#every time i hear it i have an existential crisis

[ad-astra-per-aspera-1389]

no no no you don't understand. passing time (unplugged) by heffron drive (feat. logan henderson) guts me every single time. if i refer to it as "the kogan duet lol" that's the way i'm coping with the way that song makes me feel. they only have one song with just the two of them because its too powerful. ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME???

#don't get me started on “i talk to myself every night” and “you've been talking to yourself since I don't call you anymore” #passing time heffron drive #heffron drive #logan henderson #that song makes me FERAL #im done dying dead deceased #every time i hear it i have an existential crisis #i haven't heard the non-unplugged version and i don't want to

[vidavalor]

Before the Beginning and Crowley's memory

You know how Aziraphale is visibly paranoid about Crowley being overheard during Before the Beginning and warns him against asking questions? This being before Hell and demons, really, but Aziraphale being concerned for Crowley's safety means that there had to be some repercussion to challenging Heaven's authority that was known to Aziraphale and that most likely meant the stolen memories, since we also learn about those in S2, right? Maybe Aziraphale knew in Before the Beginning of angels who had had their identities taken from them for talking out of turn and he was worried that it could happen to Crowley but... what if the scene is suggesting that it already had?

I always took Crowley not introducing himself to Aziraphale as written to convey that this was the first time they met to the audience but, at the same time, to not tie themselves to any one idea about who Crowley was pre-Fall because Crowley is Crowley and it's not vitally important to know what his name was then. I'm wondering now if it might also be that Crowley had a name at this point in time but it was kind of like Muriel and their name. It's their name in the present but we don't know what they were called before. The show is really careful about that-- we don't get a name for Muriel in the Job minisode so it could have been something else at that point, before they got memory-zapped. Maybe Crowley had a name in Before the Beginning that was what he'd just been given after having already lost a bit of himself and he knew he had. He'd worked out he was missing parts of himself. As a result, the name he was called then didn't really feel like his and so he avoided using it. He just says "nice to meet you" to Aziraphale so he doesn't have to give him a name he doesn't really feel like is him... not that he can totally remember what he used to be called or how he used to be, entirely.

This is still early days in them taking memories from him so he still retains a lot of who he was but maybe he'd already asked enough for them to start chipping away at him a bit.

This was the sauntering vaguely downward?

He keeps asking questions. Always asking those damn fool questions, as The Metatron put it. Always going his own way. They kept taking his memory to try to reboot him a couple of times until they eventually threw him to Hell once it existed and when they realized every version of him is basically uncontrollable.

By the time he's Crawly, he's had a half-dozen different names.

On Earth, he decides after Job to take control of the trauma of it, in a sense, and changes his name to one of his own choosing-- Crowley. Something that means something to him and to Aziraphale. Something he chose for himself, and something he'd like hearing Aziraphale say and that Aziraphale would like to say. S2 opens with him not giving himself a name to Aziraphale in Before the Beginning and then gives us the story showing us how the name he eventually chooses for himself is one he created for the meaning it has to him and to Aziraphale.

It also might mean that Before the Beginning actually might not even be the first time Crowley and Aziraphale first met. There is the scene later in S2 wherein Aziraphale has just been recollecting the Job story-- which is to say that he's just been remembering Muriel-- and then Muriel arrives at his door to verify the miracle but they are dressed as an "Inspector Constable" and acting like they're undercover, which signals to Aziraphale that Muriel has, at some point, been memory-zapped because they do not remember that they've actually met Aziraphale before. Aziraphale never actually indicates to Muriel that they've already met and while it might be to his advantage not to at that point, it's also an act of kindness at that stage. To do so would be to spark an existential crisis in Muriel and he does not know them that well, not to mention that it would cause waves in Heaven that Aziraphale is trying not to cause at that point. Still, he looks at them with sympathy and pain when they don't want to try their cupperty and seem less knowledgeable and aware than they were when they first met during Job.

How many times did Aziraphale meet Crowley "for the first time" and just not tell him at the time that they already had? Is Before the Beginning really the first time they ever met? It could be. It feels like it is but, then again, so too did Eden. How many times did Aziraphale meet Crowley before the last time in Eden and how many of them does Crowley actually remember?

In S1, Aziraphale explains how he and Crowley met to the others as a story beginning with Eden. While it might make sense and be easier to start the story with Adam & Eve when explaining it to humans, Crowley is standing right there and this is a choice on Aziraphale's part, maybe one to try to make him feel more comfortable. S2 automatically invalidated this as being technically true with Before the Beginning so who is to say how untrue it really is? Eden isn't the first time they met; it's the last first time they met.

Imagine watching this brilliant, funny, creative being fight to retain a sense of himself, holes in his memory, the light getting dimmer and the feathers more grey each time, and being helpless to stop it because the same wild, imaginative spark you love in him is why they're doing this to him. Imagine watching him start to forget more and more things. He can't remember the gravity he invented, the stars he made. He can't remember that he knows you. It takes a handful of times of this before they invent Hell and the idea of demons and call him one and toss him to Satan and before that, you had to go to him two, three, four, five times and say

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #good omens 2 #aziracrow

[bbnibini]

Random Cocytus Hall Headcanons

Mornings start late. Breakfast is lunch, lunch is dinner and dinner are some random snacks in the middle of the night–small and bite-sized, especially made for one particular sorcerer who has a tendency to forget his meals once he’s deep in his research.

Solomon gained a habit of eating anything that’s put in front of him, your pen? Gone. MC? Why is the steak crunchy? Man’s literally pavloved to do this because he wouldn’t eat otherwise. (Thanks, OG!Timeline, Simeon.)

Your weekends are spent scouring for magical items that will be considered rare in the original timeline/future. An "investment" if you will.

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?” “Am I also a worm, MC?” “No????” “Can I be one too? 🥺👉👈” (He doesn’t want you to be alone)

“Pretending” to be a couple to get couple’s discounts in everything. Purposely making a scene in public for clout. (Fake proposals, wholesome pranks and polite catcalling). You both like the chaos. Responsibly (because Barbatos is watching). Sometimes, Asmo joins in too!

Every day is a marathon to outrun Solomon to the kitchen. It’s rather unfortunate that most of the time when it’s his turn to do the cooking, something goes wrong and you have to eat out. Not like he minds (a date is a date<3).

This is you everytime you try to wake Solomon in the morning. (He’s a notorious night owl and also a light sleeper, so he made some precautions to get a good rest by casting several layers of sound blocking spells that activate once his brain waves fall into a specific frequency range. And yes. You have to disarm them One.By.One. Every.Morning.) As much as you want him to sleep longer, unfortunately, RAD doesn’t have night class. :’( (What is even “night” in Devildom if it’s always dark? Don’t mind me having an existential crisis over a fictional realm lmao)

Solomon isn’t the type of person who voices out his grievances. He’s the type who endures and always tries to act “maturely”, especially in situations he considers unfair. (Please protect this man. He doesn’t know a thing about receiving compassion nor affection. It’s a very touchy subject to him; he would rather give and get nothing in return. Because that's what always happens. Kindness makes him vulnerable and being vulnerable scares him. )Why would he make his dearest apprentice worry? You are a person meant to be loved(unlike him), and he is painfully aware how he would have to share your attention with everyone else. What you might not know is how much he beats himself up over feeling “petty emotions”. Jealousy? Loneliness? A few swigs of liquid courage would make him forget, even just for the night. He is Solomon the Wise, not Solomon the Fool.

Is the type who answers you in person every time you try to text him in Decommunication:

You Hey, do we still have some bread? seen 1 hour ago

Then when you got tired waiting for him to text back he just: *Teleports behind you* “I bought some now! Did we forget anything else?”“SOLOMON I AM LITERALLY IN THE BATHROOM RIGHT NOW! HOW DID YOU GET HERE? WHY CAN’T YOU ANSWER MY TEXTS LIKE A NORMAL PERSON?!”“But…what about the bread? :( I got it for you.” "GET. OUT." "Do you need toilet pap-" "GET OUT!!!"

Contrary to Solomon’s defeatist beliefs, you crave his presence as much as he does. The little traces of him in Cocytus hall that lingers there even in his absence brings you so much comfort and reassurance. He is the first person you turn to in difficult times. “If Solomon is here, everything will be okay.” is a mantra you like muttering to yourself when you are especially troubled. Perhaps if a certain, depressed and inebriated soul would come to hear it, his own heart’s worries would finally be silenced.

WE GET IT! YOU’RE MARRIED!!  <; —----- everyone when you talk about each other

----

Happy NB Remix Release! Take this late tribute (AO3 mirror)

#oops forgot to put this as a scheduled post #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me headcanons #obey me solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #shall we date obey me

[schemmentis]

Revelation - Pt. 2

Pt. 1

Warnings: Depiction/Talking of Anxiety & Depression

Word Count: 1.7k

By the next night, Melissa has had an entire existential crisis. She practically bullied poor Jacob from the living room without meaning to. Seeing him, though, had only reminded her of the previous night's realization and made her decidedly not want to spend time with him. Lest he find something else to say to tip her world upside down all over again.

She's already dreading Monday and being in the same room as you. Except…that's really not true. She's always happy to see you. She just isn't sure what to make of this shift of her understanding of her own feelings. She hardly wants to risk losing you in her life. You have a wonderful relationship. You're her closest friend. She doesn't see Barbara outside of work half as much as she does you.

If she sees you Monday and can't pretend things are as usual, you'll know. You've always been able to read her better than most. Even in the early days of getting to know each other. Now that she's spent the last day or so thinking over practically every moment spent with you since you met she realizes that's part of how you got so close. You were always ready to see beneath the surface of her reactions and responses.

You never let her standoff nature deter you or intimidate you before she accepted you would be around Abbott for a long time as opposed to the others that went in and out. You didn't like all the same things but the things you did you enthusiastically shared with her. The things you didn't, you still appreciated that she liked and would entertain or participate in those things with her. Just because she liked them.

Melissa slumps at the head of her bed with a groan. “Schemmenti, you are so fucked.” She mumbles into her pillow. Not the first time since yesterday she's thought it but it is the first time she's said it out loud.

She's worried about seeing you again, nervous. Still, she knows at the end of every day she'd choose to spend time with you anyway. So, her only choice is to just…see what happens. Melissa Schemmenti hates just seeing what happens. She hates surprises.

Her groan sounds again when her phone rings from somewhere next to her. It's already too late on a Saturday night to be getting called. Double too late when she's been working herself up with thoughts of feelings all day.

She lifts her head enough for one glaring eye to see her screen. The sight of a photo of the two of you you'd insisted on taking, and setting as your contact photo in her phone, lighting up her screen makes her sit up. It's definitely too late for you to call her.

Quickly, she's swiping the accept call button with her thumb. “Hon?”

She hears the sniffle after your quiet ‘hey’ in greeting. She doesn't bother asking if you're alright. She already knows the answer. “Do you need me to come over?”

“It's late…”

“That's not what I asked. Yes or no, Hon?”

She's about to pull the phone away from her ear to make sure she didn't accidentally hang up when you finally answer. “Yes, please.”

“I'll be there in ten, I'll use your spare to get in. Just hang tight for me.” She answers as she pushes away from her bed. She lets you be the one to end the call as she pulls on a hoodie and grabs her car keys. She doesn't bother telling Jacob she's leaving.

With the hour, she makes it to your apartment in eight. She plucks the spare key from its potted plant hiding place and lets herself in. She locks the door behind her, setting the key and her purse to the side table nearby.

She frowns slightly as she glances at the living room and kitchen as she pass through the short hallway to your bedroom.

What feels like forever ago, she had told you about Joe. The aftermath of her marriage and how it made her feel. You'd both been drinking that night but neither of you were drunk. She'd been just tipsy enough to feel comfortable sharing, at least with you. In return, you'd shared your own struggles with depression and anxiety.

Your apartment is not dirty. It's perhaps the normal level of weekend disarray. There are only a few dishes at the side of the kitchen sink. That she would guess is from breakfast. The blankets on your couch aren't folded.

It isn't really messy but Melissa knows these small things aren't like you. You tend to be on top of even these little things since you learned the mess of things can increase your anxiety about your depression worsening. It's small, but she notices.

“Hey,” she greets softly when she steps into your bedroom. She catches your answer, muffled by your blanket held to the lower half of your face.

Melissa sits on the edge of your bed, her legs swinging up to sit properly next to you. As if she has a hundred times before. “C’mon,” She coaxes softly, her hands waving you to her.

After a moment, you shuffle closer to her. Instantly, her arms are around you, holding you to her. You adjust to share your blanket with her.

She scoffs when you attempt to quietly apologize. “Don't give me no apology, Sweetheart. I don't need one. You called, I answered, huh? That's all there is to it. You'd have done the same for me.”

She nods at your soft agreement. You would have. Without question.

“You wanna talk about it?” She asks, in a whisper that sounds more like she's shared a secret.

“I don't know what happened.” You sigh, glad for the way she squeezes her arms around you in reassurance. It lets you feel like you can keep speaking. “Game night at yours was fun and I told myself when I left I'd get home and finish grading those quizzes from Thursday so I wouldn't have to worry about them all weekend. The next thing I knew I'd just been sitting around and scrolling on my phone until late. I figured I'd get up and do them this morning but…”

“Hard day to get outta bed?”

“Something like that. I just kept thinking of everything else I needed to do too and then what if come Monday I still can't even get myself to get up and then the kids will—”

“Shh,” Melissa cuts you off gently. A hand rubbing against your arm to soothe at the same time. “It's okay. You aren't gonna leave the kids like that. I know you. And it's okay to take a day or two off once in a while anyhow. But instead of worryin’ ‘bout Monday, let's worry about right now, alright? Right now, you're gonna stay right here with me and relax. Take a deep breath with me, Hon?”

You do. Following the pattern of Melissa's own breathing that is slow and purposeful. You let yourself slowly start relaxing at her side.

“Good.” She praises quietly when you keep your breath in time with hers. Even after the one requested deep breath. “We’re gonna stay here, and if ya need to talk it out more then I'm here to talk it out with or just listen. Or I can talk ya little ear off until you fall asleep. We’ll worry about everything else tomorrow.”

“I have no idea how your kids stay awake during story time.” You tease her gently, smiling into her shoulder.

“Why’d you think I only read to ‘em when they're real good?” She answers easily. You can hear the smile in her own voice.

“Thank you. For being here.”

Again, Melissa scoffs. “I don't need thanks any more than apologies, sweetheart. I've got you.”

You resolve, as you fight your eyes closing to sleep, that you'll be there whenever Melissa calls you too. No matter the hour. It's only whisper to tell you to not be ridiculous and sleep that has you actually giving in to rest.

When you wake the next morning, Melissa isn't next to you. The distant sound of rustling from your living room tells you she didn't go far though. You bring yourself to rise from your bed, vaguely noticing your full laundry hamper is gone from the corner of the room.

You dont think too hard on it though. You're not fully awake and it wouldn't surprise you if you moved it and forgot. Yet as you continue out to the living room, you do begin to question.

The dishes are washed and on the drying rack on your counter. The fruit bowl you keep for the mornings you don't plan well enough for breakfast so you have something quick is in its usual spot. Though the counter has been cleaned around it and a few of the pieces of fruit you noticed turning are gone.

You turn to see Melissa curled up on your couch. Nestled comfortably in the corner of one of the arm rests. The blankets are folded and laid across the back of the couch. The quizzes you meant to grade this weekend are in a pile next to her.

“Mornin’ Hon.” She greets without looking away from the paper she's marking. She finishes grading that particular students quiz, setting it to your coffee table. The stack on the table, the stack you realize is the ones she's graded, is much larger than the few left next to her on the couch.

“Mel, you didn't have to do all this.”

The hand holding one of your red pens waves your statement away. “It was nothin’. I woke up a little early and couldn't get back to sleep. I figured I could take a little off your mind. So I did.”

You pluck one of your other red pens from the coffee table, claiming the last few quizzes as you sit next to her. “Alright but I'm helping you finish, at least. Then we're going to breakfast.”

“You're gonna bribe me with pancakes to walk around the farmers market at this ungodly hour.” Melissa says. It isn't a question. She already knows it's exactly what's going to happen.

“Yes.” You admit with no sign of regret before you set about finishing the last few quizzes.

#melissa schemmenti fanfiction #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #revelation

[caffeinetheif]

I'm back :3c

Angst idea - Mc struggling to feel like their own person after the whole reveal of them being Lilith's descendent. The slight slip ups from the brothers (minus Satan, obv he didn't really know her,) the small comparisons from the angels that might've known her that make it appear that mc is now a stand in for her or that their new-found worth/importance only comes from their relation to Lilith.

You know me so well. I love angst so much lol. GN!MC as always <33 Since this got so long, the entire fic is under the cut lol. Might continue in a part 2 if this gets enough attention. If you notice my bias for solomon, no you don't

Am I Even Me?

WC: 1.5K

No Romance, but it could be romantic/platonic between Solomon depending on interperitation

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 16, existential crisis/MC knows that they aren't the original MC, some harm done to MC by Lucifer (nothing extreme, just bruising), CURSING, Escaping/running away, talks of murder/death, MC gets compared to Lilith

GN!MC

The brother’s behavior is different than it used to be. Verbal and physical mannerisms have changed, both subtly and not. 

At first, you didn’t notice it and thought that the brothers were just warming up to you even more. It was hard to notice at first, but the more it happened, the harder it was for you to ignore.

When receiving little trinkets and candies and treats from the brothers that you never knew existed became more frequent, you started to suspect something was up. For example, Beelzebub goes out of his way to make special snacks and treats just for you. Asmodeus has given you articles of clothing and accessories that are definitely not your style and it has gotten to the point where you need to store them in a box under your bed. Every time you look at them or any other gift the feeling of not being seen as your own person crawls up your neck.

However, Belphegor’s behavior is the most noticeable. You find him unpredictable, off kilter in a way. When you first met, he seemed lonely and in need of company. You were blindsided when the switch flipped and he started to rant about how much he despised humans like you. He killed you, then you came back, told the story your ancestor Lilith told you, and now everything seems hunky dory. Just like nothing happened. You never really felt safe alone with him since then, even with his new sweeter mannerisms. 

How many times have the brothers almost called you Lilith? The ‘L’ being slurred in before your name is getting annoying. Sometimes you hear Beel and Belphie whispering to each other about you reminding them of their younger sister. Mammon is the least guilty of it and Satan has never compared you to her. It’s hard to compare someone you know to the sister you have only heard of.

The angel Simeon isn’t without fault, either. When he said that you hold yourself similarly to Lilith has played on repeat ever since he mentioned it. It makes you feel like you aren’t your own person. You’re tired of it, but you have to endure.

But you can’t help but think. Are they seeing you as you, or as her?

When dinner time rolls around and you join the brothers at the table, you idly chat about classes with Satan and Mammon. The chatting continues as you and the brothers pass around the various dishes of food and take your servings before passing it on. 

Cutlery clinks against the plates and bowls once everyone begins to eat. It’s the peaceful type of quiet that doesn’t need to be filled with chatter. AS usual, the silence doesn’t last forever.

“Could you pass the gravy, Lilith?” Leviathan asks. 

He quickly realizes his slip up. Leviathan stammers as he corrects himself.

That was the stick that broke the camel’s back. Every other time the brother’s have caught themselves before her full name slipped out. It was never subtle, but they tried to stop themselves from saying her name. 

You have had enough, “Do you think I haven’t noticed?” 

Beelzebub is the one to reply, “What do you mean, MC?”

Your anger grows and you announce, “Do you think I haven’t noticed that you all have been giving me things I have never asked for or talked about? Foods that I have never heard of or sweets that don’t exist in the human realm? They were all for Lilith, weren’t they?”

It’s Asmodeus that speaks this time, “Oh, MC. We didn’t mean… You just-” 

“Just what? Just remind you of her? Even Simeon has mentioned her to me.”

Mammon looks like he wants to say something too, but stays silent.

Tears collect on your lashes, “Is that all I am? A replacement for your dead sister?”

Every single one of the brothers falls quiet as they are caught off guard by your outburst.

Frustrated with the silence, you demand, “Answer me! Am I a stand in for your fucking sister!”

Lucifer breaks the silence first by slamming his hands on the dining table, silverware and dishes clinking as a result. “MC, that’s enough!” 

“No! If anything, you’re one of the worst about it! Everyone has been ignoring the fact that Belphegor fucking killed me! That whole incident has been just swept under the rug! And on top of that, you all have slipped up and nearly called me her name except Satan.”

Beelzebub stands, about to defend his twin when Satan stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

You take a step towards Lucifer and continue, anger and confusion getting the better of you, “Am I even me? I saw my own dead body! I don’t even belong in this damn timeline! What if I wanted to stay in my timeline? What if the Belphegor in that one didn’t hate my guts and didn’t want me dead? I can’t remember my own life because I was forced to take the place of the MC your brother fucking killed!” 

“MC, I said enough!” Lucifer bellows and grabs your wrist.

You wince as his hand wraps around your arm. His grip is strong, much harder than necessary and you know it will bruise. You know how he can be when he’s angry, and the sudden reality of what he could do hits you. Anxiety pulls at your lungs. None of the brothers move, though they look like they want to interfere. 

“Oi, Lucifer. Let MC go!” Mammon demands, getting up from his seat and preparing to jump the table at the eldest.

The break in his concentration allows you to wrench your arm from Lucifer’s grip. You run. You recognize the voices of the brothers yelling out to you, but you pay them no mind. Your legs carry you out of the dining hall, up the stairs, and down the halls.

You slam your door and slide the lock in place. It wouldn’t hold against the brothers’ strength if they really wanted to get in, so you take time to shove your armoire in front of it. The piece of furniture is heavy and takes time to move. By the time you have it where you want it, your adrenaline has worn off and your arms are shaky.

With your DDD in hand, you call the only other human you know in the Devildom. It wouldn’t be long before one or more of the brothers would try to talk to you. Eventually, you would need to talk to them about it. Just not tonight.

As your DDD rings, you hastily pack clothes into a duffel bag. It’s difficult with one hand and a bruising wrist, but you manage. Just before the last ring, the other line is finally picked up.

“MC, why are you call-”

“Solomon,” you sniff, cursing yourself for still crying, “can I stay at Purgatory Hall tonight?” 

Despite his arrogant facade, you can hear concern creeping into his voice, “Is everything alright?”

“I… Yes? Just come get me. Please. And be quick. I don’t know how long my door will hold.”

“I’ll be there in a minute. Call me again if something happens.”

Solomon hangs up and you finish packing your essentials. You pace with your bag over your shoulder, thinking he will appear in your room any second. Your thoughts are interrupted by your DDD ringing once again. You pick up.

Solomon starts, “I’m under your window. I’m unable to teleport into your room. There is a strong protection ward over the dorms.”

You hang up and run to your window and unlock it. Opening the window, you spot the sorcerer down below. Solomon opens his arms and motions for you to toss your bag down. He catches the falling luggage with ease.

Solomon faintly mutters something and a thick plant sprout shoots up to your window and forms a little platform in front of you. His magic never ceases to amaze you as you climb out of the window and onto the little step. The sprout shrinks back into the earth, bringing you down with it. As soon as your feet touch the ground, Solomon’s hand grabs yours and he gives you a quick warning before the two of you are teleported to Purgatory Hall.

The two of you arrive just outside the front entrance to Purgatory Hall and Solomon leads you inside. He shows you to the common room and sets your bag down besides the couch.

“I’ll be right back,” Somon says, “I’m going to go start some tea. Please make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

You nod and he leaves the room. You sit down and rub the dried tears off of your cheeks. Out of curiosity, you check your DDD to see several messages from Mammon. He’s always been the most protective. Emotionally drained, you power down your DDD to avoid any messages or incoming calls.

A few minutes pass and Solomon comes back with a tray of fresh sweets and tea. You’ll deal with the fall out tomorrow.

#obey me #obey me fic #obey me x reader #om lucifer #om mammon #om satan #om leviathan #om beelzebub #om lilith #om simeon #om solomon #om asmodeus #om belphegor #obey me shall we date #omswd

[oneshlut]

Can you do The Amazing Digital Circus characters meeting the reader for the first time?

A/N: ofcofc!! thanks for the request, i ADORE writing for tadc! <33 (keeping these platonic since most characters i write for in tadc are platonic)

Another New Home (TADC & Reader) [Headcanons]

Rules For Requesting

Characters I Will Write For

Masterlist

Summary: General meeting/friendship headcanons for ALL characters of TADC

Caine:

Seeing as he's the ringmaster, Caine introduces himself first!

Tries to be a bit less louder than he was with Pomni. She's actually been talking with him lately, trying to get him to be a bit more friendly! And human!

Can you blame him for being slightly rude? He's not even human, so he can't be blamed for not understanding certain emotions.

But you help him understand! He'll ask you from time to time about what certain human things mean.

When you first spawned into the circus, Caine helped pick out a name for you! By that I mean he chose it for you. You didn't get a say in anything.

Your relationship now? Well, he makes sure you don't get abstracted! That's enough for a good friend, right?

Pomni:

Immediately freaked out hearing a new name in the theme song. DESPERATELY hopes you're not too weird, like Kinger or.. Jax? Well, she hopes you're not rude like Jax

After meeting you, she's pleasantly surprised! You two can kinda relate to your situation. Jax likes to call you two the "newbies".

Pomni tries her best to explain to you what the digital circus even means for you, what abstraction is, and what not. She may not be able to answer all of your questions, though.

Thinks you're one of the "normal" ones to hang out with. Tries sticking with you during Caine's adventures. (She just needs someone else that gets her. Luckily, you fit that role perfectly.)

If she's comfortable enough with you, some days she may visit you in your room! Pomni doesn't do this often, though, so feel lucky.

Overall, the two of you are existential crisis buddies! If you become friends with her, be prepared for lots of deep thoughts and.. well, confusion.

Ragatha:

Ragatha is always eager to meet someone new in the circus! Despite how dire your situation may be, she tries her best to cheer you up.

Every morning she checks the doors before going down to the grounds, and that morning she found your door. Your design intrigued her, she just had to meet you!

She definitely explains abstraction better than Pomni tried to. When you get nervous about.. well, going insane, she heavily reassures you. Although Caine's adventures may seem like hell, they're actually pretty fun! Sometimes.

Ragatha shows you to your room, before she lets you get to know everyone else. She tries to stay optimistic for you, but you can kinda feel her underlying worries about the situation as she explains it.

She's definitely one of the easier people in the circus to get along with. If you get to know her a bit better, she may open up to you! Ragatha will try to tell you everything she knows about her past self, but she's left with very little wisps of what she used to be like.

Ragatha is on the more nicer and motherly side of the group, so when you can you try to spend time with her. If you put in the right effort, Ragatha will become really fond of you!

Jax:

If you've read my other works, you'll know Jax isn't one for new people. And at the same time he is. He's really indecisive.

But meeting you wasn't too bad. You weren't overwhelmingly annoying, but you did have some elements to your character that he could tease or make fun of.

Your first impression of Jax was.. honestly kind of bad. He was a complete dick, what more do you expect? To say the least, his antics did not help your increasing confusion.

If you still hang out with him after your horrible introductions, he would be.. amused. Becoming friends with Jax was just setting yourself for failure. Walking into a bear trap.

He teased you, pranked you relentlessly, and made sure you failed horribly during Caine's adventures. Why? I dunno, it was funny.

Jax will tone down his asshole nature as time goes on, and the closer you are with him.

You'll know he's placed his full trust in you when he asks you to help him out with a prank.

Zooble:

According to Zooble, her name for you was 'weirdo' in her head until she met you. As is for everyone, I suppose.

Your first meeting was.. awkward? You had asked her how her limbs worked, detachable and all. It was intriguing to hear about, though.

One thing you shared in common with her was probably both of your lackluster attempts at Caine's adventures, before just deciding to give up.

When you were too tired to commit to an adventure, you'd hang out with Zooble. She was nice company, and much different from others who were much more chaotic. Spending time with Zooble gave your brain a rest, a chance to slow down. And.. it was nice.

Zooble may seem unwilling to befriend you, but I promise she's trying. Not many people actually try to befriend her, unless it's Jax. If you count Jax's pranks as a way of befriending.

In all honesty, when you first met her, you kinda thought she would be.. crazy. Like Kinger. Maybe it was her design, with all the colors in all its glory, but you found yourself pleasantly surprised!

As long as you aren't a natural annoying person, or push buttons like Jax, Zooble eill probably grow fond of you! She won't admit it, though.

Gangle:

Oohh, Gangle. She's a tough one. Right now she's focused on her comedy mask, and doesn't even notice you when you first spawn in.

When you come to say hi, she's still in sorrows. She wishes you could've seen her happier side when you first arrived..

You try to help Gangle fix her mask, but you.. kinda end up making it worse. You apologize profusely. Don't worry, she forgives you. She may have just cried a bit more.

The more you hang out with her, the more comfortable she will get with you. She's a tough one to break, so it may take a while for Gangle to become fully trusting in you.

Try not to make any sudden movements or bursts of affection, because she will cry. Gangle, being as emotional as she is, will probably break down if you're too nice to her. They're happy tears, I swear. She's just not as used to affection like she was before.

As you grow closer, you begin to notice the little things. Gangle begins to show hints of smiles, and if you're lucky, she'll giggle a bit at a joke.

If you're patient with Gangle, she'll get attached to you. Sorry, no take backsies. She's just happy to finally have someone to feel safe around.

Kinger:

Kinger is.. a wild card. Don't get me wrong, Kinger is one of my favorite characters, but you have to admit he's a bit startling at times. And confusing. So imagine meeting him after being transported to another reality, already confused enough with your current situation, and now having to deal with Kinger's personality.

Him being a bit, you know.. coo-coo, he kinda ignored you at first. Kinger thought he was just hallucinating again, as per usual. Then you spoke, and he immediately jumped.

Speaking to him leaves you a bit frazzled, but you don't mind. He asks a lot of confusing questions about you, like how many half-syllables are in your name. You don't even know your name yet..

But you spend time with him anyways, he can be fun at times! He's decently helpful on adventures, and is a joy to have outside of Caine's antics. (What I'm trying to say here is that you build fortresses together.)

Kinger categorizes all of his friends using chess pieces. He says your a knight. Not even he knows why, he just one day told you that you seemed like a knight.

Grow close enough, and this humanized chess piece will ramble on and on about plants and insects to you. When he's ranting, you can barely make out anything he says, as his words naturally seem to blend together. Honestly? He's probably neurodivergent.

One day he'll tell you about Queenie. But it's gonna take a while. Estimated 5 years. For now, you two are great friends! In a way, Kinger feels like this weird childhood friend you never had. And Kinger.. still sees you as a knight.

#headcanons #tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc & reader #& reader #platonic #platonic fic #tadc x reader #x reader #x reader headcanons #x reader hcs #the amazing digital circus headcanons #tadc headcanon #meeting headcanons #friendship headcanons #meet cute #minor fluff #general hcs #requests open #request please #caine #pomni #jax #zooble #ragatha #gangle #kinger #tadc pomni #tadc jax #tadc ragatha

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐢𝐝𝐲𝐥𝐥

( UNTIL OUR SHATTERED SELVES ONCE AGAIN COLLIDE )

chara : alhaitham fandom : genshin impact quote cr : vampire: the masquerade a/n : gender neutral reader ; reader and alhaitham have kids

one. the first time you wish alhaitham a happy birthday is entirely coincidental. the first time you wish alhaitham a happy birthday is also entirely uncomfortable for both of you, unfortunately.

you do not expect to encounter the infamous scribe, his identity shrouded in mystery and all things intimidating. how easily he manages to slip through everyone's grasp, baffle even the most knowledgeable of researchers and send them into an existential crisis on his whereabouts. so when you hear that it's his birthday ( you also wonder how anyone found out ), you don't think much of it, not really, because how many times have you actually seen alhaitham? like once. for two seconds.

( you will be honest. you thought he was very handsome in the few moments you managed to see him. )

it happens when you seek refuge from the overwhelming projects and ideas that occupy your thoughts, desperate in search of peace and quiet. you open the door to the most obscure room known to man, and there he is.

he's quick to notice you, book in hand as his sharp gaze meets your disoriented and confused one. it is very quiet. you do not think this is the quiet you wanted.

some ( definitely not you, though ) might even say this is worse.

you have many thoughts : one: is this where he always hides? two: is he working right now? or is he just leisurely reading? three: this is very awkward. you are not sure what to say. should you introduce yourself? should you leave, wordless, hope you never see him again for the sake of preserving what little pride and dignity remain?

anyway, between all those ideas and the complete apathy in his visage, you don't come up with a coherent plan. so what do you do?

"i, uh--" you clear your throat loudly, uncertain. "happy birthday?"

you think you might see a moment of amusement grace his features-- you're not sure, too occupied with the heat that rushes to your face in embarrassment.

the first time you wish alhaitham a happy birthday is what you also hope to be the last time.

( surprise : it's not. )

two. the second time you wish alhaitham a happy birthday is a little better than the previous time. yes, you see him more often now, might even consider him an acquaintance of some sort, but something about your foolishness in that initial impression makes you want to fling yourself into the sun and void simultaneously.

"it was a good birthday present." he says, once again in another hiding spot that you've somehow managed to find. "i enjoyed it."

you think back to a year ago, mind running blank. you most certainly came empty handed.

"what? me saying happy birthday?"

he pauses, looks up and stares blankly at you before you see the slightest hint of a smirk dance across his lips.

"your embarrassment. it was an amusing present."

you stare back, also blank.

no, you are no longer acquaintances with him. you do not care if it took a whole year to even get to this point in your odd friendship. you think he is annoying.

the smirk seems to grow with every moment of silence.

also, you hate him now.

"i am simply so honored," you start, offering him the usual coffee, "that i could be so hilarious."

"you should be. few could compare."

you retract your hand, pull the drink out of his reach at the last minute. he simply raises a brow, expectant, waiting. you maintain eye contact for about five seconds, yet somehow, it feels much too longer. you sigh, feign annoyance in admittance of defeat, and give him the drink.

"happy birthday, dearest feeble scribe."

three. the third time you wish alhaitham a happy birthday is a bit different.

he's surprisingly easy to find-- for you, at least, and you are not sure if that's because he lets you find him or if it's something higher that binds you together. but today, you search and search and search, even desperate enough to ask around, knowing very well that you will not find the answer you desire. there is no sign of him. you pop into his office, see everyone's documents left untouched on his desk.

it's weird-- it is, this foreign semblance of anxiety that brews unrest in your lungs. you don't think it's a big deal because it's not, but in the three years you have known him, you've yet to struggle with seeking out his presence.

you take a deep breath, fingers tapping nervously on the gift box in hand. inside there is a book alhaitham has told you about numerous times, expressed interest in yet never managed to find despite his efforts. that was very much a long time ago, so you hope that he'll still enjoy it.

you pause, feel hesitation sink into the pit of your stomach. it is very heavy.

maybe he's already read it, though. that's probably the case, isn't it? surely it must be, given his habit of carrying a book around like it is his own heart.

one, two, three-- you drum your fingers against the box once more, inhale, exhale. you contemplate leaving it on his desk, contemplate just forgetting it entirely, pretend you didn't try to get him a silly gift.

but when you turn around, he stands before you, staring at you with a newfound curiosity. you are not sure what this relief is-- the release of tension wrapped around your chest, the pressure that dissipates in the mere seconds you catch sight of him.

"oh," he starts, approaching you with an ease he does not feel with anyone else, "i found you this time."

you think you'll exchange the usual banter, give him trouble for being so difficult to locate. but instead, you let out a long sigh, find that your heart will not allow you to do so.

"yes, alhaitham," and you cannot describe the blithe smile that finds its way to his lips as you hand him the gift, "you found me."

there is something different in the air ; a tenderness , an unknown, but there is something so wonderfully gentle in the space you share, and neither of you know what to make of that.

four. the fourth time you wish alhaitham a happy birthday is the one you think you will remember the most.

you cannot describe this flux & flow that exists between two beings : one seemingly indifferent yet full of intrigue and so entirely human, another that perhaps feels all too much and knows the heart more than anyone.

you have known him for four years now, strange encounters turned to comfort found in companionship and morning coffees together. but there is a strange shift and stagnancy all at once, the silence turned to something almost uncertain.

what is it, this feeling? you cannot identify it, and perhaps in protection of another, you should not.

no, you are not avoiding alhaitham. you know very well what day it is, know the typical routine of busting into a room, finding him with so little difficulty that it is almost as if you share the same soul, bound and knowing of it all. you are the one who shies away from the world this time, burdened by a heaviness that roots itself in your chest, spreads and wraps itself around the hollows of your ribs. you'll see him later, when you're ready.

you pause, lean your head back against the wall, close your eyes. you almost want to laugh. ready for what? how very foolish this all is.

you do not know how long you remain there, mind running a mile a minute until it exhausts itself, succumbs to slumber.

when you wake, he sits at the table before you, focus put forth into the book he holds. you blink, shake off the grogginess, wonder if you are imagining. a glance at the clock and the surfacing feeling of panic ; an unwanted quiet and a very much familiar scene that played out years ago.

the scribe glances at you, closes the distance quicker than either of you expect. he pulls up a chair before you, wordlessly takes a seat.

there is something unreadable in his countenance yet something that speaks volumes. he leans towards you, almost as if gauging your reaction, but you do not move away.

"you didn't say happy birthday to me."

beneath the weight of the silence, you purse your lips, fail to hold back your laughter, pat his knee gently in apology.

"you're too intense, birthday boy. i thought something was wrong."

"you have not said it." his gaze shifts from your eyes to the serene smile on your lips. he stills, wonders how to go about foreign territory. "are you alright?"

the silence returns. you place your hands on his shoulders, hope that this might be enough for now.

"sorry, sorry. happy birthday, alhaitham."

"you aren't answering."

the gentle expression you wield turns into one of reluctance, of something troubled and unbearably torn. something burns in your chest, but you will not call it love, even if there is a yearning that is not meant to be kept at bay, even if you've known that's what it was this whole time. you won't call it that because it doesn't really mean anything, not really, not when you are too cowardly to act upon it.

you want to excuse yourself, pull your hands back, but he grabs your wrists, reverent.

"i would like to know," his thumbs ghost over your skin, encouraging, "please."

it burns so terribly much, this cruelty that beats in your chest. the words of confession threaten to choke you, but you can no longer swallow them. it burns. your eyes sting.

you are so cowardly.

"i'm not alright." you begin, throw caution to the wind, feel the tears trail down your face as he wipes them away with a touch so tender that perhaps they spill even faster. what does it matter anymore? you cannot choose to live with this, unheard, unknown. what does it matter? "what am i supposed to do with all this love, alhaitham?"

his fingers trace your skin, delicate, before his hand cups your cheek. still, he does not say anything ; you wonder if you should prepare yourself for the heartbreak.

"you found me four years ago. do you remember that?"

"yeah. it was embarrassing."

"for you, yes."

"alhaitham."

"the point is," he clears his throat, "you've always managed to find me ever since then without fail. no one else has done that. i could have moved, found peace somewhere else, yet you somehow became the source of it."

a pause, a lingering hesitance.

"i would like to be with you," he tells you, closes the gap that separates you even more than you thought possible, "if you'll have me."

you swat his shoulder lightly, feel your face burn up. you didn't think he was capable of being so cheesy.

"now you're the embarrassing one."

"i'm not the one crying. answer."

you wipe your tears away, very sure you are the epitome of a mess, but alhaitham waits patiently.

"fine. i will have you."

"thank you." he chuckles at your tone, knows it is a contrast to what you truly feel. "what a touching sentiment."

you roll your eyes, cast a half-hearted glare in his direction as your arms wrap around his neck. you pull him close, hope to remember the way he looks at you so softly. he hugs you, warm, and you hope that he doesn't point out that your tears return tenfold.

"happy birthday, alhaitham."

five. the fifth time you wish alhaitham a happy birthday is the first time he slips a ring on your finger.

"you're crying again."

you rub your eyes a little too aggressively, minding the cool metal that's found a home in the belonging of you. spots weave and in out of your vision, certainly not helping when you start tearing up again once you look at what lies in front of you. there is a hollowed out book that contains a jewelry box, a sight that invokes nostalgia as you realize the book is a story you once cherished very dearly in youth.

"does this mean i'm your birthday present?"

he hums in amusement, kisses you on the temple, then the nose.

"i would ask for a refund, then."

"if you do not think i will throw this ring at your face so fast--"

nine. the ninth time you wish alhaitham a happy birthday is the most chaotic one, you think, and that certainly says something, given the course of your relationship.

you sleep soundly in his arms, the sunlight blessing your skin with orange and yellow hues. you shift ever so slightly, feel him stir in response. he has always been a light sleeper, but you suppose you are now, too, especially with--

"careful." his hold on you tightens, voice deep and heavy with sleep. "the cavalry is coming."

you hear footsteps, rapid, approaching. one, no, two-- and you feel his hand on the small of your back as he presses you just a bit closer as if he could protect you from the impact that is soon to come.

the door busts open -- it is very loud, both of you think, and your children come bustling in, climbing into bed and separating you in an instant.

( alhaitham doesn't know how they do that. he could have an iron grip on you and his kids would overpower him in two seconds. )

he doesn't really know what he hears-- there's a lot going on between the "good morning", "why are you still sleeping?", "wow, you're so old now", and "happy birthday". he groans as his daughter launches herself onto his chest, her laughter bringing a lightness to his heart as she wishes him a happy birthday for the fifth time in about three seconds. your son follows right behind her, the pressure on his chest much heavier.

suddenly he cannot seem to breathe very well.

it's loud. very loud, alhaitham thinks, but hearing his family laugh and seeing your children move away to shower you with kisses makes him feel such a profound tenderness that he did not ever expect to experience. he says his thanks, once or twice, maybe a thousand times, until you manage to get the little ones to prepare the table for breakfast, and then it is quiet once more.

it's almost immediately that he pulls you to his chest again, grateful for too many things that he doesn't ever dare tell you ( because he knows he will not live it down, and besides, you already know ). you laugh, run your fingers through gray locks as you kiss his nose.

"happy birthday, love."

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x reader #yaepublishinghouse #astronetwrk #.: writing #i hate him ( affectionate ) . happy birthday Imbecile

[kyliansbff]

you're my best friend | kylian mbappé

bestfriend to lovers, inspired by the song you are in love by taylor swift.

one look, dark room meant just for you.

when you met kylian it honestly wasn't love at first sight. admiration at first sight. it seemed that all eyes were focused on him. lucky would be the one who left this party with him.

time moved too fast, you play it back. buttons on a coat, light-hearted joke. no proof, not much... but you saw enough.

small talk, he drives. coffee at midnight. the light reflects, the chain on your neck...

you don't notice the moment a hello turns into a cute joke with his french accent or how different the shape of his mouth is when he speaks spanish. the way the loud laugh echoed when he said he'd be able to drive you home and you said "driving? i doubt it..." when you shared the first coffee at midnight. latte.

he says, "look up" and your shoulders brush. no proof, one touch but you felt enough.

when you sat side by side on the stairs and he showed you the sky. asked if you thought you'd end up leaving the party for coffee at midnight. the goofy smile when you say partying isn't your strong point, the shoulders touch.

the months passed. there was no way not to look at him and see comfort. kylian was no longer the guy who took you out for coffee at your first fundraiser, he was the guy you called when things didn't go well at work. the guy you sent huge paragraphs to about how your favorite singer released a new album. the guy who listened to hours and hours of theory about taylor swift songs.

you can hear it in the silence.

you can feel it on the way home.

you can see it with the lights out, lights out.

morning, his place. burnt toast, sunday.

you keep his shirt...he keeps his word.

mornings at his house became routine. go there after work and find him on the couch playing fifa. going to the bedroom and picking up any shirt that was on the bed with his scent on it and sitting in the living room to play with him was also routine. waking up in the morning with the smell of burnt toast, watching him try at all costs to do something in the kitchen other than the food already prepared by the nutritionist.

one day he was napping on the couch, a routine moment. he wakes...strange look on his face, pauses, then says:

you're my best friend

and you knew what it was he is in love. and so are you a thousand times more. in the silence of the living room, in the warmth of the sofa. in one of his psg sweatshirts. with the smell of home.

and for once, you let go of your fears and your ghosts... one step, not much but it said enough.

the first kiss didn't happen on the couch, it happened in the middle of the street. close to the 24-hour coffee shop that was routine when the two couldn't sleep.

you kiss on sidewalks. you fight and you talk.

it happened in the middle of one of the stupid, pointless fights. talking about him and his interest in any blonde that is minimally functional.

"you speak without understanding" he says

"kyky, even a blind man knows your type! skinny blonde french girls! i don't understand why you keep denying it all the time, denying is worse!"

"do you just like to pretend you can't see?" he says, taking another sip of the latte, which in the cold of Paris, felt warm in his hands.

"here it comes..." you say holding your own cup

"my type is very specific. likes to play fifa, loves bronwie, horror movies every tuesday. is in love with lilac, but always tells me that i look great in blue. my type actually has brown hair. cuts bangs whenever she's having an existential crisis, she looks great in them. my type, have the most beautiful eyes i've ever seen. you know it's you."

and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars.

#kylian mbappe #mbappe x reader #kylian #psg #mbappe psg #kylian imagines #kylian x reader #mbappe #mbappé #imagines #football #soccer

[boundinparchment]

Let’s Fall Silent

He was created as a companion to a capricious dawn; rejected, he haunted the waters of Snezhnaya until he grew bored. Saved by a foolish inventor, he wonders if there is more to life than his rejected purpose.

Or: whatever happened to that merman Dottore segment?

Sequel to my fic, “Endless.”

RATING EXPLICIT. MINORS DNI. ON AO3 HERE.

Water rushed through his gills and oxygen flooded his system in steady, rolling waves.  He didn’t need to breathe but yet his body seemed perfectly suited to do so, yearned to.

He looked down, the shining blue scales of his tail resembling stones he knew only in name and vague understanding.  Knowledge that was not his but readily given, as if he’d already read ten thousand books.  Webs between his fingers were gossamer thin and yet seemed to catch and push water as if made of the strongest steel blades.  

His fingers looked as if he’d dipped them in the reflections of the night sky, scales shimmering and shifting with the light.  

There was a weight on his right ear, a glass tube that seemed to contain a type of water.  Touching it sent faint shockwaves through his fingers and head, voices echoing distantly.

He assessed his surroundings: a tall man with blue hair and a white coat, eyes hidden; a clear boundary between them; a flicker of sunset out of the corner of his eye.  The creature titled its head, the fins on either side of his head flitting with the motion.  

Creator.  Right.  His image was almost identical to the bipedal human before him.  Intended for…

He turned his head, garnet eyes falling in the direction he felt another presence.

A flash of a memory—not his—told him everything.

Rejected without ever having a chance.  The dawn would kill him for carrying out his purpose if he ever so much as approached her.  Understandably so.  Sensations welled up inside him, foreign and intruded upon, not his to feel.  Although the man on the other side of the glass (yes, that was the word) had made him, he was nothing but a vessel for wish-fulfillment.  A bridge built to cross a too-large gap.

His Creator was a curious man.  Whether he wanted to see the dawn’s reaction to the addition to her tank or because he was too far along in the process to stop didn’t matter to the finned mirror image.  The result was the same.  The merman was awake and contained every awareness that already, the tides had changed. 

An existential crisis was not on the agenda.  There was still plenty more to do.  An entire world outside of this tank.  The dawn came from somewhere, of course, and water was the necessity for all life.

He swam, gauged how far to move his arms and the proper movements of his tail.  Easy, fluid motions that allowed him to cut through water came from somewhere deeper than muscle memory.  Base instinct left little room for error.

“Our observation time is short, Nadir.  How do you feel?” 

The voice did not vibrate the water in the same fashion other sounds did.  The Creator’s mouth did not move as it did with her.  It felt as if the words floated in his mind like driftwood waiting to be collected.

And what was it he was called?  Nadir?  He was named?  Given an…identity?

He wracked his pre-filled memory banks.  The merman held back the biting laugh that threatened his lungs for a moment.  An amalgamation of both living creatures and he was named after the lowest point of the sun’s daily descent in the sky.  Arguably, he was also the lowest point in his Creator’s infatuation, given her blatant rejection of his attempt to give her companionship.

The man stared, awaiting a response.  His patience was thinning, lips pressed together.

“I am…fine.  I experience no pain.  I can see, hear, breathe, and move,” the Segment spoke.  

The sounds were strange and guttural and his mouth moved in unnatural motions.  His vocal cords did not like it.  They felt too loose and lacked control over the sounds.

“Can you not respond without moving your lips?  Without making a sound?” His Creator asked.

The merman, for he was beginning to understand the differences biologically and his own identity in more depth, schooled his expression and focused.  He tried to feel anything beyond himself, than the water on his skin that rippled his fins and the hum of the filtration system and the low hissing from the far corners of the tank network.  He could see his Creator, sense his presence in a physical understanding of him occupying space facing the tank.  Whispers crept up into his ear and throughout the base of his skull but it was akin to the way his Creator once pressed an ear to a closet door as a child.

One way.  He could listen and observe, distantly, but he could not partake.

All the better, really, Nadir considered.  The others were very loud and boisterous and clambering for attention.

The only attention the merman wanted was that of his intended companion.

But he was not eager to have his existence snuffed so quickly.

When Nadir did not reply, and instead shook his head, the man on the other side of the tank brought a hand to his lips.  Silence dominated.

Until the Creator’s shoulders rose and fell in a single motion when he reassessed what the Segment could only assume were notes. 

“Perhaps it is the medium required for your physical form that prevents the connection.  I had to make several modifications to account for waterproof mechanisms.  Sound travels differently in water.  It stands to reason that water would slow other waves down as well…”

The bipedal man dropped the papers with a flick of his wrist, uncaring and bored.  They were worthless now, in the face of recent events.  He approached the tank, arms behind his back.

“I am otherwise quite proud of this particular specimen, Fjar.  If he were to reside in the far reaches of the waters here, or live elsewhere, would you object?”

Ah, so that was her proper name.  The word was familiar, danced across his mind when he recalled memories of a name and another land.  Once again, none of it his .  Nadir had not existed properly until roughly twenty minutes ago.

The dawn spoke, her voice made for water, beautiful as the sunrise she represented.

“As long as he stays far away from me.  From us .  Your work is appreciated, my Zandik, but you know how I feel.  I will have you , not an imitation of you.  He will be safe provided he never approaches me.”

Nadir stared at his Creator, who raised his head a fraction before removing his mask.  Eyes as red as a blood moon watched the Segment in return.  Exhaustion tugged at the skin beneath his eyes and Nadir caught a flicker of hurt well-hidden behind a cold and calculating demeanor.

“There is no shortage of food and means to occupy yourself past the hole in the ice,” the man called Zandik said.  “Her territory does not extend past that delineation.  She has never been one to stray far from comfort.  I do not anticipate requiring your presence as I do the others, so you are free to go where you wish.”

The Creator returned his mask to his face and turned away from the tank before leaving the room.  He did not look back nor hesitate before he crossed the threshold and the door shut behind him.

Something constructed in Nadir’s chest and he could not, in all of the databanks and memories he was connected to, put a name to it.  It was not sharp, like a knife, but it persisted from his chest up through his throat and crawled over his tongue.  The sensation grew worse as the tank shimmered and flowed, the source obscured but unmistakable.  

The Segment dove and found the pipeline connected to the ocean depths.  His skin prickled as the temperature changed and the balance of minerals shifted.  

At first, he lingered.  How could he not?

The only other of his kind, manufactured though he was, lived in these waters.  He held memories of what it was to be on two legs and feet, feel sand between toes and the sun on a face that was his and yet not.  

The best way to learn and understand was to observe, watch, see what unfolded without interference.  

There was no point in staying where he was not wanted.  But if nothing else, such knowledge would help him survive elsewhere.

___________________

He grew bored within the year and set out from the reaches of the far north, with nothing but the currents and memories of maps as guides.  

Down here, beneath the ice and at such depth, hardly any sun reached through the frigid waters.  His Creator saw to it that his vision was intended for all environments but the winter months made it especially difficult when light was so infrequent.

The overworld was vast but the bodies of water were far larger still.  Nadir had the world between his fingertips.  Anywhere.  Everywhere.  He could go to the land of Freedom, where it was said the air was clear and the water even clearer; or perhaps to the reaches of the land of Eternity, where he might have better odds among the yokai; the nation of War was far too hot for his liking and the adepti of the land of Contracts were protective of their legacy.

His Creator spent time in…what was it…a fountain…ah, Fontaine!  Although the nation embodied Justice, it was said that all life sprang forth from the waters of the land of Hydro.   Zandik had enjoyed it there under a guise that had no name and was never recorded.  No doubt the waters would be crowded but of all nations, it seemed the most promising.

He stuck to the shadows of the water.  The voices at the base of his skull whispered, screamed, and shouted all the while.

Until one day, his ears began to ring after a muted pop and his vision went dark as he caught a glimpse of a waterfall in the moonlight.  ___________________

When he opened his eyes again, he felt rocks and silt beneath him.  Everything felt dry .  Disgustingly so, as if every water droplet was sucked from his entire being.  Something bright and painful winked down at him and with difficulty, he raised a hand to cover his eyes.

Pale strands of aquamarine hair clung to him, long and tangled.  Despite how arid everything felt, his hair continued to stick to everything.  When he was swimming, it didn’t matter much but now?  It just made his dry skin itchier.

He heard the splashing of water and his…tail, yes, that word seemed correct swayed with the soft current.  He couldn’t recall how he arrived here.  All he remembered was ringing, like high pressure, and darkness.

There was a sudden rustle and then another sound, foreign but soft.  

“Are you alright?”

He gritted his sharp teeth and lifted his arm.  What language were they even speaking ?  The light was now obscured and instantly his skin felt several degrees cooler.

His bleary garnet eyes focused on the object, no, person before him.  Backlit by the brilliant light in the sky (was that the sun?), he could make out wide eyes shot with concern but as stunning as gems, lips slightly parted as if to speak again, and colors framing you that he had no name for.

You.

You were beautiful.

He couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face as a distant sensation swam in his mind that another might be jealous of you.

“Can you speak?” you asked.

His throat was arid, his tongue thick and rough.  He dared not trust his vocal cords and instead shook his head, grits of sand embedding into his hair.

You made a sound that made his heart jump, a rush of air passing through your lungs that mimicked bells.  Your smile was apologetic, sweet in the way your lips curved and your expression conveyed your sincerity. 

“Silly question, this place is eternally dry and you clearly belong in the water.  Let’s at least get the rest of your lower half in the water first.  You’re too striking and handsome to dry out.”

Forward, too.  Had he met others like you before?

Your hands were warm, a little rougher, and with a little assistance, he was sitting upright with his tail properly in the water.  He was already feeling a bit better, even if his gills felt dry as they laid flat against his neck and his second respiratory pathways took over.  His hair, he realized, was much longer than he initially thought, tickling his back.

He watched as you pulled out a flask, opened it, and held it out to him.  His red eyes traced the line from the canteen, to your hands, your arm, and then your face.

Human.  You were human, same as…

Same as who?

“At least take a sip so your throat isn’t dry,” you prompted.  “It’s safe, I swear.”

He took it and put the metal to his lips, which he now realized were painfully cracked, and let the water pass across his tongue and down his throat.  The water tasted of iodine and he gagged as he swallowed.

So he not only needed to be in water but he needed water to survive.  That seemed counter-intuitive.  After all, he was mechanical .  Or partially mechanical.  What purpose did such a thing serve?

“Certainly tasted otherwise,” he managed to choke out, holding the container out to you.

Your fingers were warm against his webbed fins and you didn’t even hesitate when your fingers brushed his claws.  He could not determine if you were very brave or very stupid for that, with the way your touch sent a jolt down his spine and into his tail.  

Thankfully, his lower half was in water as he silently cursed at the other sensations that arose.  He would have to research this experience further…

“Out here, the water has to be purified before it can be consumed.  At least for me, at any rate,” your smile showed your unspoken apology.  “Do you have a name?”

A question he could not answer.  At one point, he had to have.  Someone gave it to him.  The opposite point of the rising sun…

Before he could respond, your hands found his hair and settled on something he didn’t feel until you gave a gentle tug.

“Oh, that has to hurt, no?”

He liked when your voice was tinged with worry, especially for someone you barely knew.  That was kind of you, if not incredibly foolish.  So many in the water gave him a wide berth, avoided him, and for good reason.  Or so it seemed.  In hindsight, he had no explanation, no context, just…end results.

You tugged on a different spot and he gritted his teeth again.

“When you pull on it, human , yes, it hurts,” he spat.  “Are you always so callous with all you come across?”

“I’m sorry.  You have…that’s a fishing lure…and a piece of a net…that looks like some kind of mollusk…if you’re going to have long hair, you have to care for it…this isn’t salvageable…”. You sounded almost sad and you reached around to show him a crude pair of shears, large and clearly intended for working with harder materials than hair.  “I can cut it but I’d have to remove most of it.  Your neck would be bare.”

“Why would I trust the one tugging on me to use anything with a blade near me?” 

The question felt logical.  After all, you’d caused him great discomfort.  Interrupted what was likely meant to be the embrace of death.  Maybe death was the purpose, the point.  After all, he hadn’t felt anything other than the drive to explore and understand.  And if his body couldn’t go on, then what use was…

“I can leave it if you want but it’ll weigh you down and create more drag when you swim.  Not very aerodynamic, you know?”

He turned his head and felt his skin grow hot at how close your face was to his.  You smelled of sweat, dirt, and something uniquely you and his heart began its own unorganized rhythm.  That sensation that sat at the base of his spine tingled and turned into an ache as it ran through him, ruining whatever trains of thought he had.  Now, all he could think of was your lips and how much he wanted to feel your heat against him, around him, how he wanted to see your eyes blown dark with base need…

He swallowed when you smiled and your low laugh jostled your torso into his.  You were soft , Archons above, so soft…

Your eyes seemed to marvel for a moment, dropping to the bottom half of his face, before you spoke again.

“I gave you water and made sure you didn’t dry out like a raisin; surely that’s enough reason to trust me?  All I ask in return is your name.  So if our paths ever cross again, I know what to call you.  It’s only polite.”

He couldn’t reply, too preoccupied with preventing you from realizing whatever was happening under the water.  He did not remember much but he did recall that such base needs were…a boundary for most.  One he could not get a grasp on but you were far kinder than he anticipated…

Why did that preconceived notion exist if there was no evidence to support it?  What happened ?

He felt the wet hair fall away in chunks, his neck muscles instantly relieved as soon as most of the weight was gone.  You worked carefully when the locks were short enough and only twice did you ask for him to wet his head.  Something about an even plane to work with.  He closed his eyes and leaned back a little into your gentle touch.  You knew exactly how to run your hands through his hair against his scalp.  The only sounds between the two of you was the harsh click of the shears as you worked.  

All the while, he resisted the urge to place one hand in his lap.  He couldn’t determine if he wanted to hide his protruding appendage or stroke it.

No one had touched him.  Ever.  Whatever memories of who he was were vague if not outright gone entirely but he knew that much.  His life had been solitary and this need had never existed before.

“There, all done!” You chirped.  “It’s actually quite curly when it dries.  Suits you better, if I can say so myself!”

Curly?  

He brought a hand up and felt the locks, shorn and…oh, they flipped and had patterns of their own…

You stepped away and from the pack you had thrown down, you pulled out a panel of reflective silver.  

“Here.  I’m an inventor, not a hair stylist, but I think I managed to keep your handsome visage from being ruined.”

He stared at you, and then the object, and back at you.  Didn’t people use that word for those they held affection for?  Or was it a general descriptor for someone who was pleasant to look at?

He would need to do a significant amount of research on human customs.  The knowledge he did have was insufficient and vague, like he had swallowed it without understanding its contents.

The merman took the shining glass and almost dropped it.  Familiar red eyes stared back at him, sharp teeth that tore through the flesh of any creature winked in the mirror, and his hair…

Oh, that was much better.  It wouldn’t get in the way, easy to maintain…

His right ear sported a broken piece of glass on a wire.  What had that been?  Could that pop have been…?

“Well, I don’t look like a shark attacked my head,” he muttered in amusement when he handed back the mirror.  

That earring should come out.  If it was broken, there was no point in keeping it.  Maybe he could replace it with something else.  He tilted his head to get better leverage on the post, his claws making the task harder.  Ridiculous.  How did that thing get in, then?

“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you’, Mister…?”

Your patience ran out, it seemed.  He returned your expectant look with a weary expression.  Truth would be prudent.  He had no one else to turn to.  And if you did run your mouth when you returned to wherever you were from, no one was liable to believe you, were they?  

After all, that was a large backpack for a day adventurer and you had absolutely no fear helping a strange creature survive.

No, you, too, were an outcast.

“I cannot recall my name,” he said at last.  “The last thing I remember is a high-pitched ringing before waking up here.”

“Nothing?  Not even a nickname?  A notion?”

Your persistence might have been charming if he wasn’t so focused on not ripping his ear fin.  Was the stupid thing sewn into his flesh?  

You clicked your tongue and knelt down beside him.  Your softness pressed into his shoulder as you brushed away his hands and worked with the clasp and post, pulling the wire from the piercing.  When you offered it, he shook his head and you reeled your arm back and flung the broken thing into the water.  It landed with a plunk and sank where it hit.

“I do have a notion, if you must insist on information.  But you have not shared your name, only your profession, inventor .”

His eyes locked with yours and you never looked away, never so much as stepped back.  No, this lack of fear wasn’t confidence, it couldn’t be.  Perhaps you were touched in the head or just absolutely without sense from the high sun.

You tilted your head and he had to close his mouth to repress the urge to latch onto the column of your neck.

Killing you would do nothing but potentially result in people looking for him.  A dead body, even that of an outcast, brutally torn apart?  It would only reinforce whatever superstitions existed in these parts.

Your name was nothing more than a whisper across your tongue.  He wondered, briefly, if the jolts that ran through every part of him at the syllables was anything like being electrocuted.  He repeated your name as his tail fins twitched and he throbbed again beneath the water.

“Mmhmm.  Your turn.”

He paused, licking his cracked lips before attempting the name that lingered in his memory banks like a ghost.

“Nadir.”

“The opposite of zenith,” you replied.  “Where someone’s shadow would appear…the lowest point of someone’s spirit…” You frowned, almost wounded. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that last one.”

“I did not know its true meaning.  That is beneficial.”

You shook your head and gave a smile that was too tight to be kind.  You had embarrassed yourself and whatever glimmer of enthusiasm had existed was snuffed out with regret.  

“Its meaning is irrelevant.  You look like the evening sky out here, when the sun finally falls and fades from a light blue into the shades of night.  We are not our names given to us.  I think there might be a more suitable one for you out there.”

You returned to your pack and fiddled with something.  A rag and a bottle and small pieces of metal.  The merman inched himself towards the deeper parts of the water, not intent on leaving yet but itching to test his physical capabilities.  You stepped into the water with ease, legs protected by leather, and you reached down, experienced hands sliding a post into place through pierced flesh.

Nadir, for he had no other name to refer to himself, touched his fin and felt the small earring.  A stud, nothing fancy.  When he looked up, he noticed the gold and tanzanite gem from one of your own ears was missing.

“Whatever you call yourself, as long as you have that, I’ll know it’s you.  If we ever meet again.”

___________________

Without a past and without more than loose tendrils of memories, Nadir found himself wandering the coasts of an arid desert beneath high waterfalls.  He kept his hair short, as you had shaped for him, and he quite liked the way it retained a fluffy volume, curling in a wild fashion.  

In the depths, he found caverns and ruins, documents preserved through sheer luck and machinery that sputtered and whirred.

So much of the machinery felt familiar, although he didn’t know why.  He knew exactly where to touch, how the joints held together, and the distance to keep from those blasted sensors that targeted enemies.  Working with them was as easy as swimming and converting hydrogen dioxide into its smaller compound to oxygenate his circulatory system.

Presumably, whatever past he held and whatever memories were once in his system held the answer.  But he was not likely to obtain them again.

Language was retained.  The world’s history, such as it was, and its geography, were readily available.  He knew he was on the cusp of Sumeru and Fontaine.

But he did not know how he came to be.  Nor understand why he was so fascinated with the notion of artificial life (other than, perhaps, that he was not quite organic nor mechanic).

Above the waterfalls was a large statue that glowed bright at night.  The water there was purer, crisper, tinged with a sweetness that came with the surety of one’s actions.  Climbing it would not be impossible, even for Nadir; he did not lack the muscles to achieve it.

But it would be a waste of energy and time.

Where there were steam engines and mechanics, there were pipes to provide water to the various parts necessary.  He could only conclude that there were other means to make one’s way into Fontaine.  

The Fountain of all life.

Part of him wished to stay here, in the seams of the nations, perhaps even set up a workshop.  There was plenty to explore and play around with.  Ships came through here regularly and superstitious sailors would be easy to bargain with.

But Nadir was never one for staying idle.  The world waited for no one and there was so much more beyond his tiny scope.

And so, upon several inspections and tracking of schedules, he entered one of the pipes at the most opportune time and came out of the darkness to shining brilliance and crystalline waters.  The shallows were tricky for a creature like him, for he could not easily hide and there was too much activity around for his liking.

The other creatures were friendlier than he expected.  Otters tumbled with their shells and presented him with a rock to tuck away.  Blubberbeasts rumbled and invited him to swim with them.  The crabs were troublesome but nothing he couldn’t handle with a hard thwack of his tail and a slash of his claws.

Glowing crystals, flowing fauna, coral reefs…everything here teemed with life.  

And below Fontaine City, there was plenty to explore, it seemed.

Yes, this would do quite nicely for now.

___________________

He settled in quickly.  Food was abundant and there were so many caverns and old ruins that Nadir was not without shelter.  Some of the ruins appeared to be some kind of research facility or library, which suited him just fine.

What did not suit him were the random devices that would find their way to his usual hunting ground.  They often scared the fish away and he would return to his vast underground network with only metal cogs and curiosity, his stomach grumbling all the while.  Many of these things were almost operational as well.  It was like someone tired of the project or could not finish it through and flung it out the nearest window.

Ridiculous.  Wasteful.  Pathetic.

Nadir fixed the contraption once he understood its mechanical intentions and returned it to the shoreline.  On more than one occasion, he tied a bow on one out of seaweed, just to be, well, petty and make it harder for the owner to pick up.

The devices were always gone within twenty-four hours and in their place, he found mora.  Which he had little to no use for but at least the sailors he traded with never questioned its origin.  

One day, Nadir was unlucky enough to be caught as he was placing an unfortunate device back onto the ledge.  

“So you’re the reason I’ve yet to be fined, huh?”

His garnet gaze burned as he laid eyes on familiar hair, shining eyes.  He would know you anywhere.

Surely not.

Surely you had more sense than to throw away your projects.  To complete them yourself.  

He couldn��t determine if he should be angry or ravenous.  You, in Fontaine?  It must have been fate.  But then again, fate implied agreeing with the Heavenly Principles and partaking in the constant samara cycles of the world.  Which Nadir wanted no part of.

“And you call yourself an inventor,” he muttered, running his tongue over sharp teeth.  “Can’t even follow through on your own work.”

“Not my fault everything’s been done before.  Just when I think I’m making progress, turns out seven other people did the same thing.  Nothing’s original.”

“So have I been fixing garbage for nothing?”

“No.  I did earn a position in research and development for a private company that works with the Palais thanks to you.  And I have been fairly compensating you…although in hindsight perhaps I should have asked if mora was the best way to do that…not many places to use it for those who live in the water…”

You trailed off, face alight with embarrassment.  Your attire was dingy and looked like you’d endured an explosion.  Nadir sank into the water, keeping his eyes and ear fins just above the surface.

“How long have you been in Fontaine?” You asked, settling into the ledge.

You removed your boots and stockings and stuck your feet into the water.  Nadir couldn’t help but admire your bare skin for a moment before raising his head.

“I do not know how you track time but I have seen winter and spring already.  That is roughly…six months, if I calculated correctly.”

“You were okay when the waters froze over?”

How did he tell you that he held memories of ice far thicker and water far colder?  

“I am here, am I not?” Nadir shot back.

You gave a wry smile in return.  Silence dominated as you watched him, just as he watched you in return.  

“You kept it,” you pointed to your hair and then your ear.

“Short hair is far more practical and the earring is quite pretty.  It reminds me that some humans can be kind.  If not a bit…lacking in self preservation.”

“Oh?”

Nadir gave a wide, toothy grin and you didn’t so much as flinch.  When you didn’t react, he slid his tongue out slightly, the exact way he would when eyeing prey.

“I could have killed you in the desert.”

“But you didn’t.”

“And I could kill you now.”

“You won’t.”

Nadir barked a laugh.  “What makes you so sure?”

Your smile widened.  He watched as, for the first time that evening, a spark shimmered in your eyes.

“Because you enjoy tinkering.  If you killed me, what else would you fill your days with, Nadir?”

“You think very highly of yourself, Inventor.  There’s plenty of underwater devices, I’ll have you know.  Some of the Research Facility fell into the water, after all.  And it’s quite easy to find the parts I need from defective mechs or bargaining with divers.”

“And who else would you talk to, hmm?  Who else is brave enough—”

“Stupid enough,” Nadir interrupted.

You raised an eyebrow but continued, “—to try and bridge the gap?”

Nadir’s gaze dropped to your bare knees and feet, where your skin met the water, before he flicked his eyes back up to you.  Even now, months after you saved him, you sat with him and treated him as an equal.  Anyone else would attempt to bargain with him, keep him at arm’s length but here you were, feet in the water, treating him like…

Like you wanted him.

His chest constricted.  In the deep reaches of his mind, he tried to remember a time or a place someone wanted him and he came up short.

He reached a webbed hand, mindful of his razor-sharp claw, and danced a finger on the sole of your foot.  When you didn’t react, he swam closer, skimming his palm across the muscle of your calf.  

“And what gap might that be, hmm?” He asked as he situated himself between your open legs.  

From this angle, you were smaller than he originally thought (or perhaps it was the ledge height); he towered over you regardless.  His heart danced in time with the cadence of your laugh when his nails tickled your skin ever so slightly.

You smelled different than the last time he saw you.  Metal, soot, and the air of the thunderstorm just before the crack of lightning.  

He expected cockiness, a sharp remark.  But all Nadir found was a simmering gaze and parted lips, perfect for the taking.  Your breath mingled with his and he couldn’t help but wonder what you might taste like.  

“This one,” you whispered.

You leaned forward and Nadir gripped your legs to keep you from falling as your lips crashed onto his.  You were all softness, eager heat, and searing touches as you rested your hands flat against his bare chest.

His head swam as you pressed exploratory kisses to his mouth and jaw.  He read about this, along with many other things regarding human courting and mating.  Few researchers knew of or studied the creatures he was created to mimic.  But he knew enough to recognize that his body’s responses were normal, even if he disliked the loss of control.

Nadir gave a hiss as your dull teeth grazed the curve of his neck before you swirled your tongue across his skin.  His skin felt as if he were on fire.  A shiver ran down his spine and a throbbing ache settled in his lower belly as he hardened at your teasing.  

As long as he kept himself in the water and you stayed on the ledge, he might survive this encounter with shreds of self-control.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, human ,” he murmured.

“Am I?” 

You laughed softly into the soft flesh of his neck and he twitched beneath the water as a jolt ran straight down to his member.  Your warmth left him as you pulled away and he gripped your legs harder when you cupped his face.

“Looks like you’re liking it, though.  Flustered just like when I cut your hair.”

Well, that left him with no choice.

Nadir pulled you into the water with a splash and he dove, crashing his tail on the surface once to create additional spray.  He heard a cry as you flailed, your head bobbing above water once, twice, and then you began to…

Panic shot through him, killing everything else as he darted towards you.  In one swift motion, he scooped you under your arms and brought you back to the surface.  His heart calmed every so slightly when you gasped and coughed (although he would not have minded pressing his mouth to your again).  The ledge you were on was too high to easily reach, he realized, and he brought you to the nearest patch of shallow water.

“You could have mentioned that you couldn’t swim,” he muttered, settling you into the shoal.

“Right, yeah, because I’m going to admit that to a man with a tail and fins who lives in the water.  That’s like telling your murderer where to shoot you.”

Your voice cracked.  You sniffed and then coughed again before getting to your feet.

“Am I not allowed to tease you back?”

“ Teasing would be pulling away and splashing me,” you shot back, extending an arm out in emphasis.  “Finding something else about me to make a flirtatious response about.  Not putting me in danger.  What if I hit my head going down?  What if you didn’t have the reflexes you do?”

You wrung out your clothes and tried to make yourself presentable.  The previous flush across your cheeks was no longer soft and endearing; you instead looked like you were trying to embody the red creatures he saw in the regions near the Fortress.  Your eyes shone but not with the usual enthusiasm nor vibrancy he liked.  In fact, you didn’t look at him at all.

“For the record, most people apologize when they hurt someone else.”

He wanted to call after you as you trudged through the water, your name (your beautiful, brilliant name) on his lips.  But he didn’t want to taint it.  You didn’t deserve that.

Nadir watched, only the top half of his face to the bridge of his nose above the surface, as you made your way back into the city without sparing a glance back.

___________________

He never had a single device thrown into the nearby waters after that encounter.  

And you never came to claim the one you left behind.

It glared at him every time the morning sun glinted off the metal and he caught the stupid thing out of the corner of his eye.  A constant reminder of you , as if the pangs that shot through his arms and chest weren’t enough.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt you.  In fact, despite his words, he never would have been able to bring himself to truly sink his teeth into your flesh.  Nadir would never be able to live with himself if he watched life fade from your eyes and your body slump.

Which made him all the more frustrated with himself.  Pulling you into the water had been a gut reaction, a way to equal the playing ground when you were so intent on mocking him.  He did it with sailors who tried to cheat him out of an agreement.

How was he supposed to know you, someone who lived in the city of Hydro, couldn’t swim ?

Part of him tried to simply forget you and move on with his existence.  That’s what any normal creature would do, after all.  You weren’t like him and you certainly weren’t as clever as he was, at any rate.

But he never heard anything as beautiful as your laugh and the way you smiled at him…

He tried not to take the physical reactions into consideration, how he imagined you might feel beneath him, what coupling with you might feel like as you squeezed him, your lips parted and eyes lidded…

His seed joined the seafoam one morning before he grabbed the stupid contraption and brought it back to his workshop.

How did one apologize ?

This device was meant to be a timed lantern; the user would set the amount of time on the bottom in increments of five, ten, fifteen minutes up until a full hour.  You had not positioned the heat sensor right and it kept turning off before the actual timer recognized the appropriate measurement of time.  It was functional now and to change anything would render it useless for its intended purpose.

Nadir frowned.  He’d had a purpose once, hadn’t he?  His creation was not random; one did not just assemble pseudo-biological systems for no reason, after all.  Despite having no memories of his creator, he knew his muscles were synthetic and his biological systems were as functional and necessary as any other living creature.  Granted, he never tried not eating, but why else did he physically respond to your touch at all, if nothing was functional ?

He shoved the thought aside as he disassembled the housing on the lantern and removed the bulb, leaving only the lighting node itself, the sensors, and the glass panels through which the light shone.

The timer moved a set of cogs as it counted down and the heat sensor had a little lever to insert a piece of non-conductive material into the circuit, cutting off the flow of power.  Simple and basic wiring and cog placement.

But…

He rummaged through and found a comb and wheel, the pieces sliding home as if they were meant to be there.  Thorough testing revealed that another song might be needed, both because this one was grating to listen to and because he needed to take the extended intervals into consideration.

While he continued to work on the abandoned device, he sought pathways into the city itself.  Just like with the waterfall and the elevator’s steam engines, there was no way all of the machinery in the city operated without some kind of system to pump water through the streets.  Eventually, he came upon pipes and underground tunnels, entire networks of stairs and walkways far beneath the sunlight of the city.  

Small houses, crammed in next to one another, food stands and market stalls packed as vendors bargained and shouted.  Children ran along the waterways, pretending sticks from the surface were swords.

He never allowed more than his eyes above the surface and never for too long.  This was too close for comfort.  The last thing anyone down here needed was a rumor of a monster lurking in the water.  

It took weeks but he finally heard murmurs of your whereabouts.  A child, knelt down next to a broken mechanical animal, was told your name and that you fixed machines all the time.  That you could be found on the outskirts of the market when you weren’t working on the surface.

The sections there were shallower, if not outright inaccessible Nadir recalled.  Perhaps not quite a problem but admittedly, it made this all the harder.

Upon hearing your voice from one of the tiny cramped living spaces, he burned the image of your door into your mind until he finished the device.  He wrapped it carefully and made his way back to your location, the invention clutched tight to his chest.  Knowing at this hour that no one would spot him, Nadir lifted himself out of the shallows before the grating covered the waterway.  He pulled himself along with one arm until he reached your door, carefully placed the gift where you would see it and not break it, and gave your door a good thwack with his tail.  You grumbled a threat to supposed intruders as he made his way back to the water and he dove just as he heard your door open.

Quietly, he surfaced and watched as you picked up the wet oilskin package and opened it.  You froze almost instantly in recognition (he had not changed the shape in the slightest, despite his modifications).  Nadir’s heart hammered in his chest and his mouth became surprisingly dry when you wound up the key on the bottom.

The lantern flickered to life and images began to move between the bulb and the glass panels, casting shadows on the metal walls.  Notes from a song he only knew in composition danced in the air as you watched the shapes.  Nadir’s eyes were glued to your face.

A tail became legs.  The figure walked to another.  A kiss.  A house.  A life.

He once read a tale about a girl from Remuria, born partially in the image of an Oceanid, who fell in love with a person on the surface.  She made a bargain for her voice in exchange for the excruciating experience of legs, endearing pain with every step just to be with her true love.

It was too flowery for Nadir’s liking and seemed to reinforce the idea that people should stay where they belonged.  Nonetheless, the base sentiments were there.

You closed your eyes and clutched the lantern to your chest when the song ended.  

“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, the words as loud to him as though he spoke them right next to him.

He did not expect you to join him the following evening.  But when he heard the notes as he was hunting for dinner, he could not help but heed the call.

You stood on the ledge, lantern in your hands.  Your face was puffy and you looked like you hadn’t slept.  A terrible look for you, if he were honest, but now was not the best time to say such a thing.

“Is this how you feel?” you asked.  “About me?”

Your words were soft and you broke your gaze away to look at the lantern you held.  He should have had a speech prepared.  Or at least a sound argument.  In actuality, he never expected you to show up again.  It had been enough to express how he felt through the shadow art and he would have been content with your apology, even if he wasn’t supposed to overhear it.

The longer the silence stretched on, the thinner your patience became.

And you were gracious enough to make the trip.

“If you are asking if I love you, the answer is truthfully that I do not know,” Nadir admitted.  “I have never had the life experience to tell me one way or the other and it is easy to mistake infatuation and lust for something more…foundational.”

He ran his tongue over the sharp points of his teeth.  

“But I do know that I never meant to harm you, that I never wanted to harm you, and I think I would be quite happy seeing your face every day of my existence.  However long that’s meant to be.”

He could see by the way your expression shifted that you had plenty of words to say.  For the first time since he met you, however, you opted for silence and instead placed the lantern down on the ground.  You removed your boots and uniform, leaving yourself only in the thin underclothes that gave the vague outline of your true form.

And then you jumped.

Your name left his lips as soon as you broke the surface and Nadir flicked his tail, propelling himself forward.

Was the idea of loving him so abhorrent that you could drown yourself to be rid of him?  Did you truly have a death wish?

Hands found his chest before arms wrapped around his neck and he surface with you clinging to him, your feet kicking.  Nadir glared down at you, a cheeky smile across your face the whole while.

“What were you thinking—” he started.

Wait, kicking?

You giggled and pushed away from him, moving your arms and legs to keep yourself afloat.

“Forced myself to learn.  I didn’t have a lot of time after my shifts for much else.  But I realized I was actually angry at myself,” you said.  “Had I known how to swim, that night would have gone differently.”

Your movements were clumsy but calculated.  Swimming wasn’t even second nature to you, or even third; he could see it in the way you expended too much energy in treading, in the clear discomfort of you submerging yourself under water.

“I’d like to try again,” you said, swimming slightly closer.  “If you’d be open to it.”

Nadir couldn’t name the feeling that seemed to stem from his fins and reach all the way into his head, making him dizzy.  

“You… want to…”

“Would I be here if I never wanted to see you again, Nadir?”

No, you didn’t seem the type, he wanted to say.  But sometimes, silence was better.  It didn’t weigh everything down.  And he very much enjoyed this warm feeling swelling inside of him seeing you in the water with him.

“I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”

___________________

It took time, as all things did. 

You moved out of the undercity and, with a little help from a few colleagues from your company’s engineering department, assembled a house over the water just northeast of Fontaine City.  The trip into the city was the same length of time as before.  Only now, there were beaches instead of stone ledges and you had plans for creating underwater parts of the house for Nadir.

The lantern often lit up your room at night when the two of you went to sleep, both of you keenly aware of the other’s absence.

You didn’t want a solution that involved changing him, you said one night, toes in the sand.  Although you might never share the same bed nor eat at the same table, you were content to have dinner in the same space as him and to sit on the beach and discuss various mechanical ideas until the early hours of the morning.

At some point, he confessed to knowing that he was not entirely organic and that he hailed from a frozen country.  Beyond that, he held little to no recollection; when you protested about closure, he pressed his lips to yours and said that you were all he needed.

Hearing your resolution on not changing him meant more to him than he could truly put into words.  Finding a way to give him legs would be more practical but there was so much of human life that he didn’t understand nor wanted to.  

So instead, he opted to hold you close, tail in the tide, and point out the available constellations.

Until your breath was too hot on his neck and he lost the ability to concentrate.  This close, your scent mingling with the fresh evening breeze, your soft warmth pressed against his side, Nadir wondered if he might combust.

Discussions of logistics happened, of course.  You were no biologist but you admired his form on more than one occasion and took to sketching him when you needed a break from schematics.  He had felt your wet folds before when you directed his hand through your panties and demanded he understand just what his affections did to you.

He did. All too well.

Nadir grew hot when your hand wandered, tracing his slit and the tip of his member.  He gasped when you coaxed him further, your lips on his neck and his cock in your hand; he turned his head and found you gazing not at the stars but at him, every bit of you burning with a deeper yearning than mere lust.  

“I mean it.  I don’t want anything different.  Just you.”

You ran your hands through his hair, tugging slightly and he swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“I want to taste you first,” he panted.  “Properly.”

Before he could rearrange either of you, you remove the remainder of your garments and situated your legs around his neck.  Your folds were glistening with your own slick and he only caught a glimpse before his nose was pressed against your clit and your scent and taste overwhelmed him.

Nadir gripped your thighs tight, nails digging into the soft flesh as he licked and teased.  He did his best to keep his teeth covered as he dipped between your folds, feeling your velvet walls against his tongue.  He pulled away only long enough to nibble at your thighs and nuzzle between your folds, reveling in the way your desire dripped down his chin.  

Your taste made him dizzy and served to only harden him further.  Your feisty hand reached behind you and squeezed his length and he groaned, the edge already closer than he wished it was.

No, not yet.

He pulled your hips down onto him and pushed his tongue into you as far as it would go.  Judging from the jolt that rocked both of you, that was much deeper than you anticipated.  He flicked across one particular spot and you bucked again as you gave a low whine.

Now that was interesting…you enjoyed that…

Nadir repeated the motion and you clenched around his tongue with a louder cry.  He continued, unrelenting, until you shuddered, walls fluttering as your taste changed and you gushed atop him.  You were breathless, chest heaving, glowing with a desire yet to be extinguished.

He licked every drop from your lips and your thighs.   You tasted magnificent and he couldn’t let that go to waste.

Your hands reached for him again but Nadir leveraged you with ease and flipped both of you over, your back on the sand and legs wrapped around his waist.

“I need all of you,” he whispered.  “Just you.”

You felt absolutely divine against his tip and he eased into you slowly, inch by inch, your swollen walls still fluttering.  He watched your expression, eyes widening and lips parting in pants as he finally bottomed out.  You were already beautiful but like this? 

Such things were not meant for this world.  And yet you were all his .

Your hands trailed across his back and down along his hips, tracing the scales of his tail.  He moaned when, as he pulled out slightly to simply steady himself, the heel of your foot pressed against his tail and pushed him back in and you held him there, filling you entirely with his length.  He nipped at your neck in retaliation.  

“Nadir…”

Oh, when you said his name like that, dragging out the last syllable…

He pulsed inside you and you had the gall to bring your other leg up, pinning him inside you.  Nadir gritted his teeth and, claws digging into your waist, pulled you further down the shore and into the water.  He flipped both of you so you rested atop him, legs encircling his waist, and your bodies still joined at the hip.  You sputtered for a moment but were wholly undeterred

He continued to thrust into you lazily as he floated along to deeper water.  He held you tight, and pulled your body further underwater, until only your heads were above the surface.  You were weightless on top of him, shrouded in his element, and he dragged out both of your releases until you convulsed on top of him, moaning incoherently.  

Nadir buried his face in your neck, teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his guttural groan as he released deep inside you.  He shuddered as you peaked again, the intensity too much for him to bear so soon.

He kissed and licked your shoulder apologetically as you both came down from your high, tangled in one another.  In the distance, the water sparkled with the promise of daybreak, the sky already full of soft pinks and oranges.  Had you truly been up all night?

“Have you ever seen such a beautiful sunrise?” you whispered, nuzzling closer to him.

A vague memory tickled his mind.  A flick of fins, a touch of dawn, possessive glares.

If that was beauty by most standards, then he wanted no recollection of that.

“No.  No, I have not, my love.  But every day with you will contain such light.  I’m sure of it.”

#dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #Dottore merman segment #smut #Tw: smut #merman fucking #idk how else to say it tbh #Happy ending

[nuwildcat]

Well I thought I was going to do a one and done meta for Man Suang but it turns out that I was wrong. Let's talk about ships and metaphors team.

Water first comes into play right in the thick of our trouble. Khem has just threatened to go to Bodisorn with the documents incriminating Chat's father. He gives Chat two days to do something and then we get this delicious angsty moment:

Chat in full existential crisis thinking back on a conversation with his father where he tells Chat that it's good that he doesn't want to be a civil servant.

And then he says this: But you must remember my words. It is ill striving against the stream. You will be ruined.

Luckily for Chat he gets a proper application of cat before having to deal with more drama when the fireworks explode.

Shout out to Ruang for his stellar acting when that goes down.

But that's not the last time that we hear about a stream and when we get it again, we add boats.

I really like the way they chose to reveal information at the end of the movie, cutting between different scenes to give us the whole picture of what happens to our characters after Hong's dramatic reveal and our conflict resolution.

There are two distinct conversations that bring up the stream, one with Chat and Bodisorn and the other with Chat and Khem.

Chat and Bodisorn's conversation is threaded through from start to finish at the ending scenes of the movie. Starting with Chat trying to turn over the incriminating documents.

There's a lot to unpack in that conversation but for now let's focus on the streams/boats.

Before this conversation is resolved we get Khem saying this:

A steamboat is made for the sea. A sailboat follows the wind. And a row boat can plough through every canal and river.

Here Khem is calling himself a rowboat. The Phrai status he has chosen to keep, turning down the offer of a title and land, is no longer a symbol of his powerlessness, but instead how he plans to leverage and change his circumstances. As a dancer at Man Suang, he is going to build his own form of power instead of having it given to him.

Adorably Chat shoots him some serious heart eyes at this statement but our boy is more than just smitten, he's charmed how they both think so similarly.

BECAUSE HERE IS THE THING. The conversation with Bodisorn that we start the end of the movie with? It happened before Chat and Khem have this talk.

Which means that Chat has already said this:

My father always told me that it's ill striving against the stream. But I don't think so. Now Siam has steamboats that can strike against the stream, wave, and wind, right?

And then we cut directly to credits.

To the best of our knowledge, Chat and Khem don't discuss the warning that Chat's father gives him, which means Khem's use of the boat metaphor comes naturally.

If you're wondering where the relationship that Khem and Chat have post Man Suang stems from, I would argue that this moment, this conversation is one of the key sparks that could lead to the presumably romantic feelings we are being promised in Shine.

Two men, from completely different worlds, meeting due to circumstances and despite their differences, sharing a mindset. A core understanding, that with the right position and power, you can change the world.

Whether you are a steamboat or a row boat.

#man suang #man suang spoilers #mansuang #mansuang spoilers #gosh I love these two #'cat gettin' nerdy with language and metaphors #boats people it's all about the boats #meta #chatra my beloved dork #mansuang meta #man suang meta

[glamaphonic]

a lot of precanon richonne moments had me shrieking aloud but her entrance in 4x01 is truly something else. hershel waxing poetic to rick about things breaking but still growing, rick jumping to his feet the instant he hears her whistle, the grimes boys literally RUNNING to her side in excitement, then everyone pouting that she plans to leave again soon - delicious. incredible. a true portent of things to come.

I am obsessed with them in 4A. They don't even have that many scenes but the VIBES are simply insane. Michonne is having an existential crisis as she spirals over having allowed herself to care about people again and is so scared of it that she's running away and hiding at every opportunity. Meanwhile, Rick is just giving her puppy dog eyes trying to figure out how to best sidle up to her and ask her if she wants to do an activity some time whilst she 100% completely fails to notice this is happening. I wish there were 24 full episodes of them in that phase I stg.

#ask! #laralaralara #richonne #it's so brief #but it's so delicious

[toxinoire]

Kara never thought of it when Lena first asked her this question.

"What if someone says; in like a few years maybe, I'd be...gone?" Lena asks, staring at the distance.

Kara got confused at this question. But decided to answer anyway. "Well, I'd most likely, punch them or something. I'm not letting that happen."

Lena chuckled. "You're right...I guess it's just another existential crisis."

"Want to talk about it?" Kara asks softly. Lena just smiles at her. "No, darling. It's alright. It's just one of those times."

"Well, if you need anything...food, movies, a hug, I'm right here."

Lena laughs and nods. "Got that."

She didn't ask that question for no reason. She isn't sure if Kara already figured this fact out already, but their time is limited. Because Kara won't die unless she gets killed with Kryptonite or the day the yellow sun flying over them dies.

Lena knows there's a chance that Kara's life could be at stake at any given moment, but at the same time...there's a possibility that she could have Kara for the rest of her life. While Kara won't have Lena, nor the rest of their family for the rest of her life.

See here's the thing, Kara knew that. But ignorance is a bliss, as they say. She pretends that the day won't come.

But...maybe she indulged herself too much.

Because right now, Kara, swear to Rao, drops the car she's currently carrying as her eyes widen in fear. Through a window, not that big, but big enough for her to witness it firsthand.

Lena, sweet, gentle, beautiful Lena, with a knife pierced through her neck. She heard the enemy responsible for it, the one who's back is facing the window, laugh. Fucking laugh. Kara and Lena make eye contact through the window, Lena smiling gently, softly, warmly, at her. Muttering something no human could hear, but Kara heard so clearly. Her voice as soft as her gaze.

"I love you."

Kara barges in, breaking the whole wall, she rushes to her, hoping she could still save her. Hoping she wouldn't lose her. She can't lose Lena, she just can't.

However, it was too late. The knife stabbed a very fatal spot, and Kara witnesses Lena drop to the ground.

Kara can no longer hear her heartbeat.

"Aww, look at Supergirl. The Paragon of Hope, looking hopeless-"

Before this asshole can finish, Kara pushes him, actually pushes him off the broken wall, she hears him scream and plummet down, but she doesn't care.

"Lena?"

Nothing.

"Please, no. No. Fuck. Please don't leave me, don't take her too, please." Kara tries to get help, but to no avail.

Lena Luthor's death was publicly announced two days later. Many were happy at the fact that there was not a single Luthor left. The Superfriends grieved in their own ways. At least some people in the city actually acknowledged what Lena did for the world and paid their respects. The Superfriends tried to comfort Kara. She appreciates it, of course, but it won't bring Lena, Kara's...everything, back to her.

Now everywhere she goes, Kara just sees Lena.

She would try to go to Big Belly Burger, she just remembers that time they celebrated Lena's birthday there. Noonan's? She just sees Lena's smile when Kara gives her coffee from that place. The park in National City? That time Lena used her magic fully for the first time. CatCo? She remembers every hall Lena ever walked in. She sees a book? She remembers Lena giving her one.

Her own apartment also reminds her of Lena, all the times they had there. Certain foods remind her of Lena. Everything around her is now just a ghost of Lena. Even fucking kryptonite reminds her of Lena.

She's everywhere Kara goes.

No one in the city realized how much Supergirl was so torn over the loss of Lena Luthor.

Some dickwads actually thought she was happy about it, which some idiot reporter asked her one day.

"You must be really relieved that the last Luthor is no longer a threat."

Kara stays silent, yet her eyes emmit everything she wants to say.

Kelly holds back an angry Alex from hitting someone, but Kelly herself is yelling about how insensitive that was, about how this reporter is disrespecting the dead, about how they forgot that Lena worked with Supergirl. Both Brainy and Nia list down everything that Lena has done to save the city.

Kara? She's been silent, before taking a deep breath, looking at the reporter, knowing there are cameras surrounding her, she says,

"This world is nothing without her."

Then, she flies away, higher into the blue skies and screams.

Would you look at that, world. There's a Luthor that successfully broke a Super.

#supergirl #supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara zor el #kara x lena #angst #i saw a miraculous prompt like this on tiktok #wherein marinette looses her memories yet adrien carries every moment with him #and my brain said: HEY imagine this but supercorp #and i went: bitch bET #and now here we are #hope you liked it :) #i realized i hadn't written them yet #well i have but not in this kind of way #it was always cracks i never wrote an actual well thought of supercorp fic #so here #please like it

[madphantom]

The entire way my boyfriend and I got together is INSANE in hindsight because like:

Last year I went to a camp with some friends and on the first evening, a pretty young and nervous guy had a panic attack / existential crisis because it suddenly clicked for him that he was away from all parental control for the first time. I was trying to calm him down when this random punky guy with massive earrings showed up to see if he could help. Upon hearing my friend ask "is anything even real?" he fucking. Pushes his dentures out of his mouth with his tongue like some kind of unexpected eldritch horror and as we are properly freaked out, says "These definitely aren't real. Hi, I'm [REDACTED] by the way, and you?"

What followed was an about four hour long conversation during which he mentioned that he talks a lot in his sleep and that his favourite animals are hyaenas and at this point I had a total crush on him but was kind of too shy to say anything because he seemed entirely too cool for me, so instead of behaving like a normal person I spent the next several days playing table tennis for hours because he basically lived at the tennis table.

Then came the last day and I kind of awkwardly hovered around him trying to ask him for his number, but then my phone battery swelled up and almost exploded and then it started pouring raining and finally I was sitting in my friend's car and cursing myself because I had absolutely no way to contact him and nothing to go by except for a first name.

So I. Did some detective work. Went through the entire follower list of the camp's Instagram page. And as it turns out, only one person with that name followed them, and that person just happened to wear huge silver earrings in their profile picture, anddd he accepted my follow request so wahoo! I found him!

Then we didn't talk to each other for two months.

Two months later, I went to another camp which had been advertised in the first one. I was there a day earlier than the official start but kind of forgot that it hadn't officially started yet, so when he didn't show up that day I just assumed he wasn't coming and gave up. Cut to me on day two, the entire camp is gathered and the shifts are being distributed, and the girl distributing asks who wants to take the awareness shift for the next day, someone behind me raises their hand, she asks "what's your name?" and I get a mini heart attack when I hear a familiar voice say "I'm [REDACTED]".

Turns out he did show up. We pretty much immediately started telling each other how the last two months were and then we ended up talking until like two in the morning, and that's pretty much how it went every day, we were just yapping basically 24/7 until he had to practically beg me to go to sleep.

On the second to last day one of my friends mentioned that the weather at home would be great for a barbecue, so I got an idea. In an honestly fucking ridiculous move, I decided to have a barbecue among my friends and invite him so it's not too awkward. I threw a whole ass party because I could not bear to awkwardly invite my crush, and amazingly, despite initial hesitation, he agreed to come.

After the second camp we started texting on Instagram. A month later he did indeed show up at the barbecue and we had a lot of fun. He brought me a couple cans of his favourite mate brand. After that we didn't see each other for four months.

In January he wanted to come to my hometown for a protest, but the trains were on strike. In February we tried again, this time successful. Had some fun times exchanging gossip. I invited him to my birthday.

He showed up at my birthday. Some of my friends had a fight and he spent a lot of time outside with my best friend smoking. At some point she, apparently, told him "well, I know for a fact you're very important to Maddie" which tbh is the most bizarre way to tell someone I have a huge crush on them. Long story short, he couldn't stay long that evening, so he asked if he could make up for it by stopping by the next weekend.

The next weekend was the first time we actually spent a significant amount of time together alone. We hiked up to this hilltop where you can see the entire city and basically told each other our entire life story and then we hung out a bit with some of my friends in the university film studio to warm up because it was kind of chilly and it was nice and we agreed that we should repeat that.

Easter came around. The week before he asked if he could come around for two days in a row and I was like of fucking course, so he did. Brought an entire palette of our now mutual favourite mate brand because I mentioned the nearby supermarket stopped selling it. We spent the day together and at some point in the afternoon he turned to me and asked "are we just hanging out or is this a date?" and all I could say was "uh" and the conversation just kind of died there because I'm dumb as rocks.

Later that evening I took him to one of my favourite spots in the city, a plateau right under a motorway bridge where you can see the entire city, and we drank mate and watched the city lights and then he turns to me and goes "I wasn't gonna make any stupid decisions anymore, but I think this might not be one of them - I think I'm in love with you"

And I was grinning like a maniac, but it was dark, and he couldn't see my face and was like "SAY SOMETHING PLEASE" so dumb as I am I replied "DITTO" and then he talked about how important consent is to him and asked if we could kiss. And then we kissed, and then he gifted me a steel ring with a heart on it and I gifted him a kandi bracelet with ACAB spelled out on it, and then I got to tell him I'd been pining for him like a stupid lovesick moron for eight months while he was completely sure he was going to die alone and then we walked home holding hands and counting bats and ever since we've been a dream team.

And to think it all started because Dennis had a fucking panic attack.

#personal post #boyfriend shenanigans

[thrashkink-coven]

okay I don’t love ranting about Christians on this page because I try to keep this space free of religious shenanigans but I need to rant about this because it’s actually SO irritating. This is coming steaming hot right off the top of the dome so excuse my grammar and all caps.

Lately my instagram page (thrashkink_art check me out I’m awesome) has been getting a lot of attention from Christians for some reason, and I’ve been getting dmd by people wanting desperately to debate and/ or convert me. They all come at me with the assumption that I’m either an extreme atheist that’s just super mad at God or a complete dumbass that’s simply never read the first few pages of Genesis. I must either be angry or stupid. There’s no way I could have read the Bible and known the story of Jesus without subscribing to it. Anyone who isn’t Christian must not know the story! “Have you heard about JESUS? DID YOU 🫵 KNOW He died for your sins? 😃” Whatever

The thing that is so frustrating is that, EVERY SINGLE TIME I share some information with them about the Bible or religion that they didn’t know, they immediately BLOCK ME. EVERY TIME. And it’s like??? If you want to have a debate and go bar for bar then I’ll humor you. Hey, who knows! Maybe I’ll even learn something new and convert! I’m always open to new information! I love learning about religion! But apparently it doesn’t go both ways because the second I present information they can’t grapple with, they IMMEDIATELY BLOCK ME. AAAAAA

Some Christian dude: If you read the Bible you’d know that doing witchcraft will land you in Hell!

Me: well if we’re really going based off of the Bible, the entire concept of Hell doesn’t originate in the Isrealite religion. Actually, there’s no mention of a Hell in the OT at all, Hell is a Greek concept and so is Lucifer.

Christian: What? No?? That can’t be true it completely distorts my worldview

Me: You… don’t have to believe me just look into it yourself

*You can no longer message this person*

LIKE WTF.

Some Christian dude: Women are just naturally subordinate to men, if they weren’t then we would have worshipped a female Goddess alongside YHWH.

Me: Well… They did. The Israelites worshiped Asherah alongside YHWH before her worship was abolished

Christian: This is blasphemy *you can no longer message this person*

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAA. I have countless examples like this! A dude called me evil because I told him Jesus was Jewish. I’ve been called a degenerate for explaining how YHWH originated in Canaan. Im so tired of ignorant Christians shitting my pants because they’re too lazy to do any research on tHEIR OWN RELIGION!! IF YOU NEED TO HAVE AN EXISTENTIAL CRISIS BECAUSE YOU JUSG LEARNED ABOUT THE HISTOY OF YOUR RELIGION THEN THATS ON YOU BITCH! DONT GET MAD AT ME BC YOUVE BEEN FED A LIE !!!!!! THATS NOT MY PROBLEM !!!!!!!!!!

There have been so many times when I’ve taken the time to go through all this bullshit with people because I really don’t want to be close minded. But holy shit it’s like they’re allergic to conflicting information. They immediately accuse me of trying to push blasphemy onto them. and when i’m like hey dude don’t take my word for it, please I encourage you to do your own research, they’re immediately so offended and appalled. How dare I tell them something about the Bible that they didn’t know.

Listen bro, I’m fully supportive of your Christianity, live your life, worship your God, I honestly do not care. But if you’re going to try to convert me at least be somewhat prepared for an actual discussion. Don’t block me because you can’t handle the reality of the situation mother fucker.

LIKE LISTEN IM USUALLY NOT SO PRESSED AB SHIT LIKE THIS BUT THE THING THAT DRIVES ME UP THE WALL IS THAT I USUALLY TRY TO IGNORE THESE PEOPLE BUT THEN THEYRE ALL LIKE “Aha! 😌 You don’t want to hear me out because you know I’m right! You’re afraid of the truth!” SO THEN IM LIKE

*SIGGGGGHHHHHHH*

OKAY! Let’s go! Let’s hear it! We can debate because you’re so desperate to change my mind! ILL WASTE THREE HOURS OF MY LIFE GOING THROGH THIS SHIT WITH YOU SO YOU CAN JUST CALL ME A BLASPHEMOUS WHORE AND BLOCK ME. I LOVE WASTING MY TIME I LOVE GOING IN CIRCLES I LOVE POINTLESS DISCUSSIONS I LIVE FOR THEM

DO NOT!!! DM ME IF YOURE A CHRISTIAN !!!!YOU WILL NOT COME OUT THE SAME AFTER HEARING THE THOUGHTS FROM MY EXPANSIVE SEXY SLUTTY BRAIN YOU WILL NEVER BE THE SAME!!!!

RRRRRAAAAAAAAA

ok. I’m better now. Merry Venus Day! Ave Lucifer! 🔱 💀

#witchcraft #magick #occultism #pagan #paganism #demonology #witch community #witch aesthetic #witchblr #grimoire #lucifer devotee #luciferian witch #lucifer deity #lord lucifer #theistic luciferianism #religion #christianity

[witchmoon]

by our red string of fate.

Part 1

Pairing: Prince Aemond Targaryen x fem! Reader 

Summary: Aemond returns to King’s Landing for Aegon’s name day celebration during the midst of war. Immediately he regrets his decision to join the festivities, threatening an existential crisis, but then a mysterious beauty catches his attention - intriguing his jaded heart. It’s an unlikely place and the most inconvenient of times, but somehow he's renewed by the prospect that he could finally have a love he’s never known. 

Word Count: 4.6k 

Author’s Note: Third person perspective, reader/she (Y/N) is from an unspecified house with limited knowledge of the Targaryens. Some deviation of timelines and of HOTD canon/ details. Multi-part wip / slow burn, angst, eventual NSFW (lots!), language, soft feels.

I just want to write about Aemond falling in love, so the story is hyper-focused on the two mains-only without a lot of scene setting and background regarding the dance. Hope you stick around and enjoy! Comments/asks welcomed. LMK if you want to be tagged.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

don’t stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos. though i know it’s blinding, there’s a way out. say out loud, we will not give up on love now.

Sometimes Aemond wonders why he still shows up for shit like this, especially when the attendance is so insufferable. Not that he doesn’t occasionally enjoy hearing his name mentioned in mixed tones of reverence and fear when he returns home.

Admittedly, he does find the soft whispers amongst the crowd of highborn families that his mother insists on periodically inviting to court dryly amusing, but only just.  

The attention can also prove a nice stroke to his ego every once in awhile, but it isn’t important to him the way it might have been before the war started. The pointed compliments and overt side-glances his way seem particularly insincere, holding no significance, as every person in the room fails to override his growing boredom.

Heavens save me.

Aemond begins to seethe at the fuckery of it all, and the night continues to progress with no clear end in sight. Time passes and with every moment that it does, his interest in remaining present depletes.

It’s unsurprising in consideration of how the conversations stay surface-level, lacking quality as the topics float weightless and repeating, forever removed from reality. Even with so many moon turns passed, everything still seems to remain relatively ordinary. No- dull as shit, he internally counters. Its personally stifling within the confines of the Red Keep.

He hates it here. The lack of evolution disappoints Aemond, even despite his expectation already residing at an all-time low. But what could be expected? Certainly nothing more from the self-indulgent snobs so far up their own asses as they regale in false self-importance, and definitely not when they maintain this guise for their foolish king’s name day celebration. What a farce.

His train of thought compels him to consider the raised dais where his idiot brother currently sits, already several cups deep into his spirits. Aemond can’t help but roll his eye, a habit he’s no longer keen to conceal. He’s grown tired of putting on fronts, especially for his family, wearing his emotions more easily on his sleeve so to speak.

Disdain and bitterness reignite at the sight of Aegon, selfish prick that he is, weaving back into Aemond’s marrow as he reflects on the many sacrifices he continues to make in the name of honor, loyalty and duty. And for fucking what?

i don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though i may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful…

The wine is weak, the food is tasteless and the music - abhorrent. He swears he’s going to gut the damn jester that keeps circling the main floor if he sees him again, envisioning the crimson pool that would undoubtedly ruin his newly polished boots in his mind’s eye, were he to act on the impulse.

It wouldn’t be worth it and Mother would be none too pleased…

Convincing himself of this, it’s actually not lost on him that he’s spent his entire life actually living within and throughout this ever-growing debacle. So many nights just like this, and the irony of such staggering a truth becomes too fucking rich. He blames his father most of all for this, but there are other factors too, ideas less congruent, but convincing all the same- he’s been cursed since birth.

His aversion to remain in this hall, in the entirety of this damnable Keep, only builds. The mood of Aemond is a transformative black and he’s past annoyance when more people fill the space, to the point it feels like everything probably should implode on itself. And he can’t say he wouldn’t welcome this, even if it meant his own demise, because at this point who fucking cares?

but when i move into the world, it feels like a moral fall- like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Alas, it does not. But the cynicism within him just keeps expanding. He can only blame himself. Just lay in it then, and try to be civilized.

Truth be told, the appeal for him to do anything these days that didn’t include partaking in the plotting for destruction and so many endless deaths during war meetings, or patrolling for visible threats from the sky on Vhagar had been strong. He’s convinced it must have been in a moment of weakness, during one of his deep bouts of loneliness, that the invitation bearing raven had conveniently arrived to him.

Aemond can’t justify any other reason than this, for he’d made haste to King’s Landing without any true forethought upon receipt of his mother’s handwritten request. Why had he been so easily swayed? Was it because life of late felt reduced to boring days, an unknown future, an irregular sleep, repeat? Yes, likely. But these were weaknesses better kept under wraps.

He smirks at such an unmerciful fate, but mostly to himself when he turns again to the main table, witnessing in real time as his only living parent bestows Aegon with a small surreptitious slap at something mouthy he’s just said towards her. In all these years, nothing ever changes.

Their grandsire holds Aegon in a death glare full of contempt by her side, utterly disapproving as well, which is something Aemond finds satiric. After all, wasn’t this what The Hand had always wanted for The Greens? Irreverent power and glory, Aegon upon the throne…such folly.

i can hardly breathe, and now you're right above me and your shadow suffocates.

The Keep had momentarily seemed a welcoming concept, but the present is too sobering a contradiction, impossible to ignore now. Sadly, the notion that he’d feel differently for this homecoming was once more proving false.

He can’t deflect responsibility, knowing his decision in actuality has been swayed by the growing weariness of violence - how tired he is of constantly being on the defense; forever at odds with his heart, his soul. It all feels heavy, a burdensome weight that will not hold much longer. What is my purpose? Although he will never admit this to anyone, he’s begun to lose sight of what he’s even fighting for anymore.

He needs something else to focus on for a while. A spark of interest would be nice, anything might do, as long as it could keep him from lashing out in anger - mostly at himself. Or worse, he could go spiraling downwards, back into the deep abyss of his emotions for a long-term residence. Just wither away into nothingness, and he has half a mind to let it happen. Fuck it all.

The actuality of all this flits across his mind, leaving the room suddenly muted to his ears. He shuts out the conversation he’s been involved in for an undisputed amount of time. Interestingly, the group surrounding him is littered with several lords and ladies that used to scoff and shirk at him a mere handful of solar cycles previously.

Hypocrites, cowards, utter cunts - the lot of them.

It doesn’t really matter to him though, these fools from a bitter and harrowing past, nor their opinions. Instead he inwardly returns to a more pressing matter up for his contemplation - the emptiness he’s been feeling for awhile, how internalized and damaging it still is.

He thinks of the way it all stacks up against him, how it’s reduced him to a man underwhelmed, unfulfilled… and the greatest issue of all, unloved. This is something Aemond is forever conscious of, and it’s like he’s suddenly experiencing the same oppressive state he’d lived in for so much of his youth, a time in which he was not in control whatsoever.

Once upon a time, he had been soft - a dreamer with a lot of heart to give. Unfortunately, by no fault of his own, his sensitive nature had proven detrimental, swiftly making him the target of many immature, albeit cruel intentions. Even despite being a Targaryen son, he’d constantly found himself the brunt of jests amongst his eldest brother and younger kin alike.

It had been a callous awakening, one that both fed his deep-seated feelings of inadequacy and expanded his burgeoning anger, turning him more spiteful with age.

What the fuck?

He wonders why these memories are suddenly seeking their re-emergence, particularly when it feels like he’s already spent a lifetime making painstaking efforts to finally move beyond such devastating haunts.

But it never really leaves him.

In defiance of persistence, self preservation and all he’s mastered, everything he’s proven of himself through accomplishment and challenge, some things still refuse to detach themselves from him. They are core memories that shall remain forever tied to the very matter of which he’s made, and because of this, he’s tried to make peace with their aggravation.

Even still, it’s a nuisance for him when he considers his own personal defects, how ingrained they seem, like a sustained poison in his blood. Inescapable fallacies that others have convinced him of, no matter his renowned skills as a swordsman, his impressive mount on the biggest dragon in the world, all his knowledge - the rarity of an education that is vast, uncommon… the notoriety of his crimes.

Am I not more than this?

He’s flawed - yes, as painfully aware of this truth as he is of his demons, so many well-acquainted old foes that have been around his entire life, lurking endlessly. They’re more repressed than before, but Aemond doesn’t think they’ll ever truly leave him, and he’s inclined to accept this damnation too.

But try as he might to tamper it, he feels primarily defined by his navigation and survival through neglect and bullying, at being physically maimed and sexually taken advantage of at a young age, none the wiser at the time. It’s all very tragic, even still, and yet he’s tired of being married to the victimization of it all.

He often wonders what’s so terribly wrong with him that every day, it feels like Westeros is trying to strangle him. As if she’s been trying to do this for his entire life - kill him slowly. And this plausibility doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility as he sardonically considers his existence, how shit it’s been, that the bitch might actually be succeeding in the endeavor.

It's an ever-present thorn in his side, and it feels deeper tonight, the stab somehow greater. He feels like disappearing or giving up, and the decision to give in only persists in the absence of an anchor - one he’s been in dire need of for some time.

If only there was a new strength from which he could draw, something powerful that he might feel inclined to cling to. His mind reels at what could possibly keep him grounded, give his life meaning, keep him sane enough to remain in this living hell.

But hope is a foreign concept, a dangerous entertainment that Aemond doesn’t make a practice of, and happiness is even more evasive. For him, there’s no miracle waiting in the wings for the perfect moment to unveil itself and show him kindness. There’s no fortress from which to seek refuge within, no bastion or brave defender to come to his aid, no salve to erase all the hurt in his torn heart. It’s a lost cause.

He knows that coming here tonight has been a grave mistake.

no dawn, no day, i’m always in this twilight.

He wants to move, but the will to do so momentarily abandons him, leaving him to remain trapped within himself. His singular vision loses focus as his stare shifts to the intricate flooring before him, a distracting pattern of which he really isn’t seeing. It’s not promising, but he’s somehow hoping the ground might miraculously deign mercy upon him by opening up and just swallowing him fucking whole.

He holds his breath, willing this occurrence, but of course it's all for naught. Then, as if from the end of a dark tunnel, he hears the familiarity of his name, spoken and echoing, drawing him back to the present. He begins to anticipate the confused stares from the group he’s been standing with, though no genuine conversing has taken place thus far.

When his mobility reinstates of its own accord, he shifts his weight to buy some time before looking up to consider the lord who’s asked him... something. He knows not what, nor does he care, but upon Aemond’s vision refocusing, he’s not seeing them or anyone - only her.

in this light, i swear you’re mine.

It's a mysterious occurrence, the way time works - how the stars seem to have finally conspired to align with opportunity and chance. And for the first time tonight, perhaps ever, he finds himself captivated.

The crowd has split, forming a clear path from where he’s standing to the opposite end of the room. He swears his traveling gaze has been moved by some greater force, something he cannot name, beckoning him. It must be true, he’s convinced as the connection he’s feeling with the nameless woman increases.

The air becomes charged with renewed energy, a unique heat that seems untainted by pretense. And it’s heat that flourishes within him now - inexplicable, drugging when he realizes all at once that she’s staring back at him. Only him.

There’s a curiosity to their exchange, the way it goes on in silence, in secret. It’s everything but fleeting, what they’re sharing from afar. And although it's from a great distance, he knows this could be something of substance, worth pursuing. Something unnamed within him spurs this idea, urging him into action to seize this unexpected opportunity, but then she looks away and he’s completely startled.

Suddenly, Aemond cannot breathe. She is fucking beautiful. From his remote observation, this is clear, but he’s also sensing something else about her. Aside from the obvious, that she’s literally the most stunning person in the room, that he has probably ever seen, her energy is not supporting this fact.

It perplexes him.

Amid the many exquisite objects within this opulent hall, she outshines them all, easily taking center stage. But what’s drawing Aemond the most, putting him on the highest of alerts, is the unease he senses emulating from her. She looks about ready to dart from the stale festivities, as if she’s simply gathering her nerve while mapping out her next move in order to see this realized.

Take me with you.

Actually, she looks exactly the way he feels, and intuitively he knows that she is someone he needs to have in his life. He’s still staring when she unexpectedly looks at him again, and with this second glance - a feeling of pure elation begins to take root within him. The air rushes to enter his lungs once more.

Suddenly he feels alive again, awakened from the dead at long last.

i looked at him with unexplainable recognition, i stared at him with a burning throat and teary eyes.

It’s time to panic.

Truth be told, she hadn’t meant to stare for as long as she had, and then again. It's definitely not something she’s prone to do - fixate on strangers, especially considering how uncomfortable it’s always made her when on the receiving end of such attentions.

But in her defense, dear cousin had recently disappeared, leaving her to her own devices without any formal introductions. Thus, voiding any and all potential attempts at social interactions on her own, should she have chosen to pursue them.

She had not, and it wasn’t a great loss for her either, as the night so far had proven rather stale - falling flat despite its nauseating frivolity. And yet, as a first-time visitor to the capital with limited knowledge of court customs, being put out like this felt like a blow, like abandonment.

It did not bode well with her to feel less than, misplaced, unwelcome. And these were all issues she’d been struggling with since arriving, trying desperately to maintain a sense of calm confidence that she did not actually feel an iota of.

In honesty, she could have anticipated this if only she’d removed the figurative rose colored lenses from which she’d been trying to experience tonight through.

It wasn’t fated to be ideal though, as she had immediately sensed something malignant from the moment she’d walked through the entry door earlier. Bittersweet, but unsurprisingly, it left her longing for the solitude of home with its rolling lands, the beauty evergreen.

She maintains vexation over recent decisions, once more finding herself in a situation that’s left her ill at ease - hellbent on forfeiting any and all of the night’s eventualities. If I could just get out of here. Yet, something holds her back.

Perhaps it’s the perceived lack of decorum in disappearing that stays her. Hardly - but the watchful eyes throughout the room do give her pause. Aware of the scornful judgement being passed about, in constant motion from one fiend to the next, she can’t say she’s trying to draw more attention.

She’s not senseless either, having been told numerous times of the weight this invite held - one of generosity and privilege and opportunity. In theory, it had seemed plausible, so she hadn’t dismissed the importance of impression that kept being pressed upon her every day leading up to now.

And now, there’s contradiction at every turn - the night proving to be little more than a pitiful show of extravagance. A colossal inconvenience to celebrate and placate an unworthy man-child.

As if I really give a shit about this Aegon twat.

He apparently IS the king, but she really fails to comprehend this as fact. From her personal observation, he appears more juvenile than ruler, all tired eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a permanent scowl of disinterest too, as he begins making his rounds amongst his guests. It’s plain to see he’s intoxicated, struggling at times to stay upright on his two feet.

Even the heavy crown atop his head fails to stay centered, impossible to maintain its position with the continuous sway of its wearer. Such a mess.

Though she finds herself wondering why she left home for this, she can’t deny the inherent need within her to be pushed - really move out of established comforts for the sake of growth. Admittedly, life had become dull enough for her to consider travel, even despite perceived dark times in the more well-known parts of the world.

The risk had been taken, and tonight was accomplishing her misguided notion to experience something new, something she’d never had before. It was definitely not a place of comfort either, but neither was it engaging as she had hoped it might be.

Perhaps a little intrigue would do some good in this social wasteland, but there is nothing, nobody.

While she wasn’t a stranger to taking inherent leaps of faith, having a rather optimistic outlook most days, nothing was presently inspiring the spark within her. Likewise, nothing was pulling her to put some faith into this night, relinquish any benefits of doubt. There was nothing compelling, nobody convincing her that this particular setting was anything other than cold and callous.

More than that though, it felt undeniably toxic, laced with the unmistaken undercurrent of condescension. And for the first time in her life she yearns to be invisible.

These are not my people and I don’t belong here.

The realization of this hits hard, at a very inopportune moment, and it's causing her cool facade to deplete significantly. It feels like she’s breaking down, on the brink of a total collapse. She could crumble and it would be so easy, but still, she hangs on.

She sips her wine and it’s disgusting, aware that any further indulgence in it won’t be worth tomorrow’s ache in the head. However, the heavy cup remains a functional prop to keep her semi-occupied with intended movement. She thinks at the very least, it's helping her blend in more with the rest of this cunty crowd, appearing like less of an outsider, less...delicate.

The thought of taking another walk around the hall seems a viable option - an attempt to kill more of this rotten evening. She finds more appeal in the notion, rather than standing still and pretending she’s agreeable with her surroundings.

Everything continues to fall away, and it’s getting harder to crawl out of her melancholic mood. Though, on a very specific level of self-awareness, she knows she’s being too critical of the situation and too hard on herself. It’s a deep flaw for her, to be constantly plagued by one’s own high expectations, equipped with the unfortunate knack of also being dramatic.

It’s a curse in many ways - limiting, exhausting, upsetting. She hates that she feels so much, so deeply. She hates the way she always ends up let down in the end. She hates the way she wants more from life, yet always comes up short.

What did you actually expect… to fall in love with a prince?

The thought is enough to get her angsty, exasperated that she could still have the capacity to be this naive, to think that such wonders might exist. Fairytales, her personal kingdom of dreams recognized, come to life. She could romanticize the idea for the rest of her days, but they’re simply that, dreams. And only dreams they will remain. Intangible.

When she considers this, and she’s done so often throughout her life, it always leaves her reeling with the harshest of realities in the end. She wonders why she puts herself through it, time and again - dreaming up a life and a love that will never belong to her.

The outcome will never change, you’re destined to be alone.

She’s too much in her head at this point and it weights her, but she’s done pretending, over the tolerance. She realizes she has to get out of here, that it doesn’t even matter where to. Just away. And suddenly there’s no more argument left within her of what she should do by staying. There’s no room left for lingering guilt either.

It’s simply time to go.

Scanning the space, she finds her exit route in record time. But beyond these four walls, she has no idea where she’s going. It doesn’t matter, I don’t care.

Although it momentarily deters her from taking action, she decides to chance one more look across the room in an attempt to locate her kin. At the very least, it would be wise to give notice of her leave for the evening, but the effort is fruitless and she’s quick to abandon the search.

That's when her eyes land on him.

are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?

Who is he?

She has no idea, though she could draw some conclusions and seven hells, he is stunning! There’s an enigma about him, a danger and acuteness to his character that exudes a well-steeped confidence. She can tell all this just by the way he holds himself, at least that’s the impression she’s receiving by his body language, the semi-defensive stance.

He intrigues her, radiant yet darkly masculine as well, and he physically stands out with his impressive height and athletic build - everything she’s attracted to. He looks important, but displaced. It’s also clear he’s disinterested with those around him, perhaps jaded by the same shortcomings in his life as she is with hers. She wonders, thinking it could be true.

The energy from him draws her the same way his appearance does, all black leather and belts, a dagger, a donned eye-patch, gorgeous long hair that is pale, glorious. Even in the dim light, it shines as if illuminated - a most mysterious beacon, working to draw out her withering heart with a renewed vibrant curiosity.

Fuck, that is lovely. She thought she was leaving, but now her feet feel heavy and she can’t look away.

A Targaryen, obviously. But who the fuck is he, which dragonlord is this? She MUST know.

He’s striking, it's undeniable, even despite looking forlorn in this current setting. Or maybe it’s just a blasé air that he keeps. It could be a front. Again, she wonders. Either way, she picks this up right away, deliberating how it isn’t obvious to the imbeciles he’s standing amongst, of how very little he cares.

Its a strange concept, like tragic art, as she spectates the scene. It's like he’s invisible, such as she, or he wants to be, such as she. He’s completely withdrawn from the conversation… and he is beautiful.

Unbeknownst to him, he’s also outwardly manifesting everything she’s been internalizing - its just something she feels, senses. The silent energy emanating from him becomes a fucking madness, moving unseen across the space, weaving through faceless bodies. And suddenly it’s crashing into her with subtle violence, summoning her in a manner that’s arcane, unintentional.

It transmits nonetheless, in a demand to feel something, anything.

She thinks she might, knowing he would be the reason, and she casts a silent wish then: look at me, escape with me. She expects nothing. And yet, it seems he has somehow received her unspoken plea with perfect aim, because almost immediately he looks up, finding her without pause, effortlessly.

It takes her breath, taken aback by the depth of his stare, even from afar. But it’s not merely the meeting of their eyes that's causing her panic to grow now.

It's the way the most beautiful man she’s ever seen maintains his stare, subtly tilting his head in acknowledgement of her existence. It’s the way he’s just excused himself from the small group he’s been standing with as she watches him finally break loose from them.

It’s the way he's walking directly towards her now with unmistaken interest.

the sadness you carry, it hangs like a ghost.

Aemond’s need to go to her is instantaneous, his mind quickly made up, surrendering to her unspoken beckoning. What he’s feeling can’t be described, but it puts him in motion with assured steps towards her, intent to maintain their connection.

The last thing he wants now is a deterrent, some dumb bastard interrupting his advancement with meaningless words and insincere praise. He can’t be fucked, especially since the exuberance of others often exhausts and bores him.

Besides, he’s not that infamous and he thinks his appearance should emit a genuine aloofness, at least enough to mark him as unapproachable.

In this moment, he hopes for it to be true.

As he continues, his boots on the stone floor leave an echoing sound - the faintest of cadences to his ears. Even the soft music that’s been playing, sounds he’d previously drowned out, return to fill his senses. He’s aware of how the room comes alive once more and how his attention hones into the finer details - the beautiful things that matter enough to hold some of his appreciation. But nothing is shining as bright, as gorgeous as her.

i’ll just tear it down, and i’ll wear it like a ribbon - give it.

His perspective is altered, biased. He’s ever grateful for the reprieve in detaching from the aimless buzz of verbal interaction. He carries on as the swooning strings from instruments and all the paintings and flickering candles in the room act as a backdrop for the dream he’s finally found himself in.

There’s a grandeur to the moment, and it doesn’t even seem like he’s in the same place as before. It's a subtle shift with great impact and to Aemond, it’s like a slow awakening of his spirit. His heart feels lighter, his chest less constricted somehow. Breathing comes more easily as he realizes he’s no longer holding everything in.

For him, tonight finally makes sense - he sees with so much clarity and with it, an aspiration to unearth something extraordinary. I am here because she is here. And she’s his focus, it can’t be misinterpreted.

This is intense, he knows it is, because he can be intense - in looks, in demeanor, in speech. For example, the effect of his set jaw and determined eye are apparent just based on the way she looks away again, like she needs a moment for herself. Like maybe she’s alarmed by him and his imminent approach…

Regardless, he can tell she’s ready to go simply by her nervous shifting of weight from one foot to the next and the way her hand grips her wine cup. It’s so obvious, but he silently demands for her to stay put, at least until he can reach her, join her.

Don’t you dare move!

As he draws closer, he realizes he hasn’t actually formulated an introduction, though. He’s been fixated on priority one - getting to her, but now that he’s almost within her sphere, it's possible he’s going to come on too strong.

It really isn’t in his nature to be aggressive, at least not towards women. But there's a fine line between that and being resolute, and he can only hope she won’t confuse the two. It gets him stressed either way, just the anticipation. And its abrupt, how the air circulating now feels to have stopped altogether.

The urge for something clean in his lungs grows more intense. In fact, it's been too many lapsed hours since he last stepped outside, so he thinks maybe this is the angle he will use with her.  

He sees her look down at the drink in her hand, then back at him with a ghost of a smile, and then away again. All these nervous habits miraculously enchanting him, though he’s aware it’s all stemmed from a discomfort and he could sympathize. He does - this brave girl.

Aemond needs to get to her, knowing this setting has become too intolerable for them both. It leads him to mull through all the potential areas he could take her to - more private areas within the Keep. He’s trying hard not to envision her on his bed though, laid out before him, but it’s a challenge not to go there…

His thoughts come up short, interrupted and replaced by disbelief in an instant. And he can see the shock on her face too, witnessing the scene in horror the moment Aegon, of all people, drunkenly clashes into her with unabashed force.

It happens quickly, the unexpected contact of his body propelling the cup she’s been holding towards herself, effectively spilling its dark contents onto her bodice and sleeve. His fiend of a brother remains unsteady, loud and obnoxious as he begins to inappropriately grope her figure with slurred and insincere apologies.

But it gets worse when he sobers just enough to focus his vision, and fully consider the beauty of the woman he’s currently offending - the one that he still holds fast within his clutches. He voices his immediate thoughts, loud enough to be heard by many.

“Heavens, what a pretty present you are! I think I shall wait to unwrap you in my chambers.”

Aemond sees fire, he walks faster.

i can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger.

The familiar sting of tears begin to surface in a rush, threatening to fall although she wills them not to. It would be so easy to cry now, and it’s something she tends to do when she’s at her limit. The frustration becomes unbearable, but she simply cannot allow this weakness to display.

Aside from the fact that everyone appears to be looking at her, the music has also stopped and the only sound filling her ears now is the seething laughter from the king. His prodding fingers are still at her waist, her lower back and his breath is hot on her ear, repulsing her just as much as his verbal filth has.

This little blond bitch, I could kill him.

She wants to scream, fueled by so much repressed anger, thinking she might act out soon if she doesn’t escape the predicament. Above all things, slapping the fool touching her is of the highest priority, but she also wants to cut out the eyes of every person currently gawking at her as if she were the problem.

She wants to combust into flames, she wants to cease to exist altogether.

Even her free hand has formed into a fist so tight that her knuckles ache, and although it's of little consequence to her, she can vaguely feel the shallow cuts her nails have begun to make into the delicate skin of her palm. Time halts and she’s burning from within, her vision clouding with rage as her arm begins to raise as if by its own accord.

She intends to lay one into Aegon’s jaw. At the very least, he deserves a slap, although the consequences will be dire. Even with this knowledge, she can’t seem to tamper the physical urge to do some harm to him. It’s the least he deserves.

How dare this fucker be so blatantly disrespectful.

Her mind is made up, he’s getting slapped and she’s determined to see this through. But suddenly her movement is blocked, stilled by a gentle pressure of long fingers wrapping securely around her forearm. A deep breath is drawn and she’s still trembling in her animosity, her embarrassment, when she turns to consider the disrupter.

To her relief and amazement, she’s met with a welcomed face, a beautiful one. It’s him, the only one she wants to see, to know.

The good Targaryen - finally, he is here.

And he is so close to her when he leans in, offering a verbal warning with a solemn tone for only her to hear.

“Don’t.”  

His touch is reassuring, sending bursts of warmth throughout her at the tenderness being exhibited. His expression however, betrays a significant degree of anger and it hardens his features further, in an impossible way. Oh gods!

She’s seeing a lot of sharp lines and hard angles, an immaculate bone structure and the most impressive scar that runs a great length down one side of his face. It hadn’t been noticeable from a distance, not really, but now it draws her. Truthfully, it’s devastating how devilishly handsome he is and how weak she’s begun to feel just being near him.

He almost doesn’t seem real, but the obvious irritation emulating from him is substantial. Even still, there's a compassion in his touch and it’s his touch alone that she feels upon her body now. It compels her to be soft again and then she is, loosening and moved by his thoughtfulness to come to her aid, offer her stability in both body and mind.

His actions ground her, and he’s respectful as he takes the emptied cup from her with his free hand, discreetly handing it to a passing servant without a word.

She’s aware of how she turns into him then, drawn to his body heat, the most natural attraction. And with Aegon now gone, a relief in itself, she feels safe - protected. The urge to throw her arms around him in gratitude is strong, but she abstains.

He continues looking at her, his face otherworldly, and he’s saying something that she cannot comprehend as her world goes quiet. She can’t capture a thought or formulate a word, feeling her mind draw a blank, abandon her while he looks on.

Her mouth turns dry and her clothes become too warm as she gets lost in the intensity of his eye, the riveting color of it. From afar she couldn’t decipher, but up close she can clearly see that it’s a glorious azure blue, rimmed by a darker hue - indicating something of further mystery, an enigma. It isn’t typical, and therefore stunning, moving her in an inexplicable way.

A soft moan escapes her lips, ever so telling of the effect he’s having, as his brow lifts with some amusement. He’s clearly heard the sound, providing some inclination to him of her desire and he can’t help but pull a small half-smirk, satisfied by this revelation. But he’s still waiting for a response, impatient once more, and he demonstrates this by reinstating his firm grip on her arm to give a slight squeeze.

She wonders if he’s always like this, communicative with gestures and touches of varying pressures. It takes her mind somewhere it shouldn’t - to a place that involves just them, their bodies and very little clothing.

Does she want to know? She isn’t certain, but he seems physically overbearing suddenly, as if he’d moved further into her unnoticed. And he might have accomplished this while she lost herself to a budding desire, envisioning what he might look like fully unclothed…what he might feel like against her, from within her.

Fuck!

His close proximity isn’t helping reel in her thoughts, as the sensual scent encapsulating him climbs to meet her senses. It's fresh, something divine, and she finds herself wanting to chase and consume. It brings a new type of fire to their shared space as she imagines her lips pressed to the exposed skin on his neck, breathing him in.

The visual finally releases her from her mind trap, and she refocuses to stare at his face, placing her hand blindly on his own without thought. She shakes her head apologetically, helplessly, needing him to repeat the question - it’s really all she can do.

He obliges her, knowing she can hear him, that she’s listening now.

“Come away with me.”

come home to my heart.

It really isn’t a question and she finds herself silently nodding in acquiesce to his demand, feeling the adrenaline begin to flourish. The only audible response from him is a deep “hmm” as they take their leave. It intrigues her, but not nearly as much as the way he walks in equal measures of grace and arrogance or how his silken hair begins to move illustrious over his back with each step taken.

To her, he is an exquisite creation, surely made from the gods and he walks as one amongst ineffectual men as he leads them through the mass of people. It’s a quickened pace that she matches, noticing the way he calls off a small group of approaching knights, the Kingsguard, with a flick of his wrist to still their advances.

Although they’re amid many watchful eyes, the music has begun again, reinstating many dancers back to the middle of the floor following the scene with the king. It offers some relief, but what she’s finding to be the greatest comfort is the contact he maintains on her elbow, at the small of her back while he guides her out of the hall.

The heat infiltrates from his hands, runs along her spine and she doesn’t mind the mild possession of his touch. It thrills, and her spirits continue lifting as something akin to hope seeks to re-enter her heart.

i promise you, i was here. i felt things that made death so large it was indistinguishable from air, and i went on destroying inside it like wind in a storm.

It’s a well kept secret that Aemond considers himself a lover, not a fighter (at least in theory), though he doubts anyone would believe this if he were ever to admit it aloud. In fact, he feels that he’s improved in reining in his more violent impulses when they arise, attempting to adopt a more critical stance on whether to act on said impulses or not.

He reflects on this now as he navigates through the Red Keep with familiarity, thinking perhaps this banal approach is prominently wrought from Lucerys’ death. He knows it is… but this is different.

Despite the beautiful woman with him, casting a curious glance his way, he’s silently fuming with a sudden need for vengeance. And the center just won’t hold, he can’t call this off now that he’s in action - moving, intentional.

As such, his steps are calculated, the direction mapped as they ascend a set of stairs together in record time. She follows willingly, half-dragged by his hand at a certain point, though she doesn’t complain. He’s grateful for it, and without a word, they turn down a dark corridor that takes them further through the never-ending maze of apartments and bedchambers.

His heart is pounding, the most violent of slams from within his rib cage, as his long legs carry him closer to his oldest nemesis.

you go on by finding a channel for your love…

Aegon’s behavior is always unacceptable, but tonight it’s inexcusable as well.

Tonight, it feels more personal.

In fairness, Aemond’s tolerance had already waned substantially throughout the course of the day. Though not uncommon, his brother had been acting an absolute wretch from the moment he’d risen and begun interacting - effectively wearing most everyone thin.

Still, recent events simply won’t release from his brain. His brother’s actions, specifically the ever-occurring heinous mistreatment of women, continues to spread like a plague. It’s bothersome, but whats worse is the fact that such behavior remains unchecked, tolerated, as everyone turns a blind eye time and again.

Aegon, the perpetrator that knows nothing of consequence, who could care less who he offends and hurts. Aegon, who never learns.

The loathing for his sibling is prominent more now than ever, the rage significant in power as it burns at the very core of Aemond. It threatens to spread like wildfire as he recalls the image of Aegon colliding into her, touching her, taunting her - the one whose hand he’s now holding. This exquisite darling that’s with me.

It leaves him seeing red once more, and he’s resolute to make right this gross wrongdoing, finding the catharsis absolute when at last, he does.

…and another for your rage.

There’s justification in the way Aemond storms Aegon’s bedchambers, startling the room’s occupants as he dismisses a handful of ladies already in various stages of undress.

There’s satisfaction when he knocks the wine from his brother’s hand, spilling it across the regal bedding before advancing to lay waste to every last spirit within sight, all crashing bottles and broken glass.

There's an absolution when his fist meets Aegon’s mocking face, disrupting his cavalier smile with brute force. The delivered blow drops his brother to the littered floor as so many shards seek to break the skin of his hands, his knees.

It’s an absolute agony for the king, but he continues in a deranged manner with uncontrolled manic laughter filling the luxurious space. In High Valyrian, Aemond speaks departing words of revulsion and fury and threats.

Then he’s back outside the room, the splintered door now unable to properly close as guards rush to Aegon’s aid with trepidation and no small degree of bewilderment at what’s just transpired between the siblings.

He grabs his awaiting companion’s hand then, his own showing the faint beginnings of a bruise as it takes form, darkening just beneath the surface. It’s inconsequential for Aemond, for he’s more surprised that she’s remained to wait for him despite whats just been witnessed firsthand.

He sincerely wonders how he hasn’t managed to scare her away with such a wrathful display. Yet, he’s finding a great relief in knowing he hasn’t managed to achieve this after all. In fact, he’s in a bit of awe that she’s remained. It means more to him than he could have imagined, and certainly more than she will ever know…

At present, his knuckles sting, but he doesn’t care. His heart is thunderous, but he doesn’t care.

An incredible amount of relief is washing over him at what’s just transpired through words and actions, honest emotion pent up for so long, finally released. It’s palpable, this foreign elation being felt as they retreat, backtracking so many of their steps. Even servants rush to either side of the halls so as not to remain in their wake, potentially interrupting their progress.

And he’s so certain of his menacing appearance now, just by their reactions, though he half-wishes his brother had put up a fight and tried to roughen him up. But it matters naught. At this point, his immediate intention is strictly to get himself and her to a place of privacy - as far as possible from Aegon’s blasted existence too.

Aemond huffs in spite of himself on reflection, feeling a bit bitchy over the circumstances, for this wasn’t the first impression he had wanted to make.

Too late now.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond targaryen

[frosty-the-killer-doll]

It's been so many years but I can still hear a confused Kara half-gushing half-ranting about Lucy, commenting about how she smells good and she wants to date her, while her sister is having an existential crisis over her boss being an alien. I wish someone had told Kara it's not normal jealous heterosexual behavior to be attracted to your crush's ex.

if i had a nickel for every time kara got homoerotic with the love interests of her love interests, i'd have three nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice. she said lucy smells nice, is gorgeous and smart and LITERALLY "I WANNA DATE HER" AS IF THATS STRAIGHT PEOPLE BEHAVIOR and then she goes on to say imra looks like a goddess and then everything guardiancorp v supercorp. kara. i don't think you know what jealousy is, kara.

but kara complaining about stupid sexy lucy while alex is having an existential crisis over her whole career at the deo being a lie? that was peak cinema

#frosty answers #arrowverse asks #arrowverse #arrowverse polycule au #supergirl #supergirl cw #cw supergirl #karlucy #superlane #kara danvers #lucy lane #alex danvers #j'onn j'onzz