#I'm so fucking sick of going out of my way to do things correctly in time and to a decent standard

[kawaiigirly21]

Gem of Olympus 6

"Wait, say that again. I'm afraid I didn't hear you correctly. You…want…her…back?” Apollo stared at his brother as he sat across from him in the large garden. “Yes Apollo! I want her back! I-i miss her. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can barely look at Aphrodite without wishing she was… Natasha… I still love her. I don't think I ever stopped…” Ares put his head in his hands. This was one of the very first times he displayed his true emotions in front of anyone besides the goddess he was previously married to.

Apollo sighed as he took his eyes away from his brother to look at his wine glass. “Look Ares, I'm sure your feelings are genuine but do you know how much you hurt her? She unraveled because of you. Her confidence became undone. And so did her clothing. She went around starting affairs to compensate for what you did to her. She never once doubted her beauty until you planted those seeds of deceit and pain. She simply did all those things to feel beautiful again. To regain some semblance of power. Control.”

Ares could do nothing but simply listen to his brother as he spoke words of truth to him. His ears now finally opened and his mind cleared to truly understand what he had done. “I don't doubt your love for her, Ares. In fact when you two first started courting, I had never seen you so happy. But she's no longer yours. And if you want her back. If you want to be her husband once more, you have a lot to work on.” Apollo then stood from his chair and walked past his sulking brother.

“Now if you'll excuse me, I do have to get going. I do believe I hear mortals praying for me to heal their sick. Till tonight brother.” Ares simply waved his brother off and made his way out of the garden. He knew Apollo was telling the truth. He had much to work on. Such as getting rid of Aphrodite. Elsewhere on Olympus, Poseidon and Hera were planning his proposal. As Hera was the goddess of marriage, she jumped at the opportunity to help her brother wed Natasha.

“She did say she liked Dolphins right? Or was it tiger sharks… this is stressing me out…” Poseidon sighed as his eyes scanned the parchment in front of him. “It was indeed tiger sharks. Please don't let this bother you. It's just a proposal. It's not the wedding… yet.” Poseidon nodded before grabbing a pen. “I just want this to be perfect… I love her Hera… I truly do..” Hera smiled warmly. “I know you do. I can tell. Now back to the planning, you want to do this when?” Poseidon quickly answered. “The day after tomorrow! I don't want to wait any longer!”

While the two continued their planning, Hades, Persephone and Natasha were playing with Cerberus. “Come on boy! Come on! Go get it!!” Natasha smiled brightly as she watched the three headed dog run off to fetch the log she threw. “It's hard to believe he used to be so small you could hold him in one hand. Now look at him.” Persephone put a loving hand on her niece's shoulder as she led her to their usual table. “We have much to discuss my dear.” Hades spoke as he took a seat besides her.

Natasha knew exactly what it was they were about to discuss and smiled as the gossip flew. “Then she claimed she didn't know I was there. Can you believe that?” Natasha sipped her tea as she listened closely to her uncle's story. “Ugh unbelievable!” She added. “I personally wouldn't have tolerated such disrespect!” Persephone said. Once every month, Natasha traveled to the underworld for 3 days to spend time with her aunt and uncle. Most of the time, it was tea, cakes and all the gossip they could stand.

Other times....“Ah! Oh! There! There! Mm!!” Hades growled in Natasha's ear as he took her from behind. “Put that mouth to good use, darling.” Persephone purred as she led Natasha's head to her pussy. “Ah~ good girl~ mm~” Hades smirked as he pushed himself deeper into Natasha's weeping cunt. “Agh shit!! So tight you are little one! Fuck!!” Persephone smiled as she pet Natasha’s head. “Oh fuuuuck~ You’re too good at this~”

Later that day, Natasha laid in her bed reminiscing about her past affairs and her previous lovers while petting her lion. “Hmmm Hercules gave you to me. You big ball of fluff.” The nemean lion simply yawned while snuggling close to her. “Not much to say on that. You’re so spoiled.” As Natasha looked up at her ceiling, she heard a soft yet firm knock at her door. “It's open.” Fully expecting to see Hermes, considering his knocks were the only kind that sounded that way, the goddess’ eyes widened when the man in her chambers was not in fact Hermes but Ares.

“Do you have a minute?” He asked with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Um…sure. What is it?” Natasha moved from her lying position to sitting up with Leo, her lion, moving to place his head on her lap and continue his nap. “I um..here. These are for you. They’re your favorite right?” Ares asked as he pulled a bouquet of belladonnas from behind him. “Yes they are. I didn’t know you knew. Place them on my night table. I’ll vase them once Leo moves his large head.” The war god nodded as he placed the flowers down and stood in front of Natasha awkwardly.

“You may sit Ares. I’m not forcing you to stand.” As the god found a chair to sit in, Natasha watched confused. Why was he so awkward and nervous? He wasn’t even like that when they first started courting. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other night…and for …everything…” This threw Natasha for a major fucking loop. Ares? Apologizing?! Since when!? “Oh well…You’re forgiven…at what cost though?” Natasha eyed her Ex husband suspiciously. “What do you mean? Can I not apologize without having an ulterior motive?”

Natasha immediately shook her head and stroked Leo’s mane while he purred loudly. “No. Not from what I've seen.” Ares sighed as his head hung low. “I beg for your forgiveness. Not for the benefit of myself, but for my love for you…” Natasha’s eye twitched as she watched in disbelief.

"Your love for me? When did you ever have love for me?! You cannot just come in here Ares and expect me to embrace you with open arms! After what you did to me?! You’re grateful that I even accepted your flowers and allowed you into my chambers! You want my forgiveness?! Work for it! Now…If you'll excuse me, I must get ready for bed. Goodnight.” Ares left the room tight lipped and humiliated. It wasn’t as if he expected her to take him back right away but he definitely wasn’t expecting that reaction either.

As the war god moved to make his way to his own room, He stopped in his tracks when his ears caught the condescending chuckle of his uncle. “Didn’t go as you planned, did it?” Poseidon asked as he appeared from his place behind a pillar. “How long were you there?” Ares asked as his eyes squinted. “Long enough to know I have more of a chance than I once thought.” Ares stepped to his uncle with an angered expression on his face. “And just what is that supposed to mean?” Poseidon simply smirked as he walked past his nephew.

“Exactly what you think nephew. You had your chance. Now let me show you how a real man charms a woman.” Watching in irritation, Ares’ eyes widened as Poseidon not only knocked on Natasha’s door with a much firmer sound that just screamed authority and confidence but that it looked as if Natasha scrambled to open the door and immediately let the king of the seas in. while she was dressed in her finest nightgown as well. Before the door closed, Poseidon sent an all knowing smirk Ares’ way. It became all so clear then. This was war. And Ares was determined not to lose.

[blankfairy]

All Things Devour | Chapter 1

Samsa Waters is a bastard. A noble bastard, but a bastard nonetheless. She knows — and her aunt so often reminds her — that if she wants anything in this world of politics, war, and dragons, she’ll have to fight for it. Tooth and claw. Luckily, for a child of House Vesgar — an ancient family of Valyrian bloodmages — neither are in short supply.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Original Character(s), Aemond Targaryen/Original Character(s).

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Period-Typical Attitudes, Misgendering of a Trans Character.

Read on AO3!

I'm not really sure where this ride is taking me, nor how soon updates will come, but I've had chapter one of this fic ready for a while now, and I thought, fuck it. Let's do this. I wanna give a quick but huge thank you to everyone who's supported me as I wrote, either through encouragement, feedback, or beta reading! My partner dogboykennedy, my dear friend amarithian, darkwolf76 (everyone go check out her amazing fic, Children of Bone and Blood!), and everyone in the HOTD Hub discord for putting up with my incessant questions! ^^" Note: This is, essentially, an ASOIAF/Resident Evil crossover — if you're the least bit familiar with RE, you'll know — with an OC focus. Prior Resident Evil knowledge definitely not required. There are a few characters in this fic who are transgender, non-binary, or generally gender nonconforming, Samsa being one of them. I use she/her pronouns for her for simplicity. There is also a trans male character who is not always gendered correctly by other characters and, in reference to his daughter, is called 'mother.' Please take careful note if that's something that causes you distress or dysphoria.

The Red Keep reeked of death. When Samsa parted her lips and scented the air, the taste spread across her tongue like melting fat — thick and buttery, cloying in its sweetness. It grew so overwhelming the deeper she and her aunt proceeded within Maegor’s Holdfast, that by the time they reached the king’s chambers, her head was throbbing.

Meat. Fear-scent. Game, spoiled by the chase. Flesh, lost to rot. She had butchered quarry that stunk like this. Deer with fatty liver and rabbits with white-freckled intestines. The illness ruined it all. Samsa eyed the crack beneath King Viserys Targaryen’s door, inhaled the air soaked in sickness and sweetsmoke, and decided then and there that there would be no saving him. Three-and-ten, self-decidedly wise to the ways of life and death and the powers that kept each at bay, she wondered if Alyx’s game was worth playing at all.

The king will die, Samsa had reasoned, clutching the curl of parchment scrawled and sealed by Ser Otto Hightower, Hand of the King. Words not meant for girls named Waters, but she’d read them all the same. Best he does it under the maester’s watch, not ours.

Alyx had only given her a sly smile, the one she’d once shared with Samsa’s father, and told her to start packing her things. Now, she fussed with her hair as if she were still a babe. Even bastards must look their best. Especially bastards.

“Easy, kēlitsos.” Alyx’s deft fingers combed through Samsa’s blond locks, freshly cut at her shoulders. “Nervous, are you?”

“I’m not nervous,” Samsa countered. Perhaps it would have been wise to be. A pair of voices murmuring behind the door pricked her ears. She tried to parse their owners out as Alyx pinned her hair back with a sliver of polished black rib bone. A whisper, hoarse with exhaustion, then a woman’s, firm but coated in worry. Viserys and the queen?

She felt a tug at the back of her head and hissed. “Watch it!”

“Hush,” Alyx tutted. “You won’t do that in front of the king.”

“Do what?”

“Act like a child.” Alyx released Samsa’s hair and circled her, studying her as though she were choosing new tapestries for Arlior Ānogrion’s receiving hall. “Disregard, disobey, or ignore me…”

The voices caught again, harsh whispers. If only she could hear what they were arguing about…

“Stare,” Alyx pressed up at the underside of Samsa’s chin with a sharp finger, “with your mouth agape like a simpering fool.” Her gaze, an indigo as rich as the sky at dusk, was cool and hard. Still, Samsa found her threats harder to take seriously now that Alyx had to look up into her eyes to scold her.

“I would not dream of disrespecting our king, my lady,” Samsa replied, pushing her hand away. “I’m only listening.”

“Listening,” Alyx echoed. “Fine. Yes. Perhaps try not to look so foolish when you do.”

“I’ll behave.” Samsa offered a smile and felt her canine teeth poke her lip. “Perhaps you should have some faith in me.”

“I had faith in your father.” Alyx touched Samsa’s clasp, a bronze pair of prancing chimeras clutching each side of her crimson wool cloak, and straightened it out with a tug. “And we know where he found himself.”

A burning scent pricked Samsa’s nostrils. Her smile faltered. She set back her shoulders and knit her hands behind her back. “Have I been preened to your liking, my lady?”

Alyx smoothed her hands over her own dress; a modest gown of black linen, with red silk peeking from slits in the fabric like blood blossoming from a wound. A light chain belt, smoky Valyrian steel, hung from her waist, and rubies flashed at her ears. “Well enough. There’s only so much I can do.”

  Alyx hadn’t even tried persuading Samsa into a dress. A black doublet with crimson cotton sleeves, embroidered in gold thread at the neck and sharp shoulders, was appropriate for meeting the king and queen, though perhaps not for a young girl. Her long cloak hid the menswear well enough; her dark pants and laced leather boots, not so much.

“How kind of you to say so,” Samsa said, watching as Alyx’s face pinched in resigned displeasure. She took a long, deep breath.

The voices grew louder. Samsa could hear them more clearly now: one man and one woman in disagreement. She let her hands fall to her sides. “The Hand will not be greeting us today.”

“Dāria?”

Samsa nodded. The queen. That was well enough; Alyx had known Alicent as a girl, naught more than a companion to Princess Rhaenyra, before she had ever worn the crown. Still, Alyx ironed out her posture, the lingering folds in her dress.

A moment later, the doors heaved open. A knight of the Kingsguard greeted them. “You may enter.”

“Come. Rȳbās,” her aunt said, urging her with a soft touch to her back. “And do not speak unless spoken to.”

Samsa dipped her head in silent obedience. As she looked back up, she spotted a flash of white at the end of the hallway. Ghostly curls, a pale face. Dark, wide eyes gawked at her from behind the hall’s last column. She reached for Alyx’s sleeve to point them out, but when she blinked, the face was gone. The doors heaved open, and the queen’s voice beckoned.

When all the pleasantries and greetings were said and done, Alyx spread her spidery fingers and slunk them over each pock and crag marring King Viserys’ face. Between the now overwhelming scent of rot and the hard, discomforted looks the queen had been giving her since she set foot in the room, Samsa tried not to grimace.

Alyx hummed, undisturbed by anything but her subject. “These years have not been kind to you, my dear.”

Viserys chuckled hoarsely, and with little joy. “Kinder to you, to be certain. You look as though you were never…”

“I am well. Don’t fret.” Alyx gave a practiced smile. “The gods exact their toll on each of us.”

And some of us have a higher price to pay, Samsa thought. For all the horror it was, the king’s face was a marvel, too. She found herself attempting to peer past Alyx when she blocked her vision, listing each of his possible afflictions in her mind. Sweetrot, yellowgum, wormbone, butterfly fever, brownleg — none seemed to fit. Alyx would comb her for her thoughts afterwards, and she knew to be ready.

“Some of us more than others,” Viserys wheezed. All he seemed to speak in were wheezes and coughs.

“And the pain?”

“It feels as though it grows worse by the day,” he told Alyx. She touched his cheek, gaunter than any man’s Samsa had seen before. The skin was discolored, red with irritation and black with something else. “Some days I can hardly find the strength to eat.”

“That will do you no good, Your Grace. You must try.” Alyx felt down the side of Viserys’ neck, shoulder, and where his arm should have been, ignoring his flinches of pain.

Samsa observed the queen as they spoke. Alicent watched, her body coiled tight like a spring, ready to pounce the moment Alyx pushed too far. They had never been friends, she knew; Alyx had been Aemma’s lady-in-waiting and a guiding voice to Princess Rhaenyra, not Alicent, but Samsa had expected more familiarity and less unease. When Alyx declared she was unsure of the cause of the king’s illness and turned to Alicent to seek her own account, the queen was tense, terse, and gave a smile that convinced no one of her courtesy.

“You’re sure you can help?” she asked, touching the seven-pointed pendant laying across her clavicle.

“Of course,” Alyx answered. “I’ve brought my best. Your maesters have done well, but some things cannot compare to what House Vesgar can offer.” She clasped her hands at her waist and took a step closer, her belt clinking gently against itself. “Still, I should like to meet with the Grand Maester. Orwyle now, is it?” There was a kind of sparkling satisfaction in her eyes — she had never been fond of Mellos, nor Mellos of her.

“Grand Maester Orwyle, yes.” Queen Alicent gave a nod. “I’ll have him visit your chambers once you’re settled.”

“Sooner rather than late,” Alyx said. She looked at Viserys and smiled. “I’d like to start today. If it please you, Your Grace.”

“It would,” The king replied, managing to smile. “Please. We grew up together, my lady. Viserys.”

Alyx nodded deeply. “If his Grace commands.”

They shared a short, gentle laugh as both Samsa and Alicent watched on, silent. For a moment, there was kinship in their frustration, in being nothing more than an outsider. Was she thinking of Aemma, Samsa wondered? The dead queen she had replaced? The familiarity flickered out like a candle the moment she remembered it was the queen that stood beside her, not an equal with jealousy to share.

It could have been hers once. The life Alyx and her father, Albyn, had lived long before she was born. Highborn, companions to dragonriding royalty, living in the shadow of the Iron Throne. Samsa knew she was foolish, immature, petty for thinking so; Alyx had told her as such time and time again. She didn’t even want it, for a creature like her had no place in the Red Keep; not sewing with the princess or sparing with the princes. Yet, the jealousy remained. If only her father had had the decency to wed her mother before having his way...

She’d dreamed of her proper name, her chambers in the Red Keep, of dragonriding; sneaking into the Dragonpit to claim a beast of her own. She had enough Valyrian blood, she thought… But so had her father, and it had hardly done him any good.

The laughter lulled until it was nothing but a buzzing echo in Samsa’s ears. Alyx bowed her head, offering a curtsy to both the king and queen.

“Now, Viserys, Your Grace, if you’ll excuse us…”

“A moment,” Viserys interrupted. He peered past Alyx’s figure and his watery violent eyes met Samsa’s sharp blue ones. “You’ve hidden this one from us for long enough. Albyn’s son, yes?”

“Daughter,” Alicent corrected.

“Daughter,” Viserys echoed. “Yes, yes. My apologies, my girl. Come closer.”

Samsa obeyed, warmed by the attention, and bowed as low as her pride would allow. Alyx touched the small of her back as she passed, a silent warning to behave.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Three-and-ten,” Samsa replied.

“And sprouting like a weed.” Viserys had to crane his neck to look at her properly, and Samsa couldn’t help the smug satisfaction that fluttered in her chest. She could, however, help her smirk. “You look just as your father did at that age.”

Samsa heard it often. Hard-edged with a strong jaw and fierce eyes, she sometimes even gave Alyx a start when turning corners.

Viserys studied her for a long moment. She could only endure as his tired eyes slithered over her frame. Just as the silence became unbearable, he spoke once more. “I was sorry to hear what befell him.” His tongue clicked ever so softly, not in sorrow, but as if he were chiding a dead man. “’Twas a horrible thing.”

“A foolish thing.” Her voice cracked the air into an uneasy silence. Whatever joy she’d taken from the frailty of the man sitting in front of her vanished as quickly as it had taken hold. “You should not mourn my father, Your Grace. Nor my loss. He was a fool, and a thief. He died a fool’s death. There’s no pride in that.”

The stench of the smoke and sulfur that had clung to his black bones was as fresh as the king’s corruption before her. Grief hadn’t found Samsa the night he died, nor any after, but the smell of flesh razed by dragonfire always sought her in her dreams.

Alyx shifted out of the corner of Samsa’s eye, no doubt preparing to berate her as soon as they were alone. She’d spoken out of turn at best, and snapped at the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms at worst. Was Samsa supposed to apologize? Thank him? What good were Viserys’ condolences to a bastard who only knew him by name and sickness? The king flashed her a wavering, pitiful smile.

Samsa set her shoulders back. If he wouldn’t reprimand her, she saw no reason to prostrate herself. “I’m glad to be here, Your Grace. I look forward to seeing you well.”

The next moments flit by in a blur. Alyx apologized, much to Samsa’s chagrin, and attributed her brashness to the long journey and Albyn’s recent death. The trip was naught more than a few days at sea, and her father’s death a year stale, but Samsa knew better than to protest. They hurried out to their assigned chambers shortly after, with promises of attending to Viserys that evening.

Alyx restrained herself from scolding Samsa until they were alone in their chambers. She stood tall while Samsa draped herself over a plush green chaise lounge and studied her fingernails.

“A different king would have taken your tongue for that,” Alyx hissed. Her voice was smooth, rich and deep like dark silk. This was the tone of a ruling lady; the daughter of a Lannister and a Vesgar. The sweet praise and soft my dears she had treated King Viserys to didn’t sound natural from her lips, but these threats did.

“If there was a different king, we wouldn’t be here,” Samsa replied. “How do you take a tongue with only one hand, anyways?”

“I will. If you won’t listen.”

Samsa flicked her gaze up at Alyx. Her threats were not empty, so she kneaded her tongue with her teeth and kept herself from biting back again. She forced herself to speak more softly, but no less begrudged. “I didn’t want to hear him speak of Father any longer. It’s humiliating.”

“It pleases me no more than it does you to hear him trip over his kind words and apologies.” Alyx held her hands at her waist, smoothing her palms together, the soft sound like a hiss in Samsa’s ears. “You’ll hear more of it. You’ll be stared at. Lords your father once knocked into the dirt will give you condolences, then snicker behind your back. If you plan to remain in the Red Keep for long, you’ll face it with dignity.”

“Dignity,” Samsa echoed, incredulous. “There’s no dignity in any of that.”

“Take up your fight with your father’s ashes, Samsa. It’s been a long day, and the next moons will be longer. No more. Not from you. Not from Ser Leon. Not from the king.” Alyx spoke with an edge that told Samsa that she wouldn’t humor the topic any longer. She sighed, fixed her sleeves, and slipped away to the pale balcony affixed to her suite.

Samsa simmered in a few minutes of silence before joining her. They had plans to make, or at least needed to speak about what to do with Viserys. She kept an ear out for the door, wondering when Alicent would send for the Grand Maester, or when her sworn shield, Ser Leon, would come fetch her so they could walk the castle together. The details of their chambers kept her occupied in the interim. Decently sized, not far from Maegor’s Holdfast, and open to the air of one of the castle gardens. They each had their own room, attached by a small bathhouse, adequately decorated and befitting of their station.

When she grew tired of counting the patterns on the wall, and none of the steps beyond their door halted to knock, Samsa pushed herself to her feet and went to Alyx. The sheer curtains brushed against Samsa’s skin as she pushed past, soft and light as a feather, dancing in the warm breeze. Alyx lounged against the parapet, her loosened blonde braid strewn over her shoulder.

“The queen did not seem fond of you.” Samsa joined her aunt in the fresh air, perching herself on the edge of the parapet. “Us,” she corrected after a moment.

“She didn’t,” Alyx conceded. The edge in her voice had blunted from earlier, though she always kept a certain sharpness to her words. She didn't seem as angry as before, or at least had other things on her mind. “I expected as much. This is not the princess. It’s the queen. We only ever spoke in short courtesies when Rhaenyra brought Lady Alicent to see Aemma.”

“Will it be a problem?”

 “I don’t suspect so.” Alyx turned to look at Samsa. The setting sun haloed her in rays of pink and gold. “For all the Hightowers have done, the king brought us here. He’ll not send his oldest friend away so easily.”

“As long as I stay out of trouble, you mean.”

Alyx’s face creased with a hint of impatience. “As long as you stay out of trouble.”

“I hear the eldest prince is a mischievous one,” Samsa said. “Perhaps that’s what I need to get his attention.” She thought back to the face in the hallway, framed by silvery curls. Had it been Prince Aegon, or Aemond? Whichever one, she needed to find him.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Alyx chided. “Be simple, be safe. Keep Leon close.”

“Wherever he may be, enjoying the castle and city without my company...”

“He’ll find his way,” Alyx said. “I sent for him and Luis.”

Leon was older, nearing his twenty-second year, but had not yet grown so insufferable that Samsa dreaded his company. By all accounts his demeanor was a miracle, considering the knight who had mentored him, Ser Jack Connington, was as joyless as they came. He made a good captain-of-the-guard, but had little use otherwise. Leon had been her protector since he’d been knighted, and bearing the name of Waters just like her, she liked to think of him as an elder brother. He was comely, with soft blue eyes that reminded her of a begging dog, and fond of letting Samsa get away with things. She’d spent her last nameday at a tavern by his side, squeezed between the castle blacksmith and kennelmaster.

She didn’t know Luis as well, though he’d been drinking with them too, and a steadfast companion of Leon’s for years. He was another former student of the Citadel, Dornish, and had an easy air about him. With a mind as quick as his smile, he had been Alyx’s first choice to bring to King’s Landing.

Samsa leaned further back, anchoring herself to the parapet by her ankles. The open air yawned at her back while the breeze brushed her cheeks. She scented the clean sea air; salt and flowers, fish and smoke. A touch of pine and sulfur and she could have been home, watching the sun rise over the Gullet from her chambers in Arlior Ānogrion.

Samsa craned her neck, peering across the askew garden and the Sunset Sea beyond. “And… If I come across my mother?”

“Restrain yourself,” Alex said in a flat tone, as if the answer had been obvious. “I don’t need a rogue voice running to Alicent because you grew too eager.”

“You think so highly of him, that he would cry to the queen at first sight.”

“You don’t know him as I did.”

If it were up to you, I wouldn’t know him at all.

Finn. It was hardly a mother’s name, let alone a lady’s, but Samsa liked the way it laid on her tongue. She tasted it each night she laid alone in bed, holding it close, wondering what he looked like, if they had the same nose, or lips, or wide set of the shoulder. He’d left so little of himself in her that Samsa could only guess.

An old maidservant had given the name to her; a witness of what had befallen the poor girl in men’s clothing that Lord Albyn had taken to bed. Alyx had even deigned her his family name when Samsa proudly presented her findings: Flint. The blood of Old Valyria ran thick in her veins, but she took special pleasure in knowing a bit of her came from the North; the barren tundras, the cold, churning waters, the stony seat of Widow’s Watch. She had Bolton in her, too, from her father’s grandmother, but her cousins at the Dreadfort were more distant than the foreign lands across the sea. Finn was a stone’s throw from the very place Samsa sat.

Perhaps he’d stood in these chambers before. Perhaps he’d walked in the garden at her back. Samsa did not want to love him, or his husband Lord Larys Strong, nor the spineless boy their union had produced, but she wanted to see him. Touch him, even. Find a bit of herself in his sharp, Northern face.

“I’ll be courteous,” Samsa promised after a moment of thought, only half lying. “I won’t say I’m his daughter. I’ll greet him as a stranger. He’ll have nothing to fear from me.”

“He’ll recognize you the moment he lays eyes on you.” Alyx pressed her hand against Samsa’s hip, urging her back towards solid ground. She cupped her cheek in her palm. “You have Albyn’s face. It’s sure to terrify him. And fear makes us do very stupid things.” Her gaze softened. “Come down. I’m sure the Grand Maester will be here any moment. Have you given any thought to Viserys?”

“Some.” Samsa slid to her feet. “Sweetrot seems likely,” she said, “but I highly doubt the king has ever been to Sothoryos. The same with wormbone.” The mystery of the king’s ailment piqued her interest, but in the moment, nothing seemed more dull.

“King’s Landing is a trading hub. You don’t think a sailor could have brought it to him?”

A test. “If it’s that contagious, the entire court would be dead.”

“It’s a kind of necrosis, to be certain,” Alyx replied, sauntering back inside with Samsa at her side. “Something that eats at the mind and body but doesn’t kill quickly. We’ll ask Orwyle when the sickness first started, in truth.”

“Do you truly think we can save him?”

“Ziry kaerīnagon?” Alyx suppressed a laugh. “If anyone can, it will be us.”

The Grand Maester appeared at their door as the sun sank into the sea. Orwyle was a slight man, his small frame shrouded in heavy grey robes, with a thick book pressed under a thin arm. Samsa studied his chain with curious delight as Alyx bid him entry, picking out what metals she could: copper, lead, iron, tin. One link was darker still, laced with pale smokey waves: Valyrian steel. In Arlior Ānogrion, they kept no maester, but plenty would-be initiates and disgraced scholars found solace within their walls. Her father had met his closest friend at the Citadel before their curiosity had them both expelled.

Samsa still dipped her head out of respect, greeting him by title. He in turn named her lady. She wondered if the Alicent would call her the same. Alyx took his hand like he were an old friend and gave him her best smile. More honeyed words. More undeserved idolatry.

Samsa moved to take her leave.

Liquid High Valyrian rang in Samsa’s ears. “And where do you think you’re going?” Alyx had paused her greeting to catch her red handed, going for her sword. She excused herself from Orwyle to pull Samsa aside.

“Jokorigon,” she replied. To explore. “And find Ser Leon.”

“It would serve you best to remain here.”

It would serve you, you mean. As intriguing as the king’s sickness was, Samsa would have plenty of time to study his ailment for the time they were in King’s Landing. Far more interesting was the Red Keep itself, the secrets she could pry from its stone, and the pale-haired prince who had watched her from afar. Her mother, too, if she could find him — but no doubt Finn had heard of her and Alyx’s arrival and had already hidden away like a frightened mouse.

“I’ll be back in the blink of an eye,” Samsa promised. “Before the king’s first session tonight.”

“Before supper,” Alyx replied, insistent on the privacy of their ancestor’s tongue. “I suspect Viserys will invite us to his evening meal.”

“Us, or you?”

“Us. You’re my heir, whether he and the queen like it or not. Not my petulant uncle.” Alyx straightened out Samsa’s dress again, tucking stray strands of blond behind her ear. “Change your clothing before supper as well. The king’s children may be there.”

Samsa smiled, subdued, then nodded. “I understand, my lady.” If luck served her, she’d find at least one of them before they dined. If not, well… She’d have to make her best impression at the table.

“If you find Luis with Leon, send him our way.” Alyx cast a glance towards Orwyle. “Walk in stride, kēlitsos.”

Samsa nodded again, took her sword from amongst her things, and gave her polite goodbyes to the Grand Maester. The castle’s evening sigh met her as she left her apartments; scents of yeast and baking bread, spiced wine and roasting meat. She affixed Chimera’s Claw to her belt, grateful that she was now tall enough for it, and set down the hallway. The weight of the blade at her hip brought a special comfort, like a buck growing back its antlers after shedding season.

Distantly, she heard Alyx speaking to Orwyle, petering into silence the further her feet carried her. “Three-and-ten,” she said, “and she thinks she knows everything…”

Her feet carried her to a junction in the castle. Samsa cast her gaze down one hallway and up another, eyeing the burning daylight through window slats carved in the shapes of fire-breathing dragons. She had some time, but not much. Despite the wealth of time Alyx had promised her to do her work, Samsa felt a heat blooming in her chest, restlessness prickling in her legs. There were moons to make nice with princes and lordlings and whoever was brave enough to come her way — but it did not feel that way. This was her chance to earn her name, her proper name, and she had no desire to waste the precious time she had been given. The sooner the realm knew her as the future of House Vesgar, the sooner the stinging humiliation of her father’s death would burn away.

With a hand around the grip of the Claw, thumb tracing the empty eye sockets of the lion’s head pommel, Samsa shut her eyes, took a scent-filled breath, and listened.

She’d tracked rabbits and shadowcats, brought down great stags and gutted them herself; she’d not let one little prince squirm out of her grasp.

[bellysoupset]

Heyy!

So I have an idea, considering wedding is practically just around the corner and Jonah being the groomzila that he is, i feel like all the stress would makes him have a nightmare, I think it would be super fun if you could write a fic about that and maybe he wakes up and is immediately sick from the stress. And how I see the nightmare going is like it’s the wedding and everything’s going well until something terrible happens and that’s when he wakes up.

This one isn't very long, but I was so in love with this prompt!!

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

"It's looking a little grey out, isn't it?" Jonah stressed, pacing the bedroom as he watched the makeup artist finish up Angie's makeup. He damn nearly pressed his nose to the window, staring angrily at the sky.

He had been promised a stunning sunset, but now grey clouds were collecting in the horizon, already shielding away the sun and the luminosity was only going to diminish even more in the next 40 minutes for the ceremony to start. By the end of their vows they'd be in the dark.

"You have torches out, Jon," Luke reassured him, getting up from his spot in the couch so he could squeeze Jonah's shoulders, thumbs rolling away the tension knots there, "you'll get stunning pictures either way."

"Not if it rains on us!" Jonah groaned, feeling clammy and nauseous. He shrugged off his jacket and Luke once more patted his back.

"It won't rain, Jonah and you're taking the vows at the pavilion, so relax, will you?"

How could Atwood be so damn calm about things? How had he just married Bella with less than two days of preparations? They were different species entirely.

"Jonah," Angie was sitting up correctly on the makeup chair now, instead of nearly lying down, and she looked gorgeous, even with that amused smile tugging at her lips, "your day is already happening. Right now."

Uh.

He frowned, crossing his arms defensively, then deflated with a sigh as his baby sister continued on to say, "aren't you supposed to enjoy it?"

Bloody hell.

"When did you get so wise beyond your years?" Jonah grumbled, while Luke patted his back and let out a snort, followed by a gasp.

"You look amazing, Ange!"

"Well, wait until you see me in the dress!"

Jonah rubbed his sweaty palms against his trousers. Angie was right, he was stressing so much that the day couldn't be good even if everything went right. All he'd remember later would be how stressed he was...

His phone buzzed and Jon picked it up, smiling as he saw Leo's name across the screen.

Leo: I changed my mind.

Jonah stared at the text for a solid minute, only snapping out of his daze as the tree little grey dots appeared next to Leo's contact, showing he was typing.

Leo: I don't think we should marry.

Leo: I'm leaving.

"Jonah?" Luke's voice caused him to raise his head, or try to, he seemed unable to look away from the screen. Jonah sucked in a breath, tried to click on Leo's picture so he could be redirected to the call button, but his fingers kept slipping for some reason, "JONAH!"

His stomach lurched and Jon's whole world capsized as he was suddenly rolled on his side, gravity seeming to give up on him-

His heart was drumming in his ears and there was hot, bubbling bile climbing up his throat, coming up in a projectile wave as he opened his mouth. A death grip around his chest and stomach.

He needed to call Leo. He needed to fix this. To understand what had happened, to- To get him back, change his mind somehow- What had changed?!

He tried to breathe, but his body seemed to have forgotten how to do it and instead Jonah only wheezed. There was a harsh thump to his back.

Leo?

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jonah!"

Lucas. Patting his back. A hand grabbing his shoulder, keeping Jonah from diving out of the car or strangling himself with the seatbelt. Luke.

"I need- I need- Call-" Jonah tried to say, before a coughing fit overcame him and the nausea surged up once again. He gagged, spat in the growing puddle on the side of the road...?

Road?

The seatbelt released and Jonah nearly fell forward, just as Lucas caught him, pushing Jon to lie back against the passenger seat of the car and all but climbing over the handbrake in order to cup his face.

"Jon, Jonah, HEY!" Luke slapped his cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet, "you had a nightmare, you're freaking out. Not real, wasn't real-" he snapped his fingers before Jonah's eyes, frustrated and panicked, "HEY!"

Jonah nodded, nervously, sucked in a breath- Then lurched to the side just in time to retch another mouthful of acidic saliva. Behind him he heard Luke let out a sigh.

A nightmare. He was in Luke's car. They were going to the airport to pick up Angie, Jackie and Matteo. Fuck. It was a random Friday, Leo was stuck in court, Luke had volunteered to tag along instead and kicked Jonah to the passenger seat because he "looked horrible."

"Bloody...Hell," he breathed out, clearing his throat and spitting a glob of bitter, thick, saliva, finally collapsing back against his seat. Lucas promptly shoved a lukewarm water bottle in his hand, grabbing some takeout paper napkins from his glovebox.

"Here..." Atwood hoovered over him, looking like it was physically hurting him not to shake Jonah like a rattle toy or question him on the spot. Energy and concern was rolling off of him and Jonah raised a hand to shut Luke up preemptively.

"Give me a minute."

Lucas' jaw clenched and he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, bouncing his leg up and down.

Jonah swished the water around in his mouth, then spat it out of the still open door, slamming it shut. He lowered his head to the glovebox and let out a slow, deliberate breath.

What a ridiculous fucking dream.

Nevertheless, he fished out phone from his pocket, wiping his sweaty hand on the paper napkin in order to click on Leo's contact.

Leo: Stuck in court, fuck my lifeeeeee

Leo: Luke said he'll pick you up.

Leo: No, I didn't ask him to, he volunteered.

Leo: BE NICE

Leo: Apologize to your family for me? 😭 I'll see them at dinner, I promise I'll be out by then.

Leo: I love you so much.

Leo: Less than a week!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Leo: Chuck's asking the address of the venue again, can I tell him he's uninvited?

Jonah let out a chuckle, then it caught in his throat and quickly turned into a sob. Tears sprung up, burning his eyes and his nose, emotion getting the best out of him.

"Aww, Jon," Luke cooed, no longer able to hold out his nature and wrapping an arm around his back, "dude, c'mere-"

"Don't touch me," Jonah groaned, sniffling and angrily wiping away the tears, only for Luke to let out a snort and tug him anyways, smushing Jonah's face to his chest and hugging him.

"You're so stressed, Jon," Luke's voice was deep in his chest, vibrating, followed by a chuckle, "nothing will go wrong."

Jonah let out a groan, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Luke always smelt a little like mint, because of his after shave, and it was grounding to reality.

"How can you know?" slowly he peeled away from Lucas, rubbing his face and taking a gulp of water.

Luke's face got all wrinkly as he opened a huge smile, "because you're marrying the man you love, Jon. Even if everything goes wrong, horribly wrong, you're still marrying Leo. You got it?"

It was like a knot deep inside his chest loosened up. He was marrying Leo.

The guy he had been in love with since the first time they had shared a hotel room back in the football team, the man who had caught his eye immediately, the one who understood all of his ticks and noises, who could read him as a book. He was marrying his best friend, even if the venue caught on fire, Leo was counting down the days to marry him.

"Yeah," Jonah cracked a smile, going boneless on his seat, "yeah, you're right."

[ronearoundblindly]

Ari- Baby is sick for the first time

Ari Levinson x best friend!reader (now fiancé)

New Parent Panic, a Bedrock and Blueprints tale

Warnings for protective!Ari, Ari not communicating, you doing the same, and then everyone gets their shit together and it's fluff. WC 2k *Off in the distance an ol' timey man pops up: "An argument, you say? You wrote an argument?? How different from your usual!!" Ha-ha. Yeah. We get it. Ro's the same hoe as last year... **I am not a mother. I know what would reasonably be categorized as zilch about babies. I have, however, seen this overwhelmed and guilty behavior from several of my peeps as they raise their youngins, so that's good enough for me. You're doing fine. I promise.

Sure, there was the rather severe diaper rash incident, and the time when nursing her turned your nipples into raw portals for a newly-discovered circle of hell, but nothing could have prepared you for this day.

Rachel was...meh this morning when Ari left for work. A little whiny, not sleeping well, but she's an infant; that's not new. Overall, she's actually been a very straight-forward baby.

And then you don't know what happened.

You napped very hard until noon (after only a moderately successful feeding) and by then Rach had a fever.

You called the nurses' hotline. You gave her the dose of baby meds. You're trying to keep her hydrated, at least, if she can't be happy right now. You just have to stay vigilant and wait it out.

But that's not easy.

She's crying and won't sleep, she'll barely eat, and you don't have a separate car. You only want to call Ari if it's to say "we need to take her to a doctor." You're not there yet.

So you do the shittiest feeling thing you can think of, the most painful thing, and you wait.

You don't sleep. You barely eat. You take Rachel's temperature like you are monitoring the possible meltdown of a nuclear reactor. One wiggle of a degree in the wrong direction, and that Bat Signal is going on.

I can do this, you tell yourself. I've wanted to be a mom for a long time, so I can do this.

Except you don't sleep and barely eat.

Ari arrives home precisely when he said he would, the exact number of minutes (after work shuts down for the day) that it takes to drive to the house, predictable, dependable, and utterly useless when he opens the door and asks "why is she crying?"

"Because she hates me," you blubber, holding her to your chest, arms cramped from cradling her for so many hours at this point.

"She need meds?"

Of course, I gave her the fucking meds.

"Hungry?"

No, asshole, I purposefully starved your fucking child for my own amusement.

"Calm down," Ari snips back. "I'm just trying to help."

Well then fucking help me!

By now, you likely look as if you're in a war zone: disheveled, manic, and possibly--definitely--hostile.

"Okay, okay, let me just take a piss and then I'll hold her."

"Yeah, of course. Whatever you want. Whatever you need." You turn your back to him before grumbling, "not like I haven't had to hold it all afternoon..."

Ari's still-booted feet land heavily beside you again. "Then I'll take her now," he grits through clenched teeth, "and you can use the bathroom."

"No. I already have her."

"Fine. I'll be right back."

"Take your time."

The way you lace the words with a sickly sweet melody has Ari spinning on a heel and staring at you through his long eyelashes, a tick in his jaw stopping him from saying something he might regret.

"Kid," he finally sighs, "just tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

He runs a hand over his beard while he waits for your answer. A few seconds later, his hip juts out, arms akimbo, and he bites his bottom lip expectantly.

You just walk off toward your phone on the kitchen counter and call the nurse hotline back.

"I swear, woman," he mutters as you leave, but you're glad he can't hear you sniffle back a sob.

It should be reassuring that the nurse has no new advice for what to do. You're doing everything correctly. You're doing all you can. Don't worry. Keep checking her temp and giving her whatever fluids she'll take. That's all for now.

It doesn't feel like enough. It doesn't feel like all a mother can do.

Ari? Ari waltzes up to the fridge and cracks himself open a beer.

You don't even have words, only flaming hot vibes that will melt his face like a Spielberg movie--you have got to stop watching movie marathons during late-night breast-feeding--if you stare hard enough at his casual blue gaze.

"So," he begins, "you figure out what I gotta do?"

What had been steady whimpering from Rachel has amplified into wails that bring tears to both hers and your eyes.

They just fall down your cheeks, and you wipe them from your chin before they can fall onto your screaming child.

Ari's judging frown makes your stomach turn while he steps closer, bends at the knees, and takes his little girl in hand.

Less than a minute later, Rachel stops, and you just cannot fucking handle it. The only quiet moment you've had in six and a half hours he gets to enjoy moments after coming home.

That's not fair. Cure fucking cancer already, Levinson, and save us the goddamn grief!

The tears and the tired are choking you.

Ari tells you to go freshen up in the bathroom, but that is the most horribly wrong way to say anything to you, ever, in a moment like this.

You stomp out the front door, rip open the sliding back door of the SUV, and crawl onto the cab floor. Once the latch clicks behind you, face buried in the blanket kept on Rachel's car seat, you scream.

You whimper and you cry and you get your fucking time to be angry at all your feelings today because it's bullshit.

You didn't take your own temperature. You didn't get rest and drink plenty of fluids. You didn't take any medicine. All you keep going over in your mind is whether or not you were sick first. Did you have something you gave to your daughter? Is this your fault?

So the tears and the choking continue for...as long as they take.

You don't know how much time has passed before the car door is yanked open again. Thank the stars you are facing away. You can't look at Ari right now.

"Is she okay?" you ask with a watery voice.

His big, warm hand rubs across your back, making you sink further into the upholstery.

"Took a few ounces of a bottle and went down in her bunk."

Ari likes to call Rachel a part of his 'squad,' so he talks to your infant daughter like they're going on 'missions' to the store or getting a bottle from the 'mess.' Your bedroom has thus become the 'barracks.'

Sometimes, he holds her sitting up against his chest and uses her feet to 'march' the pair of them across the house.

Left. Left. Left right left.

And almost always, there's a giggle, too.

"Up you go, kid," Ari huffs, maneuvering you into his arms.

"No," you whine, so tired you can't tell what it is you don't want.

He just keeps saying, "I know. I know," until he's carried you inside.

Instead of taking you to the couch or the bed, Ari sits you both down in the front hall, balancing you on his lap while he loosens his boot laces and finally kicks the sturdy shoes off, placing them on the mat a couple feet away.

He presses his lips to your temple, rough beard gently scrubbing over your eyelid and cheek.

"How many times I gotta tell ya to call me?" he whispers. He doesn't expect to have this same argument again, not like this, but his point still stands. "You know, you're warm, too."

If it's another question, you don't answer that either. You change the subject.

"Did you take her temp?"

He nods, and the number he tells you is the same as it was thirty minutes ago, or rather, thirty minutes before he came home.

Ari squeezes you tighter. "You want to get into bed, and I'll bring your some juice and meds, huh? Meet you in there?"

"I'm a bad mom," you breathe.

"What?" He pulls away, smacking his head on the wall behind him. "What are you talking about?"

How are there more tears left in your body? You should be nothing but a shriveled husk at this rate.

"Bullshit," he practically seethes. "Don't you ever say that again."

"I shouldn't have--"

"Stop."

"--you were--"

"Stop it," he blurts, firm and serious.

"But I'm the one who wanted this, Ari!" Your most powerful voice only comes out as high whisper. "Me. I wanted kids. This whole time. I bitched about how Joanna's done, and I thought I could just--" you swing an arm out dramatically "--and I suck at it. Rach even likes you better!"

"No, kid. She was exhausted. I only got here at the right time."

"It's 'cause your comfy and you smell good--"

"--not sure about that--"

"--and she loves you," you bemoan.

Ari snorts out a laugh.

"She loves you, too. You're her mom." He tucks you in closer, soothing you with petting hands wherever he can reach. "I love you. So much. So, so much."

He finds your hand and the sapphire ring he put on it, spinning it gently on your finger. He hasn't gotten to make good on his promise. Planning a wedding, even a small one, with a newborn is almost impossible, but that seems to be part of the problem.

Anything to do with you or you two feels selfish when there's three. Guilt grips you when you stop to daydream about your big day because it's not about Rachel. She's the most important thing. She will trump you forever as the single most--

"Can I tell you a secret?" Ari's timbre rattles close to your ear. "You're my favorite."

You slump into his chest until your forehead braces his throat.

"Almost not fair, really," he drawls. "You've got a decade of brownie points, and she's managed to make me buy more pads for her than I've had to for y--"

You pinch at his side harshly, biting back a smile, the salt from dried tears on your lips flooding your mouth.

"Oh! And you can control your bladder for a whole day, which is downright impressive wh--hey now--" Ari scuttles on the floor to evade your attack on his ribs. "I'm just...being...honest," he chuckles.

"You're a jerk is what you are, old man."

He easily grabs both your arms and pins them together in front of him.

"Yeah, but I'm your jerk. Your old man, kid. I'm yours, okay? You are not alone here. You don't have to know how to do everything by yourself." He lowers his voice as well as his face to yours. "And you mean just as much to me as that little girl in there. You hear me?"

There's a different lump of emotion lodged deep in your chest. You only nod because you can't speak.

He makes your foreheads meet.

"Please be okay. I could never do this without you. Any of it..."

That's when you realize what bothers you so much: Ari should need you to raise Rachel, but you never truly acknowledged you might need him to raise her, too.

This enormous weight of clutching every thread of life in your own two hands isn't real. You can share. You are meant to share your life with Ari. Ari is meant to share his life with you. Rachel shares life with you both, as she is meant to share with everyone around her. It's a lesson she has the opportunity to learn a lot younger than you, apparently.

He gets you to drink a whole bottle of water. He brings you some food and medicine while he handles some laundry and cleans out the day's bottles. He leads you with both hands to the bathroom, finally, and then gets you settled in bed.

As you fall asleep, you watch Ari take Rach's temperature again.

He lets out a silent cheer and holds his hand over her.

"High five?" he whispers. "No? It's fine. We'll work on that."

The last thing you see is Ari playfully lifting her from the basinet, sneaking out to the living room to enjoy a movie marathon, just for a little bit, snuggling together while he winds down for the night.

All that matters is she's safe and happy.

That, and of course, waking up in Ari's arms, listening to his slow breathing and Rachel's faster, baby huffs. You can handle anything because you made it through today and you have them.

[Ari's POV for this day]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @rogersbarber @yenzys-lucky-charm

[bardoftheshire]

Hi! Hope you are doing well! So, Tangerine x Reader: any headcanons about Tan as a partner? Thanks!

I'm doing great in fact, thank you for the request! Headcannons are my favourite thing to write, hope this is fitted to your taste.

Dating Tangerine Would Include...

Tangerine x GN! Reader Headcannons

Warnings; Violence, smoking, violence, it's a bullet train fic, guys

Notes; I love writing for Tan so much you guys have no idea, I get to cuss as much as I want to in these fics

Oh man, he's such a softie for you, you have absolutely no idea.

He can go from being the same grumpy prick to other people and have one of the worst days but when he's around you he's calling you love and darling, clinging onto you practically and just showering you in kisses.

He's so clingy, as soon as either of you get home he's begging you to sit with him on the couch just so you could cuddle. And if your making dinner expect him to try to help but just end up holding you by your waist the whole time.

Lemon thinks it's the cutest thing how tangerine acts around you. He thinks its hilarious how quickly Tan switches up with you.

"-you're the one that doesn't fucking know how to go on about this job correctly! You're such a fucking idiot sometimes Lemon it's insu-" Tangerine yells at his brother before being interrupted by you.

"Whats going on? What are you two fighting about now?" You say in annoyance.

"Nothing darling, just please go back to the living room I'll be right there okay love," Tangerine tells you softly, pressing a kiss to your head before you leave.

"You're a right fuckin' sap for them, Tan," Lemon snickers at Tangerines change of attitude and tone.

"I'll put your fuckin' head through a wall, honest to god Lemon."

He just loves when your laying with eachother and you run your hands through his curls.

I'd like to think you help him take care of his hair actually. Like, he would know how to take care of it properly before, but he let's you put different product in his hair to make sure he doesn't miss any areas on his hair, (In reality he just wants to be touched by you in some way).

Being a part time nurse for him and Lemon definitely became a thing almost immediately after you two started dating. Constant cleaning of wounds and such, just constantly.

The days when he's on missions he's constantly texting you as much as he can, checking up on you to make sure you're doing well.

There are times where he's come home a couple days or even weeks later than he had originally anticipated without being able to contact you, and you'd be absolutely furious, (sometimes not knowing that he wasn't able to contact you at all).

"What the fuck happened, Tan! I thought you were dead. You hadn't even texted me or anything, you were supposed to be back 5 days ago! You had me absolutely worried sick!" You yell.

Tan had been gone for almost 2 weeks when the mission was only supposed to last a week. And on top of that he hadn't phoned or even tried to text you. If it weren't for Lemon telling you that they were fine 2 days before they showed up you would've assumed the worst had happened.

"I really am sorry my darling, the mission was just much harder than we'd expected and we got stuck there longer than nessasary." He explained quietly.

"But why hadn't you contacted me at all? If it weren't for lemon calling me I would've thought you two were gone for good!"

"My telephone got broken by some prick the 3rd day into the mission whilst we were fighting. And I didn't think to used lemon's phone because I was so frazzled the whole time. Really darling, I didn't mean to frighten or worry you."

"Alright.. Sorry I freaked out on you but I really was worried. I'm just glad you're okay now." You walk to Tangerine, pulling him into a hug.

" 's alright love, I'm glad you and I are good too. Let's go wash up and go to bed, I've got blood all over me and my fuckin' clothes and it don't feel too great," Tangerine says, picking you up and taking you to your shared bedroom.

Loves taking baths with you, taking turns washing eachother off makes him feel all warm inside, that you trust eachother enough at that point in your relationship. He thinks it's so sweet though.

Sometimes when he goes outside to have a smoke he'll invite you out with him so you two can just talk. If you smoke he'll probably share one with you too.

Very protective.. Being he's an assassin and all, he'd most definitely go to extremes if someone had been bothering you. Some random person flirted with you? Dead. A someone you knew in high school used to bully you? Dead. Any person that has hurt you no matter how long ago will probably end up dead.

You two are so good for eachother though. Strangely the healthiest relationship you will ever have. Please don't break this poor boy's heart. He will be absolutely devastated and blame himself for it. Underneath all of that muscle and confidence he's very emotional and sensitive.

Will ask to marry you and even possibly start a family with you if you're up for it. (Adoption or old fashioned depending on your biological sex).

Loved writing this, and I was infact so excited that I finished this in just 2 hours🤭

[svltth]

Get out the car.

Tom era: braids/09

Category: angst, little fluff

You and Tom got into a car augment on the way home from a club,tom ends up snapping.

————————————

"I didn't flirt with him, he tried to hit on me and I said I have a boyfriend!" Y/n looked at him with disbelief that he was actually accusing her of flirting with other guys.

"Bullshit!" He yelled gripping tightly onto the leather of the stirring wheel as he sped up slightly.

"TELL ME WHAT I WAS DOING THAT MADE IT LOOK LIKE I WAS FLIRTING EITH HIM!" Y/n was now getting pissed off that he didn't believe her.

"YOU WERE LAUGHING WITH HIM!" Tom shouted matching her tone while not taking his eyes off the road.

Y/n scoffed at his answer. "I was laughing AT him because he said he's better looking than you and that I should leave you to go with him! Now I think I should have gone with him!" Y/n shouted knowing she shouldn't have said the last bit but It just slipped out and to be honest she didn't care at that moment.

Tom pulled over coming to a sudden stop. "Get out the car!" He shouted unlocking the doors as he stared at her.

"What?!" Y/n said making sure she had heard him correctly.

"I said get out the fucking car" Tom lowered his tone as he clenched his jaw.

"Tom it's pissing it down I'm not getting out!" Y/n protested.

"Get out the god damn car!!" Tom yelled loosing his patience. Y/n didn't say anything thing else. She grabbed her leather jacket getting out the car and slamming the door shut, watching him drive off as she put on her jacket beginning to walk. Her hair was instantly soaked as well as her clothes.

——————

Toms POV:

——————

I knew I shouldn't have made her get out the car into the cold rain in only a short dress and jacket but I was so annoyed with her, though it wasn't her fault it was mine for jumping to conclusions. I was stupid for thinking she was flirting with that guy. But just the thought of someone else laying their hands in her or even just laughing with her makes me want the rip their worthless little head off.

I know I can get jealous at times but I just don't want to get hurt again. Y/n wouldn't do that though.

I pulled into the driveway and parked the car. I opened the front door and sat down on the couch thinking of how much of an asshole I was. An hour had passed and she still wasn't home, I had rang her multiple times each time it was declined. I had fucked up.

——————

Y/n opened the door to Tom and hers house. She was met with the sight of him sat on the couch his head in his hands. Tom quickly stud up once he heard the door open.

"What took you so long I was worried sick" he said slowly walking over to f to he sight in front of him, she was soaked to the bone her arms wrapped round her body failing to keep her warm and makeup smudged round her face.

"I got lost" y/n simply said as she made her way upstairs to the shower.

"Y/n I'm so sorry I just got jealous I didn't mean anything I said" Tom said desperately as he followed her up the stairs.

"Leave it Tom I'm sleeping on the couch tonight" she said shutting the bathroom door on him. Tom just stood there, tears threatening to leave his eyes.

Y/n got into some warm pjs, grabbed two spare blankets and some pillows and made her way to the couch down stairs. Tom was lying awake in their bed unable to sleep with her not there next to him.

——————

Y/n's POV:

——————

It was around 3:30 am and I was unable to sleep. I had too many thoughts buzzing round in my head. No matter what I tried I just couldn't seem to get to sleep.

I heard Tom creep downstairs so I pretended to be asleep. I could tell he was looking at me, I suddenly felt him get under the blanket next to me. His arms snaked loosely around my waist.

I was too tired to tell him to move and plus I felt safe with him close to me, I know we had just had an argument but I just wanted to be close to him so I turned to face him pushing my face into his chest as I felt his arms tighten around me as he pulled me closer nuzzling his face into my hair.

"I so sorry y/n, I love you" he whispered into my hair his voice barely audible.

"I love you too" I mumbled into his chest as I hugged him tighter.

_____________________

❗️IGNORE MISTAKES❗️

[s0lar-ch3ri]

weird pine trees in my minds forest

(it is just vyncent being gay, based off a ghost knife post i made which i shall link at home) (edit heres the link i forgot to add for so so long)

Aren't emotions weird? Vyncent knew they were. They seemed to change over time as he looked at Will. He didn't want to stop looking at him, which...that wasn't "normal", right? Will was great, wonderful even. He was awesome enough that he felt his own body twist his stomach and his face get warm. His legs even feel slightly wobbly if he's close, but he can say that doesn't happen.

He was also very pretty, Vyncent wasn't scared to say it (to anybody but Will, for some reason), his friend was quite nice. Will normally had fluffy black hair that reached his shoulders, but right now he had tied up in the back with parts sticking out the side, also was a bit flatter from Will forgetting to wash it. There was some white strands in his bangs and in the back some more blue curls. His face held a couple of pimples (if Vyncent remembers the word correctly) and the under eyes had deep eyebags. His pants were some black bagged sweats that reached upto his red sneakers. He normally also had on his regular graphic text t-shirt, but this time had sleeveless grey v-neck with a skull and crossbones on it, hoodie around his hips. His hands had midnight blue nails (Dakota managed to do them sometime before) that were barely visible with how dark his hands at the tips were. On the right he had a skeleton fingerless glove and on the other some bracelets and some skull ring he felt like was from Fauna. His eyes were a bright blue, almost glowing, very piercing, but Vyncent liked the way they saw into his.

"VYNCE BE-"

Right, dancing. That's what Vyncent was doing with him. Despite the tail, Vyncent was a horrible dancer without any balance. He figured he could learn from Will, even if he's never seen Will dance before. Could be half an excuse to hold his hand. Who knows, Vyncent won't tell.

Will was definitely stronger then Vyn was remembering, catching his arm and pulling him back up and sending a shiver down Vyncent's spine.

"Are you feeling good Vynce? You- Oh man you are so red, did you get sick again?" Will started laughing a bit.

"I'm feeling fine, perfect and normal, just...wanna keep trying?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll start the music back up."

Vyncent thought he knew the tune from show with gems and magic they watched once, but decided to go without comment. He's holding onto Will’s hand, and he finds his gaze going back to Will's eyes. Oh my fuck, his eyes are entrancing. He keeps stumbling around because rather then focus on his feet, though Will doesn't seem to be holding up too much better. Despite it, he keeps giggling and laughing as he looks at Vyncent, and Vyncent gets redder and starts laughing too as they fumble around their own feet.

Of course, the stumbling on Vyncent's end only ends with one way, falling forward onto Will, knocking them both to the floor. His face is just about a dagger away from Will’s. The only noise at the moment is the faint song playing. Vyncent's just looking at Will, who blinks back at him. Will just starts laughing again. Vyncent feels his heart skip beats and his tail swish and even his ears flutter slightly, turning reds he doesn't know are okay. It's hitting him all at once at just how pretty he finds William Wisp with his not-exactly-right laugh and the tremble in his lips before he speaks and the way his hands seem to grip either just too tight or just too weakly, unaware of their strength, and just every small thing he's heard someone call strange of The Wisperer.

Basically, Vyncent cannot get the thought of just how wonderful Will looks and is.

"We're really bad at this, huh?"

"I thought you'd know this a bit better..."

"Wh- Okay, *why* exactly would I know how to dance?"

"...You're awesome like that?"

"Vyncent, I can barely even use my legs right let alone- just-" He snickers about it. "Me? Dancing?"

"I'm not that observant!" Vyncent noted the way Will tapped his left pointer finger on the floor with his nail, a heart beat pattern almost. He was happy, that's good, and totally not an observant thing to pick up on.

William smirked a little bit. "Imagine if we were dancing heroes." The idea sent a visible shiver down Vyncent's back, and once again did Will start laughing, Vyncent laughing with him. Nothing was funny, it was all just stupid, yet maybe it felt so ridiculous to Vyncent for any of this. William was too pretty for focus, and he tried to get him to teach him to dance without any reason.He wouldn't have been like this before, but he didn't mind how it's changed where he's red on the floor, laughing with his best friend. Feelings are weird, so is he, and maybe it doesn't matter if Vyncent was thinking of William deeper. He can pretend it's a new normal.

[ohcorny]

i need to post loic soulsov character analysis because if i don't i'll die. he's been plaguing my thoughts for *checks watch* like three to four days because we get SO much information about him and who he is in just this one nugget of the game and i'm spinning out of control about it.

spoilers for the most raw bits of the prelude so obviously go play the game first and then come back and read me ramble and make wild assumptions about this man and the direction of his character

so i have been obsessed with this (paraphrased because i'd have to whip through nearly the whole game again to correctly quote it) exchange between the voice and loic:

"Are you prepared for the world Ysme would create?" "Could it really be any worse than this one?"

and god. bro. bro. the absolute devastation necessary for this man to feel this way, about a woman who lied to him from the moment they met (which he clocked! very early on!), mugged him with a gun, SHOT him with that gun, and then when she became his ghost-god immediately realized she could force him to commit suicide by cop if she wanted. this woman did all of this to him, and when given the opportunity to just let her die--arguably justifiable given her goals and how she threatened him and the fact her death was entirely of her own doing--he doesn't. even though "don't let this woman die", a morally good thing on its face, is actually "let this violent, selfish woman become god with the ability to remake the world in her image, while also becoming her slave" and he knows it.

because to him, that's preferable to the world he lives in. your world has to be so bad for that to be the case.

and it is! his world is that bad. not the physical actual world, which yes, is harsh and cold and dangerous outside the mosaic, but his world, his daughter, in an incurable coma. there is a cruelty to somebody you love being incurably sick. to the selfish, hurting heart, it can be worse than if they were just dead. you can mourn somebody who's dead, and move on from your grief, but as long as they're still living, you're shackled to hope, constantly grieving. there is no moving on, there is only waiting for it to end. you might bargain, as loic does in his search for the flower to cure her, but it's still just waiting.

and when ysme comes into his life, he gives up on waiting. he has been haunting his own life until then, doing good at lamplight because it was within his power while he was there, but i don't think it was ever with dedication. it was something to pass the time as he looked for the flower. essentially selling his soul, surrendering his free will to ysme, this incredibly dangerous, selfish woman, is better than living as he has been. because he's selfish too.

what i like so much about loic is that he's presented as this very kind, soft, unassailable dad who wants to do the right thing. A Down to Earth Good Guy, to contrast with the chaos of ysme, but he's fucking selfish! while he couldn't have predicted the raw physical power of exalted ysme, he still knew she would receive the power to remake the world. and he still decided: fuck this world.

the natural assumption is that his kindness will balance out ysme, and i'm here for that narrative, but honestly. i think she's going to make him worse. the seed of selfishness is already in him, and he's indulged it by giving her power over him, and that must be in some way a relief. he's effectively surrendered responsibility for himself and his actions over to her. he can no longer be fully blamed for anything now that she has power over him.

and i think he's tired of being nice. i think he's ready to go apeshit.

.........and while that would make a good button to end this on, i have to mention: there is a non-zero chance he thinks she's hot and the idea of being a goddess' slave is hot. he's a grown ass man who we know for a fact HAS fucked, and while ysme was like "i thought you were a dead wife guy. i guess you still could be" my money is on divorced. my theory is lia was going over to her mom's house in that flashback.

like yes, all of that above is the main motivator, but i'm not ready to discount sex. loic wants to be lifestyle dommed. because what i just described about surrendering his free will is literally the appeal of being a sub: giving somebody else control, so you don't have to feel the weight of it. this is a story for adults about adults and it is on that le guin shit of linking a sexual fantasy inexorably to the world building and plot thrust, and i am ESPECIALLY here for that.

and i think that's everything i had to say about loic soulsov. i am exorcised. i'm better now.

[coldbycrossfade]

this comic makes me so fuckin mad

spoilers for The Dead Don't Talk #4 under the cut

i don't have the energy like i used to to type out full analysis well articulated explanation on Why I Hate Something And How It Is Shit For The Following reasons, but i need to like. at least loudly vent about how much this shit blows

like man. where do i even start with the absolute void of development for their relationship. why should i care about this? should i care about this? it.....they have no no chemistry. it doesn't even feel like he really likes dragonfire all that much????

how much time has passed? what are we not seeing??

also i'm ngl there's something. vaguely racist about her. there's a whiff of bad optics here. i need to collect my thoughts on it. something something Exotic Dragon Lady something about that shit she said last issue about "tiger men being highly sought after" and it's. this Blond White Man. do you get me? am i making sense?

i'm too mad about this whole thing to be articulate.

anyways everything is happening and nothing is happening at the same time, don't know how they managed this.

these pages make me want to turn into a resident evil-esque body horror bio-monster and wipe out the population of a small city

maybe it is my radicalized homosexual tastes, but if i see one more Man And Woman With No Chemisty And No Reason For Me To Care Lay In Bed Post-Coital And Try Really Hard To Inject Reasons For Me To Give A Shit, i might commit ✨️Atrocities✨️ like at this point never show me straight people again. i don't want this. i'm putting an embargo on this bullshit. the narrative is so doodoo and heavyhanded that ALL THIS DOES IS PISS ME OFF

WHY DOES HE FEEL THIS WAY. YOU NEVER SHOWED ME AT ANY POINT THAT HIS FEELINGS WERE DEVELOPING THIS WAY AT ALL!!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO "SHOW, DON'T TELL"???

ALSO THE SHIT WITH THE SAVAGE LAND LIKE WHAT ABOUT YOU IS SAVAGE, DRAGONFIRE? PLEASE EXPLAIN THAT TO ME, INCREDIBLY CONVENTIONALLY ATTRACTIVE WOMAN OF COLOR #6384737!!!!!

👏🏾and👏🏾then👏🏾she's👏🏾fuckin'👏🏾dead, another woman of color shoved into the fridge as a flimsy excuse for development of a male character in the year of our lord 2025, another woman whom we still know fucking nothing about outside of her being from k'un-lun and her relationship to victor. of fuckin' course. wow. awesome. good job. we did it team, pack it up. another banger.

i'm sick to bastard death of it.

OH AND Y'KNOW WHAT ELSEWHILE I'M HERE? WHY ISN'T VICTOR DRESSED PROPERLY FOR THE TIME PERIOD. WHY IS HE DRESSED LIKE THAT. WHY IS HE NOT IN PROPER ATTIRE. THERE'S AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT COMIC WHERE HE DRESSED CORRECTLY (it takes place in the 20s). LIKE LOOK AT THIS.

yas bitch, make a scene!!!

IN FACT THERE ARE SEVERAL COMICS WHERE HE IS DRESSED FOR THE TIME PERIOD. AND STYLED!!!

so what in the goddamn is this.

don't get it twisted, i love when the titties are poppin' but i also love historical accuracy ESPECIALLY on long-lived characters

everyone else is dressed relatively correctly, why isn't he??????

and i'm not even going to bother getting into dragonfire's costume. they coulda done something real cool what with k'un-lun being in tibet. but they didn't.

and while i'm at it, i'll be a bitch, you can catch these hands too—

aht aht, i see them copy/paste panels baby

we all got deadlines, i get it, but unfortunately i'm a mean gay on a rampage now and you WILL be getting hit with the spray

i think i'm done. thank you for bearing with me if you read this✨️🙂‍↕️✨️

[capnportofficial]

I'll admit I have specific stock in the Wendy/Wendell argument because of personal experience.

Note: My deadname is only my deadname because some people in my life kept avoiding using my pronouns and just substituting my name instead, so I changed my name to force them to gender me correctly. So my deadname is still my name in a way, I don't feel the same detachment to it a lot of trans people do.

Anyways. I'm going to out my deadname in this post because I need to do so in order to make my point. Don't be weird about it.

My deadname is Mirinae.

It's Korean. I am not Korean, but my mother gave me a Korean name. And people will constantly mispronounce it, warp it into a white American name.

Getting called in for a doctor's appointment, they'll never call my actual deadname or anything that could logically result from trying to sound it out. It's always an English name that sounds vaguely like the actual original name. "Mary-Anne." "Marina." etc.

So "Wendy," a Plorgonarian name, being warped into "Wendell," an English name that sounds vaguely like the actual original name, pisses me off because I've experienced that same thing. People will literally just call you by an entirely different name because your name isn't one from their culture.

My name isn't an English girl's name so people will just straight up replace it with an English girl's name. Pleakley's name isn't an English boy's name so people will just straight up replace it with an English boy's name.

I'm so fucking sick of it.

[gaspshichat]

hi chat. pearl made me cry at 9:30 in the morning so y'all know what time is it. warning there will be swears [i say the f word ☹️] bc i haven't slept but i'm somehow not sick rn which. hasn't happened in weeks

[and a quick health update: pretty sure i have narrowed down what's making me sick to three possible things. i'm hopefully seeing my doctor soon bc the refill on my meds expires in june. we're so close and i haven't been able to breathe]

.

.

.

OH MY GOD. Y'ALL. IF YOU'RE FOLLOWING ME AND SOMEHOW AREN'T A PEARL FAN. HOW ???? GO. GO BE A PEARL FAN. IT'S A THREAT

pearl is funny and kind and caring. there is a reason i gave her 10k bits the other day. she deserves the entire world and more. i don't know what the world did to her that made her so kind

i'm not the only one who has a message though !! here are a few messages from people but i've seen so many in reblogs and tweets and whatnot

.

from my lovely partner tay aka twitter user PandoraRxse: I can’t catch streams very often but your videos always make me smile and I always look forward to a new upload. Keep doing what you’re doing, you’re amazing Pearl

from lovely twitter user SKYBL1NGS: shes like genuinely super funny and has great content that everyone can get into and shes really pretty and i loce pearlecentmoon

from a lovely anonymous twitter user: she is genuinly such an amazing artist, both in minecraft and in real life, all of her art is so lively in a way that i'm not sure how to describe best. also she is such a kind human being :))

from lovely tumblr user sapphicwhimsy: pearl is such a lovely and sweet person. shes SO kind to everyone in chat, new or old, and creates such a lovely environment to hang around in. her streams are the only ones i can sit through fully, and she has SUCH a lovely voice! i could listen to her read the dictionary, because im sure she would make it interesting. she has such a way to make everything interesting! even things like sitting still for thirty minutes can be something interesting in a pearl stream, because shes always got such amazing things to say. shes absolutely beautiful, inside and out, with a kind soul that matches her through and through. the fact that she always tries to read everyone out personally, and tries to pronounce their names correctly - and accepts corrections wholeheartedly - is so nice. and shes so wonderfully accepting to all of her community, and always has well wishes for everyone. shes truly a very wonderful and accepting person, who deserves the world! honestly the sweetest person ive ever came across.

.

anyway onto the next part of why i made this post

HOW THE FUCK IS SHE SO PRETTY. WHAT. IT'S GENUINELY UNFAIR. SHE LOOKS LIKE SHE COULD BE A GODDAMN SCULPTURE

LIKE COME ON. I WISH I COULD DRAW SO I COULD DRAW HER. SHE'S BEAUTIFUL. WHAT THE HELL. LOOK AT HER

featuring other GORGEOUS women. my god. i am so

anyway :)) it took me an hour and a half to write this bc i kept getting distracted. in short. pearl is so amazing and wonderful. it's weird how she remembers things about me and actually cares ???

also. SHE PRONOUNCED MY NAME CORRECTLY ???? I'VE HEARD SUCH TERRIBLE PRONUNCIATIONS BUT PEARL. SHE SAID IT RIGHR FIRST TRY. WHAT. i kind of want to hear how karn would attempt to pronounce it

[bc yes. i'm okay with anyone, including streamers, calling me vyren. you know me better than my dad does. it's okay to call me vy, vyren, gasp, or gasps]

sleepy brain wrote this post and i want to say so much more but i can't. i had a better message when i did my 10k bits message but that thing is long gone. the only way pearl knows about those bits is if she sees this

and to her community: i love y'all. y'all are lovely. thanks for helping make my shitty life a little brighter. the world may not be kind to me, but y'all are. thank y'all for that. y'all are so lovely

pearl, if you see this, sending all the love to you and your three cats. and yes. karn is the third cat

[back-alley-bardblog]

RANDOM FACTS ABOUT THE CAST GO /nf

OIUHHHHH FUCK ok i'll do FOUR EACH!! FOUR PER CHARACTER LETS GO!! (ALL UNDER THE CUT!! \/\/\/)

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

CEDAR!

He's from Singapore! He moved to the US to study abroad and ended up sticking around due to enjoying his time there... mostly (Also! Cedar is not his real name. His full name is Wen Liang Yan, he chose an English name because he was sick of people either butchering it or just generally reacting weirdly to it.)

He's Trilingual, English being his 3rd language specifically. He's still fluent but does often find himself slipping up here and there (you can actually see it in his original introduction ask! him forgetting the word for choir was subtle character building,,,)

His default username/gamertag is W_Pickl. It was originally the name of his reddit account, it was supposed to be Pickle but he unfortunately didn't notice the typo until he'd confirmed the username. It's too iconic to change now.

Tobi is his favourite bandmate. Jasper is his least favourite. He makes both opinions fairly known to both parties.

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

JASPER!

If you ask him why he started playing his instrument he will always respond with "I wanted people to know I'm good with my hands" and then not elaborate further. It's definitely not his actual reason but Jasper would honestly rather kill himself than give a genuine response to that question.

Tends to smoke whenever he's bored and can't think of anything better to do... or he's just loitering around not doing anything in particular. Doesn't mind sharing though, which is nice of him... (he is definitely addicted though

Incredibly particular about his hair and his bass, both things seeming to have a lot of value to him as a person. He always does the maintenance for both by himself, if you were to ask to do his hair or ask to lend his bass he'd look at you like you just stabbed him.

He has an intense unexplained hatred for one specific 90's rockstar and will go to extreme lengths to avoid listening to any of his music

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

KALEI!

He's really into fitness and eating well, he often pesters his bandmates into eating properly. Especially Tobi. He's gained a habit of waking up early before the lil guy heads off to work to leave some eggs out so he doesn't go his whole day on a can of red bull and prayers.

Kalei was in a metal band when he was 18, making him the only person in the band who's been in an actual band before. If it weren't for Claire (we will talk about her soon trust) he'd definitely be the one wrangling them around the motions of everything.

The fella was born and raised in Hawaii (bonus fact! ethnically speaking he's half native!), eventually moving to the states with his dad when he was 17, leaving his adult sisters behind. It wasn't a choice he made willingly and he didn't have the best experience finishing up high school there...

The guy likes to powerlift! Being strong gives him confidence in himself, being a bigger guy his whole life didn't garner him the best treatment from others so what started as a way to end the bullying eventually became a way for Kalei to love his own body (also i think he could lift tobi and cedar at the same time. tobi regularly abuses this at crowded gigs where everyone else is tall.)

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

TOBI!

Tobi has the worst diet humanly possible, often neglecting to eat correctly out of sheer forgetfulness and trying to go entire days on just a singular red bull to avoid being late for something he promised to be on time to. The lad is definitely deficient in SOMETHING but its not clear what that is...

Cuddly thing they are. Tobi's love language is physical contact and his loved ones are DEEPLY aware of this, while Tobi definitely does adjust based on comfort levels he always tends to be somewhat clung to someone whenever he's out and about. Usually Cedar, he uses the guy as a seat way too often...

Tobi LOVES horror stuff. Slashers being a massive favourite of theirs. He has an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of every major slasher character and all of their kills, his ao3 history is absolutely vile x reader fics of the ones he thinks are hot. If he played dead by daylight he'd intentionally get mori'd by Ghostface and that's all I have to say on the matter (if anyone asks what his username would be i will give you my honest answer) (also yes this is an autism thing tobi is written to be an AUDHDer and the horror stuff is likely a special interest of theirs)

He doesn't like having his arms out, often either wearing long sleeved shirts or arm warmers. The latter usually coming out when the weather is too hot for him to use his typical shirts.

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

ok that concludes the funny little trivia post :3 yet again i'm always open to answer any questions people may have for the lads, I'll drop the intro post ASAP trust!!

[magewolf-the-artist]

Domestic K-9: Incorrect Quotes (Kinda)

Note that some of these have been modified and two of them are originals.

Bon: BE A BETTER PERSON! 

Felix: WHY?! 

Bon: BECAUSE SOMEONE NEEDS TO HAVE MORALS IN THIS RELATIONSHIP, AND IT SURE AS FUCK AIN'T GONNA BE ME, SWEETHEART!

Susan: The joy of hanging out with Charles. You look away for 5 seconds to make sure something is set up correctly, and they bite the tip of a marker off.

Molly: Is the pink panther a lion? 

Edd: Say that again but slower. 

Molly: I don’t get it. 

Edd: He’s a PANTHER. 

Molly: Is that a type of lion? 

Edd: No, it’s a fucking panther. 

Molly: *somehow accesses google and searches up panther* They aren’t pink? 

Edd: AND LIONS ARE?!

Charles: Susan, I screwed up, big time. 

Susan: You’re going to have to be more specific than that.

Susan: *hands Linda a ‘bouquet’ of flowers. In reality it’s a fistful of withered dandelions and dead grass* Before you say it, I know it’s not much, but it was the only thing I could find.

Linda takes the bouquet with a smile despite the shoddy quality.

Linda: Awww, they’re just like you. Dead and decaying with hints of life.

Susan.exe has stopped working.

Bon: Hey there happy campers-!

Susan: What the fuck makes you think we’re happy?

Bon: … hey there extremely depressed campers!

Bon: honk. 

Charles: WHAT. 

Bon: HONK. 

Charles: WHAT DOES HONK MEAN THIS TIME YOU WHIMSICAL PIECE OF SHIT?????

Charles: Please, Person B, after everything we’ve been through together. You can’t do this. 

Susan: I’m sorry Charles. 

Charles: I’m begging you. Don’t do it. 

Susan: It has to be done. 

Susan: 

Charles: 

Susan: *Places +4* Uno.

Felix: I don’t think we can mansplain, manipulate, or malewife our way out of it this time. 

Bon: *cracks knuckles* Manslaughter it is!

Felix: I think it’s time I get my life in order. 

Jack’s ghost: But they did not get their life in order. In fact, they got drunk last night and fought a raccoon.

Bon: Oh, fiddlesticks! That really ruffles my feathers! 

Susan: Please, just say fuck.

Bon: I REGRET NOTHING!!!

Felix: I REGRET EVERYTHING!!!

Molly: Aunt Susan, I want a bedtime story! 

Susan: I’m busy. I’ll tell you one tomorrow. 

Molly: If you don’t tell me a story, I won’t go to bed! 

Susan: Once upon a time, there was a person named Molly, who always wanted things their way. One day, their friends got sick of it and locked them in the basement for the rest of their life. Everyone else lived happily ever after. The end. 

Molly: I don’t like these stories with morals.

Susan: Damn, the power went out. 

Charles: Don’t worry, I got this. 

Charles: *shakes rapidly and starts to light up* 

Susan: What-? 

Charles: I swallowed a glow stick! 

Susan, absolutely appalled: WHY WOULD YOU-

Bon: In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t “fit in” and I don’t WANT to fit in. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That’s weird.

Edd: I hate how you're just born out of nowhere, and you're forced to go to school and get education so you can get a job. What if I wanted to be a duck? No one ever asked me if I want to be a duck!

Bon: God has let me live another day and I'm going to make it everyone's problem.

Susan: Sometimes, I don’t realize an event was traumatic until I tell it as a funny story and notice everyone is staring at me weird.

[sevi007]

Tales of the Abyss part 51

Now, let's hear what Van got to say!

Oh Luke...

Alright, I'm afraid part of Luke still has not really grasped that the man he trusted and thought to be his friend never had his well-being in mind. He actually seems to hope he can still TALK about this with Van, which is. Pretty sure already a no-go. Van seems dead-set on whatever, and seems to hold little to no regard for Luke as the "replica".

... I feel like we are not even being taken seriously as potential enemies.

I think that's what the replica's are for...

I could list several other ways on the fly but I'm hearing him out.

Please note, this was NOT going to be on my list XD

*whisper* I forgot who Lorelei is

Saved by Anise

Though now wondering what an "aggregate sentience" is. I will look that up after XD

I will use that reasoning for any and all neurodivergent thing happening to me now.

Can't we just. Forbid the Score. Not read the Score. Destroy the thingy-stones where the Score is on. Etc. Etc.

Soooo, how do I have to imagine that. Is Van and Co going to be only people which are "originals" among an entire population of replicas? Is that it? And again - what is stopping the replicas to just pick up the Score again -

Ah wait! Luke wasn't in the Score, right. So replicas are all not in the Score? I guess? Which would make it obsolete.

But there are still better ways, dammit!

Despite the sheer insanity of the plan, kinda proud that I guessed correctly. Again! I'm good at guessing games! =D

Or the writing is neat and foreshadows things. That, too.

I agree that that's fucked up, but your plan is more fucked up.

You out-fucked-up the entire thing, congratulations, you won.

Huh?

Yeaaaa. So what. Guy was probably a teen back then, and he changed. He grew.

Apparently, you did not.

I am NOT saying Van has no right to his feelings. The entire thing with Hod is fucked up, as I already said when Tear's Grandpa revealed that they always KNEW it would happen and did nothing about it. But Van's way of doing things is sick and just screams that he should have gotten a lot of damn therapy. How is killing the entire population (plus planet, if I look at his plans to replicate entire areas) any better than what they did? How does it trump, say, abolish the Score and Order of Lorelei and start a different way of living?

He is willing to kill his own sister, he said, if she does not see things his way. He is willing to replicate people against their wills, use those replicas, and them kill them without a blink. Man's clearly has lost it as some point. I feel sorry for him, I do. I'm just saying we cannot let him continue, anyway.

And with that - I ran into the picture limit! Yaaaay! XD @ahsokaisawesome @magicmetslogic

[her-satanic-wiles]

Am I living correctly?

Is that a question people ask nowadays? Does anyone else truly worry if they're doing the right thing in their life, or is everyone else just taking it day by day and trusting the process?

I've made several decisions over the last ten years that have me sat here thinking about everything that led me to those decisions, and if in wanting to live day by day, I've ultimately fucked myself over in the long run.

My university degree was journalism, a competitive job that doesn't pay as well as it should for the average journalist. As a journalist, you always make an enemy of someone, whether it's your readers or your colleagues. Followed that up with a master's in public relations, what we called a "panic master's", because we realised that none of us were truly ready for the real world, so we stayed on an extra year. Then immediately after that I moved to Korea to teach English as a second language and stayed there for 4 of those years. I have little experience in my qualified field, and no qualifications for the job I have the most experience for, making me obnoxiously unemployable. I'm over-qualified for a lot of the jobs in the local area, but lack the experience to be in the field I'm actually trained for. I don't regret going to Korea per se, because I loved every second of it and was so proud of myself for moving all the way across the world, and sticking it out for so long. But now, I'm about to enter into my 7th month of unemployment, with no one willing to hire me. Volunteered at my sister's school only to be kind of abandoned at the end of it with no prospects to show for it, and now I'm bussing it from here there and everywhere to rock up to interviews where no one is going to actually give me the sodding job.

I have one tomorrow, please manifest this for me.

Then there's the non-existent disaster of my love life. The string of failed dates, online situationships, the random unrequited crush I had on a red-pilled, ginger freak, who resembled Beaker from the Muppets and smiled like my dad (fucking ew), IRL situationships, the guy who told me my best friend was hotter than me and now the guy I'm talking to kind of not actually talking to me because of reasons I actually can't explain to anyone. People want to fuck me so bad it makes them look stupid, but the second I ask for some love, a cheeky bit of cherishment, suddenly, it's too much fucking effort and they can't do it for one reason or another. The chronically single friend, who has had an issue with that her entire life, heard every single unsolicited advice from everyone, only to turn 29 in one month completely broken hearted, feeling totally unlovable, and never actually knowing what it's like to be someone's first priority, the first thought in their heads when they wake up in the morning. Instead of finding someone who's completely obsessed with me, a true Gomez Addams to my Morticia, I'm met with 14 bigots, clop-fiction readers, weirdos, and over-sexualisers who only see me as a thing to get themselves off with because they take my hyper-sexuality and fucking run with it.

There has to be a better way of living, surely? One that involves me getting a good job, with great pay, and a person who worships the ground I walk on... when is it gonna be my turn? I'm sick of this.

I don’t know if I’m living correctly. All I know is that I’m living honestly. And some days, that doesn’t feel like enough. Some days it feels like the universe is punishing me for wanting more—for asking for softness, for tenderness, for a love that doesn’t make me feel like I’m begging for scraps at someone else’s table.

I’ve fought to be proud of who I am, to find joy in the chaos, to make meaning out of the mess. But right now? It feels like I’ve been standing in the rain with my arms open for years, and all I’ve caught are cold shoulders and empty hands. I keep showing up. I keep hoping. And still—I’m the one left out in the cold, watching other people get picked, get praised, get loved like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

I’m so tired of being the girl who’s almost enough. The candidate who’s almost right. The date who’s fun but not serious. The woman people want to touch, but never choose. I have poured love out of every crack in me, and no one has ever tried to fill a single one back in.

I wish I had something more uplifting to say. Some neat little bow to tie all this grief into a lesson. But right now, all I have is this ache. This quiet, echoing ache that I don’t know how to stop carrying. And maybe that’s where I’ll leave it. Not with a promise, or a moral—but with the truth.

I’m still here. Still showing up. Still breaking open in case someone, someday, might be willing to meet me in the wreckage and say, “You were never too much. You were always worth choosing.”

But if life has taught me anything: maybe I'm always going to be the support character in everyone else's stories, but never the main character in my own.

[star-on-a-beach]

Okay um. I really don't like doing this, like, ever

But

Tw for vent post, Bc idk, maybe it'll help if I talk about this where it'll be seen and not on a vent blog where I know no one sees it

So it's pretty obvious that pretty much everything right now is in kind of a shit state and I'm really at the end of my line trying to be optimistic about it. Presidential election, rp, guard, college, art, writing, all of this shit, even stuff I'm supposed to enjoy, makes me want to fucking shatter a rock because I don't want to do anything anymore other than scroll through social media on my phone which, I've probably developed an addiction, and of course that makes me feel even fucking worse bc I told myself I'd never get addicted and look at where I am now

So many things I'm unhappy with are really kind of tying back to me and I'm so angry at everything but especially myself now, but theres nothing I feel like I can do about it but try and break it all down I guess?

There's shit going on with color guard and, other than the friends I've made within it and the actual performances, I don't fucking enjoy it anymore because our coach is apparently super fucking shitty and a liar and unfair and argumentative and never sticks with the drill she writes and doesn't give us the resources to put it together correctly, WHEHN SHES LITERALLY OUR COACH AND THATS HER JOB, IVE TRIED SO HARD TO STAY KIND TO HER BUT WITH EVERYONE AROUND ME TALKING SHIT AND TALKING ABOUT WHAT A BAD PERSON SHE IS IM STARTING TO DO IT TOO AND I HATE IT

And then obviously there's the actual schoolwork that needs to get done, I thought I had not one, not two, but 3 FUCKING ESSAYS DUE ON THE 11TH, WHICH WERE ASSIGNED TO US ON WEDNESDAY, AND EACH HAD TO BE 700 WORDS LONG. Granted it doesn't actually have to be like that but teachers are talking about finals now and I'm going to have SO many essays for that and I have a whole debate too. I'm tired and sick of waking up at ridiculously different times for classes and not being able to have a goddamn nap bc I'm either working, procrastinating with the screens addiction again, or I don't have enough time because god knows I can't take power naps for SHIT, and I'm not fucking paying for coffee in this economy

I can't even relax how I normally want to because I'm so tired from everything, too. Writing big things for TAOCC or drawing feels like a chore, and then I feel obligated to draw others characters or I want to actually do so but I have no energy for it, and I can't get my art to look how I want it to perspective-wise, no matter how many tutorials I look at, and it never ends up the way I want and I haven't even finished TAOCCTOBER or Memoryquest, both of which I feel shitty for, because then they're both more things that I'm giving up on, and I give up on so much shit so easily unless I'm being pushed over and over and over and over, although rn I really wanna just say to hell with it and kill both of them entirely

And with taocc as a whole, I don't even know where to begin. I mentioned in my earlier post that I'm struggling to be assertive and actually say what I want with RP, which results in me feeling really unsatisfied with it a lot. I feel like people aren't interested in my characters and I need to be the one trying to build the characters' connections by asking questions, which. I love when other characters ask mine questions, because so much would be revealed if PEOPLE JUST ASKED. I know you guys don't mean it in this way but I feel like I'm trying to push all of this out, but I barely get anything back except for maybe one question or comment or smth, but it feels like the characters aren't interested in my characters' pasts, and that means the mods aren't either. Which, is really no fault of yours, whether you are or not, it's my fault because I can't bring myself to get off my high horse and actually say "hey, are you willing to have your characters ask about mine?" because I have the firm mentality of "if they wanted to, they would", and I'm trying to make other characters feel important while also craving mine to feel important, but the moment they do, I wonder if I'm taking the main-character roles too much and I need to even it out so I immediately divert the attention back to yours and feel shitty about it. Once again, this is no one's fault but mine, and this is partially why my relationship with my last rp partner, aka my ex bsf, ended, because I wasn't assertive enough and kept wondering if I was hogging the spotlight any time focus did switch to my characters which just isn't enjoyable for anyone. So I'm angry and terrified that these patterns which are repeating are going to lead to a similar outcome.

It isn't even just that though, I just really hate how I write as a whole rn. I used to be so poetic and good with words but now they read difficult unless I'm writing a great wall of text, and my characters aren't acting the way I want to, partially because I'm trying to morph them to get along more with other characters and diminish their flaws so they're liked by others, but it just takes away from who they were originally and I hate that as well. It's easy to get caught up in the heat of the rp but for fucks sake I expect myself to be a better writer than this.... and I haven't even gotten around to fixing the fucked-up-with-a-side-of-cheddar timelines, which have been NAGGING at my mind for FUCK KNOWS HOW LONG, but once again, I don't even want to do anything anymore and I get mad bc the only things I wanna do are just self indulgent shit and like hell I'm asking for that from anyone (see, that's part of the problem, right there.)

I think the only thing I hate more than not being assertive with rp is the fact that I'm an adult among you all. Yes, being 18 now while the majority of you are minors is a massive fucking deal to me, and I'm realizing why exactly adults generally avoid friendships like this, because I'm constantly worried about being a good example to you all. I have to have the good advice, I have to be available, I have to be good with assertiveness and boundaries, hell part of the reason I try and avoid venting so much is because you all do not fucking need to have that burden. Every time I do something like this post I immediately think "these are kids and I'm an adult, it's kids trying to help an adult who should not be saying this stuff or laying this burden on them", as if I'm some kind of weirdo. I really try my damndest to not be one of those adults who dumps all their problems on adolescents in order to feel better about their own shitty life, I don't want to be the adult who their younger friends are comforting all the time and have that burden on them (yes, I am completely aware this post contradicts that, and yes, I am very ashamed but I feel Im at rock bottom and you guys deserve to know (but don't deserve the burden of it)). I don't feel like the example I want to be to you guys, I'm incredibly dense, and half the time, I feel like an oblivious idiot for the simplest fucking things in rp even when no one says anything that implies any of you guys think that. I get so annoyed as well, and that's another part I especially hate, it's that I get annoyed with the smallest things so damn easily, whether it's someone saying something random in call and breaking silence, or someone talking about a subject after we've moved on, or a rant that's gone on for a really long time. All of those are ridiculous things to be annoyed by, and I'm completely aware of that. I'm not proud of it whatsoever. It might also be the weather, but I'm so, so, so annoyed by so many tiny, insignificant things nowadays that it's ridiculous, and I've snapped on call a few times which I feel horrible about. I'm trying so hard to be a good, strong role model for all of you, because that's what you deserve and I want to be like that for you. But, both here and in real life, my own idiocy and density and emotions make me feel like I'm never going to escape being a dense, emotional, spacy child who keeps trying to catch up. And as an adult, I'm really, really, really upset that I feel like this because once again, you guys are the minors, not me. I'm not saying you guys should feel like that (I really hope not, no one should feel like that), but it feels even worse since I'm trying to be the adult for you guys to look up to, but I'm looking up to all of you instead. And then, even worse, I get jealous. Not of the bad shit you guys go through, but like. Insignificant things. Art styles, friends, activities, actually having your family around. I really hate myself for being jealous of that and always comparing and trying to match it since it's completely hypocritical of me otherwise.

I'm closing up this vent, but tw for some darker themes in the next paragraph

I'm really just kind of sick of life as a whole. I'm done being an adult, to hell with this, just let me be the younger friend again so I don't have to see myself as an old baby. I'm tired of all of this and the dark jokes I make, they're horrible, but they're becoming more common and I think about the content of them a lot. I'm so tired of this shit and feeling like this and I'm mad and ashamed that I'm making this post because of everything I said above. I'm so done with everything. To hell with this country, to hell with my future, to hell with drawing and writing and trying to put stuff out. At the time of writing this I'm crying, because I'm really really missing my dad. I want to hug him and be with him. I want my family overall to be okay. I want to feel happy and content with myself and my life like back in summer. I'm so sorry for having to say all this but it's the truth and, again, this is my last resort for trying to feel better because hell knows I don't have the initiative to make an appointment and talk to a therapist on campus. Ik this will go away later but ffs i don't know if I can wait until later.

Ok, heavy vent part is over

I've said a lot so I'm ending it here. If you choose to ignore this, that's fine. I'd appreciate some kind of acknowlegement, tbh, whether it's a like or a comment or something, or just a kind word (whatever you do, please don't just put *hug* and leave it at that, hugs dont really feel like they have much more meaning at this point). It feels ridiculous to ask you for comfort especially after kinda dumping all of this here for you guys to see but I might as well try ig. Idk, I'm gonna just try and not delete this out of shame.

I hope you all know that I love you guys so, so, so, so much. This community has brought me so much joy and leaving is the last thing I'd ever dream of unless I had to. I hope you guys don't mind me doing this too much. Logically Ik you probably don't but, really, none of what I just vented about is based in logic regardless.

Thank you for reading, whether it was skimming or fully reading it. Kind words are appreciated but obviously not forced and I love you guys so much. Goodnight ❤️