#Long Stick Goes Boom

[gungieblog]

Long Stick Goes Boom

[longliverockback]

Krokus Long Stick Goes Boom: Live from da House of Rust 2014 Sony ————————————————— Tracks: 01. Long Stick 02. Hallelujah Rock ‘n‘ Roll 03. Go Baby Gp 04. AM Woman 05. Tokyo Nights 06. Fire 07. Rock City • Betta than Sex • Dög Song 08. Screaming in the Night 09. Hellraiser 10. Bedside Radio 11. Easy Rocker 12. Heatstrokes 13. Live for the Action 14. Hoodoo Woman —————————————————

Fernando von Arb

Mark Kohler

Mandy Meyer

Flavio Mezzodi

Chris von Rohr

Marc Storace

* Long Live Rock Archive

[rotor25]

[howldean]

i’m so fucking pissed rn

[x-brik-x]

I'm seeing a lot of people say that punk fashion is expensive and inaccessible, which is very wrong. here is a list of some ways you can make punk fashion easier, cheaper and more accessible for you, since that's... kinda the whole point.

others are encouraged to add onto this!! (just don't recommend corporations like amazon. not cool.)

1. patches!! you don't need to buy them. DIY patches are not ugly or boring. in fact, they are encouraged here!! DIY, in my opinion, is always the best thing to do when it is an option and is safe to do so.

2. speaking of DIY, spikes!! you can make them!!

cut the top and bottom off of an empty can. cut down the middle of the cylinder and flatten it, so it's just a flat rectangle of metal.

cut out a shape that is kind of a third of a circle, but around 3/4 of the curved edge is taken up by triangle shapes. (I'm not very good at describing, so here's a badly drawn picture)

roll it into a cone, leaving the 4 triangles sticking out at the bottom. this bit is optional, but you can fill it with hot glue to make it more sturdy, just be careful touching the hot metal. I tend to hold the cone by one of the triangles with a bit of fabric wrapped around my fingers for this bit. cut 4 small holes in your fabric in this kind of shape:

and put the spiky bits of triangle through the holes. fold the triangles in on themselves to secure the spike in place. boom. spike obtained. this is one I made and attached to a little piece of fabric to test this method out:

3. battle vests!! (like the base jackets). the best places to buy these are charity shops and second hand websites in my opinion, but if anyone else knows any better options, please reblog with those!!

a good trick I find works well on eBay is to filter search results to your country (or state? can you do that in the US? idk) so that a: fast delivery because local, and b: all the sellers of everything that shows up are in YOUR TIME ZONE.

why is this important? when people sell something for really cheap, it goes FAST. check eBay at like, 2am or something. all the scalpers in your area are asleep. grab the cheap stuff while they can't.

4. sewing!! want patches, but can't sew for whatever reason? I've heard of a lot of people with joint conditions like arthritis complain about the inaccessibility of patch stuff, and that does sound extremely annoying, however:

safety pins!! while they are still a little fiddly, they're much less work so you don't have to fiddle about for long. if you can, you could even ask a friend to help, since it doesn't take long at all I'm sure someone will be willing to help out!! (I know I would, but that's just me, and I love this kind of thing). safety pins on clothes are also widely considered to be a symbol of solidarity, so if anything, you're adding some extra love and meaning to your patch pants/battle jacket.

if that's still too fiddly, fabric glue is always an option. unfortunately this means you won't be able to remove/reposition patches, at least without leaving a massive patch of residue, but if you're ok with that then fabric glue is probably your best bet.

for people who prefer sewing: as for where to get the thread, I've heard a lot of people recommending dental floss, as it's apparently much cheaper and works just as well. I haven't tried this myself so can't confirm that, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

5. where to get fabric!! old clothes. rip em up. you don't need any kind of fancy fabric from the craft store. my patches are made of old jeans that I grew out of.

don't have any old clothes and you don't want to waste any good ones? I'm not sure about other countries, but in the UK, as long as you're not on private property (trespassing), dumpster diving is perfectly legal.

I definitely ;) do NOT encourage ;) trespassing rich people's land ;) to steal from their dumpsters ;)

or tbh it doesn't matter too much how rich the person is, since it's all going to landfill anyway. if it's in the bin, it's free game, but you didn't hear that from me. ;)

please add onto this where you can!! and if I missed something or got anything wrong, add that on too!!

[hijackalx]

MALE BG3 CHARACTERS EATING OUT F!READER +18

characters included: gale, astarion, wyll, gortash

FEMALE BG3 CHARACTERS

a/n: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY YALL!!!! your bg3 pookies have a present for you !!!! (hint: it’s head)

ASTARION

you guys already know i’m a pleasure dom astarion truther 😹😹 at the end of the game he is WHIPPED for you. so he enjoys every minute of giving you head

and he’s so good at it. and he knows he’s good at it

well— he’s good at it as long as he has the patience. sometimes he’d just rather make you finish on his cock and you know how he is when he wants something

ANYWAY……. he’s obsessed with the way you taste. and smell. especially when you’re close to/on your period. will literally BEG you to let him eat you out then

can be a little rough when you’re bleeding though. he gets a bit overexcited 😹😹 sometimes he has to stop and bite your thigh to regulate himself, which honestly hurts worse LMAO

will look you in the eyes while he kisses your clit

he basically never breaks eye contact. eye contact is HUGE for him. he’s mostly watching how you react so he can adjust accordingly, but he also loves how intimate it is

SO much praise if you react the way he wants— “thaaat’s it... that’s my girl”. he loves hearing you whimper his name, he could literally get off to that alone. your voice is as sweet as you taste

secretly loves when you reach out to hold his hand lol. he thinks it’s so cute

also loves having to hold your legs open when you start to squirm/try to close them. your thighs will be so bruised after

when you tell him how good it feels he goes “i know, i know” in the sweetest, faux-sympathy tone. he’s cocky with it lmao

immediately goes “come give me a kiss, darling” after you finish and he hasn’t wiped his face off yet. half of him is doing it to tease you and the other half genuinely wants you to kiss him lol

WYLL

i’m going to be honest i think you’re his first

he’s a little nervous to try it but he’s also SO eager. he’s just worried he’s not going to be good at it lol

he needs a lot of praise and reassurance. he’s constantly watching your expressions to see if you like it, but at the same time he doesn’t really know what to do if you don’t 😹

at first he’ll need some direction but he learns so fast. will start out slow and hesitant but eventually just loses himself in the pussy LMAO

gets rock hard from eating you out. the sounds and faces you make drive him crazy, mostly because he’s so eager to please. LOVES to know when he’s doing good

the type to moan into your pussy. probably because he’s grinding into the bed 😹😹

i think he could probably finish just from eating you out

when he gets more confident, he can be a bit of a tease. sometimes he’ll stop to pepper kisses on your thighs so he can hear you beg for him to keep going

he feels bad making you beg for too long though so he gives in pretty quick lol “anything for you, my love” or “your pleas are so beautiful— how could i say no?”

also i think he’ll eventually try to fuck you with his fingers while he eats you out too. once he gets the hang of balancing both it’s MAGICAL

likes to eat you out while you’re standing. something about having your leg propped over his shoulder while looking up at you from his knees does something to him BAD

he usually doesn’t want to overstim you because it feels mean 😹😹 but he will absolutely keep going if you want him to

GORTASH

i don’t think he really ate pussy before he met you LMAO

he seems like he can be a pretty selfish lover— if there’s nothing in it for him then what’s the point?

BUT……….. there’s something about you…….

he feels a little weird the first time he gets the urge to do it. he sticks his fingers in his mouth to clean them after they were inside you…… and when that creamy taste hits his tongue….. boom……. his third eye opens

he’s not super adept at it to start, but he’s got the spirit 😹😹

he literally eats it like he’s STARVING. i’m talking lickin’ and suckin’ on ANYTHING he can put in his mouth. nothing is safe. clit? assaulted. lips? sucked on. hole? tongue-fucked

even when he’s eating you out it’s like he’s doing it for himself LMAO. he just disappears into his own little world

he DOES love your praise though, so that kind of encourages him to try to work it out of you. he needs to hear you tell him how good it feels or it’ll bruise his ego

reaches up to knead a titty while he’s doing it

LOVES to do a bunch of hungry, flat sweeps with his tongue. will also press and hold it against you like that to get you to grind on it. he wants to see how needy you are

will say nasty shit into your pussy. “you taste so fucking good, baby”, “daddy loves this pretty little pussy of yours”. you can feel every vibration from his voice

will want to spit in your mouth after

GALE

i feel like gale is the greatest pussy eater there is. like he basically has no vices when it comes to eating you out

he’s extremely sensitive and receptive so he always knows what to do. sometimes you don’t even have to say anything. he just figures it out

his FAVORITE position is facesitting. eating pussy is a literal hobby to him

he’s SO good with his tongue. he has such good control of it and uses it to absolutely destroy your clit. his switching between circling and flicking will make you finish embarrassingly fast

will overstimulate you if you let him. he’ll keep making you cum on his tongue until your whole body is shaking

also the way his beard feels against your inner thighs/lips…………… magnificent……

since he’s a thigh man he loves to knead/bite/rub on your thighs too. will legit almost bust when you try to close your legs around his head. it’s that serious 😹😹

LOVES when you grind on his face. will grab you by the hips and encourage you to do it. you using his face to get off is so hot to him

likes to stimulate your g-spot with his fingers while simultaneously sucking on your clit. also gets off to all the lewd, wet sounds he creates while he does this

moans and groans like he’s eating a five star meal LMFAO

talks A LOT but it somehow doesn’t get in the way of what he’s doing. most of it is incoherent mumbling along the lines of “so good, so good”— but other than that he tells you how gorgeous/perfect your pussy is. i’m not joking when i say he worships your pussy

he WILL try to make you squirt. he’s in the splash zone for a reason baby

[justaz]

arthur + co head into the woods for some fucking reason don't ask me and arthur gets separated and meets with some rogue druids? idk a couple magic people and one of em tries to attack arthur but the attacks fail and the other one (leader? idk) just goes "dumbass. fucking look at him. you think your magic would work against him?" and the other one looks at arthur for a long time before going "oh shit,, bros protected." and the leader nods and is like "yeah. by emrys. so don't be stupid and try to hurt him again otherwise emrys might come after you and i'll die by proxy." and arthur is just there like "hi. wtf are you talking about?" and gets a short explanation about emrys and all the protection spells he's cast over arthur to the point where he's almost basically immune to magic. and arthur is like "hi. idk an emrys. also why would a super powerful sorcerer be protecting me?"

anyways, they're like "no yeah emrys is protecting you from the shadows. has been for a while now. you probably don't know him as emrys - he goes by another name. based on the sheer amount of spells on you, he's been protecting you for years." and then they dip bc like hell are they gonna stick around for emrys to find them talking to arthur and arthur makes his way back to the knights and merlin and merlin gets all naggy like "wtf is ur problem? stop wandering off! you could've died! i wasn't there to protect you!" and arthur shoots back instinctively like "and how would you protect me, merlin?" and merlin just glares before rolling his eyes and going "you have no idea the amount of times i've saved your ungrateful ass"

BOOM arthur suspects merlin and stalks him and watches him perform magic and watches as druids and sorcerers kneel before him and call him "lord emrys" and he's just like "wtf." idk. it was the barest glimpse of a vision from god. this is all i got. yall gotta fill in the gaps.

[derekhighwaytf]

Welcome to the Team, Bro

TW: Misogyny, Homophobia

Your twenty-first birthday had been going absolutely perfect. Of course, you’d surrounded yourself with all your closest friends, all girls, obvi.  Drunk off cheap grocery store champagne being sipped out of red solo cups, you all continued laughing and enjoying your annual birthday roast, regardless of how uncomfortable everyone was stuffed onto your small college apartment couch. It was all in the name of light-hearted fun—typical jokes about how you wear the tightest of clothes, how you seem to have retained more Sex and the City quotes than anyone else alive, and of course, your nonexistent love life with guys. The usual, nothing that cut too deep. You laughed along, leaning back in your chair, feeling comfortable and safe being with your gal pals.

But then the door swung open, and Levi, Jessica’s ultra jock boyfriend, walks in. The room goes completely silent for just a second, the atmosphere shifting rapidly. Levi, an absolute douchebro, is the kind of frat guy who dominated a space just by existing. Tall, muscular, and that same cocky grin permanently plastered on his face. He saunters into your living room like it was his own frat house.

"Hey, birthday boy!" Jessica teases, giving you a nudge. "Levi asked me if he could take a turn roasting you. He says it’s good practice for his stand-up career.  Can you please let him go up?  I promise he won’t say anything too horrible."

You blink. ‘What on earth could Levi even say?  He doesn’t even know me?!’ you think to yourself. The other girls exchanged worried glances. The guy’s not exactly known for being subtle or sensitive, but before you can protest, Levi stepped towards the middle of the room, cracking his knuckles as he sized you up.

"So this is our little birthday bitch, huh?" His voice booms, loud and commanding. He stands in front of you, creepily grinning as he looks you up and down your skinny, twinkish frame. "Man, look at you. You’re such a fucking stick. Bet you couldn’t lift up a five pound weight, even if your life depended on it. What, a gust of wind gonna blow you over, fag?"

The girls laugh sporadically, forcing a chuckle just to try and relieve the tension. But as the words leave Levi’s mouth, a hot, uncomfortable sensation ripples through your body, and out of nowhere, you feel a tightness push itself against your pale skin. You glance down and your eyes widen—your biceps are swelling, your pecs thickening themselves into two smooth mounds of man meat. Muscles you’ve never even fathomed having in your life start to form, bulging out of your once-slender frame. Your shirt strains at the seams as your chest broadens to it’s sides, your chest pushing forward until they’re massive, rock-hard slabs, rivaling the tits of your girlfriends.

"Whoa, dude... what the hell are you saying, man?" you mutter, your voice suddenly much, much deeper, almost as deep as Levi’s.

The girls gasp, their eyes widening in shock, but Levi just keeps going, pretending to be unaware of what’s happening to the poor boy.

"But you know what?" Levi grins, his tone dripping with smugness. "I bet you’re the kinda guy who’s so obsessed with looking good that you wouldn’t even know what it means to get truly dirty, huh? Probably shower three times a day, all prim and proper. Nah, man. A real dude doesn’t give a shit about smelling fresh.  Real men smell like bulls.”

As soon as he says it, a wave of heat rolls through you again. This time, it’s not just gonna stay inside yourself, no. It’s... in your gut. A thick, rumbling pressure builds up more and more inside you, and before you can stop it, a loud, wet burp escapes your mouth. 

BRRRRRRRP!!

The girls squeal in disgust, but it doesn’t stop there. A loud, long fart rips through the air, and the smell is rank—sweaty, cheese, and 100% pure man odor.

PFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT!

Your armpits start to sweat profusely, staining your rapidly shrinking tank top shirt, and the once-fresh Polo cologne you had on is completely overpowered by the raw, animal scent of your dick stink. You can feel your skin getting greasy, and when you scratch your balls—without even thinking about it—they itch more, like you haven’t showered in days and you can’t help but touch it more and more.

"Ugh, gross!" one of the girls groans, wrinkling her nose. But as she pulls away, her eyes, they…change. Like she can’t stop glancing at your new Adonis body, completely disregarding, maybe even enjoying the smell. And she’s not the only one. All your former “gal pals” are starting to shake and whisper amongst themselves, their giggles turning into flirtatious murmurs, their shirts opening up as if he thermostat had been turned up to a hundred.

Levi leans in closer, his grin growing wider. "But hey, it’s not just about the looks, right? I bet this little fucker still can’t get laid to save his life. Probably jerks off to Tumblr stories every night instead of actually getting some pussy. Pfft. Bet he couldn’t handle a real girl if he tried."

Something snaps in your formerly gold star brain. You’ve always been gay, but now, that feels... weird. Incorrect.  Immoral.  Suddenly, the thought of even just hugging another guy seems wrong, as if you were worried you could catch gayness. Your eyes flicker over to Jessica and the others, and a new heat ignites inside your groin. Your mouth waters at the sight of your friend’s curves, their massive cleavage, their clean shaven legs. You want to be inside them. You need to be.

Memories shift. Nights spent dreaming about guys and writing fanfictions about male celebrities blur and twist into hazy recollections of fucking girls—lots of girls. So many, you couldn’t even remember one of their names.  You can taste their pussies, hear their moans. Your cock twitches in your pants, straining against the fabric of your newly materialized gym shorts as you stare at the girls who used to be just your friends. Now, they’re more than that. They’re... opportunities.  Sluts, ready for the taking.

"Fuck you asshole, I get laid all the fuckin’ time," you hear yourself shout, your voice deeper, more arrogant, your words rolling out in laughter like they’ve always been true. The girls giggle, blushing and shooting you lingering glances, clearly wanting your dick in their mouths. All of them. And in the pit of your stomach, you know they’ll all be yours by the end of the night.

Levi laughs, clapping you on the back. "Now that’s more like it, stud!" He steps back, crossing his arms, admiring his work "But let’s be real, this guy just thinks far too much, huh? He’s always overanalyzing shit, worrying about dumb stuff. A real bro doesn’t waste his time thinking. Just acts. Bet this guy’s head is still full of that nerdy fag crap."

You feel a sharp, dull shot of pain go through your head like a bullet, as if half of it is being yanked out. Your vision swims around the transforming frat room of breasts, and suddenly, it’s hard to think—like there’s a deep fog settling over your brain, clouding everything, mushing it into a few simple desires. The things you once knew—your studies, your hobbies, your passions—fade away, replaced by simpler, more immediate thoughts. Working out. Fucking. Drinking beer. All the things that matter to a real man.

The last thing to go is the memory of who you used to be. That skinny, smart, gay kid? Gone. Replaced by the image of you as a dumb, horny jock, the kind of guy who lives for the gym and pussy. The kind of guy who doesn’t need to think—because he already knows he’s the shit.

You blink, grinning stupidly at Levi, feeling the last vestiges of your old self disappear. "Yo, bro, I ain’t no faggot. Hey, where the fuck’s the beer at? We gotta get shwasted, man."

The girls are all over you now, practically throwing themselves at you. And why wouldn’t they? You’re hot as fuck, and you need to dump your cum in their needy holes.  You’re gonna make these formally open-minded liberal intellectuals into perfect American mothers.

"That’s my boy," Levi laughs, handing you a beer. "Welcome to the team, bro."

[jxckchxmpi0n]

BOXER ETHAN HEADCANNONS

This has been on my mind for so long. Shoutout to the people who gave me some ideas 🙌 sorry for being short. I couldn't think of any [plus it's late and I haven't posted anything in a few days]

Mentions of NSFW | m.list

Ethan found an interest in boxing the year before he met you. He didn't mention that much, but when you came over to his dorm, you found his gloves and became obsessed.

He always has bruises on his knuckles.

Sometimes, if he's having a rough day and you haven't heard from him, usually due to arguments with his dad, you'll always find him at the rink.

The first time you visited him, he was fighting with another boxer. You sat at a bench watching him. Seeing him move so quickly was so mesmerizing.

On days he loses his matches, he will come back to his or your apartment so frustrated. You would help him out by making him feel good, but it was never enough.

He would then just become a different person and take his frustration out on you, but still be very sweet about it. "Fuck, baby making me feel so good. Taking me so well, look at you. You like it when I'm this, don't you?"

Everynow and then his walls would slowly have new posters to hide the fact that he punched some holes in them.

When you hang out, he will do his workout sometimes, and afterward, his hair will be sticking to his forehead. He'd be out of breath and sweaty. You never mind that look on him, though.

Once he's done with his workout, he would stand in front of the mirror and flex. Then, he would run to you and flex so you could touch his muscles. He always gets excited when he sees improvement.

"Do you feel that?"

"I do! Wow, look at you!"

One day, he forgot his water bottle at your apartment, so he asked you to bring it by. He was already in the rink, all sweaty and punching at his opponent. After his match, when he saw you, his face would light up.

"There you are, baby," he would then kiss you very passionately, not caring if the other saw.

Sometimes, when you're making food, he will just stand there and fake punch at you, and sometimes he really will punch you but not forceful. It would be the lightest tap ever.

You would ask about boxing all the time, which led him to show you some moves. He couldn't help himself in the end, but seeing you all serious and doing something he loves just turned him on.

After tournaments, you would wait for him to take a shower. The others would be gone by now, so you waited in the lobby. But you noticed a text from him asking you to come to the locker rooms.

He would then convince you to have a quicky. "That's it baby, fuck you feel so good"

Sometimes, when he's bored, he will sit there and just punch at your legs. Not hard or anything, just tap them mainly and make sound affects. "Psh boom pow bam psh"

On bad days, you would have to patch him up. His dad would get into his head, which made him doubt himself in boxing. "I know your dad says shit all the time, and he's wrong every single time. Do what you love! Don't listen to him, even if that means cutting him out of your life. If boxing makes you happy, do it!"

You would have so many first aid kit supplies, mainly for his knuckles, because he would split them so often.

Manz treats you so well!!

He will spoil the shit out of you! When winning matches, he always wins some cash, and more than half always goes to you!

He has this routine before a match, and if he doesn't kiss you, he believes he doesn't have good luck.

If he hadn't gotten a hair cut in a while and his hair was grown out, he'll let you braid his hair before he went to the gym.

[ma1dita]

james potter x reader please!

so, in this one james and lily survive but they realize that they aren't for each other and decide to get a divorce or whatever it is in the wizarding world. so harry spends half of the week with james, and half with lily and her new partner, mary macdonald (yes, i am a marylily shipper)

so, reader is harry's new primary school teacher and baby boy loves her!

one day, james picks harry up from school and meets harry's favorite “miss pretty,”

turns out, she was in the same class as james (different house, ravenclaw preferably) but he never really noticed her bcs all he ever thought about before was quidditch, his friends, and lily evans

ooooh, harry setting his dad up with reader would be amazing!

james potter x ravenclaw!teacher!reader

wc: 1.8k

a/n: no warnings, unedited. only one ravenclaw mention; thank you for the req love! sorry for the wait

—

Harry J. Potter is undoubtedly James’ son. From his unruly hair that can only be salvaged by a thick swipe of Sleakeazys, to the glasses that slide down the tiny bridge of his nose, and more evidently as of late—the mischief that runs through his veins, there’s really no doubt that this troublemaking 6-year-old is his.

No blood magic or Muggle fraternity… ehem, paternity test needed.

So there he sits in a too-small, sunshine yellow kiddie chair in the hallway of Harry’s classroom because he’s been called in for a parent-teacher meeting. The chair part wasn’t necessary, but Harry’s playing pretend to be a waiter at a 5-star restaurant that his mommy said Lily was taking her partner Mary to. And whatever Harry says, goes for the most part (which is exactly why he’s in this chair in the first place. He could paint a picture of how red Lily’s face got over the phone when she yelled at him over their baby getting called in for misconduct).

It all must’ve been a misunderstanding, or something he’s yet to find out the reason for, such as why little Harry’s pretend Michelin star establishment has the waiter flying food over in an airplane, complete with bumbling engine noises and his arms sticking out as he runs down the hallway. 

Classy.

“H, I ordered extra fries with this burger!” James says in a ridiculously indignant voice, pretending to huff and cross his arms and he almost cracks a smile when his little one comes giggling down the way back to him, “Coming right up, Daddy!” The other, much older parents that pass by the empty hallway are less enthused, but well, James Fleamont Potter and shame don’t belong in the same sentence, much less a lifetime. 

Tiny airplane arms graze the construction paper Hungry Caterpillar that lines the hallway, painted handprints waving back at little Harry as he runs full speed, until the door opens and BOOM!

James hears laughter instead of tears so when he abruptly stands up, knocking the small yellow chair over (and the purple side table he had all his imaginary food on), albeit trying to come off nonchalant, he’s relieved. What he’s more surprised about is the pretty lady that’s whirling his boy around in her arms.

“Harry the hurricane! Just in time to mix things up and sprinkle some energy back into my day huh?”

You’re dressed in a light pink vest and a long skirt that Harry’s hanging off of like the monkey bars at the playground and you seem to think nothing of it as you stick your hand out for him to shake, “Mr. Potter, thank you for coming in!”

“Oh love, James is fine I—” “DADDY! SAY HI TO MISS PRETTY!”

Quite right, he thinks. There’s something charming about you that he finds himself trying to figure out, hair tied messily on your head, different marker stains on your hands, and a stray holographic sticker that says “What a Star!” seems to have found its way to your abdomen. He thinks that if the professors at Hogwarts were this beautiful, he’d actually spend less time in detention.

The tot is grinning ear to ear and almost bouncing as you crouch down and gently take his hands off your skirt and into your own with a velveteen smile, “What did we say, hon? When we’re inside the classroom, we use our inside voices. Soft like a warm breeze, hmm?”

“But Miss Pretty, I’m not in the classroom yet!” Harry says cheekily as he points to his light-up sneakers standing toes away from the doorway. The boy goes running in towards the back of the room to go play with the building blocks and James has to bite his tongue when he watches you pinch your nose before taking your place at the desk in the front of the room.

“Well hello then, Miss Pretty,” he says with a smirk, throwing his blazer over the back of the thankfully adult chair and rolling his shirt sleeves up as he takes a seat. It’s quiet in the room besides the sound of Harry pretending to be Godzilla on a poor imaginary city in the background.

You stare at him a bit sideways, a beat of silence occupying the space between you, and then a snort escapes you—unladylike, but oh, what a woman. 

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

He blinks. Harry’s block towers crash to the ground and it sounds like James’ hopes of this going anywhere outside the classroom, a reverberating sound that drops with his heart falling to his ass, “Say what now?”

“Dear Godric, you’re still the same as back at school!” you scoff, leaning back in your chair and kicking your legs up on the desk (that he admittedly takes a peek at, but anyways); clearing his throat he’s so sure there must be some sort of misunderstanding—how could anyone overlook someone as stunning as you?

“I should’ve known, to be honest, when a mini-me of you walked in here on the first day, oh—the look on my face, I swear Lily’s gonna get a kick of this when she comes by next week, she was worried that you were coming in and not her anyways.”

The furrow in his brow is like a faultline right now, wondering how in the hell all of this has gone wrong in the last few minutes from the door, “Don’t bother with anything that woman says,” and then you’re laughing because, “Funny, from what I remember, you bothered her no matter what she said.”

And look how that turned out 7 years and a divorce later. 

Co-parenting with Lily Evans-McDonald is not for the weak, after all.

“Why am I even here?” James says exasperatedly, eyes flickering to the ceiling and then to his son who’s doing airplane arms as he kicks down his blocks. You cross your arms almost smugly, and he hopes you don’t take offense, which he clarifies by the frazzled look on his face and the hands he runs through his hair—”Your son called me stupid in class yesterday…”

Dear Merlin.

“And he said that his daddy was the one who told him to say it.”

A wheezing noise leaves his chest and he’s in disbelief, eyes whipping between you and his darling boy and the fact that he’s smack in the middle of looking an outright fool when it comes to this parenting all because of—

“You do know I didn’t mean it like that it’s just—”

You’re grinning as he loosens his tie in a panic, “We didn’t learn the alphabet like that back in our day?”

“I MEAN WHO CHANGES THE ALPHABET SONG? Truly!” James blubbers as he tries to cover his ass and somehow he’s the one who feels like he’s in trouble with the teacher. 

Perhaps he is, though this was not the original scene he had in mind walking in here. He takes a deep breath once you give him the same look you did Harry about his inside voice and—Godric you’re good at that—”And obviously…obviously I didn’t know you were his teacher.”

“Oh? Does that make a difference, Mr. Potter?”

You’re biting down on a perfectly plump bottom lip and his eyes are still wide and he can’t do anything but laugh.

“How asinine of me. You’re a Ravenclaw if I remember, right? Used to study with Moony all the time…” James mutters like he’s discovered something monumental and then he whispers your name, and it sounds as soft as you—something unearthed and new. He likes the way it sounds coming from his mouth and by the quirk of your lip, you do too. “How could I forget you?” 

The two of you chuckle like how children share a secret and it’s all too confusing for his bundle of joy that comes bounding past the seats and pushing off his father’s lap. 

“Oof—” James wheezes as he gets the wind knocked out of him, hunching over in pain, “Careful H, holy sh—” He swallows down the rest of his thought as you raise an eyebrow at his language, instead scooping Harry into your arms and sitting him on the edge of the desk.

“Anyways, I just wanted to let you know that at Harry’s age, his brain is like a sponge—there’s a lot for him to learn and he’s obviously a lot like his daddy, so Daddy’s going to have to be more conscious of what he has to say.” 

Oh the irony.

“Daddy will then, yeah?” he chokes out, restraining himself at the joyous look on his kid’s face when Harry says, “Miss Pretty, can you be Daddy’s teacher too?”

You pat the boy’s head and pinch a chubby cheek, “He’s got a lot to learn too, right Harry? Daddy was always in detention when we were little too.”

James is stirring in his seat and feeling hot under your gaze as he watches you interact with his son. He kind of regrets letting Lily take the reins with all of Harry’s parent-teacher meetings because clearly, he’s been missing out.

“Daddy was also Head Boy, but okay.” The two of you are giggling at the disgruntled look he gives your comment and James feels outnumbered, but not in a way that bothers him. If he’s being honest, he can understand why Harry was so intent on always getting his homework done right.

A while after, you all walk towards the door and Harry’s proudly walking out with a “Dinomite!” sticker on his forehead as James and you catch up on trivial things and then…

“DADDY! YOU RUINED THE DINNER!”

Harry’s pointing at the overturned table in the hall that he seems to have missed earlier and James cringes as he feels an imminent tantrum—if you call him a hurricane wait until he starts crying like a tornado siren. But you come to the rescue and bend over to shake his shoulders, “It’s okay Harry that just means you can make Daddy dinner again!” The little one is rubbing his eyes and whining a bit more softly and his father is looking at you like you’re an angel on Earth.

“That’s our cue to go,” he laughs, squeezing your arm and shaking his head, “Wish I could bring you hom—That’s not. That didn’t come out right,” he stutters, “I mean that you’re kind of a miracle worker and clearly doing better than how I fare sometimes with him. I think we’re too alike.”

“You’re doing great and he’s an amazing kid,” you reassure him, pulling out a sticker and pressing it onto his lapel. It’s of a triceratops and says “No one tops you!” He reads it and smirks, the famous James Potter smolder coming out to play and you roll your eyes. Harry is tugging at both your hands and when you look down at him, he’s hopeful and looking at you with determination he must’ve got from his mother.

“Since Daddy’s ruined dinner would you like to teach him now Miss Pretty? He’s got a lot to learn like you said.”

You’re at a loss for words, trying to stutter your way out of this one but James thinks it’s the best idea he’s ever heard.

After all, like father, like son.

“Think I could even go for extra credit if I’m allowed, Miss Pretty.”

[orcelito]

everyone always talks about That One panel of Trigun: Multiple Bullets, but i havent seen anyone talk about how fucking BATSHIT INSANE the surrounding fight is

like

Vash & Wolfwood fighting back-to-back, both using the punisher as a shield

(the rest under a readmore bc this accidentally got LONG...)

Vash seeing the shots coming from behind & purposefully not moving bc he knows if he does, Wolfwood would get hit

Wolfwood getting injured too, but not moving from Vash's back. the way he's stanced, it looks Protective. he's doing what he can to keep Vash out of the direct line of fire.

even when he's getting shot up for it, he Doesn't Move. (this also seems to be the moment he got hurt, which leads into the panel later)

& throughout this whole scene, we are only seeing Wolfwood's reactions.

until the girls give them an opening, and they burst out with THIS:

Wolfwood injured, so he can't properly aim the punisher... and he gets around this by sticking one of the leather straps in his Mouth

and then we FINALLY get to see Vash's face again as he grabs the punisher (with a "GAN" sound effect, so he fuckin SLAPPED that metal hand on the punisher).

Wolfwood trusts him enough to just do what he says in the thick of battle, so we FINALLY get to the iconic panel:

which brings us to the aboslute insanity of what Vash is actually Doing.

"DON DON" -> two shots fired for two missiles launched. he literally manages to TURN THEM AROUND MID-FLIGHT (interesting to note that they seem to have internal propulsion, rather than simply being fired by Wolfwood. how many of these does Wolfwood have? they seem heavy.)

he manages to avert the third missile from hitting the dude directly, and instead makes it land Behind him. then the other two missiles, he rests his arm on Wolfwood's shoulders to hit them and direct them behind the other two enemies

Boom.

killing no-one, but showing an INSANE level of fine control AND teamwork.

and in the end, Wolfwood's arm is in a cast, Vash seems either unhurt or hurt but unbothered by it (typical Vash). And Life Goes On.

(forgot to mention before, but all panels are from @trigun-manga-overhaul! thank u for the beautiful pages)

[nyxvuxoa-writes]

Tangerine taking female girlfriends virginity after months of dating.

Taking a break from my first Kraven fic, to write this as my first Tangerine fic. Jumping in head first. Thanks for the prompt. ♡

︶꒦꒷♡��꒦︶ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧

Tangerine x Virgin!Fem!Reader

◢ Genre: Oneshot, Smut — Suitable For Adults Only

◢ Warnings: Smut, with slight plotting — No one under 18. Virgin reader with an experienced Tangerine. Use of pet name: Sugar. Slight fingering. No mention of "cherry popping", not everyone bleeds with first-time sex. Slightly dominating Tangerine. Slightly submissive, shy, but eager reader. Unprotected sex. P-n-V. ◢ Word Count: 3.4k

◢ A/N: This is my first Tangerine piece and the first things I have written since coming back from my mental health break, so go easy on me ya? Got a bunch of ATJ fics coming up, keep an eye out. Gif and divider credit goes to myself.

It's hot, disgustingly so, and summer has only just started. But that didn't stop the weather from being muggy and gross, or your air conditioner to stop working suddenly. It seemed like one thing after another, but you were making due. The windows to your place open, fans going so that there was some sort of breeze, and you walking around in a pair of panties and a t-shirt that belonged to your boyfriend.

How long has it been now? Roughly six months...or coming up on it and he had been your first truly serious relationship. Though, this relationship came with strings attached, like his work (which he didn't really talk about with you) or Lemon...but you made due, and honestly, you actually enjoyed his brother's company from time to time.

Six months though...and here you two were. The only difference between you and the other girls he dated or has been with was... that you are a virgin. You weren't sure if this was the first time he had ever been with one, or you really didn't know much about his sexual history in general, but he has actually been rather patient with you on waiting.

Which, still surprises you from time to time when you think about it in passing, often leaving you to question what it was about you that made him stick around. But recently, these thoughts about feeling Tangerine had been becoming stronger, and more frequent. Maybe it was time to finally take everything to the next level?

You weren't sure when Tangerine would be in town. For a little while there, he went dark and there was no contact. A part of you had been worried, naturally, but something in your gut had told you that everything was okay. He was okay. So, for now, you kept yourself busy as you waited for responses to a text or at least a phone call. But nothing came.

You were feeling a little antsy because of it, but you refrained from sending him another message and instead kept yourself busy with cleaning up your place. You had been watering a few plants by the windows when you heard the key in the lock and the sound of the door opening. "Sugar?!" He calls, his accent booming out for you. "Are you home? I'm sorry! I lost my fuckin' phone." He adds, almost growling at himself.

And that wasn't too far from the truth, though it was more like that phone saved his life by taking a bullet for him while it had been tucked into an inside pocket of his suit coat. He closes the door behind him, turning back to look into your place, seeing you slide across the floor as you come around the corner and run at him.

You launch yourself at him, jumping up, your legs wrapped around his waist with your hands draping over his shoulders. Your lips press firmly against his, soft at first before the kiss deepens as he returns it. Tangerine's hands move to your ass, gripping slightly as he keeps propped up against him and the gap between you two closed. There was something different about this kiss, a feeling behind it he couldn't quite put his finger on and he liked it.

"Did you miss me that much?" He asks you softly against your lips. "I did." You admitted to him softly with a smile. Having him here brought a sense of calm to your mind. It had been a relief to see him after he had vanished on you. In your mind, you didn't question the loss of his phone, because he had come home to you. The details of it all were unimportant, so long as you felt his arms around you again.

He carries you into the living room, setting you down to your feet again as he goes to slip off his suit coat. He folds it neatly before he gently lays it over the back of a nearby chair. Tangerine's gaze goes to you, watching you as you stand there chewing on the corner of her lip and zoning out on him slightly. "Got somethin' on your mind, Sugar?" He asks. You snap out of your thoughts slightly and look up at him. Blinking a few times as you gather your thoughts before you smile. "Yeah, actually. I do. Can we talk about something?" "Of course." Tangerine sits himself down on your couch, his hand coming up to loosen the tie around his neck. He unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, and you take a glimpse at his neck and collarbone for a moment, almost wanting to zone out again as you think about it. You are ready, right? Still, even with being ready, there were butterflies forming in your stomach, a small sense of anxiety. Would it be as big of a deal to him, as it would be to you? These questions ran through your mind as he made himself more comfortable on your couch. He takes a moment to slip off his shoes and socks, setting them to the side before he leans back again and brings his leg up, resting his ankle on his knee. One hand goes to rest on his leg, and his other arm stretches out on the back of your couch.

It was a sight that you had seen half a million times, and yet at this moment, it ran your mind into those thoughts you kept to yourself. You chuckle nervously as you go to sit down next to him. You keep your posture relaxed as much as you can, turning slightly and leaning your shoulder against the back of the couch. Tangerine's brow arches slightly. "So I have been thinking....maybe tonight we could... you know." You say, your voice going a little quiet at the end there before you chew slightly on your bottom lip.

It took him just a brief moment to realize what you were talking about. His stormy blue eyes look over your face briefly before he smirks slightly and lets out a small chuckle.

"Are you sure?" He asks, wanting to double-check. Tangerine knew that you wanted to wait. He knew that this would be the first time for you, and while it wasn't starting off how he pictured it, there was a sudden anticipation in his mind. He wondered how you would respond to him. Will you enjoy the way he feels?

You lick your lips and nod, giving him a smile. "One-hundred percent sure." You say, reassuring him of your choice. But what now? Do you just jump into this? You felt a little lost on the matter suddenly, losing that sense of balance in the situation so-to-speak.

Picking up on your nervousness, Tangerine didn't hesitate to take control of the situation. Having been working, the stress relief would be good for him, and on top of that, he would finally get to feel you. The thought had crossed his mind more often than he would admit. There had been plenty of moments while working that the thought of you moaning his name had become a distraction.

He moves himself and reaches for you, gently pulling you to his lap and making you straddle him on the couch. Not the first time, but this time, it would go further than just a heated small make-out session. His fingers move along your thighs, dancing against your skin for a moment as he lets his fingers wander to your panties under that oversized shirt.

Your breathing is already picking up at the feeling and his touch leaves goosebumps against your skin. You smiled, shifting your weight on him slightly only to realize that this man under you was already starting to get hard under the fabric of his suit pants. Your hips press down against him slightly, wanting to feel that excitement start to grow.

Tangerine's fingers start to wander against the waistband of your panties, guiding you down against his pants slightly, feeling as you pressed yourself down. You were curious, and he was going to show you exactly what you needed to do. He fixes his posture, sitting up slightly as he leans in and kisses you.

A small kiss at first, followed by little kisses that started to last longer as each one happened. The kisses start to deepen becoming a little more heated, his tongue slipping in with yours and wrestling with yours for a moment before he broke away from the kiss. His lips start to wander against your jaw and neck, kissing you gently as he lets his lips explore you.

Your hands move to rest against his arms, your fingers trailing up the dress shirt he wore. You occasionally pull at the fabric slightly under your fingers, leaning into the kisses against your neck. You can feel your body heating up, a not unfamiliar feeling at times, but right now it made the butterflies seem more intense. It was as if you couldn't get them to calm down. You are excited and nervous, with a small sense of performance anxiety crossing your mind.

It felt like time had slowed for a moment, feeling his kisses against your skin. You were lost in the moment, and when he went to stand up and carry you into the bedroom, you squeak in slight surprise. He smirks, feeling as you wrap yourself around him, your face nuzzling into his neck slightly. You take in that familiar expensive scent, mixes with his own natural scent, and you can feel as if your body simply melts into him.

Tangerine sets you down on the bed before he reaches for the t-shirt and strips it from your frame. He couldn't help but smirk, the side of his mouth coming up as he gazes over you. Sure, he might have seen you naked before, possibly in passing while you were getting out of a shower or bath, or even getting dressed for your day. But this was different.

His hand reaches for you as he cups the side of your face, leaning down to kiss you before he guides you to be more centered on the bed, and lying on your back. Reaching for your panties, he slid them off, getting a good look at the already dewy hole between your legs. Wanting and waiting for him. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and you smile shyly before you chew on your lip. Tangerine took this opportunity to strip down, something you watched intently, his clothes thrown casually to the floor. At this moment, the way his suit was kept, was the least of his concerns. He looks down at you, taking that moment to admire you in this position. He wanted to ravage you, while at the same time, he didn't want to rush you. This though, meant he had plans for the future, things he wanted to show you or teach you; things he enjoys when it comes to sex.

"If you need me to stop, you need to tell me. Do you understand?" He asks, while he brings his body to hover over yours and smiles down at you. All you could do was nod, quickly, your hands coming up to touch him slightly. He shakes his head and smiles.

"Don't touch me. Not yet." He says softly. "Why?" You ask, your head tilting slightly. "Just trust me, Sugar. Keep your hands on the bed and relax." He coos at you. Your brow furrow slightly, but you do as you are told, bringing your arms to rest at your sides. Your fingers fidget with your comforter slightly.

"Good girl." He says softly and the words hit you in a different way. What feeling was that? You smile, your face turning red slightly.

Tangerine lowers himself slightly, his lips coming to your breast as he takes your left nipple into his mouth, his tongue playing against your flesh slightly before he lifts himself up to hover a bit more. With one hand he braces himself, holding his weight up as his free hand moves against your stomach. It trails down to between your legs and you feel the brush of his fingers against your swollen bud.

You are sensitive and wet, your juices already coating your lower lips and wetting his fingers. He couldn't help but let out a small groan before he smiles. He knew it was his fault that you were like this, and the man was feeling rather proud of it. His fingers simply play with your sensitive bud, a gentle circular motion that causes your body to tense up. You take in a small breath, feeling the tension in your core, a heat that feels like it's spreading throughout your body.

Watching the way you respond, he smiles, letting his fingers pick up slightly in their pace. He grazes the tips of his fingers against your clit, following it down to your opening where his fingers tease you slightly, grazing against the hole without sliding into it. He watches the way you squirm slightly, your lips parting in needing breaths.

Tangerine's own breathing starts to pick up more as he feels himself becoming more hard with each passing moment. But he was savoring this. He listened to the little whimpers that start to come from you, that needy tone he was the cause for. He knew what you wanted, but he took his time for a moment longer as he relished in the way you would become more wet.

When he was ready, positioned himself between your legs. Feeling his skin brushes up against your inner thighs, your core tightens with anticipation. Tangerine drags his tongue against his lower lip, gripping himself as he starts to slowly press the tip of his cock against your wet opening. As the tip of him starts to breach into your opening, his strong hands move to your hips and he gently grips at you as he slowly starts to press himself into.

Feeling pressure as his girth starts to stretch you, there is a pain as he slowly presses himself in deeper. You weren't expecting it to hurt, not like this. Your body tenses and you grip the sheet as you let out a strained whimper. This didn't cause Tangerine to pause in actions, he knew that the feeling would pass and so he pressed a little deeper before he started slow motions of pumps into your body.

Letting out a heavy groan, Tangerine found himself enthralled with how you felt. You are tight, more so than those he had been with previously. Then again, those girls hadn't been virgins. At first, it had been slightly uncomfortable, but as your body started to adjust to the feeling and size of him, it felt amazing.

He watches the way you arch your back against the bed. Pain turned to pleasure and your mind focused on the way he felt, the smells, and the sounds around you. Flesh hitting flesh softly, his groaning matching the little noises that escaped from you. It was all so picturesque.

Tangerine comes to hover over you, bracing himself with his hands and his legs adjusting under him as the gap between the both of you comes to an almost close. His lips meet the crook of your neck as he starts to kiss your skin. He groans against you as his pace starts to pick up slightly, the sound of flesh hitting flesh becoming a little louder.

"You feel so good, Sugar." He mutters as his lips trail up your neck. His breath is hot against your skin and his groans are louder now, echoing in your mind as the sound roughly, but sweetly hits your ears. His words cause you to moan louder and your head goes to lean against his slightly as you take in his expensive scent.

Everything is a little overwhelming but in such a satisfying way. A sort of sensory overload to your mind, your body feels hot and tingly all over. You tighten more around him as his cock twitches with his even-paced motions. You whimper and moan with his groans, almost synced with each other as you give in to the passion of the moment.

As his lips come to find yours the passion starts to increase. His motions become quicker in pace and you can feel as his chances the way his hips move, allowing you to feel his length more with each rhythmic motion he goes to make. Faster now, a little more rough, he finds himself losing a small sense of control.

His tongue feels rough against yours, fighting in a small way, wet, and he moans into your mouth as he presses his length in as deeply as he can. He can feel you tense with the slight pain that he causes, but hearing you moan with it caused him tense with enjoyment. He can feel the pressure building, and the thought of filling you with his seed becomes a rather forefront thought in his mind.

Tangerine shifts his weight, bringing his legs a little closer to you as he adjusts the way he's pumping into you just slightly. It was enough that the motions into you would graze against your bud just slightly. The sensation of the motion caused your hands to leave the comforter, and you quickly grip your boyfriend, your nails digging into his skin slightly as a strong tensing feeling starts to creep through your body.

"F-fuc-fuck..." You manage to mutter.

It had been the moment he had been waiting for. When you needed something to grip on, the nails in his flesh, scratch marks on his skin. He knew he was hitting those sweet spots that made your body feel all sorts of things for the first time. It drove him into an almost feral state.

Tangerine pumps harder, faster, knowing that it was going to hurt and yet feel good for you at the same time. You start to channel the pain and pleasure as your back arches against the bed and you let out louder moans. Your toes start to curl against the bed and that tension spreads more through your body, creeping like another heat wave.

It had been a matter of moments after he had changed his positioning slightly that you found yourself with trembling legs and an almost electrifying feeling through your body. Your clit pulses with your heartbeat and heavily pumping blood as the muscles respond to the full body rush he had given you.

Feeling that moment of your lower lips gripping at him with an increased, pulsating tightening, Tangerine lets out a loud groan as he pumps a little harder into you. His own release is just within reach. He's quick to move, sitting himself up more as his hands quickly grips your hips once more and takes control of his finish.

He uses you for just a few moments longer, feeling this hyper-focused pleasure. His cock twitches heavily as his release is achieved, coating your interior walls with hot ribbons of his seed. His eyes closed for a moment as his lips part in heavy breaths, and then his body starts to relax and the tension from the moment and from the day start to fade.

The smell of sweat and sex hit your nose as you relax against the bed, that coming back to earth feeling washing over you as you look up at him and smile before you cover your face with your hands for a moment. It was all overwhelming and yet, at the same time, you were eager for more.

Tangerine slowly pulls from you, watching the mess from between your legs with a rather satisfied grin. He brings himself to lay down next to you, his hands reaching for you as he brings you closer and smiles.

"How are you feeling?" He asks softly. "A little sore, but good." You admitted as you uncover your face. Tangerine nods. "Take a shower with me?" He asks.

You look at him, nodding your head before you lean in and kiss him softly. His fingers, run against your skin, touching you so softly and sweetly. These hands can kill, and yet they can do something like this as well. In time, you would learn more about him; some good things and some bad, but chances are nothing was going to change the way you felt about him or how he was feeling about you.

◤━━━━━━━━━━━◥ TAG LIST: @voxmortuus @david-winters-93

[woso-dreamzzz]

Heart II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You try to recover

You stay in the hospital for nearly two weeks as your new heart gets used to its new home in your body.

Ingrid and Mapi are with you the entire time.

Sometimes, one of them even skips training to come and see you. You're in a special hospital room and they have to wear silly facemasks when they come to visit that makes them look all weird.

They bring you lots of things to play with while you're stuck in bed and all of their friends send you flowers and food to keep you happy. Your caseworker comes in sometimes and she gets Mapi and Ingrid to sign lots of documents and helps them to sign you out of the hospital to take you home.

"Okay," Ingrid says as you all come up in the elevator together," You ready?"

You're wearing a special party hat because Mapi said that you were going to have a little party to celebrate your new heart. You don't really know why getting your new heart means a party but you also know that a party means lots of food and fun so you're happy to go back inside.

A few of Ingrid and Mapi's friends are already in there but you head straight for Patri and Pina because they're holding Bagheera, who's wearing a party hat too.

"Whoa, there," Ingrid says softly, still holding your hand tight like she's scared you're going to wink out of existence," Let's take it slow, alright?"

You frown and shrug. "Okay."

She keeps hold of your hand as you move to greet Bagheera. She mews at you softly, bumping her head against your chest.

"I know," You say," I've got my Santa heart." You look up at Pina and Patri. "Santa got me a new heart for Christmas. It goes boom-boom properly."

"Really?" Patri asks," That's cool. Do you feel better now?"

"Little tired sometimes," You reply, rocking back and forth on your feet," But still good!"

"She's been healing up very well." Ingrid's fingers run through your hair like yours run through Bagheera's. "The doctors are going to do another check next week and then we get to take her out again."

Even though you're out of the hospital now, you're not allowed out of the house for another week just so you can adjust to everything back home again.

"It'll be good to see you at training again," Pina says," We've been missing our little cheerleader."

"And you can join in now!" Patri exclaims and you whip your head over to Ingrid.

"Can I?"

She thinks for a moment. "We'll see," She says," Let's get through next week and then we'll see if you're strong enough to run around."

"Okay." You go back to stroking over Bagheera's fur and adjusting her party hat when she gets annoyed with it. You like Bagheera. You'd never seen a cat in real life before you came to live with Ingrid and Mapi so it's nice to have Bagheera with you now.

You yawn when you're about halfway through the movie Paredes put on and you climb up into Mapi's lap to lay on her. Her big hands rest on your back, gently stroking up and down until you're head feels too heavy for your body and it flops against her.

"She looks much better," Alexia says as she notices that you're out like a light.

"Yeah," Mapi says as she reaches for a blanket to drape around your body," They had her on a ventilator those first few hours after surgery and she looked so bad when they took her in. But...But she's better now, just a little sleepier."

"She just had major surgery," Alexia says," I think she's allowed to be a bit tired. I'm surprised she lasted as long as she did."

Mapi laughs, gently rocking you. "I should put her to bed. I can't imagine those hospital ones were comfy."

Your weeks dissolve into a steady routine after you get your Santa heart. You still have to go to the doctor every week and they do tests on your new heart and they take out the little staples they put in your chest.

Ingrid still sticks to your side and she's always giving you cuddles and kisses. She lets you run around more now that the doctor says it's okay but she still wraps you up nice and warm because you still sometimes have issues with being cold.

A few months after you're declared fully fit, your caseworker comes to visit.

Ingrid lets her in while you've opened your mouth so Mapi can give you your medication. The doctor says that even though your Santa heart is working very well, you'll have to take medicine every day to make sure that your body wants to keep it.

Well, he said lots of big words and complicated stuff but Mapi explained it to you like that when you went to get ice cream after your appointment.

You case worker says hello to you before briefly looking around the house ago and then making you sit down in front of the tv with her. That makes you a bit nervous and you hang on Mapi's hand.

"With Mapi and Ingrid?"

"In a minute," Your caseworker says," I just want to have a little talk with you without them."

Your brow wrinkles. "And Bagheera has to go too?"

"Bagheera can stay," Ingrid promises you, kissing the top of your head and steering Mapi into their bedroom.

You stroke Bagheera's fur rhythmically as you sit in front of your caseworker.

"How are you feeling now?" She asks," With your new heart?"

"Santa got me a good one," You reply," But I've still got to take special medicine."

She writes something down. "And you always take your medicine?"

"Ingrid reminds me," You answer, getting a bit distracted by the way a single ray of sunlight is peaking through the blinds," And Mapi hides it in icing sometimes for when I don't want to take it."

She writes down something more. "That's good. And you like it here, with Ingrid and Mapi?"

The topic of your favourite girls makes you perk up. "They're my most favourite! Mapi is so cool! She's got lots of tattoos. She says that one day, she'll let me draw her one to put on her body."

Your caseworker nods along, her pen moving along the paper. "And what about Ingrid?"

"Ingrid gives me cuddles all the time," You say," And she lets me help make dinner and cookies and she takes me to the park and we go down the slide together."

Your caseworker stops writing and flips her notepad shut. "Do you remember what it means to have a caseworker like me?"

You nod.

"What does it mean?"

"It means that you find adults to look after me because I don't have parents."

Your caseworker nods. "Adults like Ingrid and Mapi," She says," They're fostering you."

You give her a little look. "I know." You don't know why she's talking about that. It makes you feel all weird inside and briefly, you wonder if your Santa heart is going boom-boom wrong like your old one.

"Sometimes," She says," Fostering is more temporary."

You don't like her words. It makes you feel all icky and bad inside. You shake your head. "No," You say," No! Stay here!"

Your caseworker hands you a picture. It's got a little family on it, a mummy and a daddy and two boys who have the same hair colour as you.

"This family doesn't want to foster you," Your caseworker says when you throw the picture on the floor and hold Bagheera close. "They want to adopt you. They think you'd fit in well with them. Like a forever home instead of a foster home."

You shake your head, your bottom lip wobbling. "No...No! Forever home with Ingrid and Mapi!"

Your caseworker sighs deeply, shuffling the picture of the little family back into her folder. "You want to stay here?" She checks," With Ingrid and Mapi?"

"And Bagheera," You say stubbornly," Because this is forever home. Mapi and Ingrid are forever with me and my Santa heart."

"And you don't want to live with this family?" She reaches for the picture again and you turn away.

"Ingrid and Mapi," You say firmly.

"Okay. Let's get Ingrid and Mapi in here."

You're near to tears when they finally come back in and Ingrid pulls you into her arms immediately. You wipe your cheeks dry on her shirt and blindly reach for Mapi.

"Stay," You beg," Stay here. With you."

Mapi whips her head to your caseworker. "We've already begun to file the paperwork!" She hisses," Why would you bring them up to her?"

"I'm just doing my job. I couldn't let her stay here if she didn't want to!"

"Want to stay!" You say, hiding yourself away in Ingrid's neck," Want to stay!"

"You're stressing her out," Ingrid cuts in plainly when it looks like Mapi and your caseworker are going to start yelling," I understand you're doing your checks and you have to get her opinion but she's barely been out of the hospital for a few months and the doctors said that undue stress isn't good for her Santa heart." She strokes a hand over the back of your head. "We've filed the paperwork. She wants to live with us over the other family that expressed interest. We want her here with us."

Your caseworker sighs. She does that a lot. "I can't promise this will stay private. You're public figures. Your papers will be rushed through as soon as possible."

When she leaves, you finally peak out from your hiding place. With big, wet eyes, you look between Ingrid and Mapi. "Stay here?"

"Yes," Mapi says with an air of finality," You're staying here."

[queers-gambit]

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover"

prompt: ten years ago, Lucerys claimed Aemond's eye, and now, a Lannister will claim her debt.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.5k+

note: i use 'lover' because it sounds like the original line, 'mother'. also, what the fuck is this, Cherry?

warnings: very much not for minors! deranged characters? blood lust? depiction of grotesque, unhinged behavior. there's cursing, depiction of canon-typical violence and injury, show timeline and spoilers that lead into some VAGUE book references that might produce a slight AU timeline...? character death, obviously Team Green, so, there's some Team Black slander. half edited!

⚠️ season one, episode ten AND book spoilers

PLEASE BE AWARE I AM GOING TO MERGE THIS ONESHOT INTO A SMALL SERIES BUT WILL STILL LEAVE THIS UP

I AM CHANGING LANNISTER READER INTO A VELARYON READER

Rain water beaded against his leather trench overcoat, rolling off him like pellets to leave a scattered trail on the material. His boots splashed in the muddy terrain, dark castle looming tall in the stormy sky, and Mother Nature voiced her displeasure in the form of booming claps of thunder throughout the raging storm.

Long, straight hair turned unruly and crinkled in the torrential downpour; sticking to clothes and clinging to skin. His sword was latched to his weapons belt, bobbing on his hip with every stride he took to approach the Keep of The Stormlands, Storm's End.

"Identify yourself!" A guard shouted through the haze of rain.

You smirked, "Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys Targaryen, the Peaceful, and rider of Vhagar along with his wife, Lady Lannister."

The guards exchanged looks, then the other asked, "What business do you have here?"

"Official business that surely goes beyond your responsibility," you snapped. "We require an audience with your liege lord. Is Lord Borros in? Willing to receive? You'd do well to answer quickly, Vhagar isn't known for her patience - nor is my husband and I."

There was no dispute in leading you into the castle's throne room, members of court lingering in curiosity when they saw the One Eyed Dragon Prince and his Lady Lioness prowl through Storm's End. Lightning struck to flash through the cracks of the eery castle, creating an uneasy atmosphere and making Storm's End feel spookier then it probably was. Aemond smirked when you looked around the semi-empty throne room, the guards instructing you to stay put as their lord was fetched; you looking positively bored.

"You seem to have a natural liking towards our new status, do you not, my lioness?" He mused softly. "The way you commanded the guards to retrieve their Lord for us was very telling of your ease."

"Perhaps. Though I do not like the reason we are here, flexing our status in the first place," you told him with a sharp look. "Surely, there's other alliances to be made, Aemond. Why marry you off to some plain-faced Baratheon bitch?"

"Because war's come for us and we must all sacrifice for the cause," he sighed, staring at you without so much as twitching; letting you approach until standing chest-to-chest. "We require this pact, my love, because we must strengthen Aegon's claim. To use Daeron and I as marriage pawns feels logical given our proximity to the King."

You snarled, "You told me yourself that Aegon did not deserve to be King. Now, we must sacrifice our marriage vows for his claim?"

"I know it is not ideal," he relented, "but it's our current reality."

"Only for now, I sense the tides will turn several times before this is fucking over."

"Hmm."

When Lord Borros finally arrived, he appeared disgruntled by the abrupt arrival of you and your husband, Prince Aemond. He was grouchy, but still welcoming enough; slumped in his chair, eyeing you both, mentioning, "This must be of grave importance to arrive in such a manner, with no warning."

"It is," Aemond answered smoothly, "because war has come to shadow Westeros once more, my Lord."

"Is that so?"

"King Viserys is dead," he informed clearly, "and as such, the natural succession would've passed to the King's named heir, Princess Rhaenyra, but King VIserys had a change of heart. Instead of his daughter, the King wanted his first born son, Aegon II, to ascend the Iron Throne after him."

"And that's to do with me...?"

"The Princess will demand your loyalty, Lord Borros," you stepped in, "to uphold a stale oath your father made decades ago. Come the day, you will be forced to pick sides; yet we simply would like to offer you terms of consideration before hearing Rhaenyra's."

"If the Princess is willing to offer terms, that is," Aemond punctuated.

Borros sat still, then leaned in slightly, "And what are these terms you wish to offer, girl?"

"My Lady-wife has earned the title Princess, my Lord," Aemond corrected sharply, "and will be addressed as such."

Borros nodded stiffly, "Of course, my apologies."

"No matter," you assured. "Tell me, Lord Borros, do you not have unwed daughters?"

"I do, a gaggle of them."

You smirked, "My husband, though not King, is of ancient and rich Valyrian blood. He is happy to uphold customs of his ancestors by taking another wife - so, we offer a marriage pact in exchange for your swords and banners."

"And what of you?"

"What of me?"

"You would just let your husband wed another woman?"

"Who am I to question the will of the Gods?" You mused, figuring you wouldn't tell him how Aemond had already promised never to bed the Baratheon girl. "Should they smile upon this union, so would I. My father, may he rest in peace, before his passing ensured to instill in me a sense of duty and honor, Lord Borros, and with this civil war, we might all do our part to see the end of it."

He hummed, eyeing you both. "All right," Borros half-agreed, "but which of my daughters, hmm? I've four of them - uh," he snapped, "what is this? Someone fetch the girls! Let the Prince see - he may choose to wed whichever he deems acceptable."

"Do we have a deal, Lord Borros?" You asked.

He nodded, "Pending the Princess' terms - my father did swear fealty to Princess Rhaenyra, I would do well to honor that by at least hearing her."

"A noble answer," you accepted.

It wasn't a long wait for his four daughters to arrive, an even shorter wait for Aemond to make a decision. There was Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn, and Flora Baratheon - all ripe for the picking. "Well?" Aemond asked you.

You shrugged, "This is your choice, you're the one who has to bed her." His lips twitched in amusement, eyeing the women stood in a straight line. "Fuck's sake - why not kiss them all and chose that way? Leaves less room for surprise later. Plus what're the odds Rhaenyra's sent her envoy? We should solidify Baratheon's loyalty now."

Aemond chuckled, looking each woman over carefully as a guard entered the room. "My Lord," he called, earning the attention, "another dragon has been spotted and is approaching the Keep."

"What did I fucking say?" You smirked at Aemond.

"Receive whoever it is," Borros permitted. "And you? Have you come to a decision? My girl, Maris, there, would make a clever wife."

"I've one clever enough wife and would be overrun with another," Aemond answered wistfully. "The Lady Flora is acceptable."

"Very well," Borros nodded, "and the terms of dowry?"

You watched as Aemond pulled Flora from the line of sisters, standing to the side as he examined her. He told Lord Baratheon the number of Gold Dragons he thought his daughter was worth, the two haggling lightly over prices before Borros accepted that with the threat of war, his son might become preoccupied, so, the seat of Storm's End would be inherited by Aemond and Flora's children.

Thunder rumbled as a deal was struck.

Boots marched down the stone hall and all conversation ceased to await the newcomer with taunt curiosity. Aemond subtly turned to look at you, ignoring his pretty new intended, as a procession of guards marched into the gloomy room. You boldly stared at the arrival, feeling your heart stall in your chest when you saw it was him... That bastard... The Strong Bastard that mutilated both you and your husband a decade ago.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon," it was announced, marching coming to an echoing halt. Aemond chose that moment to turn and present himself to the young prince who haunted your every living and dreaming nightmare. He looked startled to see you both there, the guard ending, "Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Against the thundering storm, Lucerys spoke timidly - as if, any louder and his voice would squeak and crack. "Lord Borros... I brought you a message from my mother... The Queen."

"Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King," Borros shot at the young prince. "Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it." He laughed at his own joke, but when none others joined, he asked Lucerys stoically, "What's your mother's message?"

The Strong Bastard just held up a scroll like the spoilt brat he was, a guard taking it from his fingers to walk it to the Stag Lord since the Prince deemed himself too important to hand deliver the message. Lord Borros sighed when he took up the scroll, looking expectingly to his court, then snapping, "Where's the bloody Maester?"

Lord Borros Baratheon could not read, you see.

So, you all waited as the Maester was retrieved; Lucerys sparing spooked looks at you and Aemond - the latter of whom just smirked in amusement. Luke couldn't truly see the disfigurement he caused, but your scars almost glittered in the flashes of lightning to assure him they were right where he left them. You turned to your husband, whispering in his ear, "Remember all those times when you promised me his eye as a gift? When shall we be presented an opportunity such as now?"

He shushed you with a restrained smirk, wanting so bad to entertain your banter - and daydream about doing to Luke what he did to you two. You told Aemond you didn't need Luke to bear a scar like your own, and that's when he promised to give you the Prince's eye.

The Maester arrived when Luke felt uneasy enough to palm a fist around the hilt of his sword, elderly man hobbling up to Lord Borros, taking the scroll, then reading it.

The Maester bent to summarize the letter to his Lord. You smirked at Aemond when Borros snapped, "'Remind' me of my father's oath? King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact! If I do as your mother bids," he leaned forward on his throne, looking to the side, asking, "which one of my daughters will you wed... Boy?"

"My Lord," Lucerys trembled, "I am not free to marry. I'm already betrothed."

"I did not realize betrothal was weighed heavier than marriage," Borros sneered, indicating to you and Aemond, "which means you come with empty hands. Go home, pup, and tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

There was a beat as his words sunk in.

"I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord," Lucerys informed, sparing everyone one last look before turning on his heel to vacate.

Yet he couldn't just walk away so easily.

"Wait," Aemond called out loud before you could, the Prince halting, "my Lord Strong." You grinned when Luke turned fully and then stepped forward to the edge of his guarded protection, a look of disbelief adorning his features. "Did you really think that you could just fly about the Realm," he continued, taking a few slow, stalking steps forward with you on his flank and Floris stepping further away, "trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

"I will not fight you," Lucerys declared. "I came as a messenger, not a warrior."

You giggled to mock the boy's sword skill, wanting to hurt the boy's ego as much as possible. Your husband smirked at you before musing, "A fight would be little challenge." He paused to consider his options. "No," he told Lucerys, reaching for his eye patch and pulling the leather from his head. "I want you to put out your eye," He growled, staring at Luke, sapphire winking in the low torchlight; his arm coiling around your waist to keep you at his side. He explained, "As payment for mine. One will serve," and he flipped back his leather overcoat to reveal a dagger, yanking it free to toss across the distance at Lucerys. It clattered and skidded, the sound ominous between the claps and rolling booms of thunder. "I would not blind you," he told the boy. Then, as if concealing a smirk, he finished, "Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."

The ground shook violently when Vhagar landed outside the Driftmark Dragon Pit. The air whooshed your hair back, little feet stumbling back a few paces into the rock wall, hair on the back of your neck standing on end when Aemond dismounted the beast. It wasn't as if you weren't proud or incredibly impressed by his ability to claim the oldest dragon in the known world, but you weren't a Targaryen and dragons made you uneasy.

You could understand animals had minds of their own, and while, yes, Targaryens were closer to Gods than Men because they fly on dragons, you knew they did not control the dragons. They merely domesticated the winged terrors, but you knew the animal could snap at any moment's notice. You didn't like being so close as to become an accidental casualty, so you waited in the mouth of the Pit to give plenty of room between you and Vhagar.

"Well? How was it?"

Aemond beamed at you, "Like nothing I've ever experienced before."

"She's much, much bigger up close," you eyed the dragon watching you both. She was too large in size for the Dragon Pit, but for you, it was a way back into the Driftmark Castle; so, Vhagar was left to her own devices as you and Aemond strode inside.

"You'll have to come flying with me."

"No, no, I like the ground very much. It's safer down here."

"You'll love flying, I can all but promise you."

"If the Gods wanted me in the air, they'd of made me a Targaryen," you teased, both entering the torch-lit passage. "Alas, I am not, so, I think it wise to keep my feet on the ground."

"I'll get you on dragonback with me one day," he smirked. "She's the oldest, you know, and the largest, too."

"I know," you beamed in amusement.

"And she's mine," he whispered, shaking his head and fighting off his grin. You looped your arm with his, giggling your praise over his display of bravery; entering the division foyer of the Pit only to spy Prince Daemon Targaryen's daughters, Baela and Rhaena, with Princess Rhaenyra's sons, Jacerys and Lucerys Velaryon.

"It's them!" One barked.

"It's us," Aemond sneered quickly, understanding confrontation when he felt it. You didn't like this... Something about this exchange felt very wrong; there was four of them, two of you, and you were not their blood relative - so, why be involved at all?

"Vhagar is my mother's dragon!" Rhaena seethed.

"Your mother's dead," Aemond reminded sharply.

You smirked, tacking on, "And Vhagar has a new rider now."

"She was mine to claim!"

"Then you should've claimed her!" You barked in annoyance. "You are not the only dragon-less Targaryen, but you're the one who expects to just be gifted one!"

Aemond sneered right after you, "Maybe your cousins can gift you a pig to ride. It would suit you."

This (rightfully) angered the girls. Rhaena charged and latched onto Aemond but was easily swatted to the ground. At that same moment, her twin, Baela, took the opportunity to jab her knuckle into your nose, sending you into the dirt. "Fuck's sake!" You snapped, Aemond clocking the injury and slamming his fist against Baela's cheek to send her into the dirt, too.

Aemond helped you to your feet as he snarled at the girls, "Come at us again and I'll feed you to my dragon!"

Jace charged, and from there, it was a blur of adrenaline. Before you understood, you were defending yourself from a hurricane of fists and feet; reaching up to grab hold of Rhaena's locs and yank as hard as you could. It gave you a small advantage to get up, see the three others beating on Aemond, and rushed for the fray.

The Prince saw you and pause his resistance to let you grab hold of Baela - also pulling her so hard, a loc or two might've been ripped from her scalp. Aemond kicked Jace, you sent the girls into the dirt, and Aemond managed to catch hold of Lucerys by the throat as he got to his feet. Aemond's hand found purchase on a large rock, standing above them all as you panted from his side; rock raised in threat.

"You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did!" Aemond declared, snarling, "Bastards."

Through his whimpering, Luke sobbed, "My father's still alive!"

For a moment, Aemond appeared disarmed, but then sneered, "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong?"

This upset Prince Jacerys enough that he brandished a concealed dagger from his sleeve; holding it at the ready, ignoring his cousin's pleas of his name. "Blade in play," you warned Aemond.

Luke was kicked away, Jace was dodged, disarmed, then shoved to the ground. You were all bruised, bloodied, beaten; thinking that despite twice the numbers, you and Aemond managed to hold your own pretty damn well. The Prince lifted the rock again, this time with his sights set on Jace, ignoring Luke scrambling in the dirt.

Pretty damn well until it was too late.

You screamed in absolute horror when a white hot pain flashed across your face when you meant to turn away from the fight. You went down, Aemond looked over in shock and confusion, and in that moment, Lucerys swung his brother's blade again. It cut through half of Aemond's face, the eye being severed in two; blood gushing between both your hands.

Of course, this was the time the White Cloaks arrived - but it was too late. The damage was done. You sobbed uselessly as the knights tried to help you off the ground, trembling violently as adrenaline wore off. You were instantly escorted to the castle's throne room where the Maester and other attendants met you.

Guards posted.

Blood soaked into cloth.

The Queen arrived with the Hand before anyone else - instantly demanding her son (and you) be attended to at once. She listened to the shaky account of events, but it was difficult to get an accurate picture as you and Aemond were both preoccupied with being medically attended to.

You held Aemond's hand as you were both cleaned up. There was nothing to save, Aemond's eye removed and your face being pinched and stitched. Nearly 200 years from now, one of your descendants will earn nearly the exact same scar during the Battle of the Blackwater; a mark that cut through the face from temple, over the nose, to opposite ear.

You listened to the spoiled brats spin their webs, opting to remain quiet in the presence of the King.

However, after Princess Rhaenyra finally showed up with Prince Daemon, after Lord Corlys Velaryon and Lady Rhaenys Targaryen arrived, attention shifted.

" - Didn't just mutilate our son, but the Lady Lannister as well!" Alicent raged.

King Viserys eyed you as if seeing you for the first time, slowly approaching. "My Lady," he spoke softly, "you have not yet said a word this evening."

"It is not my place, Your Grace."

"It is now," he permitted. "Speak, and tell me the truth of it. What happened tonight?"

You swallowed nervously, "The Prince Aemond claimed his dragon, Vhagar, Your Grace, and upon returning, the... Uh, well, the Princes Jacerys and Lucerys along with their cousins, Ladies Rhaena and Baela, were waiting for us."

"Waiting?" Viserys repeated.

"Yes, Your Grace, I believe they wanted to see who had claimed Vhagar," you offered.

"Who hit who first?"

With a sigh, you answered, "Lady Baela hit Prince Aemond first. A solid hook, for whatever it's worth."

Alicent now approached, squatting in front of you and asking, "How did you sustain such injury, Lady Lannister? Come... Speak the truth. Tell us the meaning of this."

"Prince Jacerys brought the blade, Your Grace," you mumbled, "but it was lost in the scuffle. It was Prince Lucerys who offered injury to both Prince Aemond and I."

You could've cried when Rhaenyra, as usual, managed to somehow spin your story into making her sons the victims. Despite being told the four ambushed you two, they weren't even reprimanded because their parents were all so angry that it truly distracted from the present situation at hand. In the end, Queen Alicent snapped and charged to attack, but the Princess Rhaenyra intercepted her before damage could be done.

The blade Alicent stole from her husband's belt was dropped - but not before the tip sliced into the flesh of the Princess' forearm. You were fuming, watching them all leave; you had been seriously maimed, and so far, you had been the one spoken to as if a criminal. Rhaenyra would need stitches, sure, and a broken nose was the worst of their injuries - but Aemond lost his eye, and you?

You felt as if you lost your life because who the hell would want you now? With this scar? This big, fat, noticeable scar that split your face? Sure, your Lannister name would get you places - but not everywhere. Considering your young age, this only left time for rumors to fester and for everyone to notice your injury; being no escape and no where to hide from ridicule.

For years, you would consider yourself damaged. For years, you would mourn yourself. For years, you would sharpen your mind, wit, and intelligence because if you couldn't bring standard "beauty" to the table, you wanted to be able to offer something redeeming.

For years, you would undergo emotional turmoil before your engagement to Aemond is announced; convincing yourself you did not deserve love because your anger made you likened to a shrew. You felt ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside; a product of your environment and experiences. When the promise of marrying your best mate was bestowed, the entire court was shocked by the 180 you both did; where once stony and stoic, both were now soft and kind - but only to one another.

To everyone else, you were both still stony and indifferent. But to each other? You and Aemond would move mountains.

Yet that night on Driftmark would haunt for you for the rest of your lives; no matter the promise of love, marriage, and a 'normal' life. Late nights would be held together, fantasizing about your revenge; considering the future in which you made Lucerys Strong pay for what he did to you.

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."

"No," Lucerys barked, looking distraught by the sheer idea of what Aemond demanded. His answer made the amusement drain from Aemond's features, this was a man not often told no. His hand passed you his eye patch for safe keeping; the raging storm outside portraying the tension brewing in the throne room of Storm's End.

"Then you are craven as well as a traitor."

"Not here!" Borros understood fighting words when he heard them - not wanting the repercussions of a dead or injured Prince Lucerys, because, let's face it, Luke couldn't do damage to Aemond even if he tried.

Aemond literally sprang into action, releasing his grip on you, shouting as he strode forward. "Give me your eye," he stooped to snatch his dagger from the ground, "or I will take it, bastard!"

Lucerys brandished his sword for protection, but Borros launched out of his seat to intervene by shouting, "Not in my hall!" This made Aemond skid to a halt. "The boy came an an envoy. I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon... Now."

You smirked when Aemond just watched the boy flee the hall, hand flipping his dagger expertly before sheathing it. You met his gaze, holding prolonged eye contact to publicly show you were not afraid of him, his looks, his lack of eye, or adoration for him.

"Well, Lord Borros," you mused, turning to the Stag Lord, "looks as if you've chosen in this war."

He huffed, "We can discuss specifics later."

Aemond nodded, "We'll be off."

"Do not - "

"You said no blood shed under your roof," you reminded, "not above."

"The Prince is young and small - "

"We gave him a fair head start." Borros looked ready to rebuttal, but you snapped, "We're at war, my Lord. Either you let the dragons fight in the skies or it'll be your men fighting in the trenches. The choice is yours."

"See that? His woman bites harder than he," Maria scoffed to her sisters, only juuuuust loud enough for her voice to carry across the room. Then she snarled at your husband, "Tell me, Prince Aemond, was it just your eye Prince Lucerys took, or one of your balls, too? You threw a dagger at him and stopped when Daddy said stop," her eyes rolled, "those are not qualities of a man."

You were ready to attack. In fact, you started striding up to Maris when Aemond intercepted you swiftly with a suffocatingly strong grip. "We've more important matters," he reminded you, turning, and promising to send word to Lord Borros before disappearing out of the side door.

"How dare she," you seethed on your way to Vhagar. "That buck-tooth looking rodent dares insult you? Her own Prince? In front of others - oh, the nerve of that family!"

"Bigger picture at work here, love," Aemond mused as he fixed his patch back on, never one to address the things that were bothering him - like when someone hurt his feelings or bullied him over his missing eye.

But you were always ready to bite those that offered insult. You were a Lion in a golden cage, after all.

You grumbled the entire time, reaching Vhagar, launching as discreetly as she possibly could to scan the skies. It wasn't easy to find the Prince because his dragon blended into the storm so perfectly, but once the tiny beast was located, you were locked on. You rode behind Aemond in his saddle, both being harnessed to prevent any unseating; the combined weight never phasing his ol' girl. Vhagar understood they were in some kind of chase, and when she gave a grumble that rumbled over the thunder you flew through, Aemond gave her a command in High Valyrian to quiet herself.

You could see glimpses of Luke turning to search areas you had just vacated; loving this game of cat and mouse. You hoped the anticipation and anxiety of being watched was upsetting the Prince - just so he had a little bit of emotional trauma from this, you know? Just so he had a little taste of the emotional turmoil you had to suffer the past decade.

"Ready?" Aemond asked you.

You squeezed his waist before boldly reaching down to palm his cock through his breeches, hissing in his ear, "Do it, you owe me a gift."

Aemond grinned and directed Vhagar to circle around and fly forward until almost colliding with Lucerys - should he not've steered Arrax lower at the last moment. The close call was enough to make you both laugh, the sound traveling over the noisy nature. Aemond turned Vhagar again, trying to snatch at Arrax with her talons while your husband hurled insults and taunting phrases as his nephew.

With a small groan, you reached for a separate piece of the saddle to hold onto while Aemond drove Vhagar into a nosedive after the smaller dragon. When they came up to a cavern of sea rocks, Aemond was forced to pull Vhagar back before she could crash - but Arrax had no issue navigating into and through the canyon. You were forced to fly above it, searching for your prey once more.

Lucerys seemed to evade you for a time.

"What happens when we find him?"

"I will have the bastard's eye," he reminded you.

"Yes, but what if he resists?"

"Of course he will."

"So you mean to kill him? Is that the plan, Aemond?"

He did not answer you, looking over Vhagar's sides for his prey. He shouted in High Valyrian, "You owe a debt! Boy!"

Suddenly, from your left, Arrax descended upon Vhagar with a vicious spewing of fire that licked your flesh hatefully. Aemond flinched back into your chest, trying to shield yourselves from the heat of the flames, but it was too late. You cried out, whimpering with discomfort when the flames died; marring and mangling your skin. Prince Lucerys was heard scolding his dragon, and for a moment, you felt as if you could see the future because there was no way Vhagar was going to let that kind of disrespect occur and do nothing about it.

The ol' girl gave a rumble before bellowing after Arrax. She turned herself to where the other dragon had disappeared and started to push off as her owner begged and pleaded with her not to. "Serve me, Vhagar, no!" He commanded, desperate to keep his beast under control, but being evident these two wild animals were in an altercation all their own and meant to follow their instinct.

"We want his head still, Vhagar!" You laughed loudly, Aemond growling with a smirk.

"Do not encourage her!"

"Do not try to domesticate a 180-year-old dragon!" You gave a small whoop of excitement. "She's a Dragon of War, Aemond! Violence is what she knows!"

He grunted as he struggled with the reins. However, Vhagar ignored him and made her own turn, pumping her wings twice and then breaking into the morning sun above the storm. For a fleeting moment, it was incredibly gorgeous to be so high in the sky...

And then it was over before anyone could stop it.

Vhagar opened her mouth and gave one chomp around the body of boy and dragon. There was a shrill cry of fear before Vhagar's moan of content, then eery silence settled as half-consumed bits fell to the ground beneath.

"Well," you cleared your throat, staring at the bloody bits falling, "if it wasn't enough that Aegon took her crown, surely, the two of us taking her son will be the push Rhaenyra needs to meet us in conflict."

"No," he cleared his throat, "you were not here - "

"I was, I would not allow you to bear this burden on your own. To take the blame," you met his eye. "I encouraged this just as much, and Rhaenyra will know it was us - she'd never believe I was not involved."

"Can you not be logical right now?" He trembled, leaning his forehead to yours.

"Okay..." You whispered, "Well, could we go see if there's anything left?"

"That's morbid, my love."

"What? You're the one who promised me his eye. I know you didn't mean for this, but the truth is," you smirked, "you did. You knew what pursuing him would result in - your dragon doesn't understand your need for revenge, she understands eat or be eaten."

Aemond sighed, "Too soon for that phrase."

"Noted. Now, c'mon," you encouraged, giving his waist a squeeze. "I know you're curious to see what's left, too."

And he was, so Aemond directed Vhagar back down. It was difficult to predict where the body parts could've ended up, but seemingly, luck was on your side and you descended to the shore. There was a small scattering of remains, bits being washed up or away with every new lap of sea water.

You dismounted and started searching through the remnants, storm still outlandishly raging around you. "Love?" Aemond spoke from behind you, making you jump slightly. He smirked, "Got something for you, my Lioness."

"You do not..." He held up the messily decapitated head of Lucerys "Velaryon", your laugh surprising and genuine. "Oh, we're sooo going to Seven Hells," you sighed, shrugging, "but you know, it doesn't really get worse than what we've already done, so," you motioned for him to set the head down.

"Here," he agreed, using his dagger to harvest Lucerys' eyeballs from the skull you helped hold. When he was done, you chucked the head away before Aemond's bloody hands set both eyes in your cupped, outstretched palms; watching you weigh them.

"You know, Lannisters always pay their debts," you mused, smirk pulling at your lips, "but we also are always repaid our debts. How strange, to hold his eyes and think they were once functioning... In his head, of use, probably full of tears when Vhagar chased him in the sky."

"Hm," Aemond considered, then pointed to your hand. "It's with his eyes, I promise you, my Lioness, the fall of our enemies." He proclaimed, then musing, "Should we give Maris Baratheon one to prove ourselves?"

You smirked, "She said you must've lost your balls, right?"

"Almost positive Vhagar ate Lucerys' so we cannot present her with them."

"Damnit," you pouted. "All right, fine, sure, we might show the Baratheon's we mean war... But I'd like to keep them both, please."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"Put them in a jar and keep until I'm no longer angry about what he did to us..."

"So, his eyes are going on our mantle?"

"You bet your sweet balls," you grinned, twirling Lucerys Velaryon's Strong's organs in your hand like a pair of game dice.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[azsazz]

Between the Shadow and the Soul

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: No thoughts just death god Azriel and goddess of life reader

Warnings: Mentions of death, graphic depictions of violence, a tiny bit of smut.

Word Count: 2,712

_________________________________________

The first time Death meets Life, she’s dying.

Deep within the dense forest now blooming as your power escapes you, he looms. 

Azriel knows that something isn’t right. There’s a war raging before him, his favorite scent of death brought to him in plumes, screams of agony ringing deliciously in his ears. He licks his lips, tasting it as he scans the battlefield. His heart vibrates with pleasure in his chest at the sights of bodies being flayed open and falling to the ground.

But the thicket of trees he’s just trailed through are no longer fraying from his dark touch, leaves brittle and bark peeling away from thick trunk like flesh tearing from muscle and bone. It’s flourishing in rich colors, deep greens in the peak of summer, their limbs strong with new growth and reaching towards the sun in prayer. 

He frowns, pulling his hood over his head. The fabric is thick, black like the shadows swirling around his feet. The scent of freshly turned earth drowns out that of slaughter, stinging his nostrils, nose scrunching and lip curling away from perfect teeth in disgust.

From the veil of shadows he goes, trailing through the battle as if it’s nothing more than wading through the long grass growing rapidly at his feet. It’s stained crimson, still warm as it traces hair thin lines across his marred palms when he touches it. The twin blades sheathed at his back sing with praise as he releases them, and he twists them around with the skill of a thousand men. They keen, begging to be used, their gleaming metal bathed in gore.

Blood spatters across his face as he cuts down a man atop a horse. The dark hood hiding his identity does little to keep the ichor from splattering on his tanned skin. His eyes glow and he licks his lips, the metallic taste of a life ending sweet on his tongue.

He can kill a man with a single look if he wanted to, but Azriel found himself enjoying a more hands-on approach to killing. It is natural, afterall. There is something different to be found in wielding a death blow himself, the beast encapsulated in his soul growls with pleasure as he watches souls leave bodies, falling to the ground already sodden crimson. An offer to the Mother, returning from the earth they’d been born of.

Azriel cuts his way across the battlefield with ease. More fae charge his way, unleashing their powers, but none make sweat bead Death’s brow. He’s having his fun, but is focused on the task at hand, gliding through the grass towards the forest beaming with new growth like a beacon calling him home.

His blades vibrate in his hands as he swings, slicing through adolescent branches. He wishes he were cutting through skulls and bones, and his weapons do too, screeching as sap sticks to the thin metal, mixing with the red that already stains their surfaces.

Shadows straying ahead, they search for him even though he can feel the pull of death and smell it on the breeze. A glance to the forest floor reveals moss growing where the path has been trodden down to dirt, the plush greenery climbing up trunks of trees whose leaves are growing in so thickly that the light of day grows dark.

The tether of fraying life pulls tighter and tighter the closer he gets. Crowds of trees open into a small clearing, booming with aliveness. The sun shines down into the center of the field where the branches and leaves don’t extend, warm rays shining down on your glowing skin, power leaking from you so thickly it nearly makes him choke.

But what does have Azriel’s breath catching is you. The bright linens of your dress are wet with blood, crimson soaking into the fine fabric from hem to collar. Your chest heaves, breath labored so you lie, eyes shut as you bathe in the sun like you’re not balancing on the cusp of death.

Azriel strides forward. You pry your eyes open at the sound of knives sliding back into sheaths, and glaring through the light in your eyes, you smile softly at the figure approaching. He’s cloaked in rich, dark robes, hood pulled up, revealing only those harrowing eyes. You’ve never met Death, but with the throbbing ache in your chest, you recognize him immediately. You’d heard rumors that if you looked straight into those hollow eyes of his you’d die on the spot, and it warms your quickly freezing body to find that the rumor is false.

The man kneels by your side and you want to laugh at the way that he assesses you, eyes trailing across your body, gaze as serious as the injury to your chest.

Azriel gently moves your hands from where they’re trying to keep the wound closed. He doesn’t need to put much force behind the action at all, your limbs weak from blood loss. He grimaces at the sight, the usual excitement that clings to his very soul upon seeing such a gruesome picture is not there, instead, it feels like claws of ice blooming from his chest, painful and angry.

He can feel the power emanating off of you. The way it surges and buries beneath his own skin, heart picking up in pace. Your eyes are dazed, and the smile you give him has him both wanting to lean further into you and tuck his hood more securely around himself. Life, dying right before his very eyes.

And he can see it in the way your skin shimmers. The grassy knoll beneath you is overcome with life, thick, green grass soft beneath your body as if the earth itself is making you a comfortable spot to rest. A flick of his gaze has Azriel noting the animals peering from the brush, the lively rattle of mice and the uncomfortable stares of deer watching the both of you. 

“Have you come to claim me, Death?” you rasp, looking up into his eyes. They’re surprisingly bright, golden like the sun that cradles you, alive with shadows and souls. He hides himself well, you decide, clutching the soft ground as his eyes trail the open wound ripped wide down your sternum as you search his eyes for any sign of himself. But you don’t sound alarmed, if anything being in his presence feels as peaceful as life itself.

“Not yet,” Azriel murmurs, icy fingers brushing down your cheek. He wipes away the speck of red there. When you dare return to where you’ve come from he doesn’t want you catching sight of it in the mirror, noticing how close you’d been to finally being his.

The clash of swords grows louder, shrill cries of bloodshed on the battlefield still ringing in his ears. Many have joined him today, and you should not be out here. Should not be in the middle of a war trying to save fallen soldiers, let alone the winged bastards who’ve done this to you. 

He doesn’t remove his hood, doesn’t let you see his face. Something rumbles in his chest, so much like a death rattle but a sweet song all the same. His treacherous heart kicks up a beat, spurring panic in his veins like the vines twisting through the forest floor. Resilient, just like Life. 

“Are you scared?” He asks, letting you clutch his hand with both of your own as his fingers slide down your throat to touch the top of your wound, careful not to harm. So small, he notes, so perfect.

“Do you want me to be?” You respond through labored breaths. You watch the way his wings scratch over you, blocking the sun from your eyes. If he’s going to do this, he’ll need the dark.

“No,” Azriel finds himself saying. He doesn’t want Life to fear Death.

His grip is strong, sure, just as death is. You want to watch him as he works but your eyelids are too heavy, and you’re not sure if it’s his shadows creeping into the sides of your vision or if you’re about to pass out from the state you’re in.

Azriel summons his powers, placing both of your tangled hands across your wound. You suck in a sharp breath as a wave of agony drags you from the dark, eyes flaring open only to catch on his again. He whispers something you’re unable to make out, but you feel the icy coldness of his powers seeping into your skin as he draws on them.

They kickstart your own, warm and comforting as they wrap around each other like the shadows and rays of golden light filling the field. The sounds of battle are deafened by whatever he’s doing and your breath catches in your throat. It feels as though you’re burning on the inside, his darkness freezing your soul and your own powers lash out in response. 

“Come on,” he urges softly, noting that the wound on your chest is beginning to close. The feeling of your powers mixing with his feels strange. He’s never once felt alive, but now, as waves of warmth burn through his blood, he finds himself wanting to bathe in it.

You gasp as the wound closes fully, eyes shuttering shut as your spine arches off of the ground and your vision explodes with black. The entire clearing goes dark with Death’s shadows before your light bursts out of you in an awakening you’ve never experienced before.

Sitting up in a rush, your head spins. When the light of your powers has died down, you find yourself alone in the forest, Death a whisper in the wind.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Humming an all familiar tune, you stride through the sparse trees to the lively river, a mother and her ducklings trailing happily behind you. You’d found them on your morning walk, feeling the caress of lives tugging on your soul as you went, smile stretching wider and wider as you strolled to find them.

They’d been a little lost, the mother quacking happily as you appeared with a soft demeanor and outstretched hands. You could feel her worry, as she rounded the ducklings up, keeping them close. You giggled as they’d started climbing all over you, scooping up the fluffy beings and cuddling them close to your chest.

The river is alive with life. Fish swimming in the soft current, finally thawed from the harsh winters. The perfect watering ground for many of the animals in the forest, and a nice place to stop on a hot summer's day for the fae of this realm, the perfect setting for the duckling family to rest.

But what you’ve failed to notice is the fox sneaking through the shadows of the trees on silent paws, licking its maw at the sight of its next meal, and Death following closely behind.

He watches with intrigue, though he’s seen the way that this plays out more times than he can count. He doesn’t even need to be around for a death as simple as this; the smallest duckling lagging behind as it trips over an upturned root will be the one to go, and its mother will not even notice until they get where they’re going and her little one is gone.

It’s all a part of life though, and you can’t save them all. He notes the way you hold yourself, the skip in your step and the smile on your lips as you murmur softly to the animals like they can understand you. Your powers unconsciously slip from you, flowers blooming where your feet land as you lead the flock towards the rushing blue waters of the river.

You pause, looking around as if you’ve felt a shift in the air, like the piece of him that you carry in the faint scar across your chest has alerted you to his presence, and Death finds himself ducking behind a tree. But you’ve already caught sight of his dark robes slipping between shadows.

Crouching in a hurry, you collect the ducklings near to you as the fox pounces from its hiding spot. You scowl at the animal, black fur and bright eyes halting at your look. It bows its head sorrowfully, whining softly.

“Trying to play tricks on me, Death?” you raise an eyebrow, heart softening as you shoo the ducklings towards the river in favor of scratching behind the fox’s ears. It keens, leaning into your palm as your warmth consumes it, flipping onto its belly for more of your loving touch.

“Death is no trick, Life.” Azriel responds seriously, untucking himself from the shadows creeping around him. His golden gaze flicks to the animal and where your fingers are buried in its fur and he’s brought back to all of those months ago when it had been his fingers yours were clinging to and keeping warm.

“Life is no ruse either,” you respond, too amused for his liking. You're too cheery, bright eyes burning holes through his skin, scaring off of his shadows. Death is not afraid, and Death is not falling. He’s been seeking you out, secretly, watching you with a keen eye the way you brighten the world little by little, while all he does is sweep darkness in his wake.

He shrugs, as if your statement means nothing to him. Of course it wouldn’t, he is Death. The tree he’s leaning against is proof enough, its leaves shrinking, crumbling as life is sucked out of them, fluttering to the ground like snow.

It doesn’t irk you like it should. No, it’s actually breathtaking, the way that he draws life to him is intoxicating, and you can feel your powers reaching out to him. You’ve never felt such things before, have been thinking about Death more than you’d like to admit, the way he’d made you feel when he saved you.

“Would you like to come by for some tea?” You blurt, cheeks pinking up when his features don’t so much as twitch. The fox nips playfully at your stilled fingers and it skitters away at the disapproving glare Death sends it.

He nods once, hood bobbing with the motion, and you lead him to your home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Finish me,” you breathe, and it makes Death nearly cum.

It’s not the way that you mean it. You’re not sacrificing yourself, asking him to take your soul, but with the way that he’s buried deep inside of you, you feel as though you’d give anything to him at this moment. 

Death likes that.

The words have him groaning, teeth nipping at your shoulder as he jerks into you, cock hot and heavy with arousal. He’d followed you to your home only for the both of you to end up like this: you flat on your back in your soft bed with him driving into you, shadows writhing around his shaking wings.

The vines that hang off of your ceiling pass between life and death as you fuck, blooming with new growth and snaking down the walls when you cum with a shout. You feel like you’re dying, gasping for breath as blackness fields your vision until stars shine beneath squeezed eyelids. 

Death is close behind you, pulling you to him and rolling you over, holding you tightly as he pistons his hips up into your writhing body, seeing you through your orgasm. He slips his tongue into your mouth, desperate for a taste of Life as he releases. The plants that line your home droop and fray as he sucks the essence from them.

He feels like he’s finally alive, chest expanding with a first full breath, life pulsating through his body as you cling to him as tightly as he is to you. 

It’s utter bliss, the way you two stay tangled up in each other for days, not worrying about the life or death that’s happening outside your quaint cottage. It’s two souls reuniting, the missing parts of each other, finding the balance they’ve so desperately been craving since the cosmos tethered them to this plane of existence.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Death is not a lover.

He’d never let himself love anything.

But this time, when Death sees Life, she’s bringing another into the world.

[derangedanomaly]

if it's ok can you do both the bad sanses and star sanses and epic and cross with an S/O who is a musician. Like they can sing and play guitar, keyboard, ect and performs at clubs

This was a little difficult (since there's so many characters), but it was fun. ^^ (I also didn't do Epic and Cross, since it was too much for me, sorry for that. Maybe I'll do them in a different post, if you still want them?)

Masterlist

SANS AUS X MUSICIAN READER

(Nightmare, Killer, Dust, Horror, Error, Dream, Swap, Ink)

Nightmare:

Nightmare's gonna be so surprised by your skills when it comes to playing so many instruments. He can actually play on a piano, so he will want to play together with you at some point, after he gets more comfortable around you.

He definitely doesn't think you'll be of good use when it comes to combat, but... He WILL want to stick around while you're playing any instrument, all while doing his paperwork.

Nightmare definitely appreciates when a great talent is put to a good use, so he'll arrange a night that happens once every week, where everyone in the castle relaxes, while attending to your little show.

Damn, you feel like quite a celebrity in Nightmare's castle.

Anyways, Nightmare respects you for having such talent, but probably won't respect you outside of that. He's just like that. 😐

It's like he has two different personalities that are switching depending on the situation. If it's a situation where you're performing: "I must say, Y/n, that was an exquisite performance that you played there. I can't wait to listen to it again, when we'll have the chance." But if it's in battle... "YOU DUMB FUCKING BITCH, STOP STANDING THERE BEING SO USELESS!!!" Then you two argue. 💀

He will soften up to you when the time comes, but you know... His shell is tough to crack.

Killer:

BRO'S LIKE -> :O

He gets so hyper after knowing that you can play so many instruments. He's gonna tell you every flirting pun revolving around music known to man. He literally won't stop coming up with new puns, it's a special skill of his at this point..

He literally won't leave you alone while you're preparing to train playing on another instrument. He's such a menace... he just wants to bother you 😂

Doesn't like how Nightmare treats you just because you're "useless" in combat. So he'll try to help you out in that department. He'll tell you some shit like "you could really rip someone's head off with this guitar" 💀 it's the thought that counts.

Wrote a music sheet for you once. It was just scribbles, that he thought you would understand 💀 but after you'd told him that no, you do not understand, he would try to recreate the sounds he meant for you to play, with his own voice...

"Ok, it goes like this! Meew mew pew bom boom! Got it?" You do not understand. 💀

Dust:

You'd think that being the smartest, he'd know a thing or two about musical instruments, but the truth is...he knows NOTHING about that. So having someone so skilled and knowledgeable like you, got him super excited!

He loves learning about new things, so prepare to be bombarded with lots of questions.

After you answer any of his questions and after a countless times of him watching/listening you play... He official wants to learn to play on an instrument! I mean, he once knew how to play the trombone! But it was long since those days, and he completely forgot everything about it, and it would be nice to learn how to play on a different instrument. :)

He's so supportive and tentative to you 😭 he's the first to come to your rescue whenever you're having a tough time in a battle!

Horror:

He doesn't think much of it. Not pretty big when it comes to playing an instrument, but it is nice to listen to you while he's drifting off to sleep.

He doesn't really care for it, hence -> he won't know anything about it. But he will support you. (Depending on what relationship you two have)

Just like the others, he also attends the times you play for the others, but only really focus on you. Not much on your skill.

He just likes you for you, no special skill is going to change that.

Horror is pretty much like your personal guardian when it comes to battles. As stated all the other times, your skill isn't really fit for battlefield, unless......

Horror actually helps you out a lot in this field. He gives you advice on how to use your skills in battle. And they're actually really good! (Unlike Killer's 💀)

He doesn't even know that the things he's saying are actually very helpful 💀

He just says what sounds right for him.

Lmao, bro absentmindedly helps you out the most of the bunch, which is actually really funny.

Error:

Also not big on instruments, but he sees you as an inspiration. Knowing how to play so many instruments is pretty impressive. And you do it flawlessly too!

He also, like the others attends your little "shows".

No matter what you play, he WILL fall asleep. It's not because it's boring, but your music is just calming to him.

You could be playing like a rock music, and he WILL STILL fall asleep. 💀

It's pretty much just impressive from his side at this point.

He thinks that you're actually pretty good in battle. Doesn't know what the other's are on about.

He would suspect you would be dead in seconds, but you actually survive them! Sure, not without injuries, but still. You can defend yourself somehow.

Dream:

Loves to hear you play the more calming instruments, rather than the loud ones. (Rock, Metal, etc. just won't do for him 😭)

He's seriously so proud of you!

As stated before, he doesn't like it when you're playing something loud. It hurts his nonexistent ears 💀🙏🏻

Almost burned your electric guitar one day... Says that it was an accident. (It wasn't.) Look, it was just in the way, and he wasn't looking! (It was annoying him, so he almost committed murder against your guitar 💀)

He hates loud instruments partly because he's supposed to be the protector of hopes and dreams, but it's mostly because it reminds him of his brother... :(

Always rushes to your rescue when in battle. Actually, doesn't even let you fight in the battles.

He just doesn't want to see you harmed in any way. Can't let his little muse die.

Ink:

Unlike Dream, Ink LOVES the loud instruments. (He also thinks you look attractive when playing them, but that's besides the point)

He's constantly encouraging you to play them, which irks Dream in return.

He thinks you're matching with the both of you having "artistic" hobbies. (He's actually so cute while saying that, like it's his best accomplishment)

If he could, he would sell his BRUSH just to hear you sing (not broomie 😭)

Comes to your shows whenever he remembers. His memory isn't that great, as we know.... So he'll most likely forget, and then remember when it's too late. He feels so bad that you actually can't help but feel sad for him.

He's actually on his knees, begging you for forgiveness. (You're not actually mad at him) He's such a sub while doing this that it's crazy 💀

Gets annoyed by your lack of fighting skills. Can't help but roll his eyes. (He'll still help you, because he likes you. But he WILL complain)

Just give him new pencils after, and he'll stop with the complaints.

Swap:

He's at awe at your skills. You inspire him to start learning himself! Of course he tries to learn by himself at first, due to not wanting to bother you. But after he figures out he can't learn by himself, he goes to you for help.

He's a really fast learner, so he gets the hang of it almost immediately. Which you appreciate. ^^

He also comes to listen to you performing! He swore to you that he'd come at every show. And he never broke it either!

After he gets better at his selective instrument and after he'll get more confident, he'll want to join you to perform with you! (Of course, if it's ok with you)

I swear, he's so supportive.

Doesn't care about your lack of fighting skills. It just gives him an excuse to protect you to be honest.

He seriously loves to be your knight in shining armor, definitely has this little fantasy that you're a princess/prince and he's the knight saving you from the HORRIBLE monster. (Nightmare)