#I MAY PERHAPS EVEN MAKE A SERVER

[allthenicknamesweretaken]

Reminding myself constantly that I am free and am able to draw whatever the fuck I want

[mcmansionhell]

dome sweet dome

As some of you may know, I have been going to language school for the last few months in order to learn the world's most widely spoken and useful language: Slovenian. At this point, my Slovenian is about as coherent as, well, a McMansion. In order to feel better about myself, I have sought out a McMansion that is worse than my cases and word-order. This house (in Naperville, IL, of course) does, in fact, make me feel better, but will probably make you feel worse:

This Cheescake Factory house, built in 2005, boasts 5 bedrooms, 8.5 bathrooms and can be yours for the entirely reasonable sum of $3.5 million dollars. Also for some reason all the photos look like they are retouched with 2012-era Instagram filters.

First of all, trying to visualize the floor plan of this house is like trying to rotate seven cubes individually in my mind's eye. Second, if you stand right beneath the hole in the ceiling you can get the approximate sensation of being a cartoon character who has just instantaneously fallen in love.

Even if this was a relatively mundane McMansion it still would have made it into the rotation because of the creepy life-sized butler and maid. Would not want to run into them in the middle of the night.

The mural is giving 1986 Laura Ashley or perhaps maybe the background they use for Cabbage Patch Kids packaging but the floor? The floor is giving Runescape texture.

Have you ever seen so many real plants in your life? A veritable Eden.

The overwhelming desire to push one of the chairs into the haunted jacuzzi...but in reality they probably put those chairs there to keep from accidentally falling into the tub at night.

(elevator music starts playing)

This is one of the all time [adjective] rooms of McMansion Hell. I personally am in love with it, though I don't think I understand it. Perhaps it is not meant to be understood.....,

Continuing with the baseball theme, the guy in the painting looks how I feel after it's been raining in Ljubljana for two straight weeks. (Not ideal!!)

And finally:

We love a house that has four unused balconies and also a sporting grounds that is large enough to build a whole second McMansion on top of. Everyone should so value their health.

Thank you for tuning into another edition of McMansion Hell. Be sure to check out the Patreon for the two bonus posts (a McMansion and the Good House) which both also go out today!

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar, because media work is especially recession-vulnerable.

[thewertsearch]

fedorafreak: eureka.

Hang on. Is that...

...son of a bitch. The king is back!

I can't even be mad that it's not actually Dad Egbert, because this is an entirely different kind of treat - and one that I didn't think we'd ever be getting.

I’d long since given up hope that we’d ever hear from Earth again – Bec’s apocalyptic meteor laser seemed to have bookended that chapter fairly unambiguously. How, then, did Homestuck’s favourite normie survive such a cataclysm?

fedorafreak: yes. it is as hoped for beyond hope. fedorafreak: unusual devices may be used to duplicate fresh, perfectly pressed garments. inexhaustibly, afaik.

FedoraFreak is a fucking Sburb Player.

This is the best day of my life. I've always wondered about how Earth's other sessions are going, and this is the one we get to see?

This is the greatest gift Hussie could give me. This is my Christmas.

fedorafreak: alas, devices appear to hold no such promise for departed family members, misplaced hand-held steam press.

He’s had a pretty rough time, though, which is par for the course when you’re playing this game.

Departed family members are a given, but all hope is not yet lost. If they're Players too, he might still be able to reunite with them in the Dream Bubbles - but sadly, I don't think the Gods will be preserving the soul of his steam press. Guess he'll just have to prototype it!

fedorafreak: now combining expensive leather pipe tobacco sleeve with handsome, gray fedora. fedorafreak: to document result shortly. fedorafreak: resulted in hat w/ outlandish and frivolous appearance. fedorafreak: do not care for; shall discard immediately.

Alchemy, of course, is far too twee for our king. Perhaps, with some experimentation, he can make some business-themed gear which is both serious and viable?

fedorafreak: made unwelcome determination. production requires expense of glittering abstractions called grist. fedorafreak: such jewels remaining in cache, libation in reserve, at premium. fedorafreak: consumed final swallow of carefully rationed urine. soon to seek water elsewhere in exotic new surroundings.

Damn, dude. You can’t even field the grist cost for water? Fedorafreak is clearly having a lot of trouble with Sburb’s earlygame.

John did a lot better, but he had a lot of help from Nanna early on, and Fedorafreak’s lack of familiarity with the game’s mechanics suggests that his sprite is inert.

He also hasn’t mentioned a server player, so he the poor man might be completely alone, with no context for the tragedy which recently tore his life apart. He may have escaped the apocalypse, but things still are looking pretty grim for our serious businessman.

[theresattrpgforthat]

@martianworder asked me about this on my Forged in the Dark post, so here we go!

Clocks

So Clocks have been a tool that have been used before and outside of Blades in the Dark, but BitD was where I think they were made really popular.

Golem Clocks designed by cmartins on Itch.io

For all intents and purposes, a Clock is just a track that you fill, but in some cases it's preferred over a track because it fills less space, and it's easy to just draw a clock on a piece of paper to help you keep track of something as you play.

A Clock can be more than just a track. It can be a countdown, a timer, or a representation of a person or faction's goals. The larger the Clock, the bigger task it is. Here are some examples of how you could use them.

A Healing project clock from Blades in the Dark.

A player could have a project Clock that they fill over the course of many sessions. Perhaps they want to research a cure for a vampire virus that is threatening a loved one. The GM would ask them to make a research roll every downtime, and how successful they are indicates how many slices they fill - effectively, how much progress they make towards finding a cure.

Rebellion and Sedition Clocks for Brinkwood: Blood of Tyrants.

A play group might use a Clock to track a common goal, such as winning over a number of anarchists to help take down a mega-corporation. If this is a campaign-long goal, you might use a series of linked clocks to represent the jailbreak you need to assist before you can win over a computer hacker, and then the massive hacking project you need to support before you can overwhelm the corpo servers.

Faction Clocks from Scum & Villainy.

A GM might use a Clock to track the work a Faction makes towards their goal. Every downtime section, they GM might roll to see how successful the Faction is, or simply tick one slice of the clock if the Faction has no reason not to be able to do what they want. If the Faction is allowed to work unimpeded by the PC's, they might eventually do something that changes the world around them, for better or worse.

Mission Clock from External Containment Bureau and Doomsday Clock from Apocalypse Keys.

Clocks might also be used as a timer, to indicate when something terrible might happen, or when the group's time is up. This might be the amount of time before a murderer next strikes, before the haunted house claims another victim, or before the world begins to end. In some games, specific points in the clock (such as halfway, or a quarter of the way through) may trigger special events that give the PC's more information, or remind the group that the pressure is really on.

Clocks for Protect the Child.

All in all, Clocks are a great visual tool to help you and your game group keep track of what's going on in the fiction, and it can also help you keep track of a number of narrative threads in a fairly condensed space. Even if they're not built into the game you're currently running or playing, I think they're a fairly easy addition, and can certainly help with bookkeeping!

[pretzel-box]

hello! do you perhaps do smut things? If so! Perhaps sebastian and his husband with some smut? I know hes married to..zerum but her toxicity in the servers been enough for me!!

if you dont do smut or dont want to do this PLSS sebastian comforting an anxious (male plspls) reader? Tysm!! You rock and i love ur feed!!

The memories of the drowning

words: 1k

status: barely proof-read

tags: male!reader, slightly sequel to Suffocated , married established relationship, mention of anxiety and panic & comfort in the end

author note: I'm probably one of the people that currently hate on the devs for their behaviour, which makes me write x reader stories in first place. Zerum isn't included in the game, which means she can't be married in canon to Sebastian. She's a real person, not a pressure character. So congrats, y'all can marry our beloved merchant in your own headcanons! ♡

Every time you close your eyes, the events of the past replay in the depths of your mind, vivid and unrelenting, replacing your dreams with painfully realistic memories. The horrors you faced in the Hadal Blackside refuse to fade, instead etching themselves deeper into your consciousness with every passing night.

The different screams echo endlessly in your ears, a cacophony of terror that leaves an uncomfortable ringing, dulling your senses. Your body, conditioned by the countless encounters with unspeakable horrors, twitches involuntarily at the memory of how the floors and walls shook violently with every terrible angler attack. The sensation of those tremors, the sickening anticipation of what was to come, still lingers in your muscles, a reminder that survival was never guaranteed.

At this point, you can't lie to yourself anymore. The time spent in the depths of the Hadal Blackside has mentally scarred you, leaving wounds that may never fully heal. The darkness of the ocean wasn't just physical; it had seeped into your mind, haunting you in the night when your body relaxes from the survival modus only to switch back into pure panic.

Sometimes, the weight of it all comes crashing down on you in the dead of night, overwhelming you with the sudden, terrifying realization that you are trapped in a facility full of death traps, thousands of feet below the surface. The oppressive pressure of the ocean above feels like it's bearing down on you even now, crushing you under its immense, suffocating weight. The knowledge that you are surrounded by darkness and danger, with no escape, no reprieve, gnaws at the edges of your sanity with each passing second, making the experience worse.

Your eyes rip themselves open as your whole body starts to tremble uncontrollably. Cold sweat drenches your skin, making the sheets cling to you like the tentacles that once threatened to drag you to your doom. Your hand clings to your shirt, grabbing it tightly as if the fabric could anchor you to reality, grounding you in the present and warding off the terror of your memories.

The breath hitches, coming in shallow, rapid gasps that only feed the growing panic. The ringing in your ears intensifies, drowning out any attempt to calm yourself, until it feels like your head might split open from the noise. Desperate to silence it, you press both hands over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the memories, the sounds, the overwhelming fear that consumes you.

But even with your eyes closed, the darkness offers no comfort. Instead, it brings the images flooding back, the twisted, writhing forms of the creatures you barely escaped, the cold, uncaring walls of the underwater facility, the endless corridors that seemed to close in around you with each step.

The faint hint of fluorescent blue hovered in the corner of your eyes, casting a soft, eerie glow across the dimly lit room. It was a color that had once sent chills down your spine, a reminder of all the deaths you had experienced. But now, it had become a familiar presence, a sign that you were not alone.

Sebastian had stirred beside you, waking from his own troubled nap. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. The gesture was silent, but it spoke volumes. He knew the weight of the nightmares that plagued you, the way they clung to your mind. He couldn't lie, he was in a very similar spot, haunted by his own memories of the Hadal Blackside and all the things Urbanshade did to him.

As his arms encircled you, you felt the coldness of his body seep through your clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth of his embrace. Yet, instead of making you shiver, it grounded you, reminding you that you weren't lost in the darkness of your mind. He was here with you, sharing in the burden of those memories.

Sebastian held you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the monsters that have threatened to pull you under. His other free arm moved gently, fingers threading through your hair in a soothing motion. The rhythmic, repetitive strokes were comforting, helping to slow the rapid pace of your heartbeat and calm the storm raging within you.

He didn't need to say anything. His presence alone was enough, a quiet assurance that you didn't have to face this alone. He understood your fear, your pain, because he had lived it too. The horrors of the deep had scarred you both, but in this moment, you found solace in each others company.

Gradually, the tension in your body began to ease. The panic that had gripped you loosened its hold, replaced by a fragile sense of peace. You closed your eyes, not to shut out the memories, but to focus on the feeling of Sebastians arms around you, his fingers in your hair, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His tail moved, wrapping itself around you, and you couldn't help but melt into his touch.

In the silence, you could hear a faint sound. But it was Sebastian’s heartbeat, slow and steady beneath your ear, that anchored you. With him, the memories didn't seem as overwhelming, the darkness not as suffocating. He was your lifeline, pulling you back from the brink.

"You're safe," he finally whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with certainty. "I got you." He leaned down, placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, and nuzzled into your hair. "I keep you safe, didn't I promise you that in my wedding vow?"

You nodded against his chest, not trusting your voice to respond. His words were simple, but they carried a truth you desperately needed to hear, and you felt blessed to have such a protective husband. For now, it was enough. You were safe, wrapped in his arms, with the knowledge that whatever came next, you wouldn't have to face it alone.

Sebastian continued to hold you close, his touch gentle and reassuring, until the tremors in your body subsided completely. As you drifted off into a more peaceful sleep, the fluorescent blue light dimmed behind your eyelids, leaving you in a quiet, comforting darkness that was no longer filled with terror, but with the warmth of his presence beside you.

[kaidatheghostdragon]

"You must be Ra's," Tucker stated, careful to keep on a poker face while he frantically assessed the situation - tied down to a chair, in what was probably the heart of this particular fruitloop's lair.

And there was a frankly disturbing number of similarities to the OG fruitloop: the way he stood, the style of his hair, the perpetual sneer.

The way he sent a shiver down Tucker's spine like Vlad used to be able to way back when he was still intimidating.

"Gotta say," Tucker continued, shoving his emotions down like only a human-born liminal that dealt with empathic rogues on the daily could ever manage, "not that impressed. For starters, your vibes are rancid, dude. Like, what do you do, bathe in corruption all day?"

That earned him a slap on the face, "You will speak when spoken to," Ra's ordered.

Tucker witheld a smirk. This guy seemed like the type to order subordinates around to do absolutely everything. The fact that he personally slapped Tucker with his own hand? It could only mean that Tucker was already under the guy's skin.

"Well, that just means I can keep talking since you just spoke to me," Tucker retorted, unafraid of another slap. Really, compared to the abuse he put himself through helping Danny, and the way his liminality skyrocketed in the last couple of years, it was barely even a love-tap. It didn't even sting.

Ra's raised a brow, giving the distinct impression that he was absolutely livid, though that may have been the liminal empathy cluing Tucker in. He'd never been great at reading emotions until that particular ability developed.

"Who do you work for?" Ra's began the interrogation.

Tucker returned with his best affronted glare, "Frankly, I'm offended that you don't believe I could do all this entirely on my own."

"Kill him," Ra's stated as he turned to leave, sounding so unimpressed that it almost seemed bored.

Out of the shadows, an arrow flew straight at Tucker, who slipped his restraints (thank you liminality for giving him limited ghost powers) and caught the arrow before it pierced his chest, "Yeah, no. Imma veto that."

Ra's turned back around, looking almost impressed.

It made Tucker feel way slimier than Vlad could ever hope to achieve. He repressed a shudder. After all, his job here was to keep Ra's distracted while the others invisibly raided the place, destroyed the pits, and planted explosives.

Tucker, being the technopath, would normally stay behind in the chair, but the League of Assassins was well defended against cyber attacks, forcing them to pivot somewhat in order to successfully infiltrate the place. He ended up creating a digital duplicate of himself (a literal duplicate, like Danny could do, but Tucker's duplicate could only ever exist inside of a computer, by all appearances a true AI) that the others could upload to the servers once they found them.

Beyond that, there wasn't much Tucker could do beyond providing a distraction. Sure, the LoA's technology was absolutely worth drooling over, but they didn't rely on it like most of the modern world did. There was no internet connection, electronic locks, or surveillance for Tucker to hack into and make his own. This place was all stone doors and medieval fortifications.

"Impressive," Ra's complimented after a moment of silent appraisal, "perhaps you are worthy of my attention after all."

Tucker scoffed, getting the clear impression that this guy fully expected the ground he walked on to be worshipped after admitting such small praise, "You're not the first megalomaniac I've had to deal with, and you won't be the last." (Team Phantom had an entire list of fruitloops to work through once their LoA financial backing was removed, after all) "I'll give you props for the sweet ninja cult you got going on, though. Gotta say, that's a first for me."

"Assassins," Ra's corrected.

"Same diff," Tucker retorted with a handwave, knowing full well that a guy like Ra's would be miffed by such a dismissal. He further feigned disinterest by examining the arrow he was still holding. Tucker had taken a few archery lessons when he was younger and picked it back up by training a bit under Princess Dora's royal guard. He was... decent, with a bow. He could reliably hit his target as long as he had a couple of seconds to aim - or used something laced in technology that allowed his technopathy to steady it.

The arrow was expertly crafted and perfectly balanced. His heightened liminal senses smelled a substance on the arrowhead - probably a paralytic, not that it would have kept Tucker down for very long, even if it had breached his heart, which would have been a quick death for any baseline human. He tossed it from hand to hand a few times, feeling the weight, the threw it like a dart into one of the nearest shadows. A soft thud echoed through the room when the arrowhead bonked the chestplate of the assassin standing there, then a clatter when it fell to the ground.

"If I had a bow, he'd be dead," Tucker needlessly commented, thumb pointing to the hidden guard. He was somewhat surprised the dude didn't catch the arrow like Tucker had. But then again, if the shadows were meant to fully conceal him, catching the arrow would have given him away from the arrow not making noise or falling to the ground.

"You knew he was there," Ra's stated more than asked.

"And the eleven others," Tucker easily replied, "A full dozen to guard the King of the Cult. Not that it'll make any difference. I've already won."

Tucker didn't have any misconcieved notion that his liminality would give him an edge over a dozen trained assassins. It doesn't really matter how good your senses are or how fast your reflexes when you have to dodge a dozen attacks simultaneously. But what he could do was turn intangible during those first few seconds of adrenaline-fueled panic, more than long enough for either of the Phantoms, neither of which were currently more than a few hundred yards distant, to reach him and drag him away from immediate danger.

So Tucker latched onto that confidence borne of complete trust in his team, and radiated it as much as he could, daring Ra's to call his bluff with nothing more than a knowing smirk.

[leafofkudzu]

Happy New Year, everyone - I hope 2025 treats you all well! On my end, this upcoming Saturday marks the second anniversary of my own little New Years' resolution: the art parties I host with my guild, [VS] Verdant Shield! And, as has now become tradition, we'll return to where it all began, the location of the very first party - the (uninstanced) asura home instance in Rata Sum!

But first, a quick tl;dr for what said art parties are! A concept carried over from Final Fantasy XIV, art parties are in-game get-togethers for artists of all kinds to hang out, chat, and create together! For GW2 parties there’s more of an emphasis on hanging out and gathering references during the party itself, and then in the days/weeks following to work on your creations at your own pace and then post to the shared art party tag. We’ve used the same one (#VSArtParty) since the very beginning so you can go allll the way back and explore what people have made!

Even more tl;dr is this: the ‘goal’ of an art party isn’t to be drawn, but to draw others, and share with the community!

Time and /squadjoin information is below the cut, but will also be posted again on the day of the party as things begin!

Location Information:

It's a little out of the way, but my intention back in the day was to pick a location near and dear to my asura-loving heart while also not drawing uninvited eyes, and such did the uninstanced asura home instance get chosen! To get yourself over there you'll want to have some kind of flying mount, or at the very least a teleport-to-friend to pop yourself over!

Time & Squad Details:

As is customary, we’ll be having two parties - the first one on EU servers and the second on NA - with an hour break in between for those who may want to attend both!

The EU server party will begin at 9pm Central European Time (aka 3pm Eastern Standard Time or 4 hours before in-game reset). I’ll be hosting this one on my EU alt account, so please either /whisper or /squadjoin Paranomalous Plexxi for a taxi invite if you don’t end up on the right map!

The NA server party will begin 1 hour after the EU party’s official end, at 7pm Eastern Standard Time (aka 1am Central European Time or at in-game reset). I’ll be on my main account for this one and may switch ‘host’ characters a few times, but please /whisper or /squadjoin Teekzi for a taxi invite if you don’t see my customary white cat tag hanging around on your map!

Closing Words:

Had a few real-life delays to making this post, thank you for your patience! Related to one such real-life delay, have cat tax by way of apology:

Anyway! Expect perhaps something a little special for this month's party, maybe some trivia or something? I had a few plans in the works but most fell through due to irl things, as they often do. Regardless, I always appreciate everyone who comes out to these parties - you are always what make them special! Take care of yourselves, enjoy your New Years' festivities, and I'll see you this Saturday! ♥

[endless-ineffabilities]

Maroon (part five)

modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

When the silence came, we were shaking blind and hazy How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

themes/warnings : angst, Aemond is a bit of an ass who needs therapy, jealousy, miscommunication

word count : 4k

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The Dragonstone ball continues to unfold... Will Aemond ever be able to redeem himself after tonight? Will the reader let him back in?

“... to these three, Strong boys.”

Aemond’s declaration brings the room into a state of silence, everyone in collective surprise. 

It is a known truth. One shared among people in hushed tones and averted eyes. But not like this. Never openly, in this way.

Aemond lingers on you, before something - or someone - cuts through in the corner of his vision. Gasps erupt across the hall. 

It’s Luke, who reaches Aemond in a flash and disarms him with a rough shove. Aemond barely budges, but is forced to take a step back, his chair skidding loudly across the floor. He laughs menacingly, and simply watches as his nephew makes another move. It doesn’t take long before the security team springs into action. Mr. Westerling puts a hand to Luke’s chest, halting his determined motion. 

“Not here, son.” His voice is gruff and commanding. The members of the high table look on, aghast. But Aemond stands still with a smirk on his lips. He raises his glass and takes a confident sip, all whilst staring Luke in the eye.

“You’ve crossed the fucking line,” Luke seethes.

“Have I?” Aemond croons. “I only speak the truth. I was merely expressing how proud I am of my nephews.”

“Aemond, that is enough,” Alicent pleads, wary of the prying attention from the onlookers. 

“It’s the truth, isn’t it, mother?”

“Not in front of all of these people.” Alicent doesn’t confirm her son’s statement, but she doesn’t deny it either, and Rhaenyra is quick to note this.

“Enough!” Viserys bellows, and all heads turn to the sound. “The feast… shall commence. Everyone, we apologise for this commotion. You see, this is why family reunions are not to be taken lightly.”

A nervous bout of shared laughter echoes. A line of servers rush out of the corner of the hall, platters of all sorts in their arms. Aemond’s outburst will be ignored. For now. 

His jaw is taut, arms tense on his sides like a viper still preparing to strike. You look down and notice that you’ve latched on to Jace’s arm in a death grip, your nerves getting the best of you. 

It doesn’t help that it’s the first thing Aemond sees when he turns his attention back to you. It’s enough to divert his thoughts from Luke’s provocation. As you move to sit back down along with the rest of the table, he swiftly strides over to you determinedly, weaving his way past the servers. 

“May I speak with you for a moment?” Aemond leans down, whispering. You hear a sense of urgency in his tone, or perhaps his mood is still heightened, his composure strained from the previous argument. 

Jace turns his head, and addresses Aemond with a passing glare, but doesn’t say anything. He leaves the choice up to you.

“Can’t this wait?” You whisper back, pausing to smile in thanks at the server who sets down a dish in front of you. “I don’t think I have anything to say to you right now, Aemond.”

“Please, darling,” he implores, still polite. But he knows that one way or another, he's going to have his moment with you.

You take a deep breath, sharing a look with Jace, and he merely nods in acknowledgment. To hell with it. 

“I’ll be back in 5 minutes,” you tell Jace. The entire hall is occupied with the feast, and they barely notice when Aemond leads you down an adjacent hallway, then through the side doors. You wonder what his date thinks of this, or if she has even noticed that he left. By the determined way he moves, you doubt whether he even cares.

His hand is at the small of your back, guiding you. Electricity shoots up your spine. Briefly, you consider if you should go back to the hall where it's safe, and it causes your steps to falter.

He appraises you for a moment, waiting.

“Where are we going, Aemond?” you finally ask.

“There’s a balcony just round there - ”

“This is far enough,” you gesture at the empty hallway. “I said I would only take 5 minutes.”

“That’s not long enough,” he protests right away, oddly sounding like a petulant little boy.

“Well, tough.”

He inhales sharply, biting his tongue as he wants to placate you. He wants to make you understand. 

He starts to speak, but you cut him off at the same time.

"Darling, I - "

“I don’t know why,” you shake your head at him, at the whole situation, “you do this. Maybe it is because of the accident, sure. I get that. It’s fucked up, what happened. But you shouldn’t have shut me off. I waited for you.” You step forward, and press your hand to his chest. You feel his faint heartbeat resounding beneath. “I didn’t even know what I was waiting for, or for what. But I did.”

He places his hand atop yours, holding it to himself. He did not anticipate that you would be so forward, and it catches him off guard. Whatever ill-prepared speech he had gets caught in his throat. “I didn’t know what to do,” he musters. “I didn’t think you would… still want me.”

Ridiculous. How could I not? “That’s just… an excuse.” Your thought makes itself known. The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, briefly, before his brows furrow as if something in his line of thinking cast a shadow over what should be a nice sentiment. 

“Is it?” he queries, almost mocking. “Look at me. Look at what I almost did back there. You’ve known me for a while, darling, but perhaps you’ve not known me long enough to know how rotten I truly am.”

There’s a menacing glint in his eye, one you’re sure you haven’t truly seen before. Not until tonight’s incident at the hall, and now that it’s being directed at you, you struggle to come to terms with how it makes you feel. 

Is this who he really is? Was the Aemond you’ve known a persona he so conveniently wore in the time he met you?

But you cannot ignore that part of you, maybe even greater and strong enough to trump your worries, which knows that you have seen who he is. You’ve always known. Through hints and whispers. And you wanted him anyway.

Aemond’s only ever this gentle around you, everyone said. 

Why would he be? What could he ever have gotten out of it? What else, but you?

You say nothing, merely watching the storm in his blazing blue eye. His sneering expression softens, suddenly conscious at how you seem to study him. At how your eyes greedily rake over his face, taking him in like you haven’t been able to in a long while. 

After those long and tortuous weeks apart, this is the first time you get to look at him without any distractions. Without the commotion of the ball. Without him trying to hide. 

“Then show me,” you finally say.

He makes a surprised noise. His usual hum, but lilting. 

Maybe you can blame it on that damned firewine, or you’ve gone insane, because you didn’t expect you would be so gutsy at this moment. But before you can question where your newfound bravery came from, and before your nerves from earlier can resurface, you raise your hand and let it hover over his leather eyepatch. 

He hums again, this time low in his throat. A warning. 

Your fingers make contact, ghosting over the smooth surface. You wince internally as you also touch a patch of his scar right under. You don’t even want to imagine how much pain he was in. You can’t, or you’ll lose all your nerve, and likely start crying. 

Keep it together, now.

Aemond remains unmoving, a feat considering his pounding heartbeat. He lets you continue, and ignores the instinctive twitch in his palms that compel him to push your hand away. 

When your thumb runs over the bottom ridge of his eyepatch, you catch his eye. “Aemond,” you whisper, asking for permission.

You barely lift his eyepatch when his hand wraps around your wrist in a vice grip, halting any movement. You look at him questioningly, searching, but his expression stays the same. Lips pursed in a tight line, jawline taut. His gaze holding you in place. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, but neither of you show any desire to move away.

You watch as he finally lowers his head, the hand around your wrist gently drifting to cradle your palm against his ruined cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, all false bravado gone. 

“It’s okay,” you say, letting your thumb run gently over his scar. “You don’t have to show me.”

“I want to, I just - ” He looks at you, words left unsaid, but you understand all the same.

“I know,” you smile sadly. “I can wait.”

It’s not long before his arm abruptly drops to his side, causing your hand to fall from his face. 

“You shouldn't have to,” he looks away then, his distant expression returning. “It’s not fair to you. All this waiting.”

You shake your head at the change in his approach. The Aemond you think you know has always been a steady presence, observant and committed to the task at hand. Has he always been this mercurial? 

“Don’t you want me to?” you remark, disbelief lacing your voice. You step even closer, glaring up at him. “Is this why you brought me here? To finally put an end to all of this?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and the bastard just stares at you. His good eye rakes across the planes of your face, falling to your exposed shoulders and the outline of your dress, then back again. If you didn’t know any better, it almost looks like longing, like he actually wants you. 

And it infuriates you even more. 

You decide that - no - he doesn’t get to look at you like that and yet act in the way he does. “Our 5 minutes are up.”

You turn around, your skirts swivelling with the movement. Each step feels decisive, like you’re walking away from something - someone - important. But you do anyway. 

“Wait,” you hear him murmur under his breath, but you don’t let it sway you.

Then you hear his footsteps, heavy and sure. 

“I said wait,” Aemond repeats, commanding. You startle when he gets a hold of your arm, squeezing by the crook of your elbow, bringing you to a stop.

“For wh - ”

The words are stolen from your mouth in a rushed breath, when his lips claim yours. This is not the gentle Aemond you might have known, as he kisses you with an intensity that is bruising and relentless. 

You’re quite sure you had something witty retort prepared, something to put him in his place. Whatever that was, it’s all forgotten as his tongue glides along your bottom lip. As the kiss deepens and you feel the sharpness of teeth. 

“Hmm,” he purrs when he pulls away, and you feel it reverberate low in his chest where your palms are pressed. He connects his forehead to yours, and you’re grateful for it. The feeling of something solid calms the dizzying sensation in your head. 

You barely register the silence that filled the room, as your ears are ringing with the sound of your racing heartbeat and the small breaths that escape his lips. You think to say something and almost do, but then he crashes his lips against yours again. 

Demanding more. 

You feel yourself moving, Aemond guiding your movement, akin to the dance you shared in the great hall. Instinctively, you flinch when your shoulder blades collide with a marble pillar, causing you to bite down on his lip. 

A surprised hiss escapes his lips, followed by a low growl. 

Then, almost predictably, he dons his signature shit-eating smirk. He liked it. 

He hums as he lowers and plants a kiss on your neck, sucking a spot tender. "I think you missed me too, darling." Aemond has become a concoction of smugness and self-loathing, which makes for volatile tendencies as you witnessed in the Great Hall.

This won't make for a steady, healthy, calm affair. You just know it won't. But as he leaves a sure mark on your neck that causes the heat to pool down in your core, none of it matters.

You accept that Aemond is the poison you chose.

Gods, I'm starting to become melodramatic.

"Hmm?" he queries, and you realise that some of your private thoughts might have escaped the confines of your mind.

"Nothing."

He smirks, mostly to himself, gaze levelling with yours. He brings you closer, both hands gripping your waist, until your bodiced chest is pressed to the smooth leather of his tunic. From his height, he can't help but look down and enjoy the view.

A confession springs from his lips, without any hint of shame. "As much as you look good in that dress, darling," his gaze openly rakes over you, like a predator sizing up his prey, "it would look much more suited on the fucking floor."

Oh, damn him to the seven hells.

You’re so caught up in a haze, legs instinctively pressing together as a result of his lustful advances, that the oncoming clatter of heels against porcelain tile is almost imperceptible, but it snaps you out of it anyway.

“Aemond,” you grip his forearms and pry them away from you, having to use a bit more force now.

“Aemond!” Someone’s else voice echoes, closing in. It’s Alys, striding down the hall with sheer confidence. No doubt on her way to reclaim her date.

Her date. Not mine. What the hell am I doing?

You give him a withering look, and he straightens, folding his arms behind him.

“Alys,” he greets her coolly when she reaches the two of you.

“You can’t just run off like that,” she scolds, glancing at you just once before seemingly deciding you’re not worth the time. “They’re taking photos of everyone. You’re my partner. You need to present yourself with me.”

“There’s no rush,” Aemond says. And there truly isn’t. He knows that those bloody photographers would wait endlessly for him, of all people. No matter how long, just so they can get exclusive snaps of what people are deeming the return of the Prince of the City. “Give us a few minutes.”

"You've had more than a few minutes," Alys counters, unrelenting. Anyone else would've spun on their heel already, shirking under Aemond's pointed gaze. But not her. She's learned from having to deal with his moods.

And besides, he took her as his date. He owes her the satisfaction of having this as a part of her image. The city's most wanted bachelor with no one but her on his arm. Call her opportunistic, Alys doesn't care. This is the game, and she will play.

"Sweetheart," she says to you, the name not matching the condescension in her tone, "I believe Jace is looking for you too."

"Right, of course." You take a deep breath before finally walking away, hoping that the flush that's likely on your face doesn't give anything away.

Just before you pass by Alys, she says your name. Bringing a perfectly manicured finger to the corner of her lips, she dabs at it in some sort of gesture. "You've got a bit of lipstick there, sweetheart. Might want to tidy that up."

"Alys," Aemond warns, unamused by how Alys is sizing you up, like you're beneath her.

She knows. Of course she does.

Alys has a sneer that can make anyone feel like nothing but dirt on the sole of her high heels, but you stand your ground, despite the chill running up your spine. Her approach to you now is a drastic change from the friendly and poised confidence she sported when you first met her at the Targaryen penthouse.

Sparing Aemond a cursory glance, you address her with a self-assured smile of your own. "He's all yours. I'll leave you to it."

You feel both of them watch as you walk away. It might be all the glam and the buzz of the ball which leads to your next thought. Vain, but you let yourself have it anyway. Feeling like a runaway princess as your gown billows around your legs.

Aemond isn't yours. It was my mouth against his just a minute ago, his tongue dancing with mine.

When you return to the table, Jace immediately asks how it went, to which you just tiredly shrugged and said, "Uneventful."

He narrows his eyes at you. "You'll tell me later."

In the middle of your meal, Aegon approaches, clearly more sloshed drunk than he was before. Jace just watches him, with the calm recognition that this is not the uncle to watch out for.

"Hello, kids," Aegon leans against the table. He angles his head close to you, like he is about to divulge some secret. "Not that I was checking you out or anything, just saw it from where I was sitting over there and - "

"What do you want, Aegon?" Jace shakes his head, bored with his uncle's antics.

"Alright, alright!" Aegon playfully holds his hands up, wine glass and all. "No hostility from me, nephew. Just letting her know that maybe she should cover up my brother's work."

"What are you on about? Maybe drink some bloody water instead, mmm?" Jace counters.

His brother's work? Oh gods.

Your hand shoots up to your exposed neck, and the tender spot makes itself known as soon your fingers drift above it.

Jace's confused expression disappears when he realizes where your hand immediately went to. "Oh, really?"

You sigh guiltily. Scanning the table quickly, you don't find Aemond there to glare at. He must be posing for the cameras somewhere with his date. You find a friendlier face in Helaena, who catches on to your nervous expression.

She floats over to the small commotion of your little group, practically having to shove Aegon out of the way.

"You alright?" she asks sincerely, and you can't bring yourself to say, everything's fine, but I was wondering if you could lend me some concealer because your dear brother left something on my neck.

Thankfully, you don't have to. Or not thankfully, because Aegon does it for you in a way only he can.

Tapping on his own neck and gesturing to you, he explains, "Aemond's a monster, sis," through a graceless swig of firewine and then, "horny jail for him."

"Actually," he raises his arms like he's making some proclamation, "horny jail for both of you kids. Where is he anyway?"

"Leave it, Aegon." Helaena rolls her eyes, then offers her hand to you. "How about we run to the ladies room and take care of that?"

Thank the gods for Helaena.

"You owe me," she says, as the two of you head to the side of the hall, "and Aegon might be right."

"About what?"

She slaps your arm playfully, and you feign shock but a giggle slips out due to her expression.

"You and Aemond, I swear," she laughs dryly. "He's been even more sullen and emo since the accident - actually, the both of you have been - and now you're back to making out right in the middle of the ball!"

"We weren't - " you start to say, but you're met with Helaena's don't-you-dare kind of glare.

"It's your brother's fault, you know," you shrug as you enter the ladies room.

"Oh, I know," Helaena nods, pulling what she needs out of her purse. Right before she dabs concealer to the purplish spot on your neck, she can't help but smirk and add, "but still... horny jail for you."

- - - - - - - - - - 

Aemond doesn't know how much more of this he can take.

The cameraman clicks again, the damned flash is enough to blind his remaining eye.

Alys, being Alys, brought her own personal photographer to the ball. Which is fine, all things considered. She does this for every ball, every year. Aemond's well versed in her ways.

But for some reason, now it's driving him to be more irate.

She positioned them in a partially hidden alcove at the back of the hall. Something to do with a painting she wants to get captured as the background. But it's taking too long, and Aemond can sense the attention of some guests being piqued.

If they ask to take photos with him, too, Aemond just might pull off a runner and abandon the bloody ball.

But not without you.

Where were you anyway? One second you were at the table, then the next you were trailing after Helaena back out of the hall.

At least it was his sister you are with, and not Jacaerys. Or gods forbid, that degenerate Stark boy.

It wouldn't matter to Aemond that he's not his father's top boy, his most precious heir. Whatever pull he has with the Dragonstone empire, he will use against Winterfell Limited, if Cregan Stark ever thinks he can have his way with you.

He catches himself, mid-thought.

And she still thinks I'm not rotten.

"Aemond," Alys lightly digs her nails in his arm, smiling through gritted perfect teeth. "Smile, why don't you?"

"I am."

"Just one more."

So he does. Barely. But it's enough to placate her, and she quickly sifts through the photos.

Almost on instinct, like he's a moth drawn to your flame, he spies you and Helaena making your way back in the hall. Arm in arm, laughing to each other. You bite your lip as you lean in and whisper something in her ear, which makes her shake her head and laugh even harder.

Several heads turn as you pass by, and Aemond can't really blame them.

"Just like that," Alys says out the blue.

"What?" Aemond turns to her, unaware that she stands beside him once more, her photographer already dismissed.

"If only you smiled like that for our photos," she says. "It looks good on you."

Was he smiling? He didn't even notice.

You turn your head just before sitting back down at the table, and catch his eye even as he stands near the end of the hall.

You always will.

Aemond smiles.

- - - - - - - - - - 

preview: part six

You hear it. There's someone at your front door. Living alone has never given you much anxiety before, and you didn't think it would start tonight. But who could be knocking at your door past midnight, when you didn't buzz anyone in? You were never on close terms with your neighbours, either. 

You sit on your couch looking like a deer in headlights, staring at the door like it's supposed to silence the knocking. 

When did you get so wary? It could be Jace. It could be Helaena. But then again, they're not the type to show up unannounced. And also, you would have buzzed them -

Aemond's voice calls out your name, quieting your worries. 

You can sense hesitance in his tone. Almost embarrassed. Like he knows he shouldn't be here. 

"Aemond?" you find your voice, and go to open the door. You start to ask him just what the hell he's doing here, but the words get caught in your throat. 

"Hi, darling," he says weakly, obviously tired. "I didn't know where else to go." 

Something resembling a gasp escapes your lips when you fully take in the fresh bruise blooming under his right eye, in angry shades of maroon and violet. The skin split slightly, but thankfully his eye is untouched.

"Aemond, what - "

"Can I come in?"

Series taglist: @caught-in-the-afterglow @aemondtargaryensrider @punggo66 @dollfaceyourfear @candypurplebutterfly @moonmaiden1996 @mxrgodsstuff @lolitaisreal @blue-serendipity @melsunshine @thejanecampaign @fxngsfxgxrty @padfooteyes @msmarvel-19 @tempo-rary-fix @lauraneedstochill @julczimozart @sarcasticfangirl @witchyv @pyjama-shorts @bellaisasleep @zillahvathek @thincrusttheworks @krispold @yougotthatlove @raging-panda @fleetingly-artistic @throughgoeshamilton @polireader @katsav17 @minttea07 @kravitzwhore @meggiemay82 @hedonefox @daenysx @schniiipsel @namoreno @afro-hispwriter @aemondswifeisme @emcharra @malfoytargaryen @iiamthehybrid @fullmetalriotts @kellzlib @justsumtuffstuff @daydreamy-me @yentroucnagol @kezibear @queenofshinigamis @paprikaquinn

oh, Maroon...

My Aemondfire is decisively back <3 expect more of our favourite boy.

[ms-demeanor]

Atheist condolence card like "sucks that your grandpa no longer exists and you'll never see him again, oh well"

I mean, I'm looking for a condolence card for a Jewish family (found a pretty good one, will be adding a note about a shared memory of the deceased and hopes for the mourners that their memory may be a blessing).

But also I have no idea why people find the concept of an afterlife comforting. Legitimately, that is unappealing to me and the idea that I would be artificially separated from the people that I love and reintroduced to them after a period of separation if there was no need for that time of mourning and loss seems. Bullshit? It seems like bullshit? Capricious and cruel at best?

Anyway when my grandpa died we got a phone call when they tossed is ashes into the ocean and we never saw him again! Being reminded that we wouldn't see him in an afterlife wasn't the sad part, the sad part was knowing that we wouldn't know him anymore, that we'd be on one side of a growing divide, that there was a before and an after and we had left him behind while we had to move forward. It wouldn't have been comforting to think "well perhaps someday when I have lived my life without him, I will see him again in a place where nothing from this life (all the things that I have done, all the things that he taught me) will matter because they were worldly and unimportant."

What was comforting at that time, and after the very many family deaths that I have experienced (and I've experienced a lot! I've been comfortable with the idea that I'll never see my loved ones again when they're gone since I was a very small child!), and what I suspect is comforting even for religious people who have experienced a loss is to be reminded of the people who are still on the same side of that dividing line, who we can still love and adore and support and make memories with.

Anyway. I'm an atheist at least partially because of my grandfather, who was a magician and a skeptic and took great joy in skewering the supernatural. It would be an insult to his memory to think that he was an angel lighting up a star in heaven or whatever the christian condolence cards say.

My grandpa did a sexy comedy magical immolation of my grandmother in front of crowds; there was a devil on the flier.

(grandma's the one on the right)

Pictured: Not someone who had much reverence for death or much patience for the supernatural:

(Funny story, when my dad came to visit this week he saw a 2-post 52U server rack on the driveway from a distance and asked me "where did you guys get the guillotine? Did I leave that here?")

But my family is probably *unusually* atheist and irreverent.

For atheists in general I don't know why people think that it's more upsetting to acknowledge the truth (that once people are dead you won't see them anymore) than to be told "comforting" lies (that you will see dead people again at some mystical place that you have no access to or proof of).

I *hate* hearing "they're in a better place" when I'm mourning someone I loved because that's something that's comforting for a religious person to say but dismisses both the way that I mourn and (frequently in my family) the beliefs of the deceased. They are not in a better place, they are *gone* and I don't want to imagine that they're somewhere waiting for me to join them again, I want to remember them for who they were and accept that they aren't in my life anymore.

"They're in heaven now" "they're with the angels now" "they're with their maker" - none of those things are true and they reflect an extremely limited worldview that I don't share and find pretty insipid actually! Thank you for trying to comfort me you are doing a poor job of it I'm going to go hang out and talk to someone who actually knew them and we'll share stories of what an asshole they were and what kind of crazy nonsense they got up to and what a big, important part of our lives they were and we'll start trying to make sense of how to fill the hole left behind with something practical and joyful and fun and honest that they would have loved instead of cardboard angel wings.

[eskir]

formal dance - vampire!sunday x reader

yada yada, i haven’t written for sunday in a while (also the hsr sunday reddit is a cult, somehow??? (i’m not against it tho lmao)) but have this. i have some world building ideas and may expand, but for now enjoy a little writing from me (and my eepy self) gn!reader as always

the tales of vampires, sunday had discovered over the course of his new life, were quite misguided. perhaps that could be due to the tales originating from many amber eras ago, but a sly smile was still brought to his face when he saw his reflection in the mirror.

he was quite fortunate, sunday had thought to himself before. it would be annoying if he were unable to peer at himself and adjust his clothes accordingly: smoothing out any creases and tucking his hair so that no strands were sticking out. he had to look his best. even if mr. gopher wood was no longer around, sunday still clung onto those old habits and teachings.

adjust the glasses on the table, eyes wandering over the ballroom critically, and a polite smile on his face as he wandered around. although, the word wander did imply a certain lack of direction, so no, sunday only appeared to be wandering. in reality, he was mingled with key figures of the main five family figures of penacony, simple greetings and the like, before standing by your side.

he hands a flute of champagne to you, your favorite, with a coy smile. “are you enjoying yourself my dear?” a simple question, yet all too formal, but that was simply the nature of these kinds of gatherings.

“yes,” a genuine smile on your face, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you gesture at your outfit and then back at his, “which dressmaker did you employ this time? give my compliments to them, the feeling of the fabric is otherworldly.”

sunday looks at you fondly, and you’re struck with the knowledge that his affection is only shown vaguely, through gestures or purposeful micro expressions. “they are old pieces, just well maintained with multiple alterations for your size,” he chuckles, “i’ll give your compliments to the one who did the alterations.”

your champagne glass is half empty as he plucks it out of your hand and onto the server’s plate passing by. “but enough about that, let’s dance.”

there was only a moment for your eyes to widen and protest at the disappearing glass before he whisks you onto the dance floor with such graceful movements that makes your stumble seem purposeful. he is a vampire, that fact is brought to the very forefront of your brain when he brings his face close to your neck. your heart skips a beat, but then you are twirled around the room. you manage to eventually catch up with the tempo of the song, your feet now moving alongside his as he shoots you a closed eye smile.

he’s glad that you adapted well, and he didn’t mean any harm when taking you into the dance floor, that much is apparent when you look into his golden navy eyes. mirth and joy swirl in his eyes, in fact, alongside that very familiar fondness as you both lose yourself to this dance. it ensnares you both in its joyous grasp, like the way fae entrance foolish mortals. but one of you isn’t mortal, and the other isn’t foolish enough to not stop when the musicians take their pause.

applause. loud and raucous. it’s been far too long since sunday has last danced.

sunday’s eyes crinkle slightly as he looks towards you, his hand around your waist as you both stand up from the bow. “thank you all,” and back is his polite smile, those closed eyes and perfect aura, “i hope you all will enjoy the festivities as much as i enjoyed dancing with my beloved.”

there is only a slight chuckle from him, but the rest of the crowd quickly imitates it, before the chatter resumes and the attention is brought elsewhere.

“come, i have a surprise for you,” he murmurs against your ear, pulling away with a grin, his sharp fangs showing, “and i promise that it won’t be as unpleasant as me guiding you off for a dance.”

you snort out a laugh, shaking your head as sunday had already brought you several paces from the ballroom. there’s no one else around here, so you aren’t forced to put on airs anymore, a fact you merrily take advantage of. “i think you owe me for that surprise,” you roll your eyes at him playfully, “and don’t tell me to come when you’ve already whisked me out of the ballroom and to the front of our room sunday.”

he huffs with a smile, opening the door and closing it behind you two. “well i’ll make it up to you in the coming weeks,” he breathed, moving closer to you as his wings brushed against your face, “but for now let’s relax.”

his hands gently take your jacket off of you, folding it neatly and draping it over the chair nearby, “alright?”

a soft hum from you, “alright love.”

and when the night had already ended, the bright sun rising to the occasion, you two were already tucked away in the shadows of your room, small smiles and intermingling breaths.

[emlovessid]

@jegulus-microfic may 2, delight, 472 words for @pupmotif <3 may our love story live on forever

When he looks back on it in years to come, it’s hard to believe that this all began in an online server with just a simple message, a message that would change the trajectory of both of their lives forever.

But what starts as just one message, becomes another, and then another until Regulus finds himself pavloved into smiling whenever he hears the telltale ding of a notification. James’ messages become such an integral part of his day to day, an endless stream of I just spilled my coffee, this is the worst day ever and nevermind, I just saw a squirrel to why are you online, shouldn’t you be asleep and pot calling the kettle black, we’re in the same timezone, idiot.

When James tells him that he’s going to be in town for a concert, the very same concert that Regulus himself is going to be at, Regulus is perhaps a little too eager in agreeing to meet up.

“Hi,” Regulus says, eyeing up the James standing in front of him compared to the James he’s only ever seen through his phone screen.

“Hi.”

“You’re taller than I thought you’d be,” he blurts out, which makes James laugh, and it’s all over for Regulus then.

If he thought his obsession with James was bad before, it’s nothing compared to this. Now that he knows what his laugh sounds like face to face, what his body feels like pressed against his as they hug, what he smells like where Regulus has his nose tucked into his chest, he’s not sure that words on a screen will ever be enough for him again.

“Is it crazy that I miss you, when we’ve literally only met for five minutes?” James says one night on a voice call.

The delight he feels at James’ words hits Regulus square in the chest where he’s lying on his side in bed, his phone on loud speaker on his pillow beside him.

“If it’s crazy, then I’m crazy too,” Regulus whispers.

What’s perhaps more crazy, is flying across the country to go to a concert with someone you’ve met literally once for barely more than a conversation. But here Regulus is, after months and months of messages and phone calls and the phantom touch of a hug Regulus wishes he could live in forever, standing at a train station in James’ home city.

The world seems to slow down when he sees James through the crowd. Regulus is about to make a joke that he can’t believe they actually went through with the matching t-shirts, but James doesn’t break his stride for even a second as he steps right into Regulus’ space, hands coming up to cradle his face between his hands as he pulls him into a bruising kiss.

Maybe it’s not so crazy after all.

[gojosatoruwifey]

ㅡ恭喜发财

✑ greeting everyone as lunar new year enters ♡(◕ᗜ◕✿)

✿ warning/s: fluff, jealousy, slight sexual insinuation, swearing, use of chinese terms, nothing much has changed it's just chung myung with a dragon tail, starts with pbss and ends with mhdd, let me know if i missed something!

✿ character/s: chung myung/cheong myeong, g/n! reader

✿ alt. title: telltale tail

📜🖋️🎀SUPPORT MY KO-FI🎀🖋️📜

straight and thumping on the ground impatiently. fast rhythm beat with 0.95-second intervals.

—and with that crease between his eyebrows, pout so evident in his lips, eyes boring through the side of your head. there’s no need to turn front to see the literal dragon of mount hua is displeased at the slow pace of his order shīzitóu. it’s not like you can afford to flat-out be rude to the half-huili jing server eagerly asking for more affirmations about their restaurant’s food. goodness, you’re not chung myung…

“the sauce? is it sweet enough? or perhaps you like it sticky…” the half huili jing server’s voice lowered in a purr. “..daozhang?”

you’re about to correct the server when a sarcastic, gruff voice enters the conversation. “no, they don’t like sweets that much and they prefer thin consistency sauce to sticky.”

speaking of, your companion finally spoke up. the entire time chung myung is either grunting or clicking his tongue to respond as you put out the orders on the menu. you wanted to let out a heavy sigh but held it in. he spoke up but at what cost?

chung myung tapped his palm on the table a little bit too hard. “put the shīzitóu down. that’s what i ordered.”

faced with the natural hierarchy’s top one, how could a huili jing fight against a dragon? even more to a half huili jing? with a graceful movement, the half huili jing set out the tray full of appetizing meals rich in different flavours and seasonings.

the silence was too loud despite the busy chatter heard outside the private room and so, once the sulky half huili jing strolled away, you picked up the chopstick, ready to eat. that’s how you and chung myung spent the rest of the evening with occasional banters, two unfilled cups holding beads of alcohol, and an abandoned bottle of peach baijiu in the side.

moves languidly

the elders and the youths alike have watched a certain senior-junior pair dance around with each other. be it when they are younger than they are now—the plum blossoms in winter’s seasonal bloom and summer’s jovial heat sighing at the young man finding himself to get the point across and you dodging every little thing almost nil. the terrified junior brothers betting on who will try to make a move first.

so far the winning score is on those who placed bets on chung myung’s side…

a group of junior brothers set aside their lunch once they saw the two together with the taller one carrying a box with decorative materials for the spring festival and the other having a ladder.

you propped the ladder to the wall and started climbing on it while chung myung set the box down.

“will the elder make a move?”

“shush.”

“come on, shixiong. he is right. how about we bet if the elder makes a move on them this time?” junior brother lu nodded to the oblivious pair. he pushed his lunch forward, “i’ll bet my lunch set a, elder chung myung will make a move.”

junior brother ming, the shixiong, responded dryly. “i’ll bet mine he will not.”

“i’m with brother lu!”

“shixiong, you can’t possibly think elder will not when you also saw him–”

“watch.”

“huh?” instinctively, junior brother lu inclined his head just to see you playing with the ends of the red lantern for the spring festival, let it brush to your senior’s nose as chung myung sneezed. sending you a harmless glare as you laugh loudly. elder chung myung may be directing witty remarks to you but this little junior brother lu can see the tail of the elder languidly swishing behind him.

he sighs and thinks, elder chung myung is almost never too honest and yet his tail is saying otherwise. 

wiggles in excitement

a new series of tomorrow awaits as the booming fireworks line up to the dark skies, below were the firecrackers noisy and frizzled. the sect adorned in red lanterns and spring couplets can be seen hanging on the doors. the disciples of mount hua gather all around in different places; some are in the dining hall, some are burning bamboo sticks and firecrackers, laughter fills up the festive mood, and some are watching the abundant glowing light flutters seen above to the lowered ground.

a single stick fell out from the fortune shaker.

you stare at it, losing interest in picking it up as each second passes by until the black-clad swordsman nudges you with his shoulder in a bump, snickering. “will you look at that.”

you can’t believe the gods had decided to be mean to you on the eve of the spring festival. the harmonious atmosphere feels like mocking you as the fortune stick reads ‘misfortune.’

then you shove the stick back into the cylinder, shake it violently, a stick falls out and you’re miniscule away throwing away the damn fortune shaker. tsk, should’ve known it’s a sham.

chung myung clutches his stomach from too much hysterical fits as he then grabs one of your hands that was choking the cylinder. surprised at his gentle touch, chung myung easily slides his fingers between the gaps of yours as his stare pins at you with a gaze swirling playful pink billows, night light kissed skin. suddenly, peering up into him through the shadows settled by the moon feels intimate as the two of you sit on the rooftop.

“there,” he whispered. “i’m sharing half of my great fortune with you.”

you swallowed thickly, wanting to squeeze your heart to shut up. 

a comical exclaim escapes out of you, shiny eyes admiring him, “gege!”

chung myung reacts to your address with a sudden burst of triumph. his tail wags frantically, displaying his excitement. hearing you calling him 'gege' has clearly delighted him, and he seems eager to engage whatever his mind is scheming.

[journeysfable]

Making this it's own post cause I think I already made an ask about Gem's lore in Martyn's inbox and don't want to bother him about it anymore

Anyway I think Gem is more powerful than the watchers

hear me out

(this is both me presenting an idea for the Eyes and Ears lore and also me begging people to pay more attention to Gem's lore pls am lonely over in the loving Gem's lore corner) (And this also accidentally turned in A Character Gem character study of sorts I think. Oops)

During the Empire's crossover, Scar, in at least Joel's pov, said "did anyone else think this was a new life series?" cc!Scar had no reason to ask such a question meaning he was in character and his character, who just came from the Hermitcraft world and was now in the Empires world, wondered if he was in a life series game, which puts all three servers in the same universe imo. For at least Scar.

In the crossover Gem revealed her HC and Esmp characters were one and the same and that her character is a being that can casually move between worlds by sleeping, an ability no one else had. And because she can just hop between worlds and slip into whatever role fits best for that world and she doesn't realize that not everyone is just playing like she is.

A person is merely a costume to c!Gem.

And again, this is 100% canon

From "I have a SECRET?! Empires x Hermitcraft" "I have a secret. You see, when you join a Minecraft world you can be anyone that you want to be. Sometimes I'm a princess, but sometimes I change. And then I'm an elf. And in some worlds, I'm just me. And you see, where I'm from. That's kind of normal."

And then the following line has something interesting in it.

"One day I was just walking casually in the Empires world, playing DnD as I always do as a princess with my friends."

The Empires world is a game of DnD to c!Gem. That's haha silly meta but if you've watched the other esmp povs you know not everyone's character is role playing.

Like yea the content creators are role playing but Sausage's character is not roleplayong. But Gem's character is.

For example: In Empire's Shubbble plays Shelby the witch. Geminitay plays Geminitay the world hopping larper. Shelby the witch isn't larping, though.

But Geminitay The World Hopping Larper is seemingly not aware of this.

Further evidence that c!Gem is so powerful and used to playing a character she doesn't realize that Real People exist comes in "Exanding my Medieval Kingdom! Empires x Hermitcraft"

After patiently explaining to Sausage that she can move between worlds and that she's role playinng, Gem is greatly confused by the fact that Sausage (who through the whole season has been hopping across time and space by accident) can't control his abilities.

And at first it's seemed like Gem was aware that Sauasage wasn't roleplaying as she explained her world hopping and role playing to him. But then his freak out causes Gem to make this comment that I can't tell if it came from cc!Gem poking fun at cc!Sausage or c!Gem realizing that c!Sausage isn't roleplaying "He's not role playing is he? That's genuine. He's actually crazy"

There are a lot of implications that come with the fact that Gem doesn't even realize that the other Empires members aren't roleplaying. What else does she not realize because she can move between the worlds and be whovever she wants on a whim?

In "Empires 2: Building my BEST Medieval Minecraft Village!" Gem says she's a celestial being.

What does that mean? Well, the word celestial means related to the sky or heaven and is synonomous with heavenly, planetary, stellar, and godlike.

It may allude to the fact her name is Geminitay, a constellation(stellar). But it also sort of implies she's a fucking god or at least similar to one.

So what does all this have to do with Eyes and Ears lore?

I think c!Gem is so powerful it makes her dangerously naive. Not to herself but to others. Because she's possibly so powerful she potentially doesn't realize that danger exists.

And perhaps she's so powerful that the watchers can't feed on her emotions. Or at least not all of them.

Or maybe they're too scared to. Afraid of what she could to do them if they angered her in any way.

[solarangels777]

scenarios in your minecraft life !

baking a cake for the first time! esp if you have mods for like the creeper cake n shh <3 getting the milk, the wheat, the sugar and the egg for the original cake with your mc friends :D

surviving your first night! whether that be with other players or by yourself, it'll be an experience... whether you make it into a villager's house or if you end up blocking yourself in a cave is up to you! but one things for sure.... you may not rest... there are monsters nearby

PLAYING (and winning ofc) build battles or bed wars! channeling my inner itsfunneh with this and basically creating a "safe base" around my bed with tons of blocks outside ahaha

taming your first dog/cat... esp watching your dog go from a wolf to a dog!

finding your first diamond... over lava and watching as it sizzles and sparks, bright orange red over the stone, beside a shimmer of obsidian, and then... the greatest ore of all time!

looking so so good in armor :D it's heavy but not a bad heavy! protects you perfectly!

typing in chat! all across the server, you can talk with their communicators and, for a bit of drama, perhaps you even have your communicator stolen or lost...

whenever i think of minecraft, i think of the found family trope so picture you and a group of other players just bonding together, each having your own histories, as your spawn points get closer and closer every day

someone taking care of you after suffering from the aftereffects of potions :)!

SPEAKING PIGLIN.

learning the enchanted table :D

exploring an unknown biome and coming across a new player nobody has ever met before

[finniestoncrane]

Arkham!Black Mask with a female S/O who's his fling/sugar baby ... not giving him any attention to taunt him at a party or just being a brat! To which he later spanks them on his lap ... perhaps fingering, edging, and orgasm control + denial may pursue—toss in the Daddy kink too < 3

Thank you 🫶🖤

Arkham!Black Mask x Fem!Reader, word count: 850 aheeeeeeem i can't imagine anyone being brave enough to give this man some attitude but it would be so fun to rile him up to the point that he just has to punish you 💀 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: spanking, fingering, ruined orgasm/orgasm denial

Sauntering into Roman's bedroom, you could make out his form on the edge of the bed. He'd waited for you, growing all the more impatient with every minute you had him sitting there. His fingers tensed, scratching at the fabric of his white, neat pants, as you tossed your hair so flippantly. The scent of your perfume floated over to him, and for a brief moment, just a millisecond, he was placated. But that reminder of how sweet you smelled only server to anger him more, knowing you were withholding from him and had been all evening.

"Would you hurry the fuck up."

Turning to him, no expression on your face, you responded to his harsh demand.

"Oh. Were you waiting on me, Roman?"

Though his skull was fitted with a permanent scowl, you could feel his own forming underneath it, the atmosphere of the room changing as he decided he'd had enough of your insolence for one evening. He'd put up with your ignoring him, tolerated your bratty attitude when he'd demanded you sit beside him and look pretty, but the nonchalant way you responded to him had pushed him to the edge.

As you made your way past him he grabbed at your wrist, leather gloved hands gripping you firmly as his fingers tensed around, pushing tendons and bones as he held you there. You didn't fight it, you accepted it. But you allowed yourself to keep a neutral, almost blank expression in the face of his attempt at regaining control of you.

"You can try and keep that face on all you want, you little bitch. But I'm not gonna make it easy for you."

Another quick tug, your shoulder almost yanked from the socket, as he jerked your body down, pushing your back and adjusting you roughly until you were bent over his lap facing the ground.

The palm of his glove skimmed up over your thigh, not stopping at the hem of your skirt but rather pushing it up, exposing your underwear to him. As his fingers reached your lower back, he hooked them into the band of your panties, pulling them down aggressively, tearing at them as they dug into your thighs on their way down your legs. His hand was smoothing over your bare ass cheeks in soft, careful circles as he lined up his shot. And then he lifted his hand, bringing it back down with a sharp strike, an immediate, red welt forming on your skin.

You took the punishment gleefully, as always, relishing in the way you could feel his cock stirring in his pants, stiffening against your stomach as he delighted in seeing your skin respond to the pain he inflicted.

He let his palm slide over your rear, following the curve of your cheek before settling flat between your legs against your cunt. A finger teased your swollen lips, moving from side to side to separate them, letting your slick spread over them as he collected it on the gloved digit. You shifted your body, trying to force the finger inside of you, desperate to feel him, not wanting to wait anymore, but you were quickly punished with a swift slap to your cheeks, and Roman's deep groan before he began tutting.

"Uh-uh. I don't think so, toots. You think you can get what you want that easily?"

You shook your head, fighting the urge to nod and piss him off further, knowing that riling him up would make for wilder sex, but would mean you had to wait longer for it.

"You gonna use your words?"

"No."

"No?"

Biting your lip to stifle the moan, you settled your breathing before giving him the answer he wanted.

"No, daddy."

"Good girl. Why can't you behave like that all the time, huh?"

It was out before you could stop yourself. A quick retort that made his cheeks warm, flushed with arousal and a little bit of rage at your insolence.

"Because you don't like it when I behave. You like it when I'm bad, Romy."

Two of his fingers pressed into you, rough and fast, surprising you with how easily he could slide himself inside of you. He tapped against your walls, watching you squirm around him, clenching and giggling as he orchestrated your building arousal. It was effortless, there wasn't much Roman couldn't do, and bringing you to orgasm with just the touch of his fingers was certainly something he could achieve. And he was close to doing so. As he growled, fingers pumping within your wet, warm cunt, you could feel your stomach muscles tightening, eyes closing as you felt your vision blur.

And then it was over. Everything grinding to a screeching halt, your moans devolving into a deep groan of confusion and irritation as you felt your climax being pulled away with the tips of his fingers as they exited your body, dripping in your slick.

With a pout, you turned to him, trying to catch his eye. You could hear his laugh in his throat, deep and cruel.

"And you like it when I'm bad, yeah?"

[da-rulah]

A Personal Ritual - Cardinal Copia x gn! reader

This fic was inspired by the incomparably talented @delulluart. When she dropped the initial sketch into our discord server, I lost my mind, and wrote this for her. Now she's finished the final painting, we've decided to collaborate...

GO AND LOOK AT THIS GORGEOUS PAINTING HERE

(If you don't go and check out this painting you will find me standing above your bed at 3:00am wielding something shiny and sharp.)

Summary: After a wonderfully sinful night in your lover's embrace, you catch him in a moment of domestic bliss that has you falling in love all over again...

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Barely any, tooth rotting fluff, some worship elements, hints at previous smut, teasing and flirtation, nudity

These sheets are softer than your own. Perhaps they’re the reason you continue to spend the night here instead of in your own bed. It couldn’t have anything to do with the warm body that usually occupied it at all, could it?  

Except that warm body wasn’t next to you right now. It wasn’t beside you, on top of you, or under you. Even the warmth hadn’t lingered, the emptiness cool and uninviting as you stretched your hand across the mattress in search of your lover. Sleep had only just begun to evade you, and opening your eyes to a golden morning sun was simply not yet in the cards, so instead you patted the mattress over and over, yet to no avail. 

With a subtle sigh, you roused your head from the pillow, squinting as the light attacked your retinas. The sheets concealed the evidence of a night well spent; nude skin peppered with marks only a lover could make. Your muscles ached as you stretched yourself out, still reaching and hoping he may appear at your fingertips if you just wished hard enough.  

As you came around, you thought maybe that was exactly what had happened, spotting movement from the corner of your eye. The bathroom door was wide open, steam still pouring out of it like an atmospheric addition, special effects that just seemed to follow this dreamy man around. That movement you’d spotted had been him, stepping out of the shower and wrapping himself with a towel around his waist. Regrettably, you’d missed the best part, but even now you could see the way the muscles in his back flexed when he moved, the freckles over his shoulders that cascaded down his spine, the dip where the towel dug into the softness of his hips, tied a little too tight... 

His hair was getting longer, grey starting to speckle through the roots. He must have just towel dried it, the strands damp and wild in all manner of twists and curls but of course, they almost looked intentionally done. You shifted in the bed, laying your head on the pillow and snuggling back into the sheets at an angle that allowed you to watch him reach into the cabinet above the sink and gather products and tools to get himself ready for the day. As of yet, he hadn’t noticed you were awake let alone watching him, lost in his own little routine. 

He shut the cabinet, the mirrored glass of the door now lining up perfectly with his face, projecting an image of him back to you. A shadow was forming across his jawline; the same shadow that had left its mark on you the night before, grazing the sensitive skin across your body. Stubble looked good on him, you always thought, wondering what it would look like should he decide to grow it out like the rest of his moustache. But no, you liked this look; the face you’d fallen in love with to begin with, with its signature lonely moustache and carefully sculpted sideburns. 

He fiddled with something in front of him out of view, then lifted a brush to his face that he swiped in circles against his stubbled skin, painting it white with a creamy substance that from here smelled like citrus – but then, that could be any number of products he’d used in the shower too. He traced the circular pattern over his stubble, reaching it down his neck as he stretched and covering every inch of darkened skin. He lidded the product and stacked it on the edge of the sink, now reaching for a shiny little thing he’d already laid out.  

With an expert flick of his wrist, it unfolded, a glinting silver blade unsheathing itself from the brilliant red of the marbled handle. When he leaned forward, he stretched his neck with a lean to one side, lining the blade up against his skin and in one quick, clean motion he’d swiped a stripe up to the sharp edge of his jawline. The blade was wiped off on a cloth draped over the sink, then brought to do the same thing again next to the already created strip of clean, smooth skin.  

You'd never seen him do this before, but you were enraptured – privileged, even... It was you and you alone that had the honour bestowed upon them to watch the man you loved in his most humble and domestic of moments, to see the parts of him that nobody else in the world got to see just because they were usually saved for him, and him alone. While you’d spent many an intimate night in his bed, sharing your bodies and souls in every way a lover can, these were the moments that felt truly intimate.  

There was only ever one person in the world who would see him in moments like these and however simple or mundane these little tasks were, they were humanising and so normal. The man before you was anything but normal with the life he led, the talents he possessed and the future he had ahead of him but those were things he shared with everyone. Much like his rituals, these moments were also planned and served a purpose and yet they were personal to him, and him only – until you. It was the normal moments, these ‘personal rituals’ that made him so special to you, and you alone.  

The razor continued to scrape along his neck in clean swipes, glinting in the bathroom light and sounding with a familiar scrape and ring of the metal. With his neck smooth and clean, he moved onto his face, carefully guiding the razor’s swipes to give him the sharp, clean edges of his sideburns on either side if his face. You’d always wondered how he got them to such a sharp point like this, but it was clear now; especially knowing he used a straight razor to do so. He’d clearly had years of practise perfecting his signature looks, avoiding his moustache yet tidying it to two thinner, well-kept halves.  

As he worked, your eyes drifted over him as they often did at any given moment. But these quiet moments of intimacy were ones you spent time burning into your memory, the details kept safe and hidden for only you. In his reflection, you watched as the muscles and tendons in his neck stretched and flexed with each lean forward and swipe of his razor. The more you watched, the more your eyes committed the details of his shoulders and chest to memory; the freckles, the dark hair that settled over his chest and barely concealed his tattoo, then tapered off into a trail to disappear beneath the low hanging towel. His stomach looked soft and warm where he kept leaning against the edge of the sink, the porcelain digging into the flesh just as his towel did his hips.  

There wasn’t a single thing you didn’t adore about him. There wasn’t a single thing you would change. All of it you would sync into your memories in a collection of things you never wanted to forget the sight of.  

Now clean of the shaving cream from his face, he took the washcloth he’d been using as a wipe rag and ran it under the faucets, cleaning away the excess he’d missed between swipes of his blade. Once clean, he ran the cloth over his freshly smooth face, a satisfying hum rumbling from his chest at the warm sensation of soft cotton on polished skin.  

Part of his routine included a moisturiser, dabbing it onto his forehead, cheeks, chin and one on the nose with a tiny little “heh” sound that encouraged a lazy little smile on your lips. He rubbed it in gently, similar circular motions to before with the shaving cream.  

He reached for a little blue glass bottle, pouring a liquid onto his fingertips and lathering them up before patting them against the freshly shaved skin of his neck. A hiss pushed itself from between his teeth, his nose wrinkling as he patted the liquid into the skin quickly, like the speed would help the sting of cologne on recently opened pores.  

“Ah, shit,” he muttered to himself, endearingly silly and something else you loved so dearly about him. You didn’t hold back the small giggle that bubbled in your throat but unfortunately now, that meant you had his attention. You were no longer peacefully watching your lover from afar, your show interrupted. 

His head moved only slightly, but his eyes somehow found you in the reflection of the mirrored cabinet door. They were wide at first, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t or had forgotten in his routine that you were present at all. But they soon softened, seeing you draped in his sheets, still breathtakingly beautiful in your sleepy state. His lips curled into a fond smile, and he wiped his hands on the towel around his hips while he quickly tidied away the products and tools, every so often checking back in the reflection that you hadn’t disappeared only to find you still watching him with hooded, lazy eyes.  

His own little sacred ritual complete, he wondered over to you, towel clinging to his hips for dear life until he stopped by the edge of the bed in front of you. You met him there on your knees, holding the sheets under your armpits with only the smallest and cheekiest amount of skin from your arms and collarbone displayed to him. He lifted a hand to trail his fingertips down your bare arm, lifting your hand in his and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to the back of your palm.  

“You were watching, eh?” he asked, his accent deeper and thicker as the first he’d spoken aloud this morning.  

“Admiring,” you corrected him, holding the sheet against your chest with your free hand.  

“I see...” he mused, another kiss being planted to your hand. His eyes scanned the parts of your body he could see, marks from your long and impassioned night together still very visible on your skin. His eyes darkened at the sight, a need rising in him to always create more. He tugged you to his chest, using the pads of his fingertips to trace the bursts of colour across your neck and collarbone while he held you there, other hand still in yours.  

As if by instinct, you leaned your head to the side to accommodate him, stretching your neck like he had as he was shaving to elongate the space in which his fingers danced. He leaned in, pressing delicate kisses to each bruise and each mark he had left there. In contrast to his stubbly, rushed and feral kisses and bites from last night, you were met with the smoothest skin against yours and featherlight pecks as if trying to heal them. You weren’t sure which you preferred; both were divine. 

“You tempt me to stay like un succubo diabolico (a demonic succubus),” he whispers against your skin, goosebumps raising across every inch. How badly you wanted him to stay... You would take every second you could with him.  

“Is it working?” you asked with a playful lilt to your tone, yet the breathiness in your voice gave away your bubbling arousal. Lips continued to press against the marks, the tip of his nose dragging across the skin from one point to the next like he was drawing constellations from the bursts of colour he’d made last night.  

“Sí, sí,” he mumbled into your neck, “cediamo alla tentazione in questa cappella... (we give in to temptation in this chapel...)”  

He felt the chuckle that left your throat and broke away from you long enough to find your lips with his. The hand still holding yours squeezed against his chest and you forgot about the sheets precariously held up under your armpit when you wrapped your arm around his neck to deepen the kiss, fingers finding purchase in the damp curls on his head.  

He let go of your hand, instead, whipping the towel from his hips and gripping onto your waist, kneeling on the bed with you as you scooted back to the middle, never letting him go. He felt warm against you, his body pressing so deliciously to yours.  

“I don’t want to get you into trouble, Cardinal...” you teased, brushing your nose with his.  

“Amore, you have been doing so since the day I let you into my bed,” he grinned devilishly, bringing his lips back to yours as he toppled the two of you over and back into his sheets. The two of you could think of your excuses later; for now, there was no denying the palpable need that the intimacy of his personal rituals had stirred. A man, with so much power to his name and weight to his shoulders, boiled down to a moment of banality reserved for only the one closest to him.  

Oh, how deep you had fallen for your Cardinal...  

Once again, please go and check out THIS ARTWORK that inspired this. @delulluart put an initial sketch of this into our discord server, and she triggered this brain dump. This is all on her.