#a lighter color makes him look so much younger

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Lovely Mimibell with his painted nails

[misctf]

All Eyes on You

A trade for @axeeglitter

“Really?” Eric could feel his temper rising, “How many times have I told you I don’t like it when...”

“I don’t get the big deal.” Paul replied, putting his phone down, “You know I think you’re hot, right?” He continues, “So what if I like to look at hot guys on the internet?”

Eric caught a glimpse of another guy Eric with ogling. It was always the same- his boyfriend totally had a type. Another stupid, athletic, and musclebound jock. The guy doing some kind of stupid dance- swaying and rubbing his engorged muscles. How could Paul watch this kind of cringe content anyway?

“That’s what turns you on?” Eric mumbled, “You know it makes me uncomfortable.” He admitted, “I just don’t know what you keep turning to social media to get your dick hard.”

“It’s not that...” Paul replied, “Look, I’m not trying to...”

“Well you are.” Eric spat, “I’m done talking about this.” And before Paul could say another word, Eric stormed out of the room and to their shared bedroom.

As he shut the door, a whirlwind of thoughts raced through his mind. He paced back and forth, his fists clenched tightly at his sides as he tried to process the hurt and anger coursing through his veins.

“Doesn't he understand how much it hurts?” Eric thought bitterly, “Seeing him drool over those perfect-looking jocks all the time. Like I'm not good enough for him anymore.”

He couldn't shake the image of the latest hunk Paul had been ogling - all rippling abs and bulging biceps, gyrating obscenely on screen. Compared to that Adonis, Eric felt small and inadequate. His own body, which he'd always considered average but attractive, now seemed soft and unappealing in his eyes.

“I wish...” Eric whispered under his breath, “I wish Paul would see me that way sometimes. That he’d look at me like he looks at those guys.”

As if in response to his heartfelt wish, Eric's phone began to vibrate and glow against the nightstand. He froze, staring at the pulsing screen in confusion. Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over him. Eric glanced down and gasped as he watched his chest hairs disappear before his very eyes, falling to the ground and disappearing. He reached up to touch the smooth skin that replaced it. He hadn’t been hairless since his early 20s and the sensation of his smooth skin felt unfamiliar.  

“What the fuck?” Eric breathed, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart, “You don’t just lose your body hair.” He mumbles, watching as the hairs on his belly fell away, “Wait...” He held up his arm, watching as the darker hairs became lighter in color.

Eric approached his mirror cautiously, his eyes widening as he took in the changes reflected back at him. The dark hair on his head were gradually lightening, transforming into a rich, honey-brown, while his five o’clock shadow vanished. His gaze drifted lower, noting the subtle shift in skin tone. Blotches of sun-kissed warmth broke through his natural pallor, spreading across his body slowly but surely. It was as if he'd spent hours basking in the warm summer sun without actually stepping outside. As Eric gazed at his reflection, he noticed something even more astonishing - the lines etched into his face, the crow's feet around his eyes, the sagging skin beneath his chin - all seemed to be fading away. His skin appeared smoother, tighter, almost radiant. He looked... younger. Much younger than his actual thirty years.

“No, it can't be...” Eric muttered, feeling his youthful skin, “I...” He bites his lip. He hasn’t looked like this since he was at least 21. But even at 21 he wasn’t sporting this kind of tan, “I need to find Paul. I need to...”

A sharp intake of breath escaped Eric's lips as he felt an intense heat radiate through his chest. He watched in disbelief as his pecs began to swell, growing larger and more defined by the second. Muscles he never knew he possessed started to take shape, bunching and rippling beneath his skin.

“No, stop!” Eric cried out, panic lacing his voice as he frantically tried to halt the transformation.

But it only intensified, spreading to his arms and shoulders. His triceps ballooned, his biceps thickened, and his deltoids grew broad and powerful. Eric let out a strangled moan as the metamorphosis continued. His abdominal muscles tightened and hardened, forming a chiseled six-pack that flexed with every ragged breath. The once-flat plane of his stomach now boasted a deep, carved indent in the middle. His glutes, too, underwent a drastic makeover. The flesh compacted and reformed, molding itself into two perfectly rounded globes. His thighs thickened, his quadriceps bulging with raw power. Every inch of Eric's body was being reshaped, remade, reborn into a sculpted masterpiece of masculinity. 

“This isn't me. This can't be happening.” Eric gasped as he stared at himself in the mirror, “This is a dream... this doesn’t just happen to people.” He mumbles, drinking in the sight of his new muscles.

A sudden wave of prickling sensation assaulted Eric's armpits as coarse, dark hair sprouted. The air was thick with the acrid scent of sweat and musk, a potent aroma that filled his nostrils and made his stomach churn.

“Ugh, what the hell?” Eric groaned, clamping a hand over one armpit as he sniffed himself again, recoiling at the pungent odor, “I smell like a gym bag.”

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks - he now emitted the exact same stench as the muscular, gym-rat types Paul constantly ogled online. He reached his meatier hand to touch the mirror, and gasped. Eric's hands flew up to cover his face, trembling as he felt the contours of his features shift and morph. His nose narrowed, his jawline squared off, and his cheekbones sharpened into a chiseled, angular silhouette. His lips thinned into a smirk, and his eyes took on a cocky, confident glint.

“No...” Eric whispered, barely recognizing the stranger staring back at him.

Gone was the soft, rounded face of his thirty-year-old self; in its place sat the visage of a smug, arrogant young jock - the very archetype Paul seemed to worship. With a sense of dread, Eric watched as a pair of tight, athletic shorts emerged from thin air and slithered down his muscular thighs, settling snugly around his crotch. Embroidered on the side of the shorts in bold, white letters was the number '28'. At the same time, a pair of baseball cleats materialized on his feet, the stench of stale sweat and dirty socks wafting up to assault his nostrils. They fit perfectly, molded to the contours of his sizeable calves and ankles.

“This is insane.” Eric choked out, revulsion washing over him as he took in his new appearance, “What kind of sick joke is this? I don’t want this. I want Paul to love me for my looks, not some cocky asshole’s.” No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get rid of the cocky glint in his eyes. And his lips seemed to default to a smug smirk, “I need to...”

Before he could finish his thought, Eric's hips began to sway of their own accord, his movements fluid and sensual as he danced in front of the mirror. One hand roamed over his chiseled torso, tracing the dips and curves of his newly formed muscles. The smirk on his face grew wider, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger he didn't recognize.

“This isn't me.” Eric panted, but his body refused to obey, continuing its seductive dance, “Stop it! Get control of yourself!” But before he could say another word, his lips formed into a confident smirk. He realized that just like his dancing, he couldn’t control the smirk, “No please! I can’t talk.” He thought, “Stop! Stop this!”

In the mirror, he can see his newly athletic body move. His confident smirk. He can even still smell the masculine stench that wafts from his clothes and pits. Eric wanted to cry- feeling totally powerless. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t like those guys that Paul drooled over. He wasn’t...

“Wait, what’s that?!” Eric watches as his phone started to glow, basking him in a blue light, “Oh god it hurts! Stop!”

He could feel his body breaking down- simplifying. Every organic component of him being broken down and changed into a pattern of pixels and data. His body digitized and absorbed into the phone. And when the pain stopped, Eric realized he was no longer in his room. He was in a locker room. The smells from his own body still assaulting his nose. His body still moving against his will.

“Paul... Anyone...” Eric thought, “Help me...” 

But his plea was lost amidst the endless loop of his own mesmerizing form. Reduced to a looping GIF of his newly buff physique. His athletic shorts and baseball cleats remained, along with the arrogant smirk frozen on his face. Each time the animation played, his muscles rippled and flexed, his abs contracting hypnotically. And worst yet, he could feel eyes on him. All the users who viewed him in his digitalized prison. Comments flooded in, each one more enthusiastic than the last. “Holy shit, so hot!”, “Best thing I've seen all week!”, “Makes me wanna tap that!”

“No... please...” Eric's mind reeled in horror as the comments repeated in his mind, unable to comprehend his own degradation. Trapped inside this digital prison, forced to perpetuate the very objectification he despised.

He didn’t know how long it took until he felt his boyfriend’s gaze on him. For a moment, Eric dared to hope - perhaps his boyfriend could somehow hear him, free him from this living nightmare. But as Paul's fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing out a message, Eric's hopes dwindled.

“Yum.”

Eric's heart sank, his despair deepening as he realized Paul had no idea it was him trapped in this degrading digital form. To his boyfriend, he was just another hot piece of eye candy to admire and lust after. And after a few more minutes of watching, Paul moved on, leaving Eric to continue his eternal dance.

Hours passed, then days, and Eric's awareness persisted, forever confined within the looping GIF. Paul returned sporadically, devouring each iteration of his digitally rendered form with hungry eyes. As the weeks dragged on, Eric's initial shock gave way to a numb acceptance. This was his existence now - a perpetual spectacle, reduced to nothing more than a collection of pixels and motion. The irony was not lost on him. He had once envied the attention Paul gave to those jocks and their thirst traps. Now he was one- just a thirst trap, dancing in a smelly locker room- forever.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

The girl with the pearl necklace (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: You marry Daemon to secure an alliance. But surprisingly, you find a haven in him.

Warnings: Fluff. Smut. Oral (F receiving) Talks of race, colorism, racism, and self-esteem issues.

A/N: This has to be my most personal fic. It might not be as universal because it is part of my personal experience with race as a mixed person living in what is essentially a mixed region. I hope I do not get a bad response, but I will remind you what the title of my blog says.

“YOUR HAIR IS ugly.” The girl says, displeased. She is trying to comb through your hair with some coconut oil, but instead of curling prettily, your hair just falls flat. She has been at it for at least half an hour, her tugs to your hair getting increasingly more painful.

This time, you cannot hide the flinch. Pain, you had excused with being her first day. Making a mess, with her being unused to your hair. But calling you ugly? She was but a serving girl, she had no right.

The girl looks horrified at what she has just said. She is barely fourteen. But yet again, you are too. You have never called anyone ugly to their faces. You keep those kinds of thoughts to yourself.

“She is young, milady.” The older maid, the one that is supposed to supervise her, says. She smooths your hair back, trying to fix it. Her touch gets more and more desperate the more she tries. Your hair will simply not obey. The younger one has put so much product on your hair, it looks greasy and unwashed.

You stare at your features in the mirror. The lighter skin, the shock of unruly hair, not quite a wave, not quite a coil, but rather something in the middle. Bad hair, your previous maids called it. You wonder why you bothered trying with maids again.

It is your cousin’s wedding. A lovely young woman, with beautiful dark hair that you bet never reacts this way.

“I am sorry, milady.” The younger maid offers.

Your eyes are still fixated on your mirror. You wonder if your mother ever has these troubles too. With her sleek hair, and foreign features, you doubt anyone dares call her ugly. She may not have a title, as you do, but she was once regarded as the most beautiful woman in Lys.

But you. Oh, you. With your too wide nose, but too upturned to be a dornish one. With your high cheekbones in a short face. With dark eyelashes, purple eyes, and hair that is not quite right.

It screams outsider. It screams, not here, not there. Not a famed beauty in Lys, not quite the Sword of the Morning.

“Get out.” You say, to the serving girl. “Get out, both of you.”

You need to wash your hair three times for all the product to come out. You are late to the wedding.

The serving girl is relocated to the kitchens, where no one needs to talk to her. The older one is sent to tend to your father. You pass her sometimes, in the hallways of Starfall, and wonder if she is thinking your hair is ugly too.

You wonder the same thing on the day your fate changes. You are getting dressed when you see her, an ill omen in the middle of Starfall. Prince Qoren has summoned all the unwed noble ladies of Dorne to Sunspear, wishing to announce something. You think it can’t be anything good, considering he has refused to use a royal proclamation to do so.

The travel to Sunspear is taxing. You travel to the capital accompanied by your mother, a day before the actual meeting is set to take place. It allows the two of you to spend the night in a manse before having to meet the royal family.

She doesn’t know how to fix your hair. Your mother’s hair is pale silver, easy to manage and twist in the ways women up north prefer. She had tried hard to tame yours as a child, spraying it with water and stretching the curls with a brush so it laid flat. It never seemed to work as it did in hers.

You pin your hair up, a clip made of pearls and amethysts keeping it up. You do not have the same texture most women here have, that ensures gorgeous volume, so you play to your strengths, showcasing the deep color you have and using it as a backdrop for gorgeous accessories.

Your dress is chosen with great care. A deep lavender, with a tasteful cleavage, held at your shoulders by twin brooches of falling stars. Not even hearing your mother say you look beautiful eases your anxiety. You had seen her, the servant. She only appeared in your life when something was about to happen.

You are not the superstitious kind, but when you stand in a line in front of Prince Qoren’s throne with all the noble maidens of Dorne, you know you were right. That woman was a bad omen.

Prince Qoren smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I am glad all of you chose to accept my invitation.” He stands. All the women in the room drop into a curtsy. “When I look at you, I see the best this Kingdom has to offer. It makes me proud. And it makes me confident enough to know I can ask this of you.”

You tense. Whatever he is going to ask is something bad, you can already tell. Some of the more clueless girls in the room look flattered by the delicate compliment, but it is a tactic you know well. You have been mocked enough to know that when someone compliments you so elaborately, a but usually follows. And it tends to be devastating.

His kind demeanor isn’t fooling you. Not in the least.

“We have never coddled our women, as the other Kingdoms do. War is coming for us, and we need strong allies. The Iron Throne offers us their support, but as always, it comes with a price.”

War. Of course it comes down to it. You have heard your parents whispering about it when they think you cannot hear. How Prince Qoren is thinking of sending his troops, instead of his money. How he expects your brother or father to lead them, sometimes against the Triarchy, sometimes against the Iron Throne.

It seems he has made his choice. Against the Triarchy. Your heart is seized by the sudden terror of the thought of your father going to war and not coming home. His sword, Prince Qoren called him.

Your house has been Dorne’s sword for decades. Ever since the first Dayne picked up their sword from the heart of a flaming star, you have defended the Kingdom against their enemies. Your very home once burned because of it.

Amongst the tales of flaming swords and fallen stars, you had never thought war would touch your home. Your brother was the current wielder of Dawn. Your father the head of your house. They would have to fight.

“A marriage pact. From a daughter of Dorne, to a Targaryen Prince. To bind our kingdoms, to ensure peace in this new alliance we embark. Dorne must remain unbowed, unbent, unbroken. House Martell has no daughters of their own to offer, so we ask one of you to go on our stead. It’s us who will pay your dowry, and you shall always have a home here.”

His words barely register as you brood about the upcoming war. You have heard of the Crabfeeder, and his brutality. You think of your kind, kind brother, and his sweet smile. He is a few years younger than you, untested in battle yet.

Some girls cheer. You look at your mother and notice she has the same stricken look you must be sporting. Some of the other parents talk animatedly between themselves, calculating the potential such a match offers their daughters. None seem to realize what it means.

War. War will come for Dorne, and the situation might turn out so bad, proud Prince Qoren will need the dragons’ help. The once unbowed man is being made to bow so low his forehead is touching the floor.

Prince Qoren raises a hand, quieting the hall.

“I am not asking for volunteers. I simply wished to gaze upon you myself, and decide who will marry Daemon Targaryen.”

Mumbles start again, some girls sounding disgruntled. Others preen and titter, trying to attract the Prince’s gaze. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the wall in front of you.

You would rather not marry this Daemon Targaryen. The politics in the other kingdoms are not your forte, but you have a vague notion of him being the brother to the current King. He must have a dragon, of course. And you think he is the one who has been in the conflict at the Stepstones, so he must be some sort of warrior.

No matter how much of a catch he might be, you wish to stay. If war is truly coming, you cannot bear to think of being separated from your family. Your mother will need you, when your father and brother are called away. And you don’t imagine yourself in a foreign land, waiting for news about them on your own.

Prince Qoren makes his way down the line of maidens. You barely spare him a glance, your mind thousands of miles away. But he pauses in front of you, looking at the shooting stars in your shoulders, the deep lavender of your dress.

“I hear Daemon Targaryen likes his women fair.” He comments. “And you are the fairest of us all.”

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. It takes all of your willpower not to fidget under his gaze. You give him an awkward smile.

Prince Qoren reaches to touch the brooch. His hands are elegant, fingers long and lean. He is about your mother’s age, and wears it just as well.

“Lady Dayne, is it?”

“Yes, my Prince.” You say, meeting his eyes. You may not be a classic dornish beauty, but you were still raised by the most charming woman in Lys. There are hardly any other women with manners as refined as yours, and you know all about the games men in power enjoy playing.

You cannot fawn over him. You cannot show him weakness. Because if you do, you will be common in his eyes, unespecial. It is not about beauty. It never is. That thought has given you great comfort during the years.

“How fitting. My dearest sword will be the one to defend her kingdom.”

Your hands begin to sweat. His choice is predictable. It is the same thing you had been thinking about your father and brother, House Dayne is the sword of Dorne. And swords, even more feminine ones, are only useful when war comes.

It doesn’t make it easier, that you should have expected it. It only makes your chest hurt. You do not dare look at your mother.

Instead, you drop into a curtsy and look at Qoren Martell as if he has made you the happiest woman in the world.

“I will be honored, my Prince.”

He smiles.

“Please, call me Qoren. We are to be family now.”

You look at your mother, insides turning to ice. You wonder how long until he takes you away from her.

In the end, it only takes a month. Qoren had been eager to depart and fix the realm’s issues. You now know plenty about the war in the Stepstones. Apparently, your future husband had secured the victory, giving the killing blow to the leader of the opposing army. But while won, the threat to your Kingdom remains. The Triarchy shall always reform, and not even the death of the Crabfeeder can stop them. Like one of those awful serpents from myth, you cut off its head and two more appear.

Pulling your support as the Triarchy was losing had been a bad move. They blamed Dorne for their defeat, and the Iron Throne thought the dornish were cowardly, only making their choice when it was clear who would lose. To avoid petty revenges and more bloodshed, Dorne needed new allies. And you needed them fast.

“We negotiated a new title for you.” Qoren tells you, as the carriage takes you from the docks and towards the Red Keep. “When you marry, you will become a Princess too, instead of remaining a Lady.”

“That sounds exciting.” You give him a bright smile. It's a very genuine one. Hearing yourself announced in such a manner would please you. “It will be strange, of course, changing it.”

“Nonsense.” Qoren laughs. “Only the best for my daughter.”

You falter, and decide to peer out of the window to hide your expression from him. You do not want him to think you are ungrateful.

The night is awfully cold, but you barely feel it. You are dressed in a purple velvet dress, still amazed by the material. You had never worn something so expensive, or made of such a warm fabric. It has the traditional dornish cut, with a plunging cleavage, but you find the added long sleeves fascinating.

The royal family had spared no expense in preparing your trousseau. As a daughter of House Martell, only the best would do. Obviously, all in their colors. This purple velvet gown was one of the few purple items you had been allowed to bring. It saddened you, having to forsake the color. You had always felt pretty in purple, since it matched your eyes.

You weren’t too sure how you felt about everything. Being sent to protect your kingdom and, by extension, your family from war was a great thing. But you were also being asked to leave your identity behind.

Never having left Dorne before, the journey had excited you, but also made you feel acutely lonely. And the thought of having to let behind your family, your colors, and even your name, only served to make you feel worse.

Your father would not be the one giving you away during your wedding, nor would your maiden cloak be the one of House Dayne. Instead, you would wear the sun and spear of House Martell.

But at this moment, as Qoren gets out of the carriage and extends you a hand, you are a Dayne. The purple dress acts a beacon, attracting the gaze of every servant in the vicinity. You stand tall, a star pendant hanging between your breasts.

You will enter decked on your colors. You will greet your future husband as you are, dressed in royal purple. Be a Dayne one last time, before war takes even that from you.

You breathe in and out, the polluted night sky so different from the beautiful stars in Dorne. This is it, you think, a chance to start over. To be whoever you wish to be. These people do not know what a dornishwoman should look like, or how she should behave. They do not know your hair is odd, and so are your eyes. They will only know what you want them to know.

“Go change, my sword. Your maids have selected a dress.” Qoren places his hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you towards the Red Keep. Your smile falls. For a second, you had thought you could attend the feast as you were, draped in your familiar purple and silver. “Make us all proud.”

You should have known better. But it is no matter now. A new life awaits you. Not even Qoren can sour your mood. You square your shoulders and smile.

So focused you are on your inner motivational speech, you do not notice the man watching you, his features covered by a black hood.

The day of your marriage, Daemon presents you with a beautiful pearl necklace. It is made of the purest pearls, with the biggest one you have ever seen right in the middle. It is bigger than the fingertip of your thumb, a perfect circle, roughly the size of a gold dragon.

“My cousin helped me commission this.” He says, during the wedding feast. He presents it to you in a small box, insides lined with velvet. As you reach for it, Daemon closes it, nearly catching your fingers with it. You laugh, startled. He grins at you. “Ah, I want to help you put it on.”

Your fingers fiddle with the simple silver chain you wear, star pendant hanging between your breasts. The hesitation must show on your face because Qoren, at your side, answers for you.

“She is honored, I am sure. Such a gorgeous jewel, to sit in the neck of the greatest beauty Dorne has to offer.”

You smile, trying not to let the sudden flare up of bad memories the words bring you. You remember a young girl, calling your hair ugly. Your grandmother’s face, sneering as you passed her in the hallways. Half-breed, she says, after having too much wine. Not quite right.

The subtle, more hidden, cruelties of girlhood that made your heart ache. When you did not make the list of the most beautiful girls some page was making. How much of a late bloomer you were, by dornish standards. How you had to wait so long for your first kiss, when it seemed like all the other girls were having them already.

Will this be all your life will ever be? Looking for the poison dripping from each word? Doubting every compliment?

You give Daemon what you hope is a seductive look, from beneath dark lashes. You are not good at seduction, having been an observer most of your life. But you are good at pretending.

It has worked, so far. Your arrival, on Qoren’s arm and with an honor guard fit for a Queen, had made people look at you differently. Men, specially, look at you as something exotic. They whisper about your Lyseni mother, and the tricks you must know how to perform. It fills you with dread because once again your looks set you apart, and you don’t quite feel like a person. You had hoped things would be different here.

And they are. Their attention is different, but it’s still wrong and you don’t quite believe them. They only want you because of the novelty, because of rumors about dornishwomen, about how your mother trapped your father. Not because you are beautiful or desirable. It’s sickening.

“Come, husband. Take my necklace off.” And Daemon obeys you, coming to stand behind you. Before he can begin to fumble with your hair, you reach for your hair on your own and lift it to expose your nape. You twist it into a pretend up do, holding it up with your hand.

The gesture is as languid as you can make it, highlighting the curve of your arm, and the elegance of your movements. The cold air hits your neck, making the hairs there stand up.

You both feel and hear Daemon’s sigh. He blows a soft puff of air against your hair, the noise very loud in the small table that seats only Qoren, Daemon, and you. The Queen has already retired, her sickly husband in tow. The Princess and her husband are dancing merrily between the tables.

When you had met Daemon, your first impression of him had been that he was very Valyrian looking and surprisingly whole for someone fresh out of war. And then, he had looked at Princess Rhaenyra and you had understood what Qoren meant when he said he liked his women fair.

Your stomach had turned, back then. Valyrian indeed. Rhaenyra was all milk white skin, light lashes and soft features. You couldn’t compete, you had thought. But then, you had noticed how his eyes followed little Laena Velaryon and you had known there was a chance for you to succeed too. It wasn’t skin color, but Valyrian heritage.

You have been trying to seduce him, with various degrees of success. The attention men pay you is helping you, and so are your purple eyes. You hope tonight goes well. You think you have just about enough Lyseni blood in you to keep him hooked.

His hands gently unclasp your pendant. He pockets it, you think. A memento or because he intends to give it back to you? You feel as his fingers whisper against your collarbones, and this time it’s you who sighs.

You are dramatic about it. Your lips part, as if about to be kissed. Your head tilts back.

“Beautiful.” Daemon whispers, in your ear. He kisses the shell of it.

“It is a gorgeous necklace.” You reply, feeling your face heating up. You feel drunk already, and you have not drank a single goblet of wine yet.

“No. You.” And the kiss against your ear becomes open-mouthed, his heavy breath filling your hearing. His hips brush against the backrest of the chair, searching for closeness. This is something that cannot be faked, you think. Not this kind of desire.

He wants you. He wants you, and you only wish to close your eyes and let him take you right here at this table. You are no blushing maiden, for sure, but you still are new to intimacy. Too many hang-ups about your body and not quite pleasing attempts have not contributed to building a vast knowledge of it. The fact that he wants you so badly makes you wild.

“I think that is my cue.” Qoren says, breaking you out of your stupor. He drains his cup, clearly in preparation for leaving. You had never felt such a connection with someone, not even in Dorne, where pleasure was loud and open. You press your hands to your face, ashamed of having forgotten he was there. Daemon simply chuckles.

“You don’t have…”

“Dearest sword.” He says, as he plants a kiss to your forehead. “You are as tempting as your husband is selfish. He doesn’t seem in the mood to share you.”

“I am not.” Daemon agrees, squeezing your shoulder. He exchanges a look with Qoren over your head. You can only see Qoren’s answering smirk.

“I think I should call for the mummers early.”

You and Daemon slip away as a company of puppet masters from Dorne make their grand entrance, throwing colorful powders in the air.

Later that night, as he sleeps in your shared rooms, you slip on a robe and stand in front of the mirror. Daemon has a massive one, right at the foot of the bed. Mirrors have always scared you, and sleeping so comfortably as he does with one reflecting him is unfathomable. You only intend to cover it.

Mirrors are supposed to be portals to other worlds, your mother used to say. The thought is stuck in your head, so you have grabbed a linen and are ready to place it over it when something catches your attention.

Your reflection. She is glowing, barefoot and in a simple robe, but still wearing the necklace your husband has given you. It should look gauche. It should look too much. But somehow, the necklace looks just right in your neck. You remember Daemon’s eyes, filled with desire when you had bared your neck to him. The sensual way he had touched you tonight, cradling you in his arms, rolling around in his bed. The necklace on the nightstand.

You look at the way the pearls light up your face. For the first time, you feel beautiful.

You make your first mistake a few days after.

It’s the first day of the week, and the Queen has asked you to have tea with her. You go, happily. After Qoren’s and the guards left, you began to feel lonely. There is not much to do here, either. Most of your usual entertainments are considered too sinful or crass. You can not even go for a walk around the city because they deem it too dangerous.

The meeting with the Queen is sour. She is trying, you can tell, but you still hear the disdain in her voice when she talks about your customs, or your people. She eyes the necklace you wear with distaste.

You get the feeling she buys the tales about you. That you are some dornish beauty, exotic and trained in the arts of seducing men. She comments on your mother, on her luck for marrying up, and you have to remember yourself to bite your tongue.

From what Daemon tells you, she is very lucky herself. Going from Lady to Queen is almost as impressive as going from merchant’s daughter to Lady, and you know which one of them did not need to spread her legs for it, and it’s not her. Not if you judge by her plain face.

You look at her, scandalized and pious as she is, ranting about acceptance of bastards of all things, and you surprise yourself at your own cruelty. You should not have thought that. But you are just so angry…

You take a deep breath and look away, trying to calm down. It is then you notice. In the door of the solar, standing to attention, is a man who looks like you.

He has inky dark hair, and olive skin. His eyes are dark, and he has a light stubble, probably because when you have hair as dark as he does, it is difficult to hide body hair. He wears armor and a white cloak. Kingsguard, you think. Why hasn’t anyone told you there was someone else from Dorne here, too? How could you not know?

Queen Alicent follows your eyes, suddenly noticing you are not paying attention. Your eyes are glued to the knight. She frowns in disapproval.

“That’s Ser Criston Cole. My sworn shield.” She stresses the word my. You grab your teacup and take a sip, to hide your smile. Is the pious Queen in love with her knight? “And a member of the Kingsguard.”

She is reminding you of his vow of celibacy. You almost laugh. If she wasn’t so repressed, she would realize she is the one who wants to jump his bones. The only interest you have in him is the fact that he might become a friend.

“Do your guards always stand inside your rooms?” You ask her, doing your best to sound puzzled. “The King’s guards stand outside his, and so does the sworn shield of the Princess.”

“…” Queen Alicent blushes, and averts her gaze. There are no further invitations to have tea with her.

You spend a lot of time staring at Ser Criston. He never returns your gaze. You seek him at mealtimes, you greet him in the corridors, but he always manages to evade you before you can properly start a conversation.

Daemon notices. He always does. He is finely attuned to you, his perfect wife. His prize after the war, his star. A study in contradictions, brazen and bold one moment, shy the next. He seems to like you even more for it. What he doesn’t seem to like is your sudden fixation on Criston Cole.

“You should stay away from him, star.” Daemon whispers, when he catches you staring at him once more. His voice sounds irritated. Accusing. As if you have done something wrong. It makes you bristle immediately.

“I am doing nothing wrong.”

“No one said you are. But Cole is….” Daemon shakes his head. “It is unwise. That’s all I mean to say.”

“What is unwise?” You scowl. You are glad that the table is long enough that no one else overhears you. Knowing Daemon, things are about to get nasty. He will throw in so many insults, Ser Criston would beat him into a pulp if he heard. No matter how competent your husband is, you still worry. “Trying to talk to him?”

“He is a cunt.” He says, cutting your meat for you as if you were a child. From your place in the dais, you seek him once more. Ser Criston is standing on the entrance of the hall, watching carefully as his Queen dines with the King and the two of you.

As if sensing your gaze, he looks towards you. Then, he quickly averts his eyes.

“I merely wish to speak with him.” You say. “He is like me. Dornish.”

“Ser Crispin will only disappoint you. Both in personality and in prowess.” Daemon warns. He pushes his goblet closer to you. “Here, try this. Arbor gold. How does it compare to the swill you like to drink?”

You take a sip of his goblet. You scrunch up your nose, The wine is cloyingly sweet, lacking the strong notes Dornish Reds always have.

“Ugh.” Your lips pucker up in disgust. Daemon laughs, and steals a kiss from you, licking into your mouth for good measure. But before you can begin to properly enjoy it, Queen Alicent coughs. You push Daemon away, even though you are doing nothing scandalous. “You taste like it too.”

“And you taste of that swill you dornish call wine. Yet, I am not complaining.” He takes a sip of his goblet.

“Are you jealous of him?” You ask, suddenly. You have heard about the rivalry between the two of them. Everyone knew of how Cole had obtained his position. He had been a simple knight, until Daemon had lost to him during a tourney. The act had caught Princess Rhaenyra’s attention, and secured him a white cloak. “Ser Criston?”

The thought of Daemon thinking you want to invite Cole to your bed is enough to amuse you. While in Dorne, paramours are more common than here, you are finding monogamy pleasant. You had never been much for sex without love, after all. Only one taste had been enough to satiate your curiosity.

“You shouldn’t toy with fire.” He growls, perhaps confusing your amusement with a deliberate attempt to tease him. It only makes your smile widen.

“Did you know…?” You begin, with an airy tone. Daemon sets down his cutlery. He turns to look at you, licking his lips. “My ancestor, Ser Joffrey Dayne, crossed paths with Queen Visenya. She burned Starfall, after he attacked Oldtown.”

“House Targaryen has always defended the Highcunts, it seems.” Daemon’s brows furrow together. It is no surprise he knows about it. One of the things that have bonded the two of you together is the fact that both of you are obsessed with family history. What he doesn’t know is why you are referencing it now.

You smile. One of your hands goes to toy with the necklace he has given you and that has become your constant accessory, bringing attention to your neck. It is a deliberate move. You intend to be ravished tonight

“I do not fear fire. We Daynes got Dawn from the heart of a falling star. “

Daemon kisses your temple.

“Oh? And I cannot wait to see you burn.” And he is pulling you to your feet, and you are slipping outside with a hurried curtsy.

Despite Daemon’s warnings, you still decide to approach Criston Cole. It takes you almost a week to build up the courage to do it, and another more to mention it to Daemon.

You do not want him to feel blindsided, so you include him in your planning. It is only when he shows up at the Sept that you realize Daemon intends to go with you.

Even the Septon pauses when he sees the two of you enter the Sept. Considering the court thinks you a temptress, and him a rogue, you are not surprised.

You are not particularly pious. While you had been educated on the Faith of the Seven, Dorne practiced a much diluted version. You had not attended a service in quite some time, but you try to focus on it to keep your nervousness at bay.

The plan is to intercept Ser Criston when the service ends. Daemon is under strict instruction to remain sitting, as to not unnerve the other man. But of course, things do not go according to plan.

As soon as the Septon gives his last blessing, you sprung up and step closer to the knight.

“Ser Criston, a word?” You ask him, your voice soft and nonthreatening. It is not as if you want to impose your presence on him, but you are unsure of why he flees rooms when he sees you. Perhaps he is shy, or perhaps you have offended him, but you will never know if he doesn’t speak to you.

“Do not talk to me!” He snarls, getting up from the bench. You try to reach for his arm, but Cole is quicker than you, grabbing your wrist tightly. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Daemon getting up from the bench where he was waiting for you.

“Ser… I only wished you to invite you to have tea with me.”

“I will not get into your bed, Lady Targaryen.” The man snarls at you. “Perhaps it is allowed in Dorne, but I assure you, here we do things differently than your people. Propositioning a man is…”

“I am not propositioning you!” You say, hotly. The words he is spewing at you leave you bewildered. You have never heard another dornishman speak so. “What do you even mean by that? Your people! You are dornish too.”

“I am not.” But before he can give you an explanation, Daemon is stepping in, and unsheathing his sword. He places his body between Ser Criston and you.

“I would suggest you unhand my wife.” His voice is cold. “Or you will lose the hand.”

“And you! You support her… Her… She should be sent back to Dorne, but she doesn’t even belong there, does she?” And Ser Criston stomps off, clearly unwilling to engage Daemon in what would probably end up as a fight to death.

Daemon looks willing to go after him, but you make a pitiful noise that is a cross between a sob and a whine. The rejection hurt more than usual, having grown unused to cruelness during your stay on King’s Landing. And the remark about you not belonging in Dorne?

It stung. You had not heard that insult in ages. It made you think of the serving girl, and your grandmother muttering you had bad hair, of your odd little features and strange coloring. Not quite Andal, not quite Rhoynar, not quite Lyseni.

Ser Criston looked like you. Of everyone, you would have expected him to understand. To see you.

You had only wanted a reminder of home. Careful with what you wish for, indeed. Your eyes feel suspiciously wet.

“Oh, that cunt. I’ll cut off his dick and feed him to Caraxes…” Daemon mutters, a thunderous look in his purple eyes. He then presses his forehead to yours, giving you an impish grin. “Not that it would be much food, would it? Like a worm, I bet.”

It makes you laugh, despite yourself.

“There you are.” Daemon smiles, brushing your tears away. “Come. I need you to see something.”

He takes your hand and leads you towards your shared rooms. You frown, slightly. Does he have some sort of present to give you? It’s unusual to be going there so early in the morning.

When Daemon opens the door, a maid is still sweeping the room. He barely spares her a glance, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. The girl looks disgruntled. You offer her a silver dragon for her troubles as she leaves, noticeably cheering her up.

The bed is freshly made, and the room smells of lavender. Outside the windows, the birds chirp. You see nothing unusual.

“What was I supposed to see? You interrupting the maid? Poor girl.” You mutter, kicking off your shoes. “Do try to make her life easier.”

But he doesn’t answer, choosing instead to pull out the chair in your vanity. It is a rarity, the whole set a gift from Qoren to furnish your new rooms. It has a beautiful mirror attached that reflects you from the waist up when you sit in front of it.

“Come.” Daemon says, simply. So you do. You know better by now than to disagree with him when he is in one of his moods.

You sit in the chair, dutifully. Your reflection looks a fright, so you try to avoid looking at yourself too much. He stands behind you, hands caressing your shoulders lighty, prompting you to look up.

“I have noticed.” Daemon starts, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “That you are always self-conscious when I look at you for too long. Or when I take your clothes off.”

You avert your eyes. It is true. You feel strange when Daemon looks at your body. The awe he holds in his gaze is both exciting and humbling. You never feel worthy of such worship.

“I would say we are past the maiden’s modesty.” He chuckles. “We made sure of that, didn’t we?”

“I…”

Daemon begins to unlace your gown. The presence of the mirror is making you self-conscious, so you reach for your bodice, and hold it up with one hand.

He pauses. He studies your expression, before dropping a kiss to your curls.

“Don’t cover yourself, wife. I love looking at you.”

You take a deep breath. You want to tell him the truth, for once. Daemon has started to suspect that despite how much you enjoy intercourse with him, something is wrong with your self-esteem. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have staged this intervention.

“I just don’t like how I look much.” You keep your voice low. Shame begins to freeze you up, making you tense and unable to speak. Your heart beats loudly in your ears.

“Madness.” Daemon laughs. He kisses you, slow and sweet. His lips move tenderly against yours, coaxing you out of your shell. You wonder how such an impatient man can have such infinite patience when it comes to you.

The thought makes you melt. Daemon smiles against your mouth and pulls back. He comes back to standing behind you.

“Look.” He orders. And you, helpless under his spell, cannot disobey.

You look at your reflection. Your hair is in even more disarray than before. Your lips are red and kiss swollen. And your eyes… You look dazed.

“We are just getting started.” Daemon promises, his hand coming to caress your collarbones. This time, when he pulls down the bodice, you do not fight it.

He kisses your head.

“You asked me once, if I was jealous.” You turn towards him, confused at the sudden change of topic. Daemon shushes you, squeezing the back of your neck as if you were a misbehaving pup. You look at yourself again, knowing there is no point in disobeying. Daemon always gets his way.

“I am jealous.” His voice is firm. He leans in, and kisses the top of your hair. His talented, skilled hands, take the pins off from it, so it frames your face once more. You fight the urge to fix it, to give more volume to your roots. You don’t like how limp it falls sometimes. Daemon presses a kiss to your earlobe, and whispers. “Of the very breeze against your hair.

Your eyes widen. You do not dare take them away from the mirror. On it, you watch as he presses a kiss behind your ear, as he mouths at your neck, just barely reaching the necklace that sits there.

“Of the pearls you wear, for holding on to your neck. “ You feel his words against your skin, making you shiver. He wraps it around one of his fingers, the pearls tensing just so to feel more restrictive against your neck.

Your lips part in a sigh. The tension of the pearls makes you think of a collar, and his deft handling of them a leash. Ownership.

“Sometimes, when I see you around court, I imagine this.” He tugs the pearls upwards, placing them between your lips. You watch, in a daze, as your reflection parts her lips more, welcoming him in.

He places the biggest pearl between your teeth. You find yourself mesmerized by this stranger you are watching, being turned into an artwork in front of your very eyes.

“You are exquisite.” Daemon gives the pearls a tug, pulling them slightly up. They catch on your hair, contrasting beautifully with the dark curls. There is something haunting about the image, something that tugs at you and makes you see yourself from his eyes.

Like this, with him calling you exquisite, pearls adorning your face and hair, you can almost believe it.

“Do you know what I think of more, when I see these pearls?” Daemon chuckles. It’s a dark, masculine sound. You are unable to form a word. “Hm. Perhaps I should show you.”

He finishes pulling the necklace from you. Over your head and out they go. Suddenly able to speak, you find yourself at a loss for words.

Daemon kneels behind you. He meets your eyes in the mirror, again.

“I am jealous of the moon, and the sky, and this damn mirror even.” It sounds like nonsense. It should sound like nonsense, but somehow, it is disarming, this newfound honesty of his. The one where he stumbles over words in his eagerness, in his need to call you beautiful, to call you his. “Because you want to gaze at them. Your eyes should be only for me.”

He cradles your face in his palm, forcing you to keep eye contact with your reflection. His thumb brushes over your lips. You just stare.

“And even of the wine you drink, when you wet your lips.”

You kiss his thumb. Your eyes sting. This is quickly turning unbearable.

“Daemon… Please…”

“Oh, but your eyes.” He praises, sounding almost drunk. He begins to kiss a path down your collarbones and towards your breasts. “I love your eyes. They are maddening to me.”

He continues to kiss your skin, inhaling deeply. The closer he gets to your breasts, the hungrier he becomes. Daemon is gorging himself on you, biting and nipping at your bosom, sucking at your nipples until you cannot help the moans coming out from your mouth.

Liquid, molten pleasure, begins accumulating at the base of your spine. Warming up your body, making you sweat with the exertion of keeping still.

“You are so beautiful, I fear anyone will want to steal you away.” Daemon whispers, grabbing your hips in an almost bruising grip. “And I fear if I don’t hold tight, it will be my fault.”

You look at yourself. At the half lidded eyes, the softness of your chest. At the attitude of surrender, as your thighs part, and you feel him bury his nose on the roses of your mound. As he inhales, trying to memorize your touch, your smell, your sounds. As he decides to drink from you, making your face go slack, brows pinched together, eyes glassy and absent.

Beautiful, you think, as you reach your peak with a scream so loud you fear the rest of the Red Keep might have heard.

Daemon laughs, doing his best attempt to suck a bruise on your thigh.

“And you haven’t even seen what I plan on doing with the pearls.”

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

nsfw alphabet with leon

A is for aftercare - Leon’s the type to carry you to the bathroom - he insists on not getting a UTI! Also, if you’re wearing makeup, he’ll take it off for you because he knows how much of a chore it can be, but he also knows how much you hate the way it stains your pillowcase. 

B is for body part - He cares a lot about his own hands - he always makes sure that his fingernails are clean and trimmed (he’s been known to get a mani-pedi once in a while). This is especially important for a guy who really enjoys fingering you. On your body, this man will go insane for pussy. Truly addicted. 

C is for cum - He’s a pretty cautious person so he would be wary of cumming inside you. However, he loves the feeling so much, so he might do it on occasion (maybe birthday sex?) or if you’re trying for a baby. His breeding kink is in a secret compartment of his mind that can be unlocked. You could joke about trying for a baby and you’d both notice that he got a little too into it, and then he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about getting you pregnant. 

D is for dirty secret - He’s thought about getting cucked by Chris before… and it doesn’t sound too bad to him… basically, he wants to watch his friend fuck you. 

E is for experience - He has a decent amount of experience. We know he’s had at least one sexual encounter with Ada (and I imagine it to have happened multiple times). But, there’s also been some tension with Claire, so I think they could’ve gotten it on, too. (We’re not even going to talk about how real Chreon is because I would write an essay.) I feel like in his younger years, he was probably getting around. We know he had a girlfriend prior to Raccoon City, but after her and Ada both broke his heart, I think he might’ve had a rebound period where he was getting around. (which I think died down when he got a little too deep in the bottle)

F is for favorite position - He likes to be as close to you as possible. Face-to-face or from behind, it doesn’t matter, but I specifically imagine him enjoying having you on your stomach, with a pillow under your hips, and then him on top of you - that way, he could kiss your shoulders and the nape of your neck while he whispers things in your ear (I don’t think he’d say anything too dirty, but I think he’d tell you how gorgeous you look and how good you feel - you’d also get to hear his pretty moans)

G is for goofy (serious or silly during sex)- I think he’ll occasionally crack a joke - he can’t help it, the one-liners are in his nature. Otherwise, I think he’d be too caught up in the moment to joke around. 

H is for hair - I would imagine that he gets hairier as he ages, so when he’s younger it might be a smaller patch of hair (also lighter in color), but I think he would heavily trim or shave regardless. 

I is for intimacy - Post Raccoon City, he tends to put up walls and is wary of being vulnerable. While I do think he would engage in casual sex (think: asking Shemei out), I don’t think he would be comfortable with full intimacy. But, once you can break past his walls (and once he goes to therapy), he becomes a lot more intimate as he naturally starts to trust you. 

J is for jack off - Rookie Leon was jerking off in the RPD bathroom because he saw a random woman who looked hot, like, everyday. But, Damnation/Vendetta Leon can’t even get his dick up. 

K is for kink - He loves being edged - and not just in short sessions – you could edge him periodically for days and not let him cum until you say so. He’d be a begging, crying mess (would literally offer to quit his job or buy you anything you want if you let him cum), but he loves the feeling of you being in control and the intense pleasure when you let him cum. You could let him cum in your hand (or even his own) but if you let him cum inside you - first, he wouldn’t last more than 30 seconds, but second, he’d be thanking you mid-orgasm.

L is for location - When he’s younger, I think he’d be somewhat more adventurous because he thinks it’s more convenient and less of a hassle to take someone home with him, so if there’s another option, he’ll take it. 

M is for motivation - Rookie Leon would see a MILF walk into the RPD to make a report and he’d get so hard he wouldn’t be able to pay attention, but DI Leon doesn’t get aroused by random people, but would be super turned on when you flirt with him (presuming you’re his s/o). It’d be easy to turn him on if you tried, basically. 

N is for no (what he wouldn't do in bed) - He will not let you choke him because it brings back trauma. Also, no weapons. 

O is for oral - GIVER. This man will get on his knees and shamelessly beg to eat you out. That is the one thing that does not change with age. Obviously, his experience coupled with enthusiasm makes him phenomenal at it.  

P is for pace - It depends. If you’re in a relationship with him and he wants to “make love to you” (I feel like he’d call it that half-jokingly), then he’d want to do it at a slower pace, but if he’s not having “intimate” sex, maybe a one-night stand, he might enjoy a faster pace. Also, if he were pent up with frustration, he’d want to fuck you faster and harder. 

Q is for quickie - Sometimes he enjoys them. As he gets older, he’s more wary of having sex in places where he could get caught, so if you pulled him into a supply closet and got on your knees, he’d make it quick. Luckily he’s easy to please. 

R is for risk - He wouldn’t do anything physically dangerous, though he seems strong and agile so he could probably do some pretty complex sex positions. Even if you’re not physically flexible (me), he would be able to put you in impressive positions where he’s taking on the hard part. Ex. he could hold you with your legs wrapped around his hips and bounce you up and down while you just cling to him - think about his arms in RE4R or DI. 

S is for stamina - RE2R Leon lasts approximately 2 minutes at most (but it’s adorable). I can imagine him cumming from almost no stimulation, like, you just play with him while he’s still got his underwear on, and you can already see a wet spot forming in the fabric. However, his refractory period is probably also 2 minutes, so by the time he pulls himself together post-orgasm, he’s hard again. As Leon gets older he probably gets old man back problems and shit so he can’t keep fucking you forever, but he lasts a lot longer - he makes sure you cum first. 

T is for toys - I don’t know that he’d buy any on his own, but if you wanted to bring some into the bedroom he’d be into that. In particular, if you wanted to peg him, you could buy a strap-on and he’d be into that. He’d get very flustered about it at first, but he’d look so cute. Pegging Leon would solve his problems is all I’m saying. 

U is for unfair (how much does he tease?)- He doesn’t think he’s a tease, but he is. It’s just that he is obsessed with eating you out, so it doesn’t matter if you’ve already cum, he’s enjoying himself too much to stop voluntarily. 

V is for volume - He can hold back his moans if he needs to - I can imagine him fucking you from behind and biting onto your shoulder to shut himself up. However, if you’re fucking him and he’s not the one in control, once you hit that sweet spot inside he’ll let out the most pornographic moan. (if you fuck him and jerk him off at the same time, he’ll cum quickly and will cry when he does). 

W is for wild card (random headcanon) - He loves having his hair pulled especially when he’s going down on you. He also loves the feeling of you dragging your nails down his back when things are getting rough. He knows it means he’s fucked you to the point that you’re not thinking straight and you’re just trying to find something to grab onto. 

X is for x ray (what's he packin') - It’s average-sized, but pretty. You could tie a bow around that thing because it’s a gift. He’s probably circumcised because he’s American.

Y is for yearning - He tries to keep his personal life in the back of his mind on missions but once he’s in love, he can’t help thinking about you. He carries a polaroid of you when he travels so even if his phone doesn’t work, he can jerk off to you. 

Z is for zzz - Leon who hasn’t dealt with his trauma properly probably deals with a lot of nightmares, so he struggles to sleep but DI Leon is the type of guy to fall asleep on the couch with his arms crossed while he’s watching TV, so you bet your ass he’d pass out after a good orgasm. 

[project-sekai-facts]

what do you think the "Please forgive me and Purple" mean? considering the Miku (and Teto!) version it could be stand as a prayer like "Amen" yk? I always thought it said "please forgive me Empurple" as if "Empurple" was an entity

please forgive me and "purple", the wavering me dyed purple

So empurple means "to become purple", hence why in the official english lyrics "empurple" is replaced by "dyed purple". I think the 'and "purple" ' in the lyrics is representative of Mafuyu's emotional state, as in, her true and genuine self waiting to be found/freed. The real Mafuyu - her image color is purple after all. I think to understand what it means to Mafuyu at least, we need to look at the SEKAI ver instead of Harumaki Gohan's version. It was written for Mafuyu, so most likely Mafuyu is the origin of this lyric, which was then put into a different context with Harumaki Gohan's MV.

In the first verse where Mafuyu sings "the real me feeling stuck in my throat is empurpling", which gives us an image of Mafuyu struggling to open up about her feelings. The longer she feels stuck and keeps everything in the more purple it becomes. This is confirmation enough that the "purple" that she's asking for forgiveness for is just the things she kept hidden from her parents. It makes a lot more sense if you consider that this is the event where she starts to reconnect with her dad, and truly starts to trust him and open up to him. You don't have to read past this part, I have answered the question.

I think it's worth mentioning as well that we see these red and blue strings throughout the entire MV, obviously red and blue being the colors that make purple. We'll get more on what red and blue mean in the context of this song later, but just briefly I want to talk about this specific frame here. Strings have been a recurring motif for Mafuyu from as early as her first ever event, Captive Marionette. In that event, Mafuyu likens herself to a marionette doll, with the way she feels completely under the control of her mother and like she's being used for her mother's own performance (that will get its own analysis in due time). Her card for that event shows her dressed as a marionette doll bound by strings.

The strings come back for her aptly titled My True Feelings card in her fourth event, Saying Goodbye to my Masked Self. She's seen cutting the threads here, symbolising how she ran away from home and effectively cut off her mother. And now back to Empurple. In the opening shot of the MV, we see red and blue strings wrapped around Mafuyu's ankles, binding her to something offscreen. Behind her, towards the area she's being bound to, we see a bunny plushie and some apple slices cut into the shape of rabbits.

These are taken from her Memories of Warm Affection card, which shows kid Mafuyu being taken care of by her mother. The event Empurple was commissioned for, Reeling in the Lights, heavily calls back to Mirage of Lights, Mafuyu's second event and the event this card originates from. It's pretty clear here that Mafuyu is being bound to her mother, and her memories of her mother's care for her when she was younger. Continuing on with the actual song:

The next part of interest is the first pre-chorus. The first shot here is one of a child's hand holding an adult's, obviously meant to be Mafuyu and her father based on the card for this event (below). The next shot is of kid Mafuyu's eye, much brighter and with a far lighter blue color. These two shots are accompanied by the lyrics "Try to open my left hand and have a look? It's still embedded with blue eyes." (It is in fact her left hand that she uses to hold her dad's hand in her card). Now here's where we get to the meaning of blue in the song and MV.

The blue here is meant to represent Mafuyu's younger self. Her more genuine and innocent self before her parents started setting more pressure and expectations on her. The first line of the chorus is "If I saw that, would I be surprised", which I think perfectly encapsulates how Mafuyu feels when looking back at her childhood. In both of the "Lights" events focusing on her relationship with her parents, she looks back on these childhood memories that are so distant from her reality that she'd almost forgotten them, and yeah, it's surprising how different her life was and how she was when she was younger. The second line of the chorus "I just want to live once with genuine feelings only" plays into this too. And then we come back to the "purple".

If we hold hands, it would be great if you could understand, Please, Forgive me and "Purple", The wavering me is Empurpled

It's very clear here that this is all directed towards her father. In the event, we flash back to Mafuyu's dad comforting her during a thunderstorm, and although its one of her only memories of him because he was very absent from her childhood, she realises that she associates him with being a source of support, and decides to tell him more about how she really feels. She affirms her trust and comfort by holding his hand. In the context of the song, she's asking him to forgive her and all the things she's been hiding over the years.

The next point of interest is the second prechorus, which is very similar to the first, only this time, it's about the "red". Once again we get a shot of Mafuyu holding her dad's hand, only this time it shows the present day, and Mafuyu is using her right hand this time. Like how the first prechorus mentioned her left hand, this one mentions her right, with the precise lyric being "Try to open my right hand and have a look? You'll find a crimson sky.". An aside, her eyes aren't crimson here, I won't deny that, but they can't exactly just give Mafuyu red eyes, so for the sake of this analysis, pretend she has red eyes or something or that crimson and indigo are the same thing. We see the shot of teenage Mafuyu's dull indigo right eye over the lyric about the crimson sky, a direct contrast to her bright blue eyes from the first prechorus.

The "red" in this song references Mafuyu's current state of being. A girl struggling with expectations and appearances to the point she lost her sense of self, her emotions, and her will to live. All of this has been kept well hidden until the mask finally came off in her previous event, and now her father is seeing this completely new side to his daughter too. It's far more impactful though with the knowledge that he was an absent father, and never really got to spend any time with Mafuyu due to his work schedule. Like he never really knew Mafuyu to begin with in some ways. All he knew of her would've mainly come from how other people saw her, which is what caused this in the first place.

The first line of the second chorus is "If you see it, will you be shocked?", obviously referring to how she has her worries about telling her dad these things about herself. He is, in fact. shocked by the situation. He's completely stunned when he finds out Mafuyu can't even taste the food he's been buying her back in The Tone Played on that Day, because this is nothing like the Mafuyu he thought he knew. At that point he knew Mafuyu had been struggling, but he had no idea of the severity of it because Mafuyu had been holding these things in her throat.

The second line interests me quite a lot though. "The crimson sky is so beautiful, yet you'll never know." I've been trying to think about what quite we're looking at here for a few minutes, but here's what I've interpreted it as. Where we are right now in the story, the crimson is the closest we can get to the real Mafuyu. It's her true self as much as her current emotional state will allow, and obviously there's some beauty in that. It's far more authentic that the manufactured facade of blue that she'd been putting up for the previous few years. "yet you'll never know" could refer to three things in my opinion. Number one: Mafuyu's unwillingness to open up before the end of this event. No one gets to know her real self, because she won't let people see it. Number two: Mafuyu's father missed out on a huge amount of her childhood, and missed many of the signs that Mafuyu was going through mental anguish. Obviously, this ends up being remedied at the end of the event. And number three: This is aimed at Mafuyu's mother, who doesn't understand how this has happened and refuses to accept that this is who Mafuyu is.

And the last part of this chorus is "If we hold hands, it would be so warm... Please, Forgive me and 'Purple' ". Warmth is something that comes up a lot in Mafuyu's story. It's a sign of comfort for her. Her mother, or even just her presence, physical or not, is consistently described as cold and icy. It's unnerving and chilling. However, being around Niigo, holding their hands, brings her an unfamiliar warmth. Mafuyu associates this warmth with how she felt around her mother when she was younger. She can't quite place it, but it's a feeling of safety, comfort, and happiness. As I mentioned earlier, although Mafuyu has very few memories of her father from when she was a kid, what she does remember of him brings her that same feeling of warmth. And it's different to how her memories of her mother give her warmth, because he's still here, now, trying to help her.

I particularly like the bridge and final chorus too. There isn't much to say about the MV here aside from the fact it gets darker during the bridge, connecting with the "crimson sky that was hidden at all costs" lyric. Mafuyu is the last person to sing, and as expected it's darkest then, though it does get brighter as she finishes her line, probably because she's going to be more open from now on. I like the "still tinged with blue, these eyes" part too, because obviously, her happier and genuine "blue" side is still a part of her, she's just lost sight of the genuine manifestation of it over time. Blue and red make purple after all, and you can't get the true purple form of Mafuyu without combining her blue and red sides.

The final chorus refers to the event story again. "The important things, I'll keep them with me" obviously references the memories of her dad comforting her that she never let go of, "Inside my body, something is still broken" because Mafuyu isn't fully healed yet, and "If we hold hands, please fix me" because she is going to let her dad help her from now. Them holding hands was a sign of trust between the two of them, and a sign that Mafuyu is going to be genuine with her father because it is what's best for her, for real this time. He says in the event that he's been looking into getting her seen by a hospital (therapy), so he truly does want to help her.

The MV ends with the same shot as we started with, only this time, the camera has moved over to the left a bit, fitting with the fact that her "blue" childhood happiness was said to be on the left. The strings binding her also fade away, and allow her to step towards a new person whose feet have appeared in the frame, who is obviously meant to be her dad (Mr Asahina canonically wears sliders). We're finally seeing Mafuyu make some significant progress following her running away. Even after she ran away, she was still bound to her mother, and the warm memories she had of her, but now she's found someone who can give her that support and love for her genuine self in the present. She's freeing herself little by little.

[lovelyamarilala]

Can I call you mine?

"Can I call you mine?"

"HAHA! Get the fuck away from my sister."

"hm..what about..No!"

"Alastor calm down dear.."

Lucifer Morningstar x Older sister of alastor! Reader x Adam..(ish?????, NdYes it's female again..ahem but in future blogs it won't be " female!" Bare with me..) swearings, Alastor being a protective younger brother🤷🤷, flirty Lucifer, he's off character I guess? (Thank you so much, for enjoying my recent blog! I appreciate it!!) English is my first language, and I may have grammar issues

Part 1.

How are you a demon..? Well let's just say, you killed dozens of people in sadness and rage, after your younger brother died. you also killed the person who killed him.

"You are sentenced to be killed in the electric chair, Ms. Altruist." The judge looks at you with a heavy stare, you look back at him with a sweet smile, "Oh about time Mr judge." You knew about your brother's doings, but you still love him, and still think of him as your brother

You sat on the electric chair, with a small gentle smile, "It's terrifying to see ya still smilin, even if you're gonna die." You chuckled at the officer, "oh you! It's how I am~" the officer looked at you confusedly, "well uhm, are you ready?" You nodded,

He puts a bag in your head, you are starting to see darkness, as you start to feel electrified...

You feel the heavy floor, as you slowly open your eyes(your color palette is the same as alastor!) You were met by a red sky, you sat straight, and stood up, dusting your dress, and looking around your surroundings, it had a different feeling, you were still feeling bangs in your head, you walked down in the alleyway, and stumbled upon a store, you looked into the glass, you looked slightly different... (Your powers are lighting, due to you dying by the electric chair, but I also wanted you to be a deer, just like Alastor, I know it doesn't make sense, but bare with me please!) You had antlers, and ears, your nails were sharp, "Well would you look at that, seems like I'm in hell!" You laughed as the demons around you looked at you weirdly, you smiled back at them and started walking down the street, until you heard a girl singing...

"Today is gonna be a fucking happy d—"

"why hello there my dear!"

she jumped and looked around, she was wearing a suit, (hot pink? Or..pink Mix with red..?) She had long, blonde hair, with lighter blonde and pink highlights, which is tied into a twice-banded low ponytail. Her blonde bangs flip to her left with a curl with an untucked white, long-sleeved dress-shirt. Over this she usually wears a fitted red tuxedo jacket with dark-red lapels and a pair of red fitted pants. She wears black and white saddle shoes. (Found that in wiki..ahem..sorry..)

She looked at you, and laughed nervously "oh hey! Uh.." your smile reminded her of someone but she nudged it off.

"Quite an interesting song sweetheart! My name is _____! I'm quite pleased to be meeting you!"

Charlie softly smiled, "hey, I'm Charlie, Charlie Morningstar, I was heading for a meeting, would you care tooooo...go with me?"

You smiled wickedly, "Morningstar? My! I didn't know that was real, how shocking" you softly smiled, "I'd love to join you sweetheart!" She nods her head, and gestures to you to follow her, as you follow her, with a grave movement.

You both entered, a white looking room, it was a different feeling compared to when you guys were outside, you looked around while Charlie signed something, you looked back at her, and followed where she was going, you both now entered a room who is full of darkness, "Sup." then light suddenly filed the room as Charlie tripped, you helped her up and fixed her hair, "Hi! I-m charlie..uhh..my dad sent a meeting to Uhhh" (I actually forgot what she was saying so I'm really sorry if it's not interesting now) "Really nice to meet you!"

"Rightttt, nice to meet you too!" As the man held his hand out, Charlie went to it and to shake hands with him, only for her hand to go through it.

Timeskip (Really sorry, but I ran out of stuff to say in this part)

You were standing, all the time, you noticed The man kept looking at you, you looked back at him, as he winked at you, you sweat dropped and looked away,the man wore a smooth white and golden cloak that appears to have a large 'A' symbol emblazoned on the front. His visible hands were black in appearance, as well, and had golden tip spikes on the back of his collar. The mask also held a pair of horns similar to an exorcist, albeit longer, smoother, and with a golden ornamental attachment on the tips.

As Charlie talked about the hell population, about like..reducing.

"Oh Uhhh, ugly people?..math!..global warming wait no—"

Charlie talked about "BIGGEST PROBLEM"

"ohhh...yeah..well..that must've sucked for you!" Adam laughed, "Anyway, who's this chick beside ya?" Charlie came to the realization that you were still there, "ohh my gosh! ____! Really sorry, well Uhhh, Adam sir. This is ____!" You smiled widely "Adam is it? First man? Nice to be meeting you! I'm quite pleased!" You smiled even more, and fixed your hair, Adam smirked and got up from his seat and walked towards you, he took your hand and gave the back of your hand a kiss, you imagined alastor being here, you knew he would be fuming.

You chuckled, "how lovely!" You took away your hand, "thought you angels despise demons."

"well demon-tits you're an exception."

"how shocking! Don't call me that please."

"Call me Dick master first."

"hah! Never gonna happen."

Charlie dragged you away from him, she stared at you worriedly.

Adam spoke again "Whoops seems like we're outta time, guess we should get going."

Charlie smiled, "Oh well, I have a lot to go through!" She spawned papers with her hands, "and not a lot of time and I think you weren't hearing me before, so here it goes..

Timeskip after the song.

You already wanted to get out, as you saw Charlie being pushed out by Adam, you tried going to her then Adam grabbed you back, "hey babe, what about you give me a kiss before you go?"

"HAH! no."

You looked at him dumbfounded, as got out of the room, and helped Charlie up, the door closed, you and Adam held an eye contact.

"well how interesting!"

The grammar issues, I'm so sorry!!!

[ppumeonae-bigvibe]

cherry on top

↖ navigation: seventeen masterlist || main masterlist

pairing: bf! seventeen ot13 x gn! reader

↬ tags: established relationship? yes!, kissing mentioned (hehe!), quite wholesome, my list my rules!, reader uses lipsticks (not implied, but a regular user of lipsticks/ tints/ gloss)

summary: seventeen buying reader lipstick!

���� those who know which color suits you, even your favorite types 𐙚

ᯓ★ seungcheol, jeonghan, mingyu, myungho

the sister-havers are understandable: they have sisters for siblings so they would know a thing or two (before you jump at me, yes i do know vernon and seungkwan have sisters so hear me out); and whereas for minghao? i'm so sure my man is born a fashionista so makeup would be easy for him; and for seungcheol i think that clip of him explaining the different perfumes/ cologne is enough for me to put him here

you don't have to tell them: they would be able to pick a similar or the exact shade right off the bat just by looking at your lips; call it unexplained hidden knack or that special eye for choosing makeup products

purposely (sneakily) grabs you by the chin to kiss you full on the lips just to see how good the product works; love love loves to watch you put on makeup and would gaze at you as you went about your business

bonus if they know color theory, or suggest different shades they think might look good on you (and i'm certain it will)

"you like it?" you swiped a sheen layer of gloss on your lips, before turning to your smitten boyfriend for approval. he does a once over, smile widening at the sight of you. he pulls you in by the waist lovingly, "i like that very much. now, give me a kiss!"

"no! you're gonna ruin it!" he rolls his eyes, "i'll buy you another." he knows you couldn't resist, so before you open your mouth to retort, he yanks you towards him and captures your lips. "i'll buy you as many as you want, so long you keep letting me do this."

----

𐙚 those who has some clue and tries to buy something you like 𐙚

ᯓ★ joshua, soonyoung, jihoon, vernon, seungkwan

i know vernon has a younger sister and kwanie has sisters, but hear me out: i don't think they are that interested in makeup products at all hence they are here; for joshua because he is such a gentleman he would take pictures of your lipsticks to know which ones to get, similar for hosh and wooz i think they would make sure you're physically with them so they don't get the wrong ones

because they aren't sure of the exact type/ shade/ tint, he would make the effort to know your favorite brands and colors at least so that he could go get them when he goes out shopping for your gifts <3 !! he wants to surprise you too, and might throw in other skincare products they are more confident in getting

call it algorithm influencing, but he sometimes sees the targeted ads on your phone and makes a mental note to ask you about it

very much prefers you in your natural state, but loves it when you doll up for them/ yourself because you are beautiful in their eyes (have you seen them barefaced wts!!)

"you like this one?" he leans over, his taller frame standing out painfully in the makeup section. you nod your head, "yeah? looks good doesn't it?" you swatch another color on the back of his hands and he observes closely, "this one has sparkles in it, but it's a lot more lighter than the other other one."

"i can't decide which one to get though." you frowned the back of his hands are littered with various shades, matching yours. he shakes his head, sporting a silly grin, "it's okay! we can browse longer. let's get something you really like."

----

𐙚 those who don't know, but buys something anyways 𐙚:

ᯓ★ junhwi, wonwoo, seokmin, chan

dedicated to the brother-havers and single children: i feel that these bunch of people are the group of people who don't know much about makeup and are perhaps less interested in it as you are; might even be clueless about it

they seem like the type to ask many questions about why some products are matte or glossy or why are they so liquid-y or why has there got to be many shades (in the sweetest and non-annoying way)

very green forest behavior when they know not to mess with your makeup products and to keep them stored away neatly

call it algorithm influencing, but when he spots some makeup brand promoting items, he'd come and ask for your opinion (so that he could take you out and buy it for you uwu)

unexpectedly i think somewhat related to makeup, wonwoo or dino feels like the type to enjoy doing facials with you

"i'm not sure if you like this, but i overheard you telling your friends you were running out. thought this might make your day." his heart was beating out of his chest, but he plays it cool by gifting you a small bag. you excitedly take it from him, and he relishes in the way your eyes practically light up. looks like he bought the right one.

"oh baby, thank you!" you hug him tight and he reciprocates the gesture, an affectionate beam all over his face. "it's the one i told you about! no way! you got it!" he exhales dramatically, "anything for you my love."

@ppumeonae-bigvibe 's work ; likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[misscinnamonroll16]

Brozone headcanons

Clay and Floyd are the stunt men now that they're adults. Clay's always been a little bit of a daredevil, Floyd already died once, why not live a little.

Clay is nocturnal, like the rest of the Putt-putt trolls. His bros throw his sleep schedule off so when they're hanging out, it's not unusual for Clay to just be passed out somewhere or on someone. If they can, they get Clay to bed so he can properly sleep. If not, everyone's volume goes low.

Both Floyd and John Dory took bartending classes. And by took I mean, Floyd just so happened to be sleeping with a bartender who taught him some things. When making drinks, John's proper about it, Floyd is kind of messy. Floyd's over pouring and spilling.

Clay's handwriting is like a nice print. It's easy to read and looks good on paper.

John Dory is good at photography. He mostly uses this skill for taking nature shots but he's gotten good at candid shots of his brothers. He doesn't let them know about these pics bc they don't look the most photogenic but they look like themselves and that's what John loves to see.

JD has dimples

John Dory almost always has at least one weapon on him.

The brothers think JD has a death wish bc he's constantly going after animals that could literally kill him. "John! Don't touch that, it'll tear you to pieces!" "Psh, whatever. If we weren't supposed to pet it then why does look so fluffy?"

Floyd doesn't go into detail about his past. He'll tell snippets here and there but avoid questions. For one, because he's a bit embarrassed about it. He did a lot of things he isn't proud of, drugs, sleeping around, and drinking. For two, he knows that his older brothers still see him WAY younger than he actually is (like how they still see Branch as a baby) and it would just shatter that mentality. And he doesn't want to do that. For three, it's WAY more fun for him if they don't know and have to keep guessing. Floyd has heard them trying to figure out what he spent the last twenty years doing and starts fucking with them.

John Dory definitely has pictures from even when he was a baby and such. Even ones with their parents but he tries to keep those ones tucked away. Branch is going through them when he finds a picture that has been folded in one of the sleeves of the photo album. It's a picture of John and Bruce and their parents. JD quickly snatches the photo and shoves it his vest. Those people looked like strangers to Branch, that picture probably being the first time he's seen them

The brothers know they didn't have a good childhood but John did his best, despite being pretty much a child himself.

John Dory man spreads no matter who he is sitting next or if he's just sitting in a chair.

John Dory wears the one glove to hide an incredibly deep scar. He got into some trouble with some bounty hunters and needless to say, they drove a knife through his hand. He doesn't want his lil bros to know or worry about it so he hides it.

All the boys (like most trolls) are fuzzy. JD and Bruce have the most prominent facial hair and chest hair. They all have leg hair, arm hair, under arm hair, and a happy trail.

Clay and John have the Blond™️ gene (that's how I'm referring to it) where their hair goes through changes. That's why their hair is so much different from when they were kids. In the summer while spending a bunch of time outside, JD and Clay's hair gets lighter, Clay being a light yellow and John being a soft teal. The others convinced them to do one of those 'take a picture every day for a year' things and make it into a flip book to show how their hair changes color.

The boys really wanted a sister. John jokes that they kind of got one with Floyd

Floyd and John Dory are good gardeners. JD briefly grew his own food and Floyd just has a natural green thumb (not that John doesn't)

Floyd gets random nosebleeds

[raviosprovidence]

I already told some friends this but it makes me extremely mad seeing Lucifer's design in Hazbin because...vivzie already designed lucifer for zoophobia and he's *so much better*

Look at him! Like yeah it is all red but at least it's a nice muted red with lighter accents in the eyes and eyebrows. He's not 50 shades of blood.

The big horns that reference a broken halo are a wonderful touch. I love the grizzled face and hunched back that show he's Old and Has Seen Things. I like the cloak that adds an air of mystery as to what's behind it.

Compared to this...

This is just a White Onceler. He doesn't convey anything lucifer to me other than the snake and the apple on his top hat. He's just another generic triangle tooth twink.

Going back a bit, It also helps for zoophobia that he was supposed to be in a world of characters who WERE bright and colorful so he actually stood out in a good way

Look at these guys! Sure, it's busy, but I can actually tell which characters are what. They all feel like they have their own identity and aesthetic due to their different colors. It's what a cartoon cast is SUPPOSED to look like.

Old lucifer would have stood out in that cast because not everyone is fucking red. New lucifer barely stands out, only because he looks so much like Charlie. And even THEN, they look like siblings!

this isn't official art done by Vivienne but I couldn't find any other good screencaps showing them side by side. If someone didn't know shit about hazbin they'd think charlie and lucifer were twins. Nothing about new lucifer's design suggests that he's a father or even older than 25.

It's sad, honestly. I used to look up to vivienne when I was younger. Now, she's a shadow of her former self as an artist.

[bluesdesk]

My Spirit Tracks designs inspired by LinkedUniverse :)

And facts under the cut!

I made these for the weekly prompt on the server! I'm still unsure about their nicknames, I liked calling Zelda "Spirit" and Link "Tracks", but later I started calling her "Angel" and Link either "Tracks" or "Engie". Help XD

LEFT: Zelda's design before the adventure. She's the great-great-granddaughter of Tetra and Wind, and they're both black and have curly hair in my designs, with Tetra's skin being a little darker than Wind's. Angel's skin is lighter than Wind's due to having a couple white ancestors between her great-great-grandparents and her. She took her eye color and freckles from Tetra and her nose from Wind!

CENTER: Zelda's design after the adventure. When she got separated from her body, her spirit was pale and light, hwr hair got wavy and floating, and her body lost color due to being "lifeless". When Malladus possessed her, her eyes changed from dark blue to yellow. When Zelda got back into her body, it didn’t regain its original color, much to her desperation. However, she enjoyed helping Link and got an outfit she really loves.

RIGHT: Link! He's the great-great-grandson of Niko and Aryll, who dated Niko as an adult. He's tanned but his ancestors between Aryll and him are mostly white. His design is mostly taken from his engineer clothes, but with the green tshirt and belt from his hero clothes. I originally wanted to roll his sleeves up but noticed how in LU everyone has long sleeves! His eyes are brown, and his personality is pretty much like Aryll's.

Facts!

- Of course they have the same great-great-great-grandparents. This, however, makes them too distant relatives to be considered family.

- Aryll joined the crew a few years after WW. She enjoyed being on the ship and when she turned 12 she decided to join her brother, and later, as an adult, she dated Niko (I headcanon Niko to be at most as old as Wind, but maybe a couple of years younger).

- Zelda's ancestors are all travelers and adventurers. Her parents, in particular, are alive and well but on a journey across the seas to visit the old islands and ancient Hyrule. Link’s parents have done pretty much the same, but Link chose to live with Niko and be a train engineer rather than sailing.

- Zelda hates her new look. She can't stand it at all, and while some makeup helps, she doesn't feel good. She hopes to regain her original appearance some day, mostly her colors, but both colors and hair type would be the best. Link always tells her she's beautiful no matter what, and he's totally sincere. He fell in love with her when she was a spirit, so looks really don't matter, but he too hopes she'll het her original appearance back as he wants to see her truly happy.

- When Zelda got back to her body, she didn't notice she was still that pale. There were so many other things to do, consider, think of. Moreover, she had her glooves on. After defeating Malladus she and Link went back to the castle where they quickly fell asleep due to exhaustion. After some hours, Link woke up to Zelda screaming in terror from her room. He went upstairs and noticed her in tears, staring at a mirror. She saw herself as a monster. Link tried to help, to tell her she's beautiful anyway, and then distracting her talking about adventures and history. This helped her, other than make her order some new clothes based on her adventure.

- In my headcanon Tetra didn't become a white and elegant princess when the king told her she was Zelda. She didn't even get a dress. She just got the information, and was left thinking about her ancestors. All the events of WW happened with the exception of Tetra still being Tetra, dark skin and pirate clothes.

- Yes Zelda's body will slowly recover and she'll eventually regain her original colors! Happy ending :)

[mythos-night]

Forest Green Eyes

Part 1

I ended up write a lot more than I expected and so I'm gonna split part 2 of Icy Blue eyes cause I wrote like 1000+ words. So sorry! But here is part 2, which is basically Hero and Supervillain's backstory. Part 3 will be set in the present time, about 2 months after Part 1. Pls lmk if anyone has any confusion!

Note: Supervillain's powers are the ability to manipulate and detect human emotion. I tried to portray that a lot cause well...it's his superpower. But he sees emotions as colors.

Losing his wife was one of the hardest things Supervillain ever went through.

Not when his powers first came. Not when his parents beat him on a daily basis. Not when he lost his best friend in a freak accident. 

His wife was someone who kept him grounded. Who was always there for him, even in his darkest moments. She was his staple, his rock. The one who brought happiness until it almost clouded everything he saw. He looked crazy, waving his hand around, trying to clear away the happiness that fogged around his wedding day. 

In a sense, she was also his second-in-command. Somehow, seeing every little detail he had missed in reports, taking overtime to help train new recruits in his uprising against the Hero Agency, something that’s always been corrupt from the start. Figuring out who had been siphoning money off of the company they created as a storefront. 

She was his everything. 

They had two kids together. The elder looked like him, with dark brown hair and icy blue eyes. The younger looked like his mother, with lighter hair and forest-green eyes. Two boys they promised to give a better world. To provide them with a world without corruption or hurting or anything that would make them suffer the way they did. 

Supervillain had been a fool then. 

He had gotten too careless, letting his guard down when he really should’ve noticed the Hero Agency being far too quiet, noticed the heroes following him around like vultures. 

Coming back from a father-son outing with his eldest to see him home ransacked was surprisingly not the hardest thing Supervillain ever went through. 

It was bursting through the door wrecked with bullet holes to find his youngest crying over his wife’s dead body.

Her neck had been snapped, and from what he could find through the surveillance, his son had survived by hiding under one of the secret floorboards.  It was terrifying, usually seeing the bright happiness cloud everything and only being left with black death and pain in the air. 

They were wearing masks, the killers, but Supervillain knew. It was the hero Agency.

But he never told his boys who the actual murderers was. As far as his youngest knew, it was a bad case with robbers. But his eldest was smarter. He knew immediately. And he harbored that hate for the so-called heroes just as much as Supervillain did, even though it broke his heart to see his son grow up so quickly. 

His oldest son matured with his age, was tactical, and was a keen leader. Powerless but strong. He quickly climbed the ranks of his father’s mafia, landing a spot as Henchman. 

His younger grew up bright, intelligent, kind, blissfully unaware of how dirty his father’s hands were. It still made Supervillain’s heart ache when a new Hero arose with the same generational fire powers his late wife had. Of course, it was his son, a walking memory of her, who inherited her powers. But it hurt to see Hero fight for a corrupt agency. 

But somehow, Hero managed to steer clear of all of the corruption. Hero would take the stage, and Supervillain would watch the TV, knowing that behind the mask, Hero’s eyes would remain bright. 

They weren’t as bright anymore.

Constructive Criticism is also welcome! Hope y'all have a good day/night! :D

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Onesies | Lucien x Reader

Day 10: Unsanctioned Halloween Party w/ Lucien Vanserra

Summary: A girl’s night with Feyre, Elain and the Valkyries leads to your mate being stuffed into a onesie much too small for him.

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: attempted demon summoning (average girl sleepover behavior), all fluff!!

A/N: we are so back (fall break is starting and I got a normal amount of sleep SHOCKING I know) hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

It had meant to be a normal night home with some of your friends, just dressing up in onesies that matched them and that were comfortable. You’d all gotten them during a girl’s night out in Velaris where you and Lucien were temporarily staying on a business trip.

Because Night Court was, well, night-themed, most shops and restaurants were open well after dark, some were even open 24/7 with rotating staff or wraiths operating them, since they didn’t need sleep like Fae required. You, Feyre, Elain, and Nesta, an interesting group at midnight, had all wandered into a shop, looking for something cute to wear, or anything cozy for the Autumn season that would keep you warm.

It was Elain who’d spotted them first.

Fuzzy, warm onesies that were zip-up in the back, hood and everything, large pockets, generally perfect. And it made it all the better that they depicted the childhood characters of stories you’d all been told when you were younger.

Well, stories that the three Archerons had known, but you hadn’t learned, considering they were primarily human. It was a wonder that the shopkeeper, a crinkly old Illyrian that smelt like cinnamon, had even made them.

As Nesta browsed through the selection, choosing one for herself, and her fellow Valkyries, Elain and Feyre clutching the ones they wanted, Elain caught you up on the stories while you picked through them, trying to decide amongst the bright patterns.

“Oh, that one? Well, he was from…oh, what was it called, Feyre?”

The High Lady craned her neck to look and chuckled when she saw what you were holding up.

“That was from the one book, wasn’t it? With Pooh Bear?”

“Pooh Bear?”

You asked, raising a brow, and Nesta rolled her eyes in fond exasperation.

“With an ‘H’ after the ‘Poo’. But the one you’re holding…the donkey, isn’t it? I forget his name every time.”

She said, Elain and Feyre’s faces both crinkled in contemplation as they looked at the one you were holding, mostly blue fur with a purple belly, a tail with a pink bow and black fur, and a hood with long, donkey ears, a mouth and muzzle, and cartoonishly drooping eyes.

“I can’t put my finger on it.”

Feyre said, and Elain shrugged, holding her yellow onesie to her chest, hers had rounded ears, like bears, with friendly cartoonish eyes on the front and a smile with dots for the nostrils.

Feyre held a pink onesie that had stripes with a darker pink on the arm and leg areas. It slightly resembled a worm, and though you didn’t say it aloud, you must’ve been thinking it, because she burst out laughing not soon after.

Nesta looked very confused, and Elain just blinked, before Feyre wheezed out.

“She—she thinks Piglett looks like a worm.”

Nesta barked out a laugh at that while Elain giggled, before the former finally picked out one, pulling out three separate costumes, one being blue, the other pink, and another being a lighter pink, all having floppy ears and strange eyes.

“You’re telling me those were in your childhood stories? They look terrifying.”

You said, and Feyre rolled her eyes, mumbling something before a bright orange onesie caught her eye. It had black stripes, similar cartoonish eyes to Elain’s, and a tail and lighter-colored belly. Mildly resembling a tiger.

“You should make Lucien wear this,”

She said with a devilish grin, pulling it off of the rack, and displaying it in its full glory.

“It would complete the group.”

Elain said, clearly trying to convince you, and with a sigh, you obliged, taking the outfit from Feyre’s hand and walking over to pay for your selections.

Well, Feyre and Elain had arrived, Nesta soon after with Emerie and Gwyn in tow, the Illyrian proudly displaying her blue costume, and the priestess shyly wearing her light-colored one.

You’d set out a few bowls of food, such as pretzels, gummies, and small candy treats for anyone walking by who was hungry, and had your couch set away to the side so the six of you could sit in a circle in the living room, gossiping and chatting away as some worked on bracelets (mainly the Valkyries), Elain knitting, Feyre and you trying a supposed spell she’d found in her great-great grandma’s little trove hidden away in a floorboard beneath their original cabin.

So far, the ‘spell’ had only caused plenty of giggling as you poured salt in a circle on the floor, while Feyre set little candles out. Even if a demon or whatnot did happen to be summoned, you were quite confident that everyone would be perfectly fine, with Lady Death, Feyre Cursebreaker, the Valkyries, and Elain Sight-Seer all in this room.

You heard his familiar footsteps before he got too close, and glanced up to see your mate walk into the room, a warm smile on his lips as something in his eyes melted at the sight of the girl’s night you were having.

He walked over to you, stride familiar, before raising a brow at the old book you and Feyre had opened, and the range of things on the floor from a crow’s foot to sticks bound together, salt, and small candles.

“Having fun?”

He asked in a small murmur, pressing a little kiss against your cheek that made Feyre smirk, giving you a look.

“Mhm, thanks for helping me set everything up, Luci.”

You kissed him back, right on the tip of the nose, and watched the satisfaction in his gaze, the way he preened at the praise of having made you happy and helped you. Nesta snorted from the other end of the circle at the love-sick gaze he gave you, and he let out a little huff of amusement as Emerie gave a low ‘boooo’ at the male in the room.

“Anything for you, I’ll be in our room if you need me.”

He said, moving to stand upright, walking away after giving one last reassuring smile, and it was only then that like a chord being plucked on a harp, an idea struck.

“Wait!”

You said, and he stopped dead in his tracks, turning around and raising a brow. You hesitated, before turning to Nesta, mouthing something, and watching as a devilish grin twisted her lips upwards, murmuring into her girl’s ears, and they grinned too, before like a game of telephone, everyone quickly knew what was going on and turned to a very confused Lucien.

“Anything for me?”

You asked, a smirk pulling at your lips despite the faux-innocent tone you had, and you saw the moment that kernel of realization entered his eyes, slight panic filling them in an ‘oh shit’ sort of moment.

~

It barely fit.

Emerie was in the back, laughing her ass off while trying to get the back of it up and over his ass, which seemingly was impossible, even when Gwyn joined in, eventually Nesta too.

You were in the front, tugging up the front of the onesie, even though it wouldn’t go up over his pecs, which at this point was making you feel a bit insulted with how easily your onesie had fit over yours.

“Why won’t it—“

A round of grunting as Feyre started joining in, arms turning to spaghetti, limp as noodles once the laughing fits started, before you both tried again and got it up and over, only when some seams popped with a slight ripping noise, making the Valkyries bust out laughing even harder, even Elain giggling.

Elain eventually joined in with the effort to get the back over his ass, smoothing the bunched-up material out, before you put a palm over the cheeks of his ass and smushed them down while Nesta yanked the material up, finally getting it pulled up enough to where it could be halfway zipped.

The rest of the zipper simply refused to go, his back muscles not cooperating like his thin waist.

With a defeated sigh, you took the small victory that you’d even gotten him partly in it, pulling the hood over his head, all the girls stepping back and taking a glance at him in the comically small onesie, cheeks bright red as well as his ears while he stood there awkwardly, like a child who’d just been scolded. An upside-down mix between a frown and smile was on his face.

You all burst into little fits of giggles as he huffed, stepping forward, into your arms and leaning into you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck while you laughed.

He sighed deeply, and you could practically feel his pout.

“Never again,”

He muttered, only furthering your laughing to the point where you were sure the whole neighborhood could hear it.

Tags:

@hawke1917

[shaddork]

The Star that Wouldn't Die - Chapter 9

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

<Previous - Masterlist - Next>

Summary:

Stephanie runs into you trying to save a puppy from a gutter

Word Count: 5,132

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

Jason shot up in bed with a start. Not unusual, he was almost constantly waking up abruptly. But this wasn’t the normal sort of start. He wasn’t screaming or crying from his nightmares. No, this was different. 

Over the past couple months, slowly, like a faucet left to drip, memories had been coming back. Memories surrounding you. None of it was important, small bits of information, images that seared themselves into his mind. 

Your smile, your light, was already burned into his mind. It didn’t take long of knowing you - of re-knowing you - for it to ingrain itself back into his soul. An image he was not mourning the loss of, only after attaining it again. This was the past, one he didn’t remember, one where you weren’t smiling. 

He either didn’t have dreams, or he had nightmares. And now he was dreaming of you. A much younger, naive, softer version of himself, picking you up off the floor of a crumbling apartment. An apartment that almost looked like this, with how the floor squeaked, the water damage staining the ceilings, yet the layout was different. And he didn’t have to question where this memory took place, it was your childhood apartment. Same building, different floor.

You were asleep, and he moved you into a different room. As run down as the rest of the building, but brighter somehow. Your very essence seeping into the room that you resided in. Books and comic books filling the room in neat piles near the wall, but not against is to ensure they didn’t get wet if the walls did. The rest of the decoration was drab, grey and brown colors, only one pillow, no posters, none of the typical sights that you would expect to find within a child's room. But the comics that you cherished were more than enough to brighten the room right back up. 

The apartments that he’d grown up in with you were depressing, yet somehow, waking up to his safehouse was even more disappointing than if he was actually there. Back in the apartments where he’d grown up. The safehouse was in better condition than the apartments. They had to be in order to function properly, but it didn’t have many personal touches. At least not this safe house in particular. But none of where he resided did. None of his safe houses had photos, mementos, not even his apartment had them. 

He was a lonely man, a dead man walking. Crawling into a bland and colorless hole every day of his life, not realizing just how sad it was until someone painted the world back in for him. Maybe it was time to do something to make them more homey. As much as he could do without risking it no longer being a safe house at least. 

You’d shown him the light again, your smile changing the hues of gray that he surrounded himself into bright vibrant colors that made him feel lighter. Even if Jason Todd was dead. Deep down, in a place that was so far buried he hadn’t been able to see it even within himself, he was still Jason Todd. 

Being around you made him realize that he was still the second Robin, still the boy who smiled at almost any chance he got, even if he was changed now, that was still a part of him. Seeing his notations in old books, were remnants of a past he couldn’t remember. But if he didn’t know better, if he didn’t know that it was his handwriting, his past, he would’ve been convinced that they were remnants of his doppelganger. The same person, but different. Nature versus nurture. The same nature with a different past, different upbringing. But it was his, his past, his opinions, his handwriting. 

Just like Odysseus. He was coming home from a long journey that had changed him. The same mad at the core, but changed due to the things that he’d experienced. If Penelope could still accept Odysseus after everything he had done, how much he had changed, would you be the same? Were you his Penelope?  His partner till the end, no matter what happened. Would you wrap your arms around him and hug him, tell him it was okay, tell him he was still the same boy that you remembered. Or would you turn away, unable to reconcile the different versions of himself. Unable to stand just how much he had changed. 

There wasn’t much point in thinking about it, was there? Not when he never planned on telling you. Even if you accepted him, it would just bring you more pain. Put you in danger. Knowing what was underneath the mask. If someone caught wind of that, they’d certainly want to use you for the information. Doing things to you that he wouldn’t be able to stand. Things that would make him lost to the darkness, all in an attempt to save you. To get you back. 

He couldn’t do that to you. 

He couldn’t do that to himself. 

What he had with you was enough. Getting to see you smile as you spoke to him, painted, watching you hum along with music and dance in place. This was more than enough. More than he deserved. And yet, he’d keep going back for as long as you allowed him to. A desperate yearning deep within his soul that he simply couldn’t ignore. 

You were his home. 

You were his brightness. 

You were the sun, even that first day that you’d found him crying on the fire escape, you had been the sun. Giving him your light without a second thought, a courtesy you didn’t reserve just for him, you gave it to everything equally. At best, he could try and claim he was the moon. Reflecting the light that you gave to others, doing a poor job of what you did so effortlessly. But even at times the moon didn’t reflect any light. 

Realistically he was a new moon, not reflecting the light that you gave to him back to others, even when he tried to. In any scenario, he didn’t have a light of his own, it all came from you. 

Fuck. 

He couldn’t let you go. Never. You were his life, before and after he had died. Even unknowingly when he didn’t remember you, you were still his life. And selfishly, he didn’t want to give you up. Selfishly, he didn’t want to share you with anyone else, not even his family. You were supposed to be his, his best friend, his person. The one that he could lean on no matter what. The one who accepted him no matter what, and he was supposed to do the same for you, even when you were unknowingly still as accepting of him as you always had been. 

Maybe he should tell you? No. He didn’t have a right to put that on you. 

He’d failed. He’d died and left you to navigate the world by yourself, he was supposed to be there, and yet even when he was alive again, he was off training with the league, or the all caste, or he was desperately trying to exact his revenge on Batman when he should have been crawling to you on his hands and knees, begging for your forgiveness for his failure. 

It was a goddamn miracle that you were still able to accept him into your life, even unknowingly. You still opened your arms, smiled at him, and allowed him to step into your grasp and take solace in your warmth. One day he’d figure out how to pay you back and do it. One day, he’d be there for you when you needed him. He wouldn’t allow himself to fail again, wouldn’t abandon you to this life. He’d take care of you, do whatever you asked of him, everything short of leaving you again. That was the one thing he wouldn’t be able to do for you. 

This was his fate. One that he’d gladly accept the weight of on his shoulders. So long as he got to keep you within his life. 

Stephanie really did try to stay out of it. She did, truly! Everyone knew that Jason had been acting strange, to say the least. He was normally cagey and didn’t want to tell them about what was going on with his life, but this was different. There wasn’t necessarily one specific action that anyone could point to and say “that’s strange”, but rather a gut feeling. One that Stephanie was determined to figure out. 

It wasn’t like it had been a short period of time either. A week or two, that’s one thing, but it had been nearly three months. So could anyone really blame her when she was in civilian clothing and wandering around the area that Tim had noticed Jason lingering around? At least before he’d started turning off his location so that the others couldn’t see where. ‘Personal matters’ he claimed. 

It wasn’t like she was going around and knocking on every single door that she found, trying to question every random individual she could about what was going on with Jason. Plus, she had plausible deniability this way. Could claim she was simply in the area to go to one of the restaurants here, or was simply bored. A coincidence. Not her fault if she stumbled upon the reason why he’d been acting so strange. 

Still, the least she could do was be nice to Jason about it if she did find out what the hell was going on with him. She wouldn’t go and tell everyone else, so long as it was something reasonable, she’d keep the information to herself. Pissing Jason off wasn’t her goal, sure she’d certainly tease him about it if she found out what it was, but she wouldn’t go and tell everyone. 

She had a strange position within the group. She was a part of them, yet there felt like there was a wall between them. She wasn’t informed of things as swiftly as the others, which was fine. She didn’t know if she wanted to be Spoiler forever, she was getting a degree in pre-med for a reason. 

Besides, her horoscope recommended that she tried something new today. And this was something new. Treating one of her friends as a mystery to solve. Did Jason think of her as a friend? She wasn’t sure. But she cared about him, and she was worried about him. This might be more new than what her horoscope intended, but she was still following the advice that had been written in the stars for her. 

Realistically, she hadn’t expected to find anything. Truly planning to stop by a restaurant after wandering around for a while. It was just after dark, not late enough that she had to worry about getting caught by Jason, not when he had his own patrol route to worry about, but not so early that most people in Gotham were still frolicking about. 

Unless, of course, they were part of the night crew. Those with ulterior motives, or those looking for a good time with alcohol and partying. Most people were in bed, resting for the upcoming day, trying to avoid being caught in the crossfire of the violence that was one of the staple of Gotham. 

Instead of hitting a dead end like she had expected, she was awarded the fruits of her labor nearly instantly. Wandering around and not asking questions never yielded results, unless you knew what you were looking for. And Steph didn’t have the foggiest clue what she was looking for. Something that could relate to Jason acting strange, but that description was aggravatingly vague. Maybe she needed to get a new hobby. Yet there was a result right in front of her. 

There was no way, this was simply too easy. 

A young woman, likely the same age as Jason, with her arm down the gutter, squatted down by the curb. Certainly strange, but if it had been just that, she would have brushed it off and kept walking, dismissing it as not part of her investigation. But that damn jacket. Supple, worn, brown leather and several sizes too large for the woman. It could be coincidence. It could be some random jacket that this stranger with brightly dyed hair had thrifted or was from someone entirely unrelated to Jason. 

But something worth checking out, enough so that Stephanie took several steps forward toward the woman, and sure enough, the jacket looked identical to Jasons, right down to the scratches and marks on the jacket. He wore it as Red Hood frequently, so it had been through a lot, so much wear and tear making it decently recognizable to those who knew what to look for.

Those, like Stephanie, who had seen the jacket up close and personal, without fighting Jason, more than enough to be able to recognize it as his. Noticing things was part of her job, both now and in the future. She was confident that she was at least on the right track for her investigation. 

This woman had something to do with Jason, she just didn’t know how. 

Taking her horoscopes advice was turning out so well today. Hopefully it continued going this smooth. 

She finished approaching the woman, standing on the curb over her, you hadn’t looked up at her. “Do you need some help?”

You didn’t seem surprised by her presence, not even looking up at her. Undisturbed, you kept your arm in the gutter, still feeling around for something that she, and likely you, couldn’t see. A gothamite then. It was usually easy to tell quickly who was from Gotham, and who was a transplant. 

Gothamites were always aware of their surroundings, no matter the circumstances, particularly after the sun had gone down. Gotham transplants figured it out eventually, but they never got it down quite as smoothly as Gothamites did. Able to do it without seeming paranoid. After all, this was their normal, it wasn’t strange, there was no reason to be paranoid unless they were doing something they shouldn’t be. 

Growing up in Gotham changed a person, that was certain, and it wasn’t always in a positive way. It made it hard to leave and adjust to living elsewhere, which was part of why people chose to stay in Gotham. 

“I’ve got it. Thanks though.” And the dismissal. Not unexpected. Any smart gothamite would do it. 

“Are you sure? If you dropped something down there I could help get it. I’ve got long arms.”

You sighed, pulling your arm out and looking up at Stephanie. She was still standing, whereas you were squatted down by the edge of the concrete. You looked at her, evaluating. Before standing up. “Alright, sure. I uh. I didn’t drop anything, but I’m pretty sure I heard a dog whining. Saw it run through the street and dash into the drain. Tiny thing. No mother in sight.”

To say Stephanie was pleasantly surprised would be an understatement. You were actually interacting with her, something she hadn’t expected, and beyond that, the explanation was something that she wouldn’t expect from most. The majority of people in Gotham would have just let the animal be more concerned about getting into their homes after dark rather than helping the animal. Or even concerned it was a trap, or some sort of dangerous animal. All valid concerns. 

Yet you didn't’ seem bothered, you were a Gothamite from what she could tell, but certainly not the typical one who let the city strip away who you were, unafraid to live with bright colored hair drawing attention to yourself, kind eyes, and concerned about an animal over your own safety. Unless you had some sort of tricks up your sleeve, not an impossible option either. 

There were plenty of people within the city who made an effort to be able to defend themselves. Taking self defense classes, or even buying and carrying around a gun. 

Still, she couldn’t help but respect your blatant dare to the world with your brightly colored hair. 

“Let me give it a try and see if I can get the pup then!”

And so the two women changed places. Stephanie now reaching down into the drain to try and feel for something fluffy. You, standing on the curb and watching. “I’m Stephanie by the way! It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. Nice to meet you too.” You gave her your name. First only. Fair, and smart. After all, you didn’t know her.

If she was right and you had some sort of connection with Jason, she could understand why he liked you, based on first impressions. But enough to leave his favorite jacket with you? He didn’t just leave things lying around, he didn’t just forget things. Nobody trained by Batman did. So what the hell was going on. 

What a fun mystery. 

It took a few minutes, but Steph succeeded in her mission. Feeling something fluffy in the gutter, and finding a spot to wrap a hand around it, before pulling it up. 

You’d ben right, it was a puppy, a young one. Old enough not to need it’s mother, but young enough that seeing it on the street by itself was concerning. Poor little thing. Stray animals weren’t unusual in Gotham, but that didn’t make the sight of them any less heart wrenching whenever she saw one. 

Steph looked it over before handing the puppy over, “Here you go! I’m not sure what breed...maybe Cane Corso?”

Your whole face lit up once the puppy was in your hands, cooing at it and putting your nose to the puppies. “Aren’t you just adorable! I might just have to keep you. How could anyone say no to such an adorable face!” You turned your attention back to Steph after a moment, tilting your head and looking at the pup. “Maybe a mutt of some kind? Purebreds aren’t exactly common. It doesn’t really matter anyways.”

“Do you have everything you need to take care of it?”

You turned the puppy around, looking at it for a moment, before tucking it back against your chest. “It’s a girl! And I don’t, never actually had a pet before. So I'll have to run and get what I need for her before actually going home.” A beat of silence while you thought, “Do you know a place that’s still open?”

It wasn’t truly late, not yet. But it was late enough in the night that most establishments that weren’t twenty four hours closed. Most places shut their doors once the sun started going down so they could give their employees time to get home before dark. Yet, surprisingly, thanks to Damian and his tendency to collect pets, she did know a place. 

“Yeah! I’ll walk you there if that’s okay? It’s better to stay in packs after all.” Steph gave you the best smile that she could muster. You’d probably be fine. After all, you were wearing Jasons’ jacket, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he had a tracker sewn into it somewhere just in case he lost it and needed to find it. Maybe that's why he’d left it with you actually, an attempt to keep an eye on you. Or possibly out for you. There was no guarantee that you were a good person, even if for the moment Steph had no reason to believe that you weren’t. 

Were you part of a case that he was working on? Or truly just something with his personal life like he’d said he was doing when he turned his tracker off. A friend? A crush? If only she could ask you outright if you knew him. She doubted that would go over well.  However, she could certainly try and prod around the subject by asking seemingly innocent questions, maybe that would get her some sort of answer. 

You were quiet for a moment, thinking over her offer, yet you still nodded at her after just a few seconds. “That’s true. Yeah why not, I’ll let you lead the way. It’ll be easier to find it that way. Won’t be out in the dark for as long that way.”

And she did, determined to glean as much information about you as she possibly could. Only a few steps down the street and she was starting a line of questioning, one that she hoped would be fruitful. Give her some sort of insight on who you were, as a person. “I’m going to Gotham U to get my medical degree, what about you? College or working?” 

“Working. I was lucky enough that I got a good job offer from an animation company without having to get a degree. I thought about going anyway. But ultimately it would have just hindered my career to not take the job offer. I have a friend in medical school, he goes to Central city though. It’s not an easy degree is it? He’s constantly sleep deprived and complaining about the workload.”

Something she could relate to. Medicine was not an easy field, not even pre-med was easy. Hours of studying and memorizing. Enough so that she’d had to cut down on the amount of hours she spent as Spoiler, just so that she could focus more time and energy into her studies. Even with the cut down hours, she still made voice recordings of her notes and listened to those while patrolling. 

It worked surprisingly well. 

“Yeah. It’s not for the faint of heart, between the studying and the amount of crazy stuff any medical practitioner is bound to see in Gotham, or any large city these days.. I hear that animation is time consuming though! I can only imagine what your workload is like.”

You laughed at that, whole heartedly. “It’s time consuming, but I have a consistent schedule at least. When I'm not at work I don’t have to worry about studying or working on the projects I do at work. The medical field doesn’t really get easier though, does it? I mean, maybe the hours, but having to worry about doing something wrong and causing potential harm and keeping up with new developments. Especially if you go into a specialty that means surgeries. I do have to admit I'm not the most educated on that. My knowledge goes as far as several grey's anatomy seasons and not much further. No matter how much Sammy - my friend doing pre-med - talks about it. I just can’t seem to really absorb the information.”

“God, that's such a good show. Not always super accurate. But the drama is just so good. I’m honestly surprised it’s been going on for so long. It’s been what, twenty years? The early seasons were the absolute best. I really need to rewatch them. Oh! We should totally do it together!”

You turned to her laughing, you laughed easily, and it didn’t sound like it was simply out of kindness, they were true genuine laughs “I just met you and you’re already inviting yourself over to where I live to rewatch a tv show?”

“Sure we just met, but since we’re braving the dangerous streets after the sun has gone down, we’re obviously best friends now. Although I do suppose we should go over the basics. I technically grew up in the suburbs right outside Gotham, and my favorite color is purple. Your turn!”

You took a moment to respond, pressing several kisses into the puppies face while giggling at her words. She was surprisingly still considering the circumstances, but maybe she just liked you enough to not try to run away. “I grew up in Crime Alley. And I like all colors. But I tend to lean toward any brighter color when it comes to decorations. And I’ll make you a deal. If after getting the pet supplies, and getting back to the drain where we met, if I haven’t gotten a bad vibe about you. We can exchange phone numbers and rewatch Grey’s together.”

Stephanie couldn’t believe this was working. The information you were giving wasn’t necessarily anything secret, and she could easily use the batcomputer to pull up more information on you than the police were able to. But you were just telling her things, basics, but things. She hadn’t met many people from Crime Alley who got out, let alone had a bright and sunny nature the same way that you do. 

She’d never met Jason before his death, and she wasn’t sure if he was a decent example of how people from Crime Alley behaved, not anymore at least. With all the things he’d gone through that most hadn’t, and with the training that he had. But she’d met others. 

She’d certainly have to look more into you later. But you seemed nice, you seemed like you’d be good for Jason. She hoped you weren’t part of a case, and really were someone in his personal life. 

“Deal! So tell me new best friend, do you have a boyfriend? That jacket looks massive on you, so it’s a boyfriends’ right? OOh what about a situationship. Those are always so much fun to hear about.”

“No boyfriend, and not a situationship either. But I'd be lying if I said that he was unattractive. I suppose I’m friends with the owner of the jacket. But he made the mistake of leaving it at my place so it’s mine now. He’s welcome to try and wrestle it back from me, but I don’t give up my stuff very easily.” 

That sounded like the start of a situationship at least. The more this conversation went on the more curious that Stephanie got. So you weren’t dating Jason, but you thought he was attractive. Did you know him as Red Hood? Or did you know him as Jason? Maybe you knew him as both. But she couldn’t just ask you. No, that was a question for Jason, once she’d figured out an adequate way to tease him about the entire situation. Or just how to talk to him about it without him blowing up at her for talking to you. If there even was a way to do that at all. Likely not. If nothing else he had a harsh temper. 

“Does he have a name?”

You spotted the pet store and pointed at it, smiling at Stephanie. “Look! We’re here. Let's get what we need.” 

You’d brushed off her question. How interesting. She’d have to find out what your birth chart was to get more information about you, along with other pieces of information that she could gather. The batcomputer could be used for that though.

You had deemed Stephanie acceptable by the time you got to the drain again, enough to invite her up to your apartment to help get the pup settled and then exchange phone numbers, maybe to watch an episode of Grey's Anatomy with her before sending her on her way. 

You unlocked the door, balancing the now wiggling puppy underneath one of your arms, the bag of supplies around your other arm. Once you got the door open you ushered Stephanie in and closed the door before setting the puppy down. “I suppose we should come up with a name for her. It should be something sophisticated, ladylike.”

“What about Lady!”

“Like Lady and the Tramp? She’s too refined to end up with a Tramp, as adorable and loveable as he was. What about Ophelia? Or Portia? I’m terrible at naming things if I’m honest.”

“Why don't you ask your mystery friend?”

“I’m not sure if he’s good with names either. But I’ll certainly keep it in mind if we can't come up with anything. Oh! What about Christina?”

Steph couldn’t help bursting out laughing, bending over at the waist a tad dramatically. Refined and classy and you come up with Christina. 

“I told you I’m terrible at names!”

Once Steph had recovered, she had a chance to look around the apartment. It was a relatively open concept, at least the living room and kitchen. And you hadn’t been lying, you really were drawn to bright colors when it came to decorating. There wasn’t one specific color that the apartment was in. It could easily be described as eclectic. But it suited you somehow, and it wasn’t messy. You just had a lot of stuff. 

Stuff from the sketches on paper taped to one of the walls in the living room, photos and paintings lining the hallways, even so far as a door frame painted like a TARDIS. 

You noticed her looking around and smiled, “Do you want a tour? It only gets more colorful and nerdy the deeper you go.”

“Of course!” 

And then you were showing her around, the apartment wasn’t large, but it was comfortable, very obviously your home. Two bedrooms, one bath, an unusual configuration, but it worked. It made significantly more sense when you swung the door open to your art room, the large painting of Red Hood half complete and fully visible. 

“Oh gosh that’s your work? It looks amazing! Do you have one of Spoiler? She’s my personal favorite.”

“Yeah! I just finished it a couple months ago.” You moved through the room, the puppy running into the room, sliding across the plastic sheet underneath the easel to protect the floor, and then running right back out to continue her exploration. 

You shuffled the stack of seven paintings, moving the Spoiler one to the front for her. “I really enjoyed doing this one. Her costume is really fun. I think I might actually keep one or two of these after their exhibition instead of selling them.” 

Exhibition? That was something that Stephanie could dig into more later. See if she could get an invitation to it. “If you can’t sell the Spoiler painting I will gladly take it. It would be stunning in my bedroom. Speaking of, let me see yours! That’s where your bathroom is as well? I have to piss so bad.”

“Yeah of course!” You were laughing again, you really were just a bundle of laughter. Even if she didn’t have ulterior motives, Steph certainly would have become friends with you one way or another. Assuming the two of you ever ran into each other. You were just a delight, one that she was keen to keep around. 

The thing that threw her for the biggest loop was in your bedroom. The display case with figurines of characters from comic books, and even a couple of vigilantes didn’t phase her much. Not when there was what was unmistakably a photo of you and Jason together, as children, on your nightstand.

[tokiro07]

Ichi the Witch ch.27 thoughts

[Breakin' the Law, Breakin' the Law]

(Topics: speculation - Gokuraku/Richia)

Oh, poor Desscaras! Hoist by her own petard! As a friend of mine likes to put it, seeing someone who's supposed to be great getting pushed down the stairs really does wonders to make them more endearing!

Aside from the gags and Ichi becoming a wanted criminal within five minutes of entering a foreign nation One Piece-style, the real meat of this chapter was definitely its reveal: that Gokuraku is a Prince of Kagami!

Or, at least, was. I imagine becoming the nation's Most Wanted would tend to get someone disowned, and it doesn't seem like anyone acknowledges that he's a royal since the attendant neglected to mention it. Maybe it's a state secret, or maybe he's been stripped of his title and publicly ostracized? We'll likely find out more later

Whatever Gokuraku's current relationship with his family and country is, the mere fact that he was ever royalty gives us some interesting context into his character

A Man of Means

I speculated last week that Kagami's economy was based around a special, magic-conductive ore that could previously only be mined and refined within Kagami, and that Gokuraku had access to that material and process because of his lineage. When I said that, I meant I expected him to be the son of a smithy, not the king, but that does make things a little clearer

Presumably the experimentation process was quite costly and a lot of material went to waste, so Gokuraku must have had access to a consistent supply of resources to accomplish it. His family being successful magic item crafters would help explain it, but given the state of Kagami before Bakugami's arrival, it might be a little hard to believe they were successful at all

Being a royal, though, suddenly money is no issue, especially after Bakugami appears. With unrestricted access to the ore, Gokuraku would likely have had no trouble affording to augment himself, assuming he did it before getting himself disowned

It seems to me that the modifications likely came first, as when the attendant is explaining that Gokuraku attacking Bakugami is a recurring incident, we see a much younger Gokuraku already wearing the armor

Child Prodigy

While it's hard to say how old Gokuraku is in that flashback, this tells us two things: 1) Gokuraku has been attacking Bakugami for several years, and 2) Gokuraku invented and perfected his augmentations as a kid

We know that Richia found Bakugami ten years ago, and she herself seemed like she was a little girl; for argument's sake, let's say she was 12, though I imagine she was younger. Since she's stated to be Gokuraku's older sister, let's then assume he was no more than 11 at the time

Since Bakugami stopped growing a year ago and was significantly smaller in the flashback, though clearly bigger than when Richia found him, let's be generous and assume a five-year gap, putting Gokuraku at 16 when he felt his armor was ready for the field. If Gokuraku started working immediately after Bakugami was introduced, a five-year turnaround time for what's clearly unprecedented technology between ages 11 and 16 is incredible, and really speaks to Gokuraku's intelligence and skill as an artisan

Fiddling with his body that early on may also explain why he and his sister look absolutely nothing alike

Passing Resemblance

Gokuraku's blue hair has been pointed out multiple times now, but as we saw in the color page previously, the lighter portion on top is actually red. We haven't seen a color page for Richia yet, but her hair is always untoned, much like the top of Gokuraku's hair. What this likely means is that Richia has naturally red hair, and Gokuraku used to have completely red hair

This is purely speculative, but I imagine that the crystals we saw embedded on Gokuraku's back are a similar shade of blue to his hair, and his hair changed color from exposure to the ore. This might even explain why no one acknowledges that the was once the prince, as they may not even recognize him in the first place after such a drastic change

There also was some kind of discoloration around the crystals and his wrists from beneath the gauntlets a few chapters ago, which could be bruising or a seeping of pigments into his body from the connection points. The imagery evoked the idea of poison for me, so I won't be surprised if Gokuraku is revealed to be slowly dying later on

This could well be what Desscaras noticed Richia was worrying about last week

A Lot On My Mind

I said last week that Richia might be aware of Bakugami's intentions and just isn't letting it show because she doesn't want him to know she knows, but after seeing her pray directly to him this week, I no longer think that's the case

Instead, I think her mind was on her brother, either because she was worried he was going to attack during the celebration, or because she knows he doesn't have a lot of time

Presumably, she's familiar with the procedure Gokuraku underwent, even if only tangentially, so if he is in fact poisoning himself, there's a good chance that he mentioned it to her at some point. He may even have a hard time limit, and if nothing is done, he may be about to hit it during the advent celebration

Either way, it doesn't seem likely that Richia believes Gokuraku's reports of Bakugami's deception, if he's even had a chance to talk to her about it before now. I don't know how hard it will be to convince her, but I think getting her to see the truth will be the first major step in turning the people against Bakugami and lifting the bounties on Gokuraku and Ichi

Until next time, let's enjoy life!

[senhorahiena]

I wrote this a while ago, inspired by @kyoshist videos

English is not my fluent language 🤝

-+-+-+-+-

— Hey, wait. — Korra catches everyone's attention. — Whether Aang can change his form, appearance... I don't know. When he wants, can you too? — She looks towards the other Avatars and at Aang in his adult form.

— Yes. Everyone stays in the way they feel most comfortable — Yangchen responds with a smile.

— Imagine spending eternity in only one way and that is how you died. — Wan says above, Roku looks at him with silence but judgment. — Not that it's bad... Just... — Roku continues looking at him. — Come on man, why an old man?

Before the argument can continue, Korra speaks again.

— So I can see Kyoshi's face?

- What? — Kyoshi says.

— Oh, I've never seen anything about you without your makeup.

— And it will continue like this.

- And truth. Not even on the Kyoshi Islands did I see any art of his face — Aang chimes in excitedly.

— Because you don't need it.

— They have a Kyoshi point. — Roku says, leaving Wan still trying to defend himself right behind. — You also didn't show me situations without your makeup when you were guiding me.

— I don't care what the three of you want. This is what you will see for the rest of eternity.

— To Suki you would show... — Aang whispers like a spoiled child, now in his younger appearance.

— What was it _Felas__? — Kuruk appears.

— Kuruk... How was Kyoshi younger? — Korra asks.

— Ah.... I think it's very calm — He seems to be trying to remember.

- Calm? — Roku, Korra and Aang say together.

— He was actually a sweet person. I remember... — Kuruk continues

— Kuruk if you keep talking I'll make you die again. — Kyoshi says in a threatening tone.

— Kyoshi, put an end to their curiosity soon. — Yangchen speaks out

- Even you?!

— Come on Kyoshi, you've been ages with that makeup.

- But ...

— Kyoshi, Kyoshi, Kyoshi, Kyoshi — Aang and Korra cheer together

- IT'S OK! I hate you.

In the blink of an eye, Kyoshi takes on his 16-year-old form. A little shorter than what everyone is used to, not that it makes much difference, her traditional war clothes give way to a similar one but in lighter colors, her hair is tied up in a kind of braid, her blue eyes disappear so that the jade greens shine and her face without makeup, just her thick eyebrows and freckles, attract everyone's attention.

The silence remains for a few seconds.

-WHAT IT WAS? — Kyoshi shouted in a voice much thinner than the big, powerless voice she's been carrying all this time.

- GREEN EYES? — Aang shouts excitedly, getting very close to that Kyoshi, a Kyoshi that doesn't give you the same fear and nervousness.

— Aang, I'm half Nomad. You still don't believe it? I had eyes like my father and over time... — Even with a thinner voice, there's still the same irony in the tone.

— I thought the gloves were exaggerated, but your hands are really exaggerated. — Korra says, holding Kyoshi's hand to compare it with hers, their approach makes Kyoshi's face heat up with embarrassment and his striking eyebrows highlight his features even more.

—Is Avatar Kyoshi shy around two excited teenagers? — Kuruk comments with a smile on his face, seeing Kyoshi like that is almost nostalgic for him.

— Shut up Kuruk.

— You have a lot of freckles. If they were in the sun would they become darker?

The nostalgia that runs through Kyoshi is too great for the lack of her makeup to disguise, her face burns and she knows it, she doesn't look at Aang so close to her and much less at Korra who still admires her hands.

— You two could stop touching me. Damn it ...

They both look at each other with the same evil, hugging Kyoshi, never knowing when they would have another opportunity to see her like that.

— This is nostalgic. — Wan says smiling.

Yangchen finally approaches, taking advantage of the chance, she touches Kyoshi's face who looks at her from the corner.

— I remember the day I saw you for the first time.

Kyoshi at that moment bursts throwing the two youngest Avatars away and going back to his makeup. She doesn't say anything, just the sound of a door slamming as she walks away from them.

— That was dirty. — Kuruk says towards Yangchen. Even if the two didn't get along, that was the kind of humor he enjoyed.

— We’ll never see her like this again — Yangchen says

- Not even. — Roku comments finally, the comments stuck in his head

[watchandwrite]

Hey friend, I'd love to request something! I'd love to see a platonic Atticus X Reader where she lives on the streets, steals his purse and almost gets away with it, but he still catches her. Instead of getting her arrested, he is impressed with her technique and offers her a position amongst his informants. After all, beggars make for the best spies, since no one truly pays attention to them... Apart from Jesus, Whom she has a brief interaction with in the end. Feel free to make additions or leave out parts you don't like! Thank you in advance and God bless! 🫶

Jesus // Olive Branches // Platonic

Requested by @the-chosen-fanfiction

Author's Note: So this ended up being a bit different from what was requested! Both Atticus and Jesus are present, but Jesus ended up having more time dedicated to Him. As a result, this is labeled as a platonic Jesus x Reader. It's also been a while since I've written anything, so I'm not sure if the tone remains consistent. I prayed while writing though, so hopefully it's good! Enjoy!

Word Count: 2293

//

Ok, this guy’s lighter on his feet than he looks.

It was supposed to be a routine thing for you: look for an unsuspecting passerby — ideally a tourist, or at least someone that seems easy to distract — wait for your cue and grab their money. Your ‘partner-in-crime’ (read: your little brother, Yativ, who continued to call himself that no matter how much you rolled your eyes) would grab the attention of your target for enough time that you could escape unnoticed with a couple shekels or drachmas.

Granted, this last attempt was on a young man who was traveling with some famous Rabbi that everyone had been buzzing about. Risky? Yes. But Adonai had long given up on you, so you gave up on Him. Besides, popular preachers received plenty of offerings. He could afford to spare a few coins. 

One of His disciples had brought his satchel with him. He was distracted, poorly concealing his emotions as he listened to the sermon being shared in the Temple court.

You had smirked to yourself. Only a fool would let their keeper of the purse carry their money so openly. This would be easy.

Everything had gone according to plan up till that point— your brother jumping in front of your target, “SIR!!! I like your tunic!!” The man nearly jumped a cubit into the air, how own curly smacking his face in the process. 

“It’s olive green, yes? Did you know that olive green is my favorite color???! Because it reminds me of olives???!? DID YOU DYE YOUR TUNIC WITH OLIVES!?!” 

As the guy attempted to handle your menace of a younger brother, you crept in closer. Your hand was right on the bag, nearly grabbing—

“Father, glorify your name!”

The earth seems to tremble at that moment. The skies roar like a lion.

"I HAVE GLORIFIED IT, AND I WILL GLORIFY IT AGAIN."

Was that thunder?? Why did it speak? And why did it feel so familiar? You turn to where both voices came from, and He meets your eyes.

His eyes glint with something - recognition. Your spirit does the same.

In your panic you ended up yanking the whole purse off the man's shoulder.

"Wh- HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THAT’S MY BAG!!” 

Oh oops.

Worst of all, this guy's screech caught the ear of a couple Roman soldiers standing nearby.

And you, Y/N bat No One, decided to take your leave. The idea of getting arrested for stealing a man purse was a low blow to your pride.

“MEET ME AT THE SPOT YATIV!”

Chaos and clanging metal chase you as you bolt out the temple courts into the streets of Jerusalem, distancing yourself from the strange man who can speak to the sky.

//

Now, back to the present. 

You had lost most of your pursuers early on, but there was still somebody following you. It irked you — you couldn’t see him now, and you don’t even know if he had been at the Temple prior, but you felt him. Could practically see the glint in his eye as he watched you from the shadows. He looked like an old man, so how was he able to keep up with you so easily?!!

No matter. This battle would be all instinct, but you had to win. The capital city of Judea were cruel, and Yativ needed you. Getting caught was not an option.

You had craftily evaded capture up to this point — all you needed to do was get out of sight and you’d be fine. 

Slipping to the left, you scamper to the end of a small alleyway. Dust flies as you leap onto a canopy and pull yourself over the wall. Another alley greets you — completely abandoned. You have no idea where you are.

Oh well. You needed a break anyways. 

The sounds of the busy streets fade into the distance as you lean against the wall, gasping desperately for air. Your vision blurs: ringing overwhelms your ears. You shouldn’t be exerting yourself like this on an empty stomach. 

Undoing the latch, you open the leather purse to find two loose shekels in-between sheets of papyrus. Many words seem to be written on each piece. 

Your initial assumption was incorrect, it seems. This is the bag of a scribe, not a coin keeper.

Your eyes catch on phrases like "the Son of Man,” and “bread of life,” and your curiosity gets the better of you. Dusting your hands off as well as you could on your worn-down tunic, you pull out a page that seemed more recent.

“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

You lower the page, heart racing within your chest.

You didn’t need to continue reading to know what happened next — it was all that anyone at the temple had been talking about lately. Everyone knew about the Ghost of Bethany. But to have an eyewitness account?

And, on top of that, with everything that you saw earlier? With everything that your entire being is convicting you with right now???

...

You couldn't keep this - you had to give it back. 

You stare off into space — so overwhelmed by what you’ve read that you completely miss the growing sound of footsteps. 

“Ah, here you are. John has quite the way with words, no?”

You gasp — How did He get here?! 

The Man from earlier stands before you. Nothing from His appearance suggested anything out of the ordinary, but something within you knew better. Knew Him.

“Y-you ….. Y-You’re —“

He nods, and something cracks in you. Your face turns bitter. Angry.

“Where have you been? Why did You st-stop answering my prayers?” You don’t bother to hide your face as tears flood freely. “Y-Yativ and I — we needed you. Abba and Eema died, but when I asked You why You didn’t answer me. You didn’t help us when I asked you to! Why didn't you?!” 

His eyes fill with sorrow as He cups your face. In spite of yourself, you lean into it. 

“B-But the worst part?” You choke back a sob as He embraces you. “I-I …. I-I couldn’t hate You. I-I still can’t hate You. You mean too much to me”

“I know.” You know He knew, so why did He do nothing?

He inhales, pulling back slightly to look you into the eye, “I know you’ve had to go through so much.” His voice is raw as He kisses your forehead, letting you weep freely into His shoulder, “You may not understand now why it had to be this way, but I have never stopped loving you.”

Minutes pass, with the Son of God holding you through your grief. 

Then again, He always has, hasn’t He? You would soon understand that His hand had never left you. That, even when you cursed His name, He never took His eyes off of you. You would see Him at His lowest, and your heart would know His. You felt the ache in your chest go away as His presence envelopes you. Everything will be ok.

Lifting your head, you wipe at your eyes, “So, now that you’re here … what do I do? I don’t even know where Yativ is, much less how we’re going to survive living like this.”

“Oh, him?” Jesus chuckles, not unkindly, as He helps you to your feet, “Don’t worry, he’s safe. He’s with my disciples right now, and my Eema’s made it her mission to spoil him rotten.” 

You bark out a laugh, “I’m not even going to ask how that works, but ok. I trust you. Also—“ you gingerly hand Him the stolen purse, a sheepish smile on your face, “Your disciple — John, was it? I think he might want this back. Tell him that he is a very good writer when you give it to him. That I- well, that it just really feels like you’re there when you read it.”

This time He’s the one laughing, “Why thank you. Yes, He is very anxious to receive these back — though, I know for sure that he’ll appreciate the compliment.” There’s a teasing in His eyes that you don’t pick up on, but you’ll find out soon enough. “You can tell him so yourself, if you'd like.”

You brighten at that.

“I can?”

“Of course! He's there with your brother, after all.”

With a new burst of energy you go to follow Him. Weirdly enough, however, He stops walking and turns towards you.

“Not yet though.”

You blink, “… Why not?”

Jesus smiles knowingly at your confused expression, “The Father would just like to do something for you first. Go back the way you came and you’ll see what I mean.”

There’s a glimmer in His eye — the one that only shows up when He’s up to something. You raise your eyebrow at Him and His smile widens. He gives you a shrug as He exits the alley, whistling a hymn.

“But Jesus- Hey WAIT! When will I see you again??!”

“Soon!” He calls back, keeping stride.

//

You jump back over the wall as soon as He’s out of sight, your body thrumming with anticipation and glee.

Your excitement quickly fades, however, when the last person you want to see right now is leaning against the wall, holding a half-eaten fig in his hand.

“So," he starts, "Are we finished pretending that I couldn’t find you?” He states this nonchalantly, though his demeanor betrays some level of impatience and sarcasm.

You look up at the sky for a brief second. Geez, Adonai. This couldn’t wait?

“Look,” you start slowly, holding back some choice words that you’re aching to throw at this guy, “I’m sorry for taking that bag;  it was wrong. I gave it back already to the honor — well,” you pause, “At least, someone who will give it back to them.”

“A-and nothing in there was taken out — I made sure of it. B-but I-I know that things need to be squared away accordingly and it’s ok if you need to arrest me or take me t—“

He lifts a hand to stop your ramble, and you’re shocked that it worked. “Please. If I was going to arrest you I would’ve done so already.”

“Ok so then…” You process what he said before your eyes widen slightly.

“Wait — hold on, you’re not detaining me?”

“Nope, unfortunately.”

“Why not?”

”Because,” he sighs, pushing himself off the way, “You escaped my men in a matter of minutes. No one escapes my men — but you did, and you did so easily. And right now, that’s extremely useful.”

The hand that he had used to point at you opens up, inviting yours into a handshake, “Atticus Aemilius Pulcher, Cohorte Urbanae. I rarely find myself this impressed.”

You stare at his hand for a second, still reeling from this whole situation, before slowly returning the gesture with a dry expression. “Y/N bat Josiah, Jewish beggar. So how am I exactly useful to you?”

“I need information, but I don’t need people to know that I need it, if you catch my drift.”

You nod slowly, gesturing with your hand for him to continue, “So….”

He groans, “Look — I need informants. A Pharisee has been able to have someone watching what’s been going on with this Jesus character since day one, and none of my men have come close to giving me the information I need." He barely attempts to veil his frustration. "I can’t do the job myself all the time but not one of my trained soldiers has proven to me that they could handle this sort of thing.”

You mull over his words, “... And that’s where I come in.”

“And that’s where you come in.”

“Hm….” You fold your hands across your chest, tilting your head.

“You said Jesus, yes? I think I can get close. What did you want to know?”

“Anything you can find out, but especially background information on Him. Rome isn’t very happy with how frantic the people are getting around this Man — but they don’t necessarily want any executions. The more we know about Him, the more we can dispute any claims that would cause civil unrest.”

You shudder at the mention of the death penalty, but Something tells you that you wouldn’t betray Him by taking this offer.

“Ok, I’ll bite. But what’s in it for me? I have mouths to feed.” Ignoring the unintended pun, you muster up some gusto to see if that’ll help your case.

That same Something from earlier internally calls you out for that, telling you that it isn’t necessary. Your bold pose turns a bit sheepish at that. You’re practically being offered payment for hanging out with the Messiah, so any amount would do.

The Cohorte doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s not much, but,” he glances to the slide, making sure no one is looking, before leaning in.

You gape. Vaguely, you recall hearing something along the lines of the cattle on a thousand hills.

Are you kidding??! ‘Not much’ my tzitzit.

Gaming your face once more, you look directly at the man in front of you.

“You know what Atticus, I think this is the beginning of a long, fruitful relationship. When do I start?”