besides, what if a little thinking could really make it come true!

Luo Binghe said, “Because when I was small I thought that nobody could ever like someone like me, so I never imagined that anyone would be willing to have me.”

Shen Qingqiu replied back, "You went off the mark there…”

“Later,” Luo Binghe continued: “I had Shizun. Even though Shizun was clearly already by my side, I still couldn’t help from being anxious. Thinking about when you would leave me. I didn’t know what to do, I wanted to become stronger, wanted to become better. But I still felt as if that wasn’t enough. I still…couldn’t keep myself from feeling afraid.”

Shen Qingqiu made eye contact with him as well, and after a long time, stroked his head, sighing, "Oh, Binghe.”

I think this especially shows that from that point, Shen Qingqui was always certain of the idea, that no matter what, he had already and forever chosen to be by Luo Binghe's side. He is clearly not the romantic in the relationship, and a beautiful play of old 80's Hong Kong romantic comedy duos and is the place of the "grumpy man" to the delicate lady lead with fanciful corny daydreams. Or even the old jaded and sarcastic auntie, who only shows the soft side to her husband to the shock of others.

But underneath it all, he is just as happy to share in those same daydreams himself with the only person he has thought of in that way. He is just as smitten as Luo Binghe is despite the bluster of embarrassment he is faced with at such a show. For as much as he scoffs at the idea of other's ideas of love, he does not have the heart to make fun of the one he love's ideas of happiness and marriage.

He does not in any look down on Luo Binghe's fanciful and down to earth wish of marriage, because he wants that as well when he definitely is made to think of it. Life together is what he had already promised to himself and Luo Binghe on Maigu Ridge.

He is once again giving and openly, taking the chance to push Luo Binghe to do something he yearns for and telling him to want is not selfish or unreciprocated despite what the world, and those outside looking at their relationship may think. Shen Qingqui is willing to basically flip a middle finger to anyone else that mocks Luo Binghe's wishes, aside from his own self since he will always want to fulfill them and indulge it.

Shen Qingqui himself will defy Luo Binghe's own insecurity to prove that he will and forever pick Luo Binghe when push comes to shove and make his own decisions for their happiness. For all of Shen Qingqui's kindness, it is not overflowing for many as he calculates how to use people first, unlike with Luo Binghe who time and again he chastises himself over protecting for no good reason.

His happiness is what Luo Binghe's happiness is, even if he has a thin face to admit that in so many words.

#svsss #scum villain #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #bingqui #shen qingqui's kindness is not overflowing unless it is for Luo Binghe #he is shen qingqui's exception and always has been

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shybunnie20 · 2 years

Text

Eight Years - Eddie Munson x Reader | One Shot

★My Masterlist

Summary: Your visit to Hawkins after moving away many years ago brings back good memories as well as the hurt you've endured from losing your best friend.

Author's Note: Angst, not a happy ending (for Eddie). AU with no Upside Down. No use of Y/N. Be sure to reblog, follow, and show some love ♡ My fluffy pieces don't do well in terms of traction so I went all-out angst with this one. ps. gender neutral!

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: Includes swearing, mentions of drunk behavior and alcohol, anxiety and overstimulation, trauma, food/eating(vaguely).

tags: @protecteddiemunson4vr

It feels a little odd being back in what used to be “home” after all these years.

Unsurprisingly, things don’t look all that different despite it having been just shy of a decade since you were here last. It feels foreign but familiar. Steve jokes that Hawkins is the gutter of the Midwest. That it’s a grate that traps the town folk in life’s plentiful misfortunes.

As a twelve year old you didn’t know how dumpy Hawkins was, but it's apparent now. As you drive past Forest Hills Trailer Park your stomach twists into knots. Seeing your old stomping grounds brings an unpleasant feeling of sentimentality.

Over the years you’ve become good friends with Harrington and Buckley, mostly through writing letters and postcards. On one of the road trips Steve took to visit you, he brought Robin along and you’ve been close ever since. Not to mention you’ve spent plenty of late nights giggling with Robin over the phone. They felt like long-distance sleepovers.

Steve stands behind the kitchen island, chopping vegetables and preparing dinner for the three of you. “Hey, bub. Mind running to rent some movies for tonight? You can take Ruby.” He hesitates, holding the car keys away when you reach for them. “Be careful, please? If she comes back with so much as a scratch, your ass is grass. And by that I mean you’ll be sleeping in the front yard.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes and snatch the keys from his clutch. “Your precious car will return untouched. Cross my heart.” You mark an X over your chest for dramatic effect.

Robin shouts from the living room as you head out the front door. “Can you get The Breakfast Club? Oh! And some Twizzlers? Thanks, doll!”

The Family Video store opened some years after you’d left. Despite Steve’s incredibly vague directions, you luckily find your way.

The lights in the window of the tobacco shop pulse brightly, blinding you a bit as you park against the curb in the mostly empty lot. You hop out of the car and stroll inside Family Video to grab the requested items, putting them on Steve’s tab.

When you’re about to open the car door to leave, you freeze in place. Your eyes catch a silhouette that’s outlined by the striking lights. The figure shuffles and stamps out a cigarette on the bricks of the building.

Their stance is as stiff as a board, a posture you’d recognize anywhere.

“Munson?”

Eddie whips around to see who called his name, his jaw falling open in disbelief. He hardly recognizes you considering that you’re a young adult now. “No way. Wha-are you shitting me?”

You practically run into his arms and he embraces you, your feet lifting off of the ground. “I’ll be damned!” He beams while letting you down but keeping you at arm's length. “Jesus-look at you! You’re so-” Developed, he thought.

You're smiling so wide that your cheeks ache. “Me? Oh my god, no. Look at you! Look at all this hair!” You chuckle, twirling one of his frizzy curls around your finger.

He typically doesn't let people touch his hair but he doesn’t mind at the moment. “What, expected the buzzed watermelon look?”

“Your head was always melon-sized, you’re right about that.” You chuckle. “It’s surprisingly soft.” You spoke too soon. He hisses at your finger catching a knot, so you gently brush through it with your fingers.

Eddie’s eyes study you, his heart thumping painfully. He’s overwhelmed by your presence and his palms start to sweat. The conversation progressed quickly, the two of you fondly recalling the old days. You hold onto his bicep while you laugh about pranking your neighbors with firecrackers and hanging out at the bakery you frequented together. You remember how he’d always get jelly on his face from the doughnuts.

Considering you lived a few trailers down, becoming friends was a no-brainer. He was never much of a daredevil but he loved getting a rush with you in the sleepy town, you felt no different. Shenanigans ensued and you even built a fort in the woods beside the trailer park. There was never a dull moment by your side, be it good or bad.

Most middle schoolers are self-conscious and constantly searching for validation, but not you. You never cared what other people thought of you. You were always true to yourself and unapologetically authentic. More importantly, you never judged Eddie. Your acceptance meant the world to him. From the start, you made it clear that he didn’t have to be anyone but himself around you.

He’s carried that outlook through the entirety of his school career. Always brushing off his peers’ jabs and remarks. He stood his ground and kept his friends close. Eventually, he instilled that very lesson in the freshman he took under his wings. He passed your wisdom onto them, that trying to be someone you’re not isn’t worth it in the long run.

You tilt your head at him. “I’m surprised to see you! I thought you’d have gotten out of here ASAP after graduating.”

Eddie is ashamed and doesn’t want to admit to graduating only four months ago. He shrugs, “Uh-yeah. Gotta stick around for Wayne, y’know?” It’s the best lie he could think of on the spot.

His wristwatch beeps, signaling the new hour. You take his wrist into your hand and look at the time. “Oh, shit. I should get going.” You sigh, wanting to be back in a timely manner so as not to worry Steve and Robin.

After swinging the car door open and plopping into the driver’s seat, you yell out of the rolled-down window. “See you around!”

Eddie hollers. “Wait!” Before he could say anything else you’ve pulled away and driven out of the parking lot. His mind races with your last sentence hanging in the air. See you around.

Once you get back to Steve’s the three of you enjoy dinner while watching the movie. Initially, Steve scoffed at having to watch it again but he wasn’t going to get Robin revved up about its impactful societal commentary.

You’re giddy and cheerful the remainder of the evening until the movie got to the part where Andrew Clark says to John Bender, “If you disappeared forever it wouldn’t make any difference. You may as well not even exist…”

That’s when it dawns on you. It was on purpose.

It’s been four days since running into Eddie. Because you’re staying with Steve, you’re obligated to be at his Halloween party, given it’s being held at his house. You put on your best “I’m social and parties are delightful” attitude because you know Steve is looking forward to introducing you to the rest of his friends.

The afternoon was spent putting the finishing touches on the decorations. Steve is visibly eager to have his gaggle of pals together for a night of spooky festivities.

Robin arrives with Tupperware stacked in her arms, full of creepy goodies she made herself. Cookies that resemble witch fingers, candy corn-colored Rice Krispie treats, and caramel popcorn balls.

Music blares from the stereo in the living room. You’re seated on the couch talking with Steve who’s leaning against the fireplace mantel that’s strung with faux cobwebs. Eddie strides through the front door with a case of beer balancing on his shoulder.

Eddie isn’t used to attending parties for fun. Usually, he goes to make money off of teens who are too plastered to bargain a reasonable price for weak bud. He pretends to hate costumes but the geek in him secretly loves dressing up.

“You both came as zombies?” Steve groans. “How creative.”

Dustin wraps his arms around Eddie’s torso, hugging him so tightly that Eddie groans in discomfort.

You turn to see who Steve is addressing and Eddie looks at you with an indiscernible look in his eyes. He can’t believe it. Not only are you here, but you’re both dressed as Eddie the Head from The Number of The Beast album. It’s a fairly simple costume, a white t-shirt with jeans and a little makeup, but it makes his chest throb in adoration for your shared interest in music.

You don’t look at him for long. Instead, you flash him a polite grin and turn back to Steve, continuing the conversation. Eddie was expecting you to run into his arms like before but you remained seated. A shockwave of dread jolts through his extremities. He knows you’ve got a bone to pick with him for what he did.

Later during the party, you find yourself in the kitchen chatting with Steve, Robin, and Nancy while the youngsters are hanging out in the living room. The heated debate about whether trail mix should contain peanuts or not lacks your participation. You’re more so listening than contributing. You lean against the counter, quietly snapping your fingers at your side. You’ve been doing well so far but you’re starting to feel anxious because your social battery is running low.

Eddie walks into the room and recognizes your nervous habit immediately. He recalls how you get overstimulated by loud music and commotion. The freshman running through the kitchen, shouting and laughing puts you further on edge.

Eddie can tell you must’ve never found someone who loved you enough to teach you how to cope like he’d hoped would happen. It makes his heart heavy knowing you’re still dealing with anxiety after all these years. It makes him wonder how often you must’ve needed him and he wasn’t there for you. He thought removing himself from your life was in your best interest. He assumed you’d be off doing bigger and better things without him in the way. Somehow he failed to realize how much he hurt you.

You were always there for him. Especially the afternoon that the two of you were reading Lord of the Rings in your fort in the woods. Shouting rumbled off in the distance. Both of you got to your feet and walked a few steps to the tree line to see what the racket was.

Earl Munson, Eddie’s father, had shown up unannounced and belligerently drunk.

“Fuckin’... fuckin’ good for nothing son of a bitch!” Earl roared.

Wayne could be heard yelling back at him. “Cops will be here any minute, you better… don’t you swing on me! Motherfu- drunk bastard!”

You clung to Eddie and he held onto you twice as tightly. Watching his deadbeat father behave erratically wasn’t something that was easy to look away from. Chief Hopper and another deputy showed up quickly due to there being a warrant out for Earl. He intensely resisted arrest, making one hell of a scene. Eddie cried that day, and you’re still the only one who knows about it.

“Here, c’mon. Let’s go outside.” Eddie whispers, gently taking your hand and guiding you outside to the back porch. He knows you need fresh air. Generally, he’s ecstatic to finally get you alone after watching you all night but he’s unnerved about the inevitable conversation about to unfold.

“So-uh.” He rubs his hands nervously, conveniently generating heat to fight the evening autumn breeze.

"Now you wanna talk? So fitting." The feelings of abandonment threaten your composure. “I tried calling, y’know. Quite a few times, actually.” You cross your arms in anticipation of whatever excuses he’s going to give.

Eddie avoids eye contact and shifts his weight between the balls of his feet. Struggling to find the right words to explain. “Sometimes… I think it’s just easier for people if I’m not around. I figured I’d do you a favor.”

A favor. Your breathing quakes as the words reverberate in your mind, the remaining anxiety pushing you over the edge into bitterness. He wasn’t busy and his phone number hadn’t changed. He meant to do it.

At the time, it was obvious to him that you were a force to be reckoned with. You’d been lucky enough to get out of Hawkins and he didn’t want to hold you back. He knew you’d conquer the world while chasing your dreams.

“You intentionally ignored me. That’s what you’re saying?” Tears roll down your cheeks but you keep your expression as neutral as possible. “That’s it, huh? You decided you were done with me?”

“No!” His eyes meet yours with bold intensity. “I said I would never let you go. I pinky promised, matter of fact. I never let go. There wasn’t a single fucking day that went by that I didn’t think about you.”

“Oh? And not a single day did you call me, or write me!” You huff. “Eight years, Ed! Eight whole fucking years.” Your face is glowing red with frustration. “You made me question myself and my worth. You made me feel like I did something wrong.”

The ache in your chest comes back stronger than ever, thinking about all of the nights you spent curled up in your bed with tears pooling under your eyes. You felt so alone without your best friend by your side. Eddie assumed you were adjusting to your new life, but you were suffering. As time went on, you managed. Except, the only thing ignoring you did was teach you how to live without him.

Eddie’s own tears begin to fall, guilt burying him beneath the earth’s surface. He feels like he’s suffocating, soil clouding his lungs as he watches your expression break while reliving the betrayal. “I-I love you.” It’s all he can muster, his tone sounds remorseful despite not actively apologizing.

“Don’t! Don’t you dare.” You snap at him while wiping your cheeks roughly. Putting your walls back up and braving forward. “If you loved me you wouldn’t have vanished. You don’t… you don’t abandon someone that you love.”

Eddie does love you. But at this point, it doesn’t matter. The damage has been done.

“Just let me explain, please.” He sobs and reaches for your hands. Even though he used his pain as an excuse to justify hurting you, he is sincerely penitent.

You let him take one of your hands into his large palms. His grip is trembling. He’s coming apart at the seams.

“No need.” You fixate your gaze on his fingers mindlessly stroking yours. “If anything I should thank you.”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his eyes closely watching your mouth as if he could see the words falling from your lips.

With a deep breath, you meet his gaze and continue. “I learned the difference between being patient and wasting my time. Day after day I sat by the phone and waited. That was a waste of time. You taught me that.”

Eddie sniffles loudly, letting your words sink into his skin with the sting of the pain they harbor. “I won’t fuck up this time, okay? Give me another chance, please.”

You ignore his plea. You can’t trust that he won’t do the same thing again. “Ed, I won’t forget what we had, you made that time in my life so special.” You begin to withdraw your hand.

He stops your fingers from slipping through his. “Please- just. Don’t regret me.”

You flash him an unconvincing grin and avert your eyes before turning and disappearing back into the house. He doesn't see you for the rest of the night. The look you gave him was your goodbye, and it was the final one.

After driving home once the party is over, he sits in his van and cries harder than he has in years.

Eddie was wrong about you not needing him back then, but you sure as hell don’t need him now.

★My Masterlist

★Ko-fi ♡

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kendrene · 1 year

Text

Whoever does not love, does not know God because God is love.

John 4:8

***

After she gets back to the cathedral Ava finds that, on the surface, everything is the same. Scratch deep enough though, and a lot of things have changed.

There’s a gaggle of new girls, staring-wide eyed whenever they believe she’s not looking and empty seats in the refectory where Lilith and Mary used to sit. They take turns meticulously setting the table for them anyway as though those two may join them any moment, even though neither ever does.

One of the recruits tries to sit in Mary’s spot once, but a death-glare from Camila is enough to dissuade her.

“Stop it,” Ava pinches her side as the girl pales, “you’re scaring her, and she didn’t know any better.”

“Fine.” Camila tears her eyes away and the girl breathes again, which is good; she had started to turn an alarming shade of blue. “But only because you asked nicely.”

That’s another change in Ava’s ever growing list. How they defer to her. It’s subtle — in Camila’s case so intertwined with sarcasm Ava’s kind of not sure whether it is deference at all — but it’s there.

And then, of course, there is the bed thing.

“It’s just for a bit.” Beatrice explains, not looking her in the eye. “We figured you may have a hard time… readjusting.”

“Who’s we? The Order? Mother Superior? Is it you?”

Beatrice bites the inside of her cheek and doesn’t say.

Ava sighs, wiping a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Maybe she’s tired. Maybe Beatrice is right. She’s been back only a few days, spat out on the OCS’s doorstep with no idea of how nor why, and life has been a whirlwind since. “I appreciate you, uh, wanting to keep an eye on me.”

It feels Beatrice has done nothing else, really.

“I can tell Mother Superior it was a bad idea and go back to my room.” Beatrice takes a step back, like she means to go do it right now. “We don’t have to bunk together if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine.” Ava bites the words out too hard and immediately regrets it. “It’ll be like old times.”

They had been happy in the Alps. They had been friends.

But now everything’s changed and Ava doesn’t know what they are. Not anymore.

***

Her old room with two single beds shoved inside, feels a bit cramped. That’s Ava’s first thought in the evening, when after another never-ending set of medical tests, she drags her carcass there, dog-tired.

She finds it empty.

It’s odd. It’s striking, considering Beatrice’s persistent vigilance, her nearly obsessive observance. Ava throws her jacket onto her bed and follows suit, landing facedown, arms wound around the nearest pillow.

A split-second later, she’s screaming into it.

They have spoken to each other, yes, but they’ve not really talked. Not about the stuff that matters anyway. Not about the desperate way Ava had kissed Beatrice goodbye, tasting of tears and an unfulfilled promise. And they’ve definitely not talked about how Beatrice had kissed her back, soft and trembling and reverent, how her fingers had swept along the curve of Ava’s jaw. To map it out. To memorize it.

Beatrice shuffles in once the light’s been turned off and Ava, who’s only faking being asleep, listens to the rustle of her clothes.

“Ava?” Bea’s voice is a whisper, is supplication, is a plea. “Are you awake? Can we talk?”

Ava thinks of their house in the Alps, and the double bed with the communion-wafer thin pillows and spring-busted mattress they’d been forced by circumstance to share. Thinks of the vows Bea took, which she has no right to ask her to break. Her eyes squeeze shut tightly to hold back the tears. Her breath evens out in deception.

Perhaps, whatever they’ve been to each other for one single moment is best not talked of out loud after all.

***

The second night it’s Ava who sneaks to her bed late, staking it out huddled behind a column in the cloister until the buttery shine of the lamp behind their window is gone.

“What are you doing?” Camila asks next to her ear, and Ava startles, finding herself wrapped around the same column she’d been skulking against, albeit a couple feet higher.

“Procrastinating.” She hisses back once her heart has stopped pounding and she can control the halo into floating her back down. “What are you doing?”

“Ah.” Camila looks to the darkened window, a pensive look on her face. “The avoidance stage of being in love.”

“That doesn’t even — I’m not in love!”

“Of course you aren’t.” If Camila rolled her eyes any further, they’d rattle like dice to the back of her skull. “Has nobody ever taught you not to lie in the house of God?” Ava can’t help but smile at the light ribbing.

It’s a comfort to find out that Camila has stayed the same.

“You should talk to her about it. Tell her how you feel.”

She has shown her. Ava almost tells her about the kiss. Almost asks her how she knew, and is she being that obvious?

“I will.” Camila raises an eyebrow in doubt. “I promise.”

At her back the Halo flares up and brings her lies into the light.

***

It’s all the noise, Ava decides, that makes it hard to sleep. Sounds that in the time spent on the other side she had forgotten, to which she’s having a hard time — readjusting, Bea had called it. That’s it. That’s all there is.

She spends the third night wide awake, listening, absorbing.

The lights have been off for a good while, but for once they’ve left the shutters open, so the room is not completely dark. The wane, yellowish light of the moon paints a square shape on the duvet. It only catches Beatrice’s hand, uncurled and open in the vulnerability of sleep, the glint of Divinium circling her wrist. It’s all Ava can see of her, but it’s enough to make her heart ache.

The Halo buzzes inside her head. Agreement.

“Oh, shut up.” The droning grows. Louder and not ignorable. “I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you. It’s not like you ever say anything back.” For all it being a celestial artifact, the device is very much tight-lipped on the whereabouts of God.

“Ava?” Groggily Beatrice reaches an arm across the space that separates their beds. “What is it?”

Nestled between her shoulder blades, the Halo starts to brighten.

Fuck.

“It’s nothing.” Beatrice sits up, and Ava’s 99,9% positive the hand she’s keeping hidden under the covers is clutching the hilt of a knife. “Just a dream.”

“Alright.” Beatrice’s other hand finds hers, their fingers tangling briefly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m—” I’m in love with you. Ava, breathe. “—fine.”

Beatrice lets her go, but then her hand rises again, kind of an afterthought. She touches two fingers to the side of Ava’s throat, brows crumpled together, eyes narrowed. The pressure is light, nearly non-existent. The ghost of a touch. Ava tries and fails to swallow against it, and the Halo lights up to the glare of the sun at its zenith. Had she a way to do so, she’d strangle the damn thing.

“Okay.” Beatrice’s hand falls slowly away. The Halo’s light fades. “Wake me up if you need me.”

The next morning it’s clear from the dark circles around Beatrice’s eyes, that so perfectly mimic her own, neither of them slept a wink.

***

Four nights in a row without sleep. It’s becoming ridiculous.

Midnight uncovers Ava in the library, which is aside from Beatrice’s side, her favorite place to be. Books have always sorta kinda been her thing; stuck in a bed since age seven the choice had been books or TV.

Ava walks back to the table she’s been sitting at for the better part of the last hour, and dumps the latest haul under the halogen lamp. She doesn’t know what she’s searching for exactly, just that there is an answer in here that she needs. In these books, so old they sometimes fall apart at mere touching.

The Halo helps as it can, lighting the way.

“Can I help you?”

Beatrice slides onto the bench next to her, and Ava hears it again, the same note in her voice that’s there when she’s praying. Let me help you, is the true meaning of her question, left unsaid.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for.” She slides the first book to Beatrice from the pile. Confessions it reads on the warped cover, St. Augustine the name stitched below it in thread-of-gold.

“It’s alright.” Bea opens the book at its index, tracks the blocky letters with a finger. “We’ve got all night. Whatever it is, we’ll find it.” Ava gets the feeling she’s talking of an entirely different thing .

She wakes with a start hours later gently prodded by dawn, Beatrice gone, the library empty. The soft hand-knitted sweater she’d worn the night before is draped across Ava’s back, in effective substitution of a blanket.

Underneath it, the Halo glows.

***

Vespers have just ended, the sun an orange slant across the cathedral’s mosaic floor, and Ava is so tired of pretending, so tired of the hollowness left from the lack of Beatrice’s body curled up with her own.

“I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.” Bea holds the guttering flame of a candle to the one Ava is holding and, together, they light a new votive. “I don’t want to sleep alone at all.”

“You don’t have to.”

#warrior nun #avatrice #dren writes #our bodies are a sacred note (sung between the flesh and hope)

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