#as one of his traits is being a master arms man

[tamedgod]

not to get too yugioh on main but i'm about to make xiao's weapon "kunai with chain"-esque so he has some long range ability that's not a gun —

[anantaru]

— their favorite kind of pda (public display of affection)

including kaeya, diluc, kazuha, kaveh, alhaitham, scaramouche, baizhu, heizou x gn! reader

꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff, crack, very sweet n cute

kaeya likes when it's you who's initiating it instead, when now— you're suddenly looping your hand into his arm and tugging him a bit close too, so you would awkwardly bump into each other and laugh it off afterwards, so that even in the middle of the night, everyone could see and recognize how madly in love the both of you were. another part was the immediate reaction of kaeya, how he‘s trying to play off becoming all flustered, still not addressing it, while his arm was closing around you further until you‘re practically smushed into each other while forgetting where you even wanted to go in the first place. oh, right, good hunter! on the way to eat a good meal, yet kaeya thinks it might be better to take some food home so you could continue your little cuddle session more throughout.

when it comes to master diluc, he— in all his luminosity, adores placing his palm against your lower back. all things considered was it a subtle kind of shifting which you personally did not mind. diluc wasn't a fan of having a dozen pairs of eyes fixated on him, nor on his relationship with you— yes, he couldn't possibly stop it from happening but he at least tried to give nothing away regarding you both, what you were doing wasn't to be anyones business, ever. yet regardless of such, he would never leave an opportunity untouched of showing the public that you're the one who claimed his heart. diluc has the chance now and tenderly placing his palm on your lower back was a perfect motion which would bring the both of you an immediate swift of love and contentment.

kazuha was someone who was never really thinking about it more throughout nor did he never feel like he must show anything of that sorts to the public eye. so, when he meets up with you he'd be very spontaneous with it as well, you could never guess on what it's going to be today or what the man was planning. occasionally he'd get a hold of your hand, or start twirling you around, place his palms on your cheeks and humorously squeeze or add a little peck on the tip of your nose. whatever the case, it was your clear-out favorite, one of his most dearest traits, his spontaneous nature and how he implemented it into your relationship with such ease, this man truly had captured your heart and you won't ever take it away from him.

your sweet boyfriend kaveh was a sucker for holding your hand while sauntering through sumeru city— while, you had to be certain, he'd never let go of you. call it being a small quantity of a protective emotion that would fuel your boyfriends desire to have your palm on his for the entire duration of your meet up. keep in mind, sometimes he doesn't even realize he's still holding onto you and you have to remind him that "love, can you let go of my hand for a bit?" so you could stretch and turn, getting rid of the little burn coming from kaveh's strong grip. "w-why?" would be the next thing you'd hear from him— while now, it's assurance which you were counting on the utmost, because in truth you couldn't get enough of him holding your hand either.

it was quite new for alhaitham to ease into the entire relationship sphere and its supposed doings to consider. for you personally, he can take as much time as he required as long as he was wholly comfortable and happy. while the scribe wasn't a man of big words, he had now, developed a habit of parting his arm for you whenever he was fully engaged and locked into an intriguing new book. lets picture this, you're visiting him after a busy day, while he wouldn't say much he'd now open his arm automatically so you could snugly cuddle yourself into him, slant your cheek into his chest while feeling his tranquil heart beat against your skin as alhaitham carried on to page through his book, which was now, he realizes, a little bit more difficult.

scaramouche wouldn‘t admit it to you, ever, don‘t even think he might consider telling you that, yes, he in fact adores when you catch him entirely off guard and put a little kiss on his cheek— just one, subtle and tender peck on his squishy skin. the next you knew is how he‘s awkwardly averting his gaze and viewing the other direction, just doing something so you wouldn‘t notice the obvious red tint on his milky skin, how the moonlight was glaring right down on it and accentuating his mess of a reaction to you. how come he‘s already longing for another kiss? hidden underneath the night, scaramouche realized it‘s a scenario which certainly had already been written in a romance novel, but it‘s making him feel warm and secured, so he might return the favor now.

you were sure of it, truly, that baizhu had a sweet craving on having you on his lap as much as possible. first of all, it requires no engagement of his own limbs and muscles, he can leisurely stay seated on his work desk while you're taking place— one arm around his neck while you kept the other to yourself or decided to play with his hair. second of all, baizhu could now, talk to you while simultaneously further engage in his research and work load. but not only that, it can also go the exact opposite direction, he especially adored it when out in public, when you're having a sweet picnic and it's baizhu now lowering his head on your lap, so he could rest for a little bit while surrounded by both your scent and the soft melodies of nature— maybe you'll even slant your digits through his hair again, jokes aside, he hopes you'd do it.

how many different kinds of versions regarding pda were accessible to your ordinary person? the pretty detective heizou would make sure to try all of them at least once. your boyfriend thinks it‘s to enjoy and taste each and every thing in life, so why would he only set himself to one of it? in the beginning, heizou will start with holding your hand, testing the waters, while later he‘ll be all over you, mix and matching everything into another. lets say you‘re suddenly meeting a friend, don‘t think he‘d leave you guys to it, heizou will hug you from behind while resting his head on your shoulder, he‘s a perfect smooth-talker and will flawlessly engage himself into the conversation. it‘s known to the public eye that the both of you are inseparable, only showing up as a pair and now you‘re showing it too.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[metranart]

His Mate, finally someone to call his…

ft. Hawks centered, Hawks x reader, Slight! Bakugo x reader, Slight! Dabi x reader.

Hawks x UA Student! Reader (Part 3)

-

Warning tag: obsessed! Hawks, possessive! Hawks, naive! student reader, violation of trust, dubious consent, mating cycles, rut response, obsessive behavior, uncontrollable thirst for reader, manipulation, forced, thigh riding, hormonal minds out of control, sexual content, first time, cock riding, teenage fuck, Dabi's toxically interested in you, Bakugo bestie yet secretly inlove wit you, love confessions, cock-drunk, Hawks trying to be good but failing miserably, gaslighting, HEAVY plot, lots of smut.

-

“Tell me,” Hawks’ voice sounded deeper, raspier almost feral, as it you were facing a darker self of the same man, and the next words that came out of his mouth made you realize how affected he was, for you have never EVER, had such a raw response.

 “...May I fuck you as your way of thanking me for saving you?”

“...W-what?” You stammered, shock dripping down your tone, an eyebrow raising almost comically. 

“Whaddya say, kid—” Hawks purred, closing the distance so much that you found yourself upholstered against the cold wall behind you, the broad chest of the winged hero pressed flush against you as your shaky hands latched onto his black, hero shirt. “You said you could handle me...”

Wrapping one of your hands in his, he guided it down so you could feel his hard rock cock through his pants, a hoarse moan accompanied his next words as the hero guided you to start to pump him. “I can't assure you that I'll be gentle....” the speed of his hand increased, letting you feel every ridge and swelled vein in his fat erection, “but I can assure that you will LOVE to give that tight, warm cunt to me.” 

The golden around his eyes was gone, completely eaten by the blown pupil, anxiety starting to take its toll on you, this was too much.... never in your life have you had such a reaction from anyone you healed... and suddenly Recovery girl's words echoed in your head again. The lack of control from your quirk can have adverse results on the wounded, especially on persons who have animal traits... don't use it at that level until you are one hundred percent sure you can master it... 

Hawks had animal traits, even his fucking hero name was one of an actual animals.... you screwed up, HARD.

“Hawks, S-sir, I...” You didn’t find it in you to move. Every single fiber of your being screamed to listen to his advice and run, but you couldn’t. 

The heat was suddenly too much when you could clearly feel his cock twitching on your palm, and lively snatching your hand, you pushed Hawks away with all your force, a wicked smile stretched his mouth, even so, scooted over so you could attempt to run to a secluded corner next to a dumpster, to catch your breath. 

His step faltered just a second before he felt compelled to trail behind, slumping beside you, unceremoniously. His head lolled, dipping to press another whisper of a kiss to your jaw, like he didn't care in the slightest, that you were trying to get away from him. 

A warm hand rested over your shoulder, and you felt yourself shiver. “Usually, I don’t fancy brats,” Hawks said, and without breaking a sweat, grinded you against the wall without contemplation, “But you are sooooo cute, I´ll make an exception.” 

“Hawks, Sir!” it was so weird to call Sir someone closer to your age than that of your cousin’s, yet, your voice seemed looped on it, “you are being influenced by my quirk...it is-it is based on energy that–” He didn't let you finish when you were being caged between his arms again, soft lips peppering your face with invasive kisses. 

“—I don’t care, brat, I warned you.” The hero spatted, and a tear threatened to peek at the corner of your eye, yet you inhaled sharply and instead set your mind in hero mode, you weren’t some damsel in distress, you were a hero in training… perhaps there was still a chance for you to complete the healing loop, and satiate Hawks enough for him to come back to his usual self, at least for a moment to be able to talk him out of fucking you raw. 

Slowly, you started to wiggle out of his arms, but then paused for a second to tilt your chin up, and press a tender kiss to his lips to which he responded eagerly, flushed and awfully anxious you tried not to get distracted from your task when he mmphs low in his throat and his hand snaked up to cradle your jaw, holding you there for just a bit longer than you originally planned.

You tried to low his libido down, but your resistance instead urged him to grind his hard rock erection against you, so ready for you to take care of it. And there was when you saw your way out, this was the chance you were looking for, the winged hero was already too lost in his hormonal brain, too affected by your quirk, too deep into his own instinctual behavior to listen to reason....so, you needed to plunge him out by force.... hard and fast, an explosion of pleasurable release.... you were going to have to make him cum, and preferably, without raping you in the process.

The first thing was to separate him a bit from you, but right now that seemed to be the most difficult... since the dirtiness of the things he whispered devilishly against your ear were paralyzing you...

“I´m gonna stuff you with my chicks, you are gonna look soooooo pretty all swelled and heavy...” he breathed into your mouth. His voice teasing, yet again, held undertones of something deeper, something similar to devotion.... almost too caring. This man groping you wasn't the hero persona you’d seen on the news; this was the man behind the mask asking you to bare his children and become utterly his. 

“I can barely wait to come home to my pretty little wifey, waiting for me—” one of his hands dipped under the rim of your skirt, slowly worming his fingers to snatch your shirt up until the skin of your belly was exposed for him to place his big, calloused palm on top—reverently—as if you were meant to be his most prized person, “...round belly, full of my chicks and big, pretty smile on your face,” he kept daydreaming, “-SO ready for me to fill you again.”

Even using all your strength, you weren't able to move it off of you one inch, and worry spiked up when his advantageous palm keep traveling down your lower belly, dragging closer and closer under your panties—you knew what he was after, so you reduced to use a lamer approach. 

“Let me-let me do something first...” you pleaded, and thankfully it caught his sporadic attention, cocking his head to the side quizzically to then dive his face in the hollow of your neck, and breath the next words out. “Sorry, kid, I like to take the lead—”

“That´s okey!” you hurried, “it’s just- it's my... my first time... please, just let me—” you prayed for this to work, desperation really turning your voice into a pitiful sound.

Hawks thought about it for a moment, and grinning more to himself, gift you some space to do whatever you wanted to do –of course under his supervision– it would be embarrassing, and honestly, you didn't know if you would make it work but you had to try, because you refused to have a teenage pregnancy.

“Your show, kid.” Hawks spilled, sassy grin firmly on his face. 

Oh! How you wished he weren't looking so attentively.

“Could you close your eyes—”

“No.”

Well, that was fast, but expected. 

Arming yourself with courage, carefully fixed your disheveled shirt and to the best of your ability stood straight in steady legs, but then stopped for an entirely different reason. 

“Can you please.... —can you please unbuckle your pants?” The words rushed out of you, embarrassment eating you out, painfully. 

“Good girl.” He praised, nimbly unbuckling his belt, and without you having to ask, took himself out.  

Your orbs almost popped out of its sockets, you had seen a dick before but none this big, Hawks was massive, long and thick with a very pretty pink shade, and a dusting of blond hairs nesting on top. “As you can surely see, I’m pretty big, baby,” he cooed in a low rasp, “We better prepare you first, or it’s gonna hurt—like a lot,” you swallowed, thickly. 

And the moment you saw him smearing precum all over the head of his length, and dip two fingers inside his mouth to let his drool cover them to then lick his lips while wiggling the after mentioned digits at you—you didn't know what came over you. Perhaps you truly were possessed or just too determined, but you rushed towards him, and your hand reached between his thighs.

Hawks exhaled sharply leaning into your touch, letting his hot breath wash over your face and you felt him widen his stance to accommodate closer to you. Experimentally, you pumped him once and felt him brace an arm behind the small of your back, supporting himself on the solid wall as your fingers began to slip, treacherously slow, up and down his reddened cock.

He choked out a strangled sigh when you gripped him from the base and began to coil your hand to then cup his heavy balls. His head lolled once more, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, panting, bursts of hot breath fanning over your throat.

You felt your own breath quicken, felt yourself getting bolder, nevertheless, the uneasy feeling of being jacking off a total stranger in the open, never leaving your mind.

You meshed your other hand into his golden locks and pulled him closer, pressing your body flush against his. Hawks moaned, keening, his arm now firmly around your waist. You shushed him quietly, tightening the hold on his shaft while gaining speed and precision with each stroke. 

In this position, you looked as though you were only consoling a Hero who had a rough week, simply hugging in the dim light of the lonely alley. The shadows hiding you both, that feral Golden gaze reserved only for you. 

“—Is the pressure, Okey?” You sighed into his cheek.

“Please don’t stop...” Hawks whimpered. “God, don’t fucking stop—”

You didn’t, but it wasn’t enough, your touch felt naughtily good, but he was accustomed to experienced partners, even hand jobs needed certain speed and pressure to be fulfilling. The frustrating feeling of not getting what he wanted, edged him to wrap your hand with his and pump your fist faster- it wasn’t as tight, or warm or heavenly as your virgin cunt should feel- but it did scratch the itch, ever so slightly. 

Pressing his face flush against your neck, inhaling deeply. Your scent helped him get closer. He made you jerk him faster, harder. He needed more, more accurate, you, moaning and screaming for him to breed you—mate you. 

His Mate, finally someone to call his… that precious thought and your warm hand achieved the goal a little, just a few drops of pearly cum squeezed out, but enough to grant him a second of coherency. 

“I know what you—what you are trying to do.... kid,” His voice was deep, yet it wasn't the rut speaking, this was actually Hawks.

“Hawks...?” you called out. 

“In the flesh-...ngh!...” he attempted to joke but his voice cracked as he moaned, “This was—FUCK—it was very smart of you...” you could see the struggle in his features, it sounded like he was in pain, “—but I need more....much, much, muchMORE....” he smiled at you, apologetically, “-to be able to tame this fucking rut.”

He knew what he was asking, and even when hated to do it, knew as well that you would prefer that than carry his children and having him strapped to your hip for the next eighteen years, only letting you go once your offspring was able to be autonomous. 

“I-…I can´t…I´m sorry, Hawks—” you trailed, shame curling your lips down, at the knowledge that all of this was your own fault. 

“I know-... sweet girl, its fine...” He cooed, narrowed eyes locked in you cum stained fingers, “I understand… but I need you to understand as well—” 

His voice sounded more strained with each passing second, the winged hero could feel himself slipping away again, he didn’t want to ask, but sure as hell, would hate a lot more to end up taking you by force. 

“—I can’t control myself…” He confessed, “not when in rut and—” 

“I understand.” You muttered, quietly. 

“You do?” 

You nodded, unable to look him in the eye, yet you felt his hand when gently caressed your cheek once, before it latched on to your nape and yanked, hinting you. 

“Then please —please, don’t make me ask.” 

You wondered if he had ever had to beg someone before, of course not, he could have whoever he wanted. Quit stalling, your mind scolded and you felt the pull of his hand again, a little more demanding.

Taking your hand, like a true gentleman, help you to your knees. It was the least he could do, and shame reflected in his eyes when you looked up. Hard and heavy cock throbbing with need in front of your face, ready to be swallowed down. 

Your mouth quivered and before you could set your mind to engulf him, his knuckles gently traced your jawline tenderly, pampering the skin before dip a thumb into your mouth, smearing it with saliva and moistening your dry lips.

You looked as ready as you could be, for someone about to give a blowjob to the number two hero. 

COMING SOON PART 4....

⭕️ In my PATREON LINK you will find NSFW art of this chapter and more spicy MHA NSFW art and exclusive smut fanfiction.... Plus 'Tier reward' like: voting poll privilege for the exclusively Patreon one-shot stories where you can choose the couple pairing and kinky mood for the story and NSFW art, along with some naughty animation like THIS ONE ....and my eternal and vast gratitude for your support!!!

[mxtxfanatic]

He Who Can Be Taught! (or a Meta on Jin Ling and His Shishu)

Wei Wuxian and Jin Ling don't start off the story with the best relationship. Jin Ling has been taught all his life that Wei Wuxian intentionally murdered both of us parents, and added to the fact that the boy has picked up the worst traits between his father and maternal uncle, it would have been understandable for the relationship to fail. However, the more time Jin Ling spent with his shishu, the more he comes to care about the man he was raised to hate, going from this:

The young master was none other than Jin Ling. Crossing his arms, the boy said coldly, “Kick you? Anyone who dares utter the name “Wei Wuxian” around me should kneel before me in gratitude if I don’t kill them! And here you were shrieking and hollering it here in the middle of the street. Are you looking to die?!” Wei Wuxian hadn’t expected Jin Ling to turn up here, much less that Jin Ling would be as arrogant and dictatorial as this. What’s wrong with this child? How did he become so vicious and short- tempered? He’s stubborn and arrogant, and thinks everyone is beneath him. Excellent job picking up his uncle’s and his father’s flaws—but he hasn’t acquired half a speck of his mother’s virtues. If I don’t rough him up a bit, he’ll pay for it big time sooner or later. Seeing that Jin Ling didn’t seem done venting his anger and had closed in a couple of paces on the fallen man, Wei Wuxian interrupted. “Jin Ling!”

—Chapt. 20: Sunshine II, fanyiyi

Jin Ling spoke again. “My uncle grew up with him, and my grandfather saw him as his own child. My grandmother didn’t mistreat him either, but him? Because of him, Lotus Pier got turned into those Wen clan scum’s evil lair. Because of him, the Yunmeng Jiang Clan was decimated and scattered to the wind. Because of him, my grandmother and grandfather died together, and now my uncle is the only one left! He only has himself to blame for his inevitable death. In the end, all of the winds and waves he stirred up left him with a dismembered, mutilated corpse! What’s there to be unclear about, exactly? What could he possibly be let off the hook for?!”

—Chapt. 43: Beauty I, fanyiyi

...to actively trying to seek the other man out after discovering that maybe what he'd been told all his life wasn't as clear-cut as he'd been taught:

Little did he know that after he, Lan WangJi, and Wen Ning had left the Lotus Pier, Jin Ling had sneakily went to look for him. Realizing that Wei WuXian had disappeared, Jin Ling had ran to his uncle—who for some unknown reason was madly grabbing everyone he saw, asking them to unsheathe some shabby, old sword��and thrown a huge tantrum at him. Pointing at his uncle’s nose, Jin Ling had blamed him for Wei WuXian’s running away, and had gotten slapped by Jiang Cheng so hard that he’d fallen to the ground. Deciding to do what he had been planning to do in the first place, Jin Ling had gone off on his own to trace after Wei WuXian’s whereabouts with Fairy, without a care for consequences. ... Instead of answering, Jin GuangYao shot back another question. “A-Ling, what are you doing all the way over here?” Jin Ling shot a glance at Wei WuXian and hesitated in answering.

—Chapt. 99: A Hatred for Life Part 2, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Hearing that both Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi had disappeared, Jin Ling hurried outside and nearly tripped himself by the tall doorstep of the Guanyin temple’s main gate. Despite his haste, the two were already nowhere to be seen. Fairy happily circled around him with her tongue out. Standing by a tree, rigid and sky-high within the Guanyin temple’s grounds, was Jiang Cheng, who looked over at Jin Ling and spoke coldly, “Clean your face.” Giving his eyes and face a few forceful wipe, Jin Ling dashed over and asked, “Where are they?”

—Chapt. 110: Concealment Part 4, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

...to even being able to nighthunt together, have a serious conversation, be teased, and be told that Wei Wuxian is proud of him and his growth (despite Jin Ling's embarrassment at the displays of affection) without Jin Ling lashing out in violence:

Jin Ling was still on guard. Seeing that Wei WuXian really didn’t seem like he was going to do anything else, Jin Ling finally managed to stay seated. When one of the waitresses saw that the chaos here finally ended, she came to add more water with a smile on her face. Wei WuXian took up the cup and took a sip, before he suddenly called, “A-Ling.” Jin Ling had on a haughty tone, “What?” Wei WuXian, however, only grinned, “This time, you seem to have grown up quite a bit.” Jin Ling stopped. Wei WuXian felt his own chin, “Right now, you appear to be, hm, a lot more reliable. I’m really happy, but I’m also a bit... How should I say it? Honestly, how much of an idiot you used to be was quite adorable as well.” Jin Ling, again, found it hard to stay seated. Out of the blue, Wei WuXian reached out and gave his shoulders a tight hug, ruffling his hair, “But no matter what, I’m more than happy that I get to see you little brat again, haha!” Ignoring the mess that his hair was in, Jin Ling hopped up from the bench and rushed outside. Wei WuXian dragged him back with another strike, “Where are you going?” Even Jin Ling’s neck had reddened. He spoke in a rough voice, “I’m going to check out the White Room!”

...

Wei WuXian knew what he was thinking even without looking at him. He patted his head and smiled, “Put up a good show, if you happen to come across the opportunity.” Jin Ling complained, “Don’t touch my head. You can’t touch a man’s head, don’t you know?”

—Chapt. 123: Iron Hook Extra, exr

Needless to say, the transformation of Jin Ling and Wei Wuxian's relationship from would-be "enemies" to a proper shishu-shizhi relationship that Jiang Yanli would have been proud of is just another notch in the list of reasons why Wei Wuxian's resurrection was a net positive in the cultivation world.

[saijspellhart]

Sokka’s sexism was not an important growing point for his character - an Essay

I’ve seen all the discourse online about people up in arms about the toning back of Sokka’s sexism in the Netflix ATLA. (Almost everyone I have spoken to have brought it up as a reason to hate the Netflix ATLA) I think that anger is knee jerk, and misguided. It never mattered WHAT the Netflix adaptation was changing, people were always going to be angry about it. They could have announced Momo is a girl now, and people would have raged. Momo being a girl would have changed NOTHING about the series, but people would have been outraged.

Just like I believe Sokka being sexist or not being sexist really changes nothing in the scope of the story, themes, and is not the character growth people claim it to be. Hear me out. Let’s break it down and think about it in terms of themes and character development and how it affects the entire plot.

Sokka is introduced as being cartoonishly sexist in the very first episode of ATLA. As a device simply to make Katara rage. He keeps this trait for a grand total of 3 episodes until episode four when a girl whoops his ass and his sexism is cured forever onward. In the span of a 30 minute episode Sokka’s sexism was given a what for and through that he was transformed into a better man?

Imagine if Zuko’s mental and emotional journey had been solved in a 30 min episode, and wasn’t a lessen he had to repeatedly fail and try and fail and try time and time again. Imagine if Katara’s waterbending journey, or obnoxious controlling nature was just solved in a 30 min episode and not something she struggled with and fought for the entire series.

But let’s say his sexism is super important as everyone claims. Let’s explore it.

When is it challenged ever again in the entire series?

When Sokka leads the invasion on the Fire Nation, there aren’t a bunch of women in that army. He leads an army of men.

When Sokka needs to find a sword master to teach him the art of sword play, it’s a man. He never needed to overcome sexism to accept a non-traditional master.

Nearly all women, sans Toph and Katara, that have any long lasting influential moments in Sokka’s character development are women he has a romance with. Woman whose motivations and agency rely on a man.

The Kyoshi warriors that kicked his ass? What of them? Sokka has to rescue Suki from prison. It’s not tackling some gender equality issue. Suki is a woman in distress and Sokka is the man who comes to rescue her. (Cute and romantic, but hardly tackling a gender cliche.)

Do the Kyoshi warriors ever engage in any actual battle that matters to the plot and win? Not really. Instead the important role of the Kyoshi warriors is to be nurturing to Appa while he’s lost. A traditionally female role. And to provide a way for Azula to overtake Bah Sing Sei. (Don’t get me wrong, I love the girls, but the show never again utilized them in a way that challenged sexism.)

Sokka didn’t need to overcome sexism to respect Azula. Azula commanded and earned all the respect she needed. Sokka didn’t need to overcome sexism to respect Toph. Toph earned his respect by kicking the ass of everyone around him.

At no point in the rest of ATLA was Sokka’s sexism ever challenged after episode 4. It never helped him become a better leader because he never had to lead women whose respect he needed to earn. It never helped him develop his warrior skills. It didn’t affect the plot and his growth as a character any farther than getting a hilarious butt whooping in the fourth episode.

Sokka overcoming sexism wasn’t well written, it was a GAG. A goof. Ha ha funny, man got his butt beat by women and was forever cured.

If we really think about it seriously, as character growth, people who have had sexism so rooted into their beliefs don’t just overcome it because one woman broke the status quo and kicked their ass. That’s lazy writing. It was lazy in the cartoon and it would have been extra lazy in a show that had even less time to explore the issue.

Sexism, if they REALLY wanted to tackle it as a serious issue, should have been a problem Sokka had to challenge several times, and have his preconceived notions proven wrong and dismantled. It should have made him a better leader, or a more respectful fighter.

Instead it’s treated like a joke.

The Netflix ATLA decided to tone it back with Sokka, because from a writing standpoint it made more sense thematically for Katara to challenge sexism with the Northernn water tribe. They didn’t have the time or the budget to poorly tackle the issue of sexism twice, so they focused tackling the issue where it mattered to the plot and where it mattered to KATARA’s character journey more.

I’m tired of people screaming how much they loved his sexism and how the Netflix adaptation is rotten without his sexism. It’s not a lack of media literacy that it was cut. It was media literacy that led to it being cut. A writer recognized when the message was important and when it wasn’t.

That’s all I got to say. You don’t have to agree with me. But these were my thoughts on the matter.

[aimbutmiss]

Buggy stared at the stone wall in front of him with wonder and curiosity, as if the mysterious box-shaped rock held the secrets to life itself.

It probably did. At least a fragment of it.

“Fascinating, isn’t it? The ancient language.”

Buggy stopped his deep staring to turn to the tall man beside him. “It looks beautiful.”

Oden smiled at him. “Couldn’t agree more, Buggyjiro. What’s interesting about the writing system here is that it doesn't display the phonetics alone. The order of symbols and the way they’re connected also dictates the grammar…”

Buggy listened to the enthusiastic man talk about the writing in front of them, explaining and translating as he went. Maybe he was trying to pass down at least bits of the forgotten yet ever important language to him, or he was just really passionate about the poneglyphs. Either way, Buggy took every little piece of information that fell from Oden’s mouth as if it was a sacred treasure.

He stopped his little lecture as little Hiyori walked –more like stumbled, up to the stele and touched the surface with her tiny hand, babbling passionately. Though neither of them could understand what the little girl was trying to convey, they listened intently as if every little noise out of her made perfect sense.

“Is this one causing you two any trouble?”

Toki came over to them, walking in small steps as usual, and picked up the still bubbling Hiyori in her arms.

“Oh, not at all. She’s a clever girl, like her mom.” Oden said, making his wife giggle.

The samurai looked at them as if they were the most valuable treasure in the whole wide world. It warmed Buggy’s insides, yet there was a pang in his heart. Family. Something he longed to have for himself down the line, but he didn’t know if he could ever have it. He was pulled out of his thoughts when a strong hand squeezed his shoulder.

“I can tell you’re deep in thought. It’s good to think, but you need to learn when to get out of your own head, Buggy.”

Buggy looked up to his captain, not understanding when the man had even walked up to them. He hadn’t heard anything when he was approaching.

“Sorry. A lot to think about, though.”

“Hm, indeed. But you’re only 13. No need to think so hard at your age. Look at Shanks, he’s the master of not thinking.”

Buggy turned his head to watch Shanks run around the land, chasing a large snake around as he laughed without worry. Buggy grimaced. “That would be because he’s an idiot.”

Roger laughed. “That’s not such a bad thing in this world. If anything, you’re the one who’s too clever.”

“And that’s bad?”

“No, not quite. I just worry that’s all.”

Before Buggy could ask him to elaborate, the man abandoned the subject as he turned to Oden.

“You think you can leave a message in my steed on here? To let the future generations know that I was here.”

Oden laughed loudly, as he did most things. “Of course, Captain. That is if you can find anything that would dent this stone.”

Roger laughed back. “Who said anything about carving on the poneglyph, idiot? There’s no need, especially not when there’s a perfectly good gold surface next to it.”

That made Buggy smile. The captain was clever too, much clever than him, yet he couldn't see how that was a bad thing. If anything, he liked being clever because it made him more similar to the captain. They didn't look anything alike and he certainly didn't have his bravery. He'd like to have a trait of his to remember him by.

He frowned. Perhaps thinking too much was indeed not a good thing. He turned to the sacred bell of Shandora as the dialogue in the background became background noise; and though he was not raised to be religious, he prayed that he had a little more time with his dad captain.

[ardbar]

Do you think Evbo ever gets cravings?

Sometimes I wonder if a diet of only raw meat mixed with the natural magic that would come from being so close to The Void 24/7 could change the Noobs biologically. Not a lot, but it makes it easier for them to digest meat than other foods. Raw food becomes easier and easier on their stomach with each passing day. Over weeks their teeth turn sharp to help them rip apart the tough food they are given. They don't have the armor that the pros do, so the magic makes their legs sturdier. They can jump as fast as others without special training but the claws that can only be used through Leather Boots due to the flexibility of the material helps them grip the blocks better. Evbo has almost fallen many times because he tried to grip the edge of a block with his Talons and lean outward for a better view of something, only for his Talons to strike the metal of the soles of his boots instead of the soft grass and dirt. Their eyes shine back light due to the fact there are no light sources other than the sun.

Perhaps their arms are much stronger than any other layer as well, because they're the only ones who will sometimes slip and grabbing onto the side of a block they haul themselves back up. Never when a Pro is around to see them of course, but in secret they teach eachother how to Grip.

These changes only really effect those who have lived there for weeks or months, with Evbo and The Old Man being the Most Changed of all of them due to being the only ones who have survived there for Years. Evbo doesn't know why he makes everyone on the higher levels nervous when they look at him. He doesn't know that he literally registers as Other to them with proportions that are Slightly Off. Arms to thick, claws to long, teeth to sharp, eyes that reflect Golden.

Mmm, this started off as reasons why Evbo would crave raw meat and spiraled into him being Uncanny Valley to the Masters and Pros. But speaking of meat! I wonder if his transformation over the years left him craving the taste and texture of raw meat. I wonder if he ever goes to the Pro Level as champion to "inspect" the farms and take 3 or four raw stake and chicken and run all the way to his throne with them. I wonder if he has a chest next to it, packed with ice. A chest stocked with raw meat that he can tear into and taste Home. I wonder if he ever cries into his hidden meat stash.

I wonder what EMF thought when he became champion and found a chest packed with ice and raw meat sitting in a place only Evbo could reach before that moment. I wonder if he asked. I wonder if Evbo would have answered.

OOOOO THIS IS SUPER COOL! I really love the way you wrote it, body horror is just so much fun. This honestly reminded me of the Magnus archives a tad, so if you are into that sort of stuff I would check it out. In other minecraft related propertys I've played around with ideas of the void warping and twisting creatures into something that Isn't quite human, I think I have a grian fic about that floating around on a03. While it's not an idea I've given more thought to for Parkciv I still think it's really cool! I think it would also be kinda interesting to combined with another idea. I think it would be really interesting if becoming a god slowly starts to change Evbo, I've always thought it would be interesting if after becoming a god evbo starts to lose some of his human traits physically showing how different he was now than what he once was and the people he cares about. If this is combined with your idea about Evbo being different than everyone else because of the void, his godhood could slowly remove these traits and thus remove the last few connections he has to his life before. One day there would be nothing left to show of the time he spent everyday struggling it would be like it never happened, no one but him even remembered what it was like. He was scarred in more ways than one but they showed that he had overcame it, now it was nothing but a distant memory. He might even start to ask himself after enough time has past, did it even happen? It wouldn't be the first time his memories lied to him.

(btw sorry for being slow with the replies kinda had a hectic day and I didn't want to just reply to it on my phone)

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Five

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I appreciate your support as this story progresses. Make sure to check every two weeks for an update! Honestly, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have continued this story because it's just so messed up, but even so, thank you once again.

Chapter Warnings: Larys Strong jump scare

"Let me out of here!" You screamed, pounding on the guest chamber doors. "What is wrong with you, people? You have no reason to keep me here!"

Ma must have been worried to death by now, scowering across Kings Landing and pulling any strings she could. How had you been so stupid? So immature to follow a strange man that could put you in chains if he so wished. Ma was right. She had always been right about everything, and you were too caught up in your selfish desires to see it.

Aegon was a sick and twisted man. A vile, wretched, disgusting creature to ever be blessed by The Mother. You slammed your fists into the solid wooden doors as you felt pain radiate up your arms, willing them to burst open. You refused to sit ideally and become Aegon's plaything. You slept in a room next to the women who were, seeing what men like him do.

You were unashamed by the tears that streaked your cheeks, the snot that ran down your lip, and the back of your throat. Anyone being kept as a High-Born prisoner would feel the same way.

You couldn't wrap your mind around it-- around everything that had happened in the past days. Your absent father coming to pay you a visit, the heated argument with Ma, Aegon whisking you away for a night of fun and debauchery.

Nothing made sense. You were the daughter of a dead whore and a loafer, raised by a brothel madam on the streets of Flea Bottom. The Targaryen madness people gossiped about must be true; Aegon was proof of it.

The fight refused to die out, kicking at the doors as your sore arms shook. Your leathered foot nearly collided with a man as the doors opened, his cane stopping you. You were stunned, not expecting to have your freedom given to you so soon, but that hope did not last long as they locked behind your guest.

"Who are you," you questioned the limp man heatedly, ready to throw hands at any moment.

"Forgive me, my lady," he bowed, his body leaning onto his intricate stick. "I am Lord Larys of House Strong," he answered politely as if he were speaking to royalty.

"You say that as if it means something to me," you quipped. Lord Strong walked further into your prison chambers, tired from standing so long and resting on a plush armchair. He smiled as he sat, inviting you to the one opposite him, but your feet stood planted, arms crossed.

"I do not expect it to, my lady. Being the younger, unimportant brother of House Strong is not a trait many people consider to be remarkable." He spoke in riddles as if he knew something you didn't and was proud of it, disdain hidden within his messages.

"You are Ser Harwin 'Breakbones' brother," you said more for yourself than anything.

"Yes, my late brother," he answered, bowing his head in respect. He showed all the proper body language of someone in mourning, but you could not hear a whisper of sadness. You tilted your head, stepping closer to him but leaving enough room away from his cane if need be.

"Ah yes," you smiled mirthfully, squinting your eyes as you studied him. "Your sudden inheritance of Harrenhal must have come as quite a shock. Your poor family finally meeting the Stranger. But how fortunate for you, I suppose."

If it were any other circumstance, speaking to a Lord as this would end with a flogging, perhaps a missing tongue, to ensure you never made the same mistake again. But this was nothing of the ordinary.

He chuckled sarcastically, shifting his cane as he shook his head. Lord Larys was not a man to be trusted. He embodied everything your fellow common folk poked fun at during the drinking hour. He had a pompous attitude, like he knew more than everyone around him, with elegant dark clothing and short, well-trimmed hair. The only difference was that he did not seem one for gossip and parties. You assumed it was because of his deformity, nobles not wanting to be around such a "cripple."

Lord Larys didn't need a sword or army to conquer his enemies. He only need a few moments within the conversation background, a few slips of secrets into one's ear to cause chaos. That was what made him dangerous.

"I enjoy your sense of humor," he laughed, looking underneath his lashes at you, "it reminds me greatly of someone I know. Perhaps you will meet him soon." He laughed again, a joke you were not in on.

"Speak plainly, Lord Strong; I tire of your games."

Oh, you so greatly reminded him of that certain someone.

He hummed, slouching back into the chair and lifting his lousy leg to cross over the other. "I know your stay here in the Red Keep is not voluntary," he began, and you rolled your eyes. "I wanted to be the first to speak with you. Become a sort of confidant, my lady."

"I have no need to align myself with you. You have nothing of value," you quipped, pacing to sit in the chair across from him. The man was intelligent. He could read body language like a traditional Westerosi book, writing notes in the margin of his mind for later,

"Then, let me be the first to water our newly planted friendship," Lord Larys grinned, looking away for a moment as he thought of his next word carefully. "You wish to know why you are being kept here, yes?" You refused to answer, only scowling at his smug figure.

"They believe you are the bastard child of Prince Daemon Targaryen," said plainly. You threw your head back in a laugh as your hands went to your beating chest.

"You wish to start our friendship with a lie? Men are truly unbelievable." You shook your head as your mind returned to the King's eldest son. "Did Aegon put you up to this?" You asked suddenly, not finding the humor in this anymore.

"Of course not, my lady. Do you genuinely believe I would lie to you? I, a man at a significant disadvantage, am begging for the allyship of a Princess. As a young girl being thrown into a den of vipers, surely you would want a knife to cut off the heads?"

"Not when the very hand who gave it to me was one of them. The hilt laced with poison." Lord Larys stood, using his cane for support as he slowly made his way over to you, his lips in a tight purse.

"I do hope you consider my offer. It would be advantageous for us both to become allies, not enemies."

His words hung in the thick air, an ominous feeling sinking into your stomach as he left the room, the door latching behind him. He only left you more confused, your heart nearly beating out of your chest as you tried the door one more time.

You were the daughter of Daemon Targaryen, his firstborn, his bastard with black hair and brown eyes, the child of a dead whore, a member of House Targaryen.

You were a dragon born of fire and blood.

You should have been running around the marketplace this time of day, stealing until your pockets bulged with fruits as the City Watchmen struggled to keep up with you, but instead, you sat in the great armchair inside a gilded cage, staring out of the pane-glass windows.

You never imagined yourself as someone who would miss the foul stench of small folk in high summer, but here you sat, your chin resting on your hand as your nose was filled with the sick smells of amber and ash. To those who were not trapped in the palace, they would welcome the scents, but you, it only made your head hurt.

You needed to return home and find some way to escape these impenetrable stone walls, chisel teeth, and nails if necessary, but what would happen once you returned home? You were still in Kings Landing, where they could easily find you. Perhaps Essos or the North, where you could find your mother's family? They still had jurisdiction over the areas, but if you were far enough away...

The doors burst open without warning, a guard in armor you had not seen before marching into your elegant cell. He bowed his head, raising an arm across his breastplate as he announced your small gaggle of handmaids' arrival, leaving without another word.

You stared at them blankly, partially because you were still upset about being confined to this room and partly because you had no idea what to say. They saw you as royalty and not some common girl, treating you with respect someone of your raised status was not accustomed to.

"My name is Sara, your grace," she curtsied. Her voice matched her appearance. Seemingly around your age, with fair skin and pale blue eyes that starkly contrasted against her brown hair, a slight tremble in her hands. Their arms were full of extravagant dresses.

You still sat, blinking at them with no expression as Sara shifted the heavy gowns from one limb to the other. You were still determining what she wanted as the lack of conversation became awkward.

"May I sit your dresses on the bed, my lady," she asked quietly. You felt pity. What had this girl experienced to become so... small?

"Will they fit?" You decided to say, finally leaving your seat.

"I pray so," Sara said, seeming to be the pack's leader. A red-haired girl smiled slightly and looked at the thick pile they had carried through the many floors of the Red Keep.

High fashion was gaudy. You ran your fingertips over the fabrics, feeling an array of cotton, wool, and silk of every color imaginable. You sorted through the piles out of curiosity and not because you wanted to see the fruits of the Targaryen's coin. It must have been Aegon's doing, getting you so many dresses.

Indeed they would not look through the wardrobes of the royal family for just a bastard. You could feel Sara's eyes on your back, taking note of the white streak in your hair as you grimaced at a hideous red dress.

One dress, thank the Seven, was not entirely terrible. You made no move to indicate you liked the creamy bronzed gown, its enchanting tan designs glimmering in the candlelight, its sleeves cut halfway down the arm, and wrists flowing with an accent of fabric.

It was alright, you thought, moving the other heavy materials away.

"Beautiful choice, your grace," a girl who had yet to speak complimented, grabbing it and quickly taking you behind a decorated partition as the others hurried out of the room. She grabbed the laces of your dress, untieing them without a second thought. You gasped, raising onto the tips of your toes as you attempted to gather purchase.

"My Gods what in the Hell do you eat? You are stronger than half the Kings army!" You nearly fell backward as she yanked the threads out of their holes.

"My apologies, your grace. I did not mean to hurt you," she said in a rushed tone, dragging your dirty clothes to the floor. "We have a bath drawn for you, and I do not want the water to get chill."

You heard the several other maids return, their footfalls sounding shuffled as a loud 'thump' vibrated the floor. You peeked around the partition as the redhead attempted to comb through your knotted hair, the brass teeth catching on one.

Once nearly half of your dark hair was pulled from your scalp and you naked as a babe, she ushered you to a round wooden tub, vapors rising above the water. With your mouth agape, she removed your dirty smock, and two other women helped you in. You could have laid there for hours, inhaling the relaxing smell of Clarey Sage and Lavender as they scrubbed the sweat and oil from your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, another person also enjoyed your bath, observing how the woman rinsed your hair. Aegon wished it was him kneeling beside the tub, watching the water drip down your neck and into the pool, rubbing oils over your delicate breasts. He watched from the crack in a secret passageway as they helped you, wrapping a thick cotton towel around your damp body. He sipped at a goblet he brought with him, the cool Arbor Red sliding down his throat. Not even his favorite drink could quench his thirst as he watched you ready.

Your handmaid ushered you to a vanity, rich mahogany with intricate designs carved into the wood. One brushed your damp hair, as the others laid out some cosmetics. A fine white powder dusted onto your face with a puff to get rid of any shine, crushed rose petals mixed with animal fat to create a balm, and a subtle rouge on your cheeks.

You had not realized how much effort went into becoming presentable with nobility. The most you had ever done was do a washing once a week with the other ladies of the house. Your face felt heavy as if they had rubbed soot onto your skin, but what you saw in the mirror looked as if nothing had changed. Though you had a light flesh-toned powder, redder cheeks, and stained lips, you still looked like you. Your natural features enhanced, and you felt like a... royal. Like you truly were born of Targaryen descent.

"Why am I dressing like this, Sara?" You asked, eyes downcast as a blonde servant braided your hair, staring at your white streak of hair.

"You will meet Prince Daemon soon, and he will escort you to dinner." You turned to face Sara as she compared different pieces of jewelry. The blonde yanked your head back in place as she continued.

You hadn't realized how hungry you were until Sara mentioned the prospect of food, your stomach suddenly feeling its emptiness. But once you processed you were going to see your father, the man Madam had kept you from all your life, nausea replaced it. You were glad you had not eaten today.

"It is nothing to worry about, my lady," the blonde said. You looked at her through the mirror, unconvinced. "My name is Caldia. I have served the Targaryens for many years now, and if I have learned one thing, it's that if Her Highness Princess Rhaenyra tells the Prince to do something, he will listen."

You weren't sure what that meant but didn't question her, nervously biting your red lip as she pinned the braids to your head.

Aegon wanted a better view of you, but he could only if he made himself known. His imagination was crazy with thoughts of what you looked like. What dress did you choose? Was it the color green? What hairstyle did you wear? Was your jewelry the pointed star of the Seven?

It was odd for him to be wondering such things. He never much cared for religion, let alone women's fashion; he was more focused on what lay underneath. He took another sip from his cup, a few dribbles spilling down his chin.

Caldia put her hands on your shoulders and gave you an encouraging smile as Sare put a silver bracelet on your wrist. "I am frightened," you confessed as you stood, wrapping your arms around your torso.

The four women, now yours to command, exchanged nervous glances. They knew about as much as you and could offer no words of comfort. Not one to let people suffer, Sara grabbed your hand and leaned close to your ear.

"Madam has eyes everywhere. Just give her time," she whispered. You wanted to gasp but held it back, not wanting to make any other girls suspicious.

Eyes were everywhere in the Red Keep.

Two Kingsguard stood stiff at their post outside Prince Daemon's chambers, watching you with expectant eyes, breathing deeply. The bodice of your borrowed dress constricted your chest, frying your nerves. You pulled a piece of loose skin with your teeth, feeling the soft trickle of blood into your mouth as you gave the men a curt nod.

The doors opened with a loud clang of metal and a groan of wood, revealing what seemed to be a dark empty room lit only by a fire out of view. They did not announce your arrival. There was no need. The Rogue Prince was expecting you as his chamber doors shut.

You walked further in, your leather shoes tapping on the hard floor, as you saw a lithe man standing at the hearth. It was Prince Daemon; there was no one else it could be as you heard him sigh and lean against the fireplace. You were moments away from meeting your father, to a man you only knew by name. Neither of you spoke, you observing the stranger and him watching the flames.

"They say I am your daughter," you spoke with a small amount of courage. "That you are my father. But how can they claim a man who I have never met be called my father?" Though they were calm, there was a hint of malice behind your words.

You heard him snicker as he turned to you, a smirk on his face, still leaning on the hearth.

"Come," he said, inviting you to watch the dancing orange flames contained by metal. "Who is your mother?"

"My mother is dead." Daemon pursed his lips, shifting. "But her name was Elaina Black." The hole that she left still bleeds, even years later.

"How did she die," he asked, eyes never leaving their spot.

"In childbirth. A few weeks after I was born."

You couldn't read his emotions, his face blank but contemplative. A man this quiet did not fit the title of Rogue Prince.

"Come," Daemon said again, leaving his spot and going to a small table with a metal box. He flipped the latch, revealing a deep blue velvet lining, a necklace, and a matching pair of earrings. The onyx-colored jewels reflected like a lake, a midnight pool encased in steel.

You were speechless. This was the first time you had received a gift such as this. Your mouth hung open as word failed. Daemon motioned you to turn so he could clasp the necklace, the black crystals contrasting your soft, creamy dress.

"What is it," you questioned, gently stroking the fine accessories, still trying to remember your manners.

You could form no thoughts, no words other than what was expected of you. "It is zīrtys perzys, Dragon Glass, gathered from the mines of your home, Dragonstone. And Valyrian steel, some lasts of its kind."

Your home

"Thank you, Prince Daemon. This gift..." you struggled to form a sentence. "Is the greatest gift I have ever received." You spun, doing an awkward mix of a bow and curtsy. The jewelry was extravagant like all royal fashion was, yet tasteful, even if it didn't match your attire.

"No need for that. You are a Targaryen; we bow to no man except the King," he proclaimed, briskly walking to the exit.

You stood there confused. That was it? No questions or apologies for abandoning you?

"That is it, then," you exclaimed before you could catch it. "No apologies for the years of believing my father did not love me enough to visit? To raise me as any good man should?" Prince Daemon turned around, standing in a defensive but relaxed stance as you stormed over to him. "No condolences for the loss of a mother? For the loss of a family?"

"You have been brought to me now. That is all that matters."

Your face scrunched up in confusion, gesturing your hands in a stop motion and shaking your head. High-Borns were really that emotionally stunted.

"That is not all that matters, Prince Daemon. Do you have no concerns about how your child was raised? If I am even your child," you added, done with the treatment you have received from these Targaryen men. If this was how they all acted, you wanted no part.

"I am your father, and you are my bastard. This discussion is finished," he declared, finally letting some anger slip through his facade.

"Why," you yelled, going closer to him, "how do you know? How do you know?"

"Because I have always known! I have always known that there were bastards of mine running around Flea Bottom!" He charged towards you, grabbing you by your biceps with the strength of ten men, shaking you as a vein popped from his forehead. "You are the only one who has lived long enough to claim the title publicly!"

You settled, fear replacing anger at the implication.

"You... You murdered your own children?" Daemon said nothing, his face red as he stared. 

It all made sense now. Why Ma did what she did, why she hid you from everyone, why your entire life was spent smothered into her bosom, it wasn't simply her being overprotective. She was saving you from death, from the man who gave you an extravagant present, from the man who went from being aloof to screaming, from the man who stood right in front of you.

Your father could not be as vile as him. You wanted the hands of this filicidal maniac gone.

You grimaced, mustering all the saliva you could and spitting it on the Rogue Prince's cheek. Why would he hesitate with you if he already called so many of his kin?

He let go, and you scrambled out of the way, not wanting to face his wrath.

Instead of being met with the sharp blade of Dark Sister, you heard a laugh. A genuine and honest laugh.

Daemon had a pleased look on his pale face, the same look Lord Strong gave you hours earlier but smug. He knew what to say to boil your dragon blood because you were the same as all of the true Targaryens.

"You're a mad man!" You shouted, looking frightened.

"You are my child," he declared, sauntering over to clap a hand on your shoulder. "Enough with this fun. Let us eat. I have gown rather hungry." 

You had a sense of Deja Vu before the wide entrance of the dining hall, only this time, you were not alone. Next to you was your supposed father. You chewed on your lip nervously, pulling the thin scab that covered your marks from earlier. 

So many things were left unanswered you had no idea where to begin.

Your mother was a prostitute; how could he be sure? How did he not know she was pregnant? That is not an easy thing to hide. How many brothers and sisters did you potentially have, was Daemon the monster Ma believed him to be, and who was watching you now, ready to report back to her?

"This is unnerving," you decided to say, not brave enough to voice your questions yet. He snorted, his eyebrows raising for a moment before he shifted his weight and took your arm in his.

"It is unnecessary, but is that not all customs to those unaware?" You mimicked his expressions but turned your gaze down, retaking your lip between your teeth. "Stop that," he chided as a father would, and you obeyed. You couldn't help it; the feeling came as an instinct. 

Two guards opened the doors, and another from inside the dining room announced your presence to the family that sat upon the great table. As you walked arm-in-arm with Daemon, you became even more ridged than the crown's sworn protectors. 

Master List of Series

Sorry for the no smut in this chapter. Quite dull, actually, but we have to lay the ground before the real action can happen, baby. Also, this is the dress the MC is wearing, and the necklace and earrings Daemon gave her. :)

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Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd12004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfilit, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress , @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme

[maleyanderecafe]

The Prince Relies on Me (Manhwa)

Created by: 阅文漫画

Genre: Isekai/Comedy

It's too bad the pacing in this story is pretty wonky because I actually really do like the type of yandere in this one. Clingy, always wanting the female lead, Su Ye's attention as she does whatever in the world. He sort of reminds me of a better version of My Angelic Husband is a Demon in Disguise since he has a lot of the same traits (white hair, dependent on female lead, the head of an assassin group). Like I said though, I think the pacing is just way too fast for my taste. Currently it has about 45 chapters out.

The story starts out with Su Ye isekaing into the world that she's written. She's reincarnated into the body of the villainess, and realizes that in the story she's written, after torturing her sister, the main lead, the original story has the male lead kill her and hang her body. As a way to protect herself, she and some of her servants go into the woods to close off the area and prevent the male lead from coming in. Unfortunately for her, the male lead, Suu Qing ends up falling into her arms while accidentally knocking down trees. She ends up abandoning him, but Suu Qing sees her as a savior and gets his team of assassins to trap him. While going out in town, Su Ye ends up spotting Suu Qing trapped in a cage as a bidder's item. She ends up bidding on him just to free him, though realizes that she doesn't have enough golden leaves to buy him and gets her servants to sell/find enough leaves to do so. This leads to her dad yelling at her for essentially spending a ton of money for this guy, though eventually relents and in the end she is able to pay it all off by selling off some furniture and replacing it with replicas. She hitches a ride on a boat for a bit in order to gather some herbs to continue paying off the debt. Back at home, her dad seems to be very angry that Suu Qing has come to visit them, and tries to smooth over the situation when she realizes that his assassins can just kill everyone. Luckily, she's able to give him the medicine he needs for his long term poison and he's able to leave without doing much. To quell his dad's anger, she tell him that she finally wants to learn about how to make herbs, much to his happiness and he gives her the recipes to how to make them. He real goal is to try to learn how to make medicinal pills for Suu Qing so that his poison doesn't eventually overtake him. While going out in town, Suu Qing ends up finding her, and the two of them end up going out together during the festival. Suu Qing ends up being attacked by an assassin but Su Ye is able to defend him from. The two later get drunk together, and Su Ye ends up drunkenly trading her jade necklace for another important item. She wakes up and fights a rival family (who started it) and wins, only to find another very pretty girl in the forest while looking for herbs. She notices that her leg has been infected and promises to help her heal her in exchange for the herbs. After again fighting the rival family, she ends up finding that the lady she was helping before is named Song Jue, the greatest informant in the land, crossdressing. After looking around in the forest, she ends up going inside of a pit to look for more herbs, only to find Suu Qing there. She recognizes right away that he is an imposter and it's revealed that it's actually a master illusionist who is tricking her. She's able to fight her off, but real Suu Qing comes into rescue her. She gets injured and Suu Qing has to heal her. The two end up going into the city and Suu Qing cross dresses as a man while there. She learns that while in the cave she developed some plant powers and ends up saving Lil Wei.

Lil Wei gets a crush on Su Ye after saving her and even takes care of her while she's sleeping. Using the broach that Lil Wei gifted her, she goes and finds a blacksmith to build her needle weapons. She ends up in a fight with another person, before ending up enrolling in what I think is a competition. She ends up meeting Suu Qing again, and builds a team to fight and find the items she needs.

Man, I really wish that this series pacing wasn't so bad and that the story wasn't so confusing because there are a lot of parts of Su Ye and Suu Qing that I really like. This creator also made Sickly Tyrant with an Innocent Facade, which seemed to be a lot better paced and while I understand that manhwa tends to go a lot faster paced than their manga and webcomic counterparts, I still think it's important to maintain at least a semi understandable pacing. Like I said, Su Ye as a protagonist has a lot of things I like in theory: she's a daughter of a herbalist which is a profession you don't see too often in isekai style stories, she's fairly physically strong and knowledgable, and is the writer of her world, as well as cross dresses (always a win for me) and really pushes herself to get that antidote for Suu Qing. I am a bit off put by the fact that she decided to sell off so much stuff for Suu Qing, by disobeying her father by selling all of his stuff (including a very antique table, which she just replaces with a fake one...), but other than that she doesn't really see like a horrible protagonist to be certain. Unfortunately, she does suffer from pretty easily beating most of the people that go against her, which does make it a bit power fantasy like (not that it's a bad thing). I wish that they would have implemented more of the fact that she did write the story into the main plot, since while it is helpful for knowing characters in the story and certain things, I feel like is pretty powerful since you understand how certain character tick or why certain events happen. I do like how they implement more of her knowledge of herbalist to the people she helps and that kind of explains why she's always in the forest running into others.

I should like Suu Qing as a yandere because similar to The Angelic Husband with a Devil's Facade, he does basically play more innocent when he's with Su Ye, but unlike in that webcomic, the assassin aspect is actually touched upon way more, which is what I wanted in that webcomic. We do see how he uses his network to not only find Su Ye but also to hunt down those that might hurt her, and his persistence in finding her often leads to him saving her in bad situations. He tends to act more cutesy around her, being more clingy and not wanting her to leave him, and it does kind of make sense because he's depending on her to make him an antidote. Still though, at least in this case Su Ye is fully aware of the fact that he is an assassin and can be weary around him. I also think it's fun that Suu Qing often does protect Su Ye, not always because she likes him but also because as the main male lead, she can't let her creation die so easily. Again, I should like him because he's the type of yandere that I like (and frankly is hard to find in yandere media a lot of the time), but because of the pacing and just general story, it becomes too confusing to deal with. We do get to see how the curse/poison is affecting his life as he does have bouts of weaknesses, but some scenarios seem weird for a leader of assassins, like being captured in a cage or not being able to kill one person who was after him, but I could always just chalk it up to, he's feigning being a damsel so that Su Ye will protect him.

I feel like besides Lil Wei and maybe Su Ye's dad, the other side characters are not particularly enumerable to me, and Lil Wei finds out very quickly later that Su Ye is a girl, so that quickly loses it's comedic effect. I do think actually that Song Jue is pretty interesting as well, but it doesn't really explain why a master of poisons is just in the forest crossdressing unless he's trying to get away from something that he did. I sort of wish that they explained that more.

Overall, it's alright, I guess. It might be because I haven't actually read a whole ton of manhwa, but based off of the ones I have read, this one really does have kind of awful pacing. Maybe the webnovel that it's based off of is better, but I feel like the manhwa goes too fast to really enjoy it too much. If you are desperate for more clingy and softer yanderes, then give it a try. Maybe you'll enjoy it better than I did.

[linen-finch]

Ulfrun - Fire within a glacier

It was in the early evening when the longhorn blew. If Ulfrun hadn’t had such a steady hand, she would have spilled her pail of water all down her front. But Ulfrun was steady, her hands never shook. So no water lapped over the side of the bucket as she looked out to the port. One ship eased its way through the iced cropping of rocks and docked boats. One lone ship. The master had returned.

Ulfrun hugged the pail close to her, the cold of it burned her chest, but she didn’t start or shiver. The horn blew a second time, and Ulfrun felt it move her without her consent. She stepped away from the well, to a gathering of frost charred gorse and hardened ground. From that height she could see ship being pulled into the dock, the strong arms of neighbours and slaves easing it to rest. Off stepped a man, hauling sacks brimming with things Ulfrun had no interest in. Then came another. Then her master. In his hand he held a rope, though, even from her perch, it was too far to see clearly what it tied to. Ulfrun let the pail of water rest on her hip and turned to return to the warmth of the hall, when voices sprang from the docks, almost as loud and clear as the long horn. Ulfrun looked again, almost stepping off the mound in her haste and curiosity. These, she knew well, were punishable traits, but here, alone, she couldn’t subdue herself.

She saw, now, what connected to her master’s rope. Like blood upon snow, like fire deep within a glacier, a red headed boy stepped onto the banks of Norway. 

Even from such a distance, the sight of him was a shock, and Ulfrun watching as he was practically dragged from the boat, his whole figure screaming defiance. A slave. A new slave. Ulfrun had known, of course, that her master had set out to find them fresh help, though the weight of it hit her only now.  Still, no water spilled from the pail, Ulfrun was as steady as ever. A new slave. A slave other than her.

The men began to move, hauling the fire haired boy behind them like some disobedient dog or a stubborn ox. He thrashed and pulled, but when a whip hit his shoulder he stilled, his body coiled and tight as they began their ascent from the docks and harboured ships to the master’s hall, the farthest from the village, the biggest, the chief’s. 

Ulfrun glanced back at the hall, the distance between her and it breached by snow laden fields and hardened ground. She hitched the pail over her shoulder and filled another, and began her careful walk to the hall, to find her mistress. 

When she arrived, she beat her tired hide shoes against the doorframe before entering the backway. The door to the hall hung open, though no one was seated and the fire in the great pits dimmed. Ulfrun squinted and shook herself, eased at the absence of anyone but herself. They must have arrived in the private chambers, she thought, but furrowed her brow when she heard no conversation or voices. She moved carefully, feet barely making a sound on the worn wooden floor. As Ulfrun came to the corridor connecting the main hall to her master’s private, family hall, she shifted the pails on each of her arms to be able to tighten her head scarf. She lowered her gaze to the floor, bowed her head and entered.

✶

The longhouse was warm, fitted with rugs that stretched along the main living space. Tapestries hung from the high walls, with axes and spears lying dormant and dusty on hooks, framing a life Ulfrun’s master used to live. Though Ulfrun herself didn’t live in these comfortable quarters, she couldn’t help but see the longhouse as home. She knew the skin of each animal under her feet, the carve in each gnarl of wood on every wall. She felt comfortable here. Comfortable, but never relax. Never relax. Always remember, always be steady.

A fire dimmed in the middle of the room and around it sat hunched, tense figures. Ulfrun’s mistress, Gyda, a thin, tall woman with pinched face and a sharp chin, sat on a stool, the farthest from the door. Around her feet were her youngest children, two little girls playing with baskets of loom waste. In Gyda’s hand she held a needle and wool, but she did not nalbind, instead she sat in pensive conversation with Solveig. Solveig was the head servant of the household, she tended to the children and distributed tasks to the other servants. Ulfrun liked Solveig, she had a sharp, no-nonsense attitude. But despite the front the old woman put up, she never treated Ulfrun with anything less than kindness. The sight of her made Ulfrun step more easily into the living space.

The hushed whispers did not stop when Ulfrun entered the room, but Ulfrun felt as Gyda’s eyes followed her movements as she laid the pails of water by the fire. As Ulfrun moved noiselessly throughout the room, swapping the wooden buckets for iron and placing them on hooks above the fire, she caught whisps of the conversation. They were talking of the new slave. Don’t eavesdrop Ulfrun, don’t be stupid.

“Have you seen them yet?” Ulfrun collected the wooden buckets together and prepared to leave the room. “Ulfrun.”

Ulfrun wasn’t startled at the sound of her name, if she had been she would have dropped the buckets with a clatter. But Ulfrun was steady. Stay calm, be respectful.

It wasn’t often that Ulfrun was addressed directly, less so by a member of the household with such status. Her name sounded foreign coming from Gyda’s mouth.

She turned, facing the fire pit, but kept her head bowed.

Gyda sighed, picked up her needles and began to nalbind with effortless precision. “The sun has almost set; he was supposed to be back yesterday.” Gyda didn’t look at Ulfrun, instead focused on the wool before her. Ulfrun resisted the urge to shift from foot to foot. Was Gyda even talking to her? Stay calm, keep still. “I heard the horn blow, was it our boat? Or was it Torsent? I heard from his girls he was returning today.” Ulfrun didn’t move, how could she answer that? What nod or shake could suffice as answer? She held the buckets tighter to her chest.

Solveig looked from Ulfrun to Gyda, her brow tense. Finally, she settled on Gyda, jerking her head in Ulfrun’s direction with a look that, despite not being able to see, Ulfrun knew well. ‘Take pity on her,’ the look said, ‘Remember her misfortune.’

Misfortune, Ulfrun would have laughed if she were still able.

Gyda sighed, a mixture of irritance and exhaustion, before spitting, “Was that his ship.”

Ulfrun gave one sharp nod, hoping it would satisfy her mistress enough to let her retreat away from the living space, away from the hall and far from sight. Though in part she considered these walls her home, so quickly she remembered her place when within them all she met was sharp words and frosted attitudes. The snow chewed hills were warmer than any room in this hall, she thought. She longed for them now.

Misfortune, it seemed, truly did favour Ulfrun, as just as Gyda opened her mouth to reply, a door banging open was heard from the main hall. The wind whistled as it was shut, and Ulfrun felt a familiar dread settle within her as the sound cut out sharply, only to be replaced by footsteps approaching the familial chamber.

At least five men, Master and others, the slave, the slave the new slave. Ulfrun placed the bucket haphazardly by the fire, stepping back until she was pressed into the far wall. She felt the weight of it behind her like an anchor, pushing her shoulders into the wall until it hurt. Far from sight, far from the eyes of men. 

Gyda stood as her husband burst into the chamber, with as much grace and deft as a blind bear. The tense quiet of the hall had been snapped as the men shook snow and dew from their furs and the children ran to greet their father. There was much noise, much commotion and in amongst it, a boy. Ulfrun bit her cheek, only able to see the red sheen of his hair amongst the tall shouldered build of her Master and his neighbours. He was secondary, a body amongst people. Ulfrun’s master tried to greet Gyda with a kiss, but Gyda, like Ulfrun, had eyes only for the boy in amongst the bustle and chaos.

Gyda cut through the men, and they parted for her like a dog amongst sheep. Master stood flittering at his wife’s shoulder, attempting to speak in a hushed tone, but was silenced by Gyda raising one slim delicate hand.

“What is this?” Her eyes never left the boy. 

There was almost a compete silence, so heavy that Ulfrun felt weighed down by it. She pressed herself father into the wall, where the light of the dying fire didn’t reach.

“A slave, love. Look, I know we agreed- “

“I sent you for a girl, Arne, and you come home with this?” The Neighbours who had helped moor the boat and bring the slave up the hillside began to slink out of the room, they knew too well a wife’s fury. Gyda waved her hand at them, and they scattered to the entrance, disappearing out of sight in a wake of footsteps.

There he stood, slumped and tense, in the centre of it all. “A boy? What were you thinking? We can’t afford a boy, Arne. We could hardly afford a girl!” Gyda rage was strange to Ulfrun. She seemed to shout, but her voice never rose, it simply became sharper, thinner, like a well whittled weapon. Ulfrun’s own anger was messy, unbridled and untamed. Or, at least, it used to be.

Now that the anger was directed at someone other than herself, Ulfrun found herself quite enjoying the display. There was a beauty in being nobody, pressed against a wall and you’re practically a part of it. She didn’t quite feel invisible, but as accepted and unnoticed as a stool or bench. And how she loved to hear about her Mater’s money troubles.

Any twisted pleasure she felt at her master’s plight, however, fell away as Gyda swung her hand toward the subject of her anger.

When Ulfrun was taken, bought and sold with blood still fresh on her bare feet, she kicked and screamed. There was no quieting her grief, no way to hold her down. She remembers spitting in the face of the trader, biting fingers and raking nails over skin. The scarred remains of her tongue lay heavy in her mouth. She remembers her fury.

The boy did none of those things, and Ulfrun felt a strange admiration kindle within her at his stoic silence. He stood in the centre of the room, so close to the fire that his hair burned like the embers. His body was still, completely still, without any tremor or shake he might as well have been cut from stone. His spine was curled, his form tense and coiled and Ulfrun was reminded of a corn snake, ready to strike. It was his face, though, that caught her attention. The lower half of his face was bandaged, and dark blood seeped from the wound on his mouth and through the cloth, but this did nothing to obscure him. His fringe hung low over his eyes, but the fury within them cut through and made Ulfrun shiver. 

Though his body sagged from exhaustion and pain, almost naked with bruised ribs and bleeding knees, there was a fire within him. Bright and radiant and dangerous. Ulfrun couldn’t help but dread what beast her Master had brought into his home.

Gyda beckoned the boy forward with her hand, but he stayed rooted on the spot. “Come here, boy. Let me see you.” Again, he did not move, stood staring, almost as if he was looking through Gyda, through the wall behind her and out onto snow laden tundra beyond. Ulfrun swallowed, Just do as she says, your pride isn’t worth defiance.

Gyda snapped her fingers. “Now, boy.” Arne placed a hand on the boys back and pushed, and he staggered forward. “Do as she says, it’s what’s best for you.” It was almost as if he couldn’t hear, his eyes showed no recognition at the man’s words, though his shoulders tensed at his tone. 

Closer to the fire now, Ulfrun could make out the vicious red lines across his back and around his ankles, and she noticed for the first time the iron collar around his throat. She resisted the urge to rub her own neck, the feeling of the cold metal lingering, though she hadn’t worn such collar in years. Gyda huffed sharply through her nose, and stepped lightly towards the new slave, no hesitance or fear in her step. She circled him and examined him with a sharp gaze. With each step she took around him, the boy sunk further in on himself, his hands clutched white where they were bound before him. Gyda came before him again and shot a hand from her robes to grip his face. He stepped back, whipping his head away from her grasp, but Gyda was not to be deterred. She held his chin fast, digging her nails into his skin and bandages, peering through the hair that had fallen into his face. 

Ulfrun didn’t know what she saw in his eyes, but slowly Gyda lowered her hand and released his face. She hummed, and Ulfrun felt as though a decision had been made.

“How did you afford him then, Arne. Shall I begin to collect my jewels and beads, perhaps we should sell our land, our sheep, our goats? Shall I tell the children to starve this winter?” Gyda’s voice, dripping with sarcasm, cut through a silence Ulfrun hadn’t realised was building. 

Arne squared his shoulders, coming from behind the boy to stand beside him. The boy didn’t flinch. “The traders selling him were practically desperate to get rid of him. He cost half of what a girl would, Gyda, I couldn’t pass that up.”

“And why, pray tell, were these merchants so desperate to clean their hands of him?” Arne scratched the back of his neck, clearly caught. 

“They motioned something about a bounty, he must be some sort of criminal. Those Saxons usually deal with their own lot, I did- I did find it odd that they’d ship one of their own to us. Even if he is a criminal.” Gyda stared at Arne, and Ulfrun saw sweat bead on the back of his neck. “Look,” he said, holding up his hands to placate his wife. “All I know is that his kingdom wanted him gone, he was traded down south and brought to market up here. He won’t be a danger, love, I promise you that.” Arne’s insistence obviously did nothing to ease Gyda’s hesitance, and Ulfrun looked between her two masters nervously. It was never a good day when they fought. Arne stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Gyda’s arm. “Love, you know this is what we need. It’s not what I promised but its better. I can’t look after this hall alone, we only have one slave and she’s good at her work, but we need a boy. Someone to labour, to keep the land.” Gyda seemed to soften at that, looking away from the boy to hold Arne’s gaze. “Ulfrun is only one person, and my health isn’t getting any better. We need a boy.”

Ulfrun ducked her head at the sound of her own name and felt Gyda’s eyes wash over her. The room seemed to hold its breath, Solveig, who had been still and silent the entire time, stroked a hand over the head of the child curled at her feet. The children, Ulfrun noted, seemed as hesitant at the idea of their new slave as their mother. Ulfrun’s eyes fell to Solveig, and wondered what she thought of all this. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes met Ulfrun’s through the dark of Ulfrun’s shadowed corner. Solveig nodded her head minutely. It’s alright. It’s already decided.

Gyda moved, as sharp and precise as always, to lay a hand atop Arne’s. Ulfrun released a breath that had been caught in her throat the entire conversation.

“Alright.” Gyda said, and turned to look at the boy once more, “Alright.”

Ulfrun felt herself drawn to the boy once more, and her heart sunk in her chest when his shoulders sagged. He hung his head, eyes closed tight. Perhaps he hadn’t understood a word of what was said, but his posture screamed a realisation that Ulfrun had grappled with time and time again. He knew his fate was sealed. 

Ulfrun shut her eyes. Please, let the Norns be kind to him. Let his fate be kinder than mine.

✶

They called him Refr, fox, for the red sheen of his hair and the sharp point of his face. Gyda and Arne both agreed not to shear his hair like hers had been. It was a beautiful colour, and when it was long enough, they’d cut it and sell it. Ulfrun was a bit relieved at the thought, she’d never quite seen a colour like that of his hair, and it would be a shame for it to go to waste. 

She was ordered away shortly after the decision that Refr should stay had been made. Ulfrun hesitated at the idea of leaving him where she couldn’t see him. She knew well what went into breaking a slave, and hoped for his sake that he was obedient. 

Ulfrun tried to distract herself from thoughts of the new slave, working tirelessly to clean the living chamber and start preparations for the coming feast. The return of the Chief called for a celebration, no matter how short of a duration he’d been absent. 

Hauling a bucket of waste vegetables, peels and roots over her shoulder, Ulfrun left the warm shelter of the kitchens for the pig pens. She heaved herself over the fence and jumped down into the thick wet mud. It splashed over her apron, and she paid the filth no mind. Trudging through grime, Ulfrun deposited the waste into the trough, staggering as the swine swarmed around her legs eager for food. She smiled, small and thin, bending down to scratch behind one of the sow’s ears. Ulfrun stood straight, feeling the muscles in her back pull from the weight of the days work. She sighed through her nose, hauling herself and the now empty bucket onto the fence once more. She stood on the wooden pen, making to climb over it like a style when voices met her ear. Ulfrun looked up, towards the hills beyond the animal pens and crops. There upon it stood her master, a neighbour and her master’s eldest son. Between them was Refr. 

Ulfrun found herself pause, watching as her master pointed across their land, mapping out the lay of their property with his hand. Whether Refr paid any mind, or even understood what was being told, she didn’t know, as he made no nod of the head or indication that he was listening.

Instead, his distant shape, his back to her, tensed at the shoulders. Ulfrun felt her mouth grow dry as he looked slowly, slowly over his shoulder. He was looking straight at her, his face impassive and eyes sharp. Ulfrun felt her breath still and felt locked by his gaze. They were separated by snow stricken fields, but it was if he were standing before her. The wooden pens, hardened mud and mounds of dying grass fell away and they were, for a moment, just people. Ulfrun felt, for just one moment, like a person beneath his gaze. She wondered is he felt humanised in her eyes too. It was only when her master clapped a hand over the back of Refr’s head, slapping him with a sharp reprimand, did their gazes break. They weren’t people, not anymore. Ulfrun startled at the slap, coming back to herself as if she had been hit too. She felt an odd unease rise in her, that even at such a distance, Refr had felt her eyes on him.

Ulfrun clambered down from the fence, empty bucked clutched tight and all but ran back to the kitchens. She was steady, always ready, always calm. As still and immovable as a corner stone. But something in his gaze had shaken her, he didn’t look through her but straight at her. He looked at her and saw her. No one had given her more than a second glance since she was a child.

Bursting through the kitchen door, Ulfrun was almost sent flat on her back when she was met with Solveig. The older servant steadied her with a hand on her arm.

“Woah there, easy girl.” Solveig picked up the bucket, which had fallen to the floor in the commotion, and passed it back to Ulfrun. “Where are you off in such a hurry, huh? You can’t be that eager to get back to the hearth.” Ulfrun shook her head, feeling calmed simply by Solveig’s presence.

“Come on then lass, you deserve a break.”

[shizuns-little-lamb]

Scum Villain X Chainsaw Man AU

so… my spouse and I like to talk when we go for walks, and they’re big into Chainsaw Man right now… Since I always have scum villain on the brain, I started thinking of an SVSSS x Chainsaw Man AU and we brainstormed this together over half an hour or so.

Scum Villain X Chainsaw Man AU -mobei jun= cold devil -meng mo= nightmare devil -tianlang jun= abandonment devil -sha hualing= patricide devil -shen jiu= failure devil -master sky hammer= hammer devil -elder one arm= amputation devil -zhuzhi lang= bastard devil -skinner demon= flay devil -six balls= ball devil (fellas… ;-;)

Loose setup: -Binghe makes a contract with the nightmare devil; you lend me your power over dreams, I give you my dream world to live in -Shang Qinghua has a contract with the Cold Devil (I keep you safe, I get to beat you up three times a day.) -endless abyss equivalent is that LBH almost dies and he becomes a hybrid with the abandonment devil (his dad still????) and that’s when he gets the demon mark on his forehead which is the physical trait that marks him as inhuman -SQQ could be like a senior devil hunter -ZZL is the antagonist trying to separate TLJ’s heart from Binghe and get it back -ZZL snake form is his devil form and he kills Gongyi Xiao to steal his body as a fiend (nooo 😭) and that is ZZL’s human form -I guess the cultivators are the devil hunters here -Liu Qingge- contracted with the ?? Devil (spouse said war was taken. Boo) -YQY’s Xuan Su= sword devil, takes years off his life to use it -SQQ is contracted with the failure devil making SJ a part of him when he fights

Extra info: -The cold devil is one of the primordial fears from when mankind first evolved -nightmare devil has lost power over the years as people aren’t as scared of bad dreams anymore -abandonment devil… yeah. We were thinking he could possibly still love SXY although my spouse is insistent they could not have a baby lol. But I was thinking human nature is always being willing to love again even though you know you will be hurt so I thought it fit him to fall in love even though he is the abandonment devil -flay devil- they flay people and steal their skin (simple) -Zhuzhi: spouse said snake devil was taken already. So if not we picked bastard devil; not something that many people are worried about in modern day society so he’s not too strong -atm I am trying to think of a better way to sum up Shen Jiu’s lost potential and just… whole deal so I’m open to better ideas

These are just thoughts we came up with on a walk, feel free to add on or critique lol!!

[wasteland-squog-baby]

EMERGENCY OC (characters YOU can sends asks and talk to!)

Master list:

Fynn: latex tiger shark, has trouble speaking against authority due to his artificial nature and being raised in a lab, but the most loyal cuddly sea dog, but strong enough to run hands if pressed.

Zuchin: fancy ass hellborn femboy constantly making deals, but keeping to them without flaw, very caring of his family, moves alot when taking, currently imprisoned in a game cartridge for his descent into madness.

Z.: his replacement, who's much more family friendly than his predecessor, having typical saiyan traits, but he's rarely aware, and has no idea of the original outside of very limited information given by those intending to keep it from being known.

Zetros: absolute UNIT of a serpentfolk, hates humans, but boy will he ever baby you if you ever even lightly give his 8 miles of tail pets, and 11/10 times? Their all wrapped around you like a pillow and weighted blanket hybrid.

"custos": massive humanoid owl fae that despite being a master and taking true names, treats the taken like children rather than pets. Can manipulate his feathers freely, and create illusions.

Ave: neediest hypnocat ever, likes eye contact and hates water, but very friendly and cuddly!

Haiiro-no: special grade curse, old as shit, born of humanity's fear of anything hot, stars included!

But he's rather polite.

Calm: rage's anti-symbiote, rather lean and toned, overly caring, and trying to please everyone, despite its speech issues when it comes to human language.

Tivorn: needy femboy naga who, despite being taken, keeps taking pets to stave off crippling loneliness, 118ft of beeg, pillowy tail to trap pets with.

Qnai: rich jujutsu sorcerer dickhead with a powerful combo of the six eyes + the limitless. But he's rarely serious and tends to fuck around on missions.

Etoi: Springlocked mink boi that was a stone mask vampirism boi with a heavenly restriction, will fold your clothes with you still in em, broke ass, but built like a brick shithouse. Very polite due to animatronic programing, but that breaks under stress, resulting in the soul shining through fully.

Marrow: bug man who's fucked up in the head, and will fuck up the head of your soul via idle transfiguration if given the chance.

Black Ice: was the strongest before his passing, handing that torch to the next generation, still overwhelmingly strong, just guarding otherworld instead of the living one.

Kamisori: hateful fucker that killed ice, a special grade curse with a case of resting bitch face. Six arms but 8 eyes, two of which he's still looking for.

Ultemat: Majin who's decided to be a chaos god for the entire universe, turning whatever he doesn't like into something he loves, sweets!

Neuro: currently possessing a clone of zuchins old body, and trying to live a normal life, completely unaware of his own rising power.

Klawe: pfp boio, very affectionate and caring, pacifistic, but will defend himself with claws.

And finally, the only one with a separate blog!:

Rage: yandere symbiote so obsessed with zuchin It will ditch any other host to be with him, because he broke it out of a lab and was the first to treat it with genuine decency, now willing to kill, eat, and manipulate ANYONE to get him back.

Oh and:

Celica: floomfy fox gal, married to zuchin after a needy start. Just as willing to imbed a weapon into us dome for insulting her partner as he is.

But yeah that's everyone!... so...:p

Two things extra: 1. Yes I am a furry, and a weeb, both is possible at the same time. 2. All people are people, so treat em right!

[glassrowboat]

Hot to Go. Michi x Baizhu.

Summary: With Baizhu's contract came changes to his very being, some he could never ignore despite longing to. This was just another example.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: NSFT, animalistic traits, fangs, people trying to act as matchmakers, masturbating, mentions of blood

“This contract will end with me.”

That was the promise Baizhu had made in the face of a freshly dug grave, dirt caking his shoes as he stared down at the name embedded in stone; immortalized in the way best known to the nation of Geo. Incense had filled his nose at the time, covering up the smell of freshly turned soil as he made the vow before a memorial to a great man and blades of grass.

Slitted golden eyes had remembered it all.

The way the wind snuck through branches, Jiangli walking off to rejoin her husband with tears in her eyes, how pearlescent scales shifted along his body as Baizhu swore an oath (one not so different from the one he had taken when he first began to learn medicine) not only Changsheng, but his master and all the predecessors that came and passed before him, that he would do his utmost even if it meant breaking and building himself anew in the process.

For he remembered all their names, the medicine they used, and the ways they all perished; having wasted away.

It was no wonder Baizhu spat in the face of fate herself as she held out a hand. To many, it would be inviting, but to him, it was a venom that held only ill will. For he would save every patient that graced his presence and himself.

In the light of a day like no other, Baizhu made a contract he would never take back.

With that came traits he had only seen on his master. Ones hidden away by layers of fabric and a hanfu sleeve tucked just perfectly so that only a single scale peaked out.

Now that scale was on his arm, and just like his master, Baizhu hid it behind a piece of cloth: a single black glove.

Over the years it got worse, more grew in its place, dotting over his arm as if they were freckles rather than a strange condition he had once considered to be eleazar despite the fact it’s native to Sumeru. (Besides, one of his parents could have been from the lush rainforest. Maybe. It was hard to tell when the only memories Baizhu had of those two were hazier than lake water). And then in came his fangs. On a lazy morning where his hair had yet to be tied up, Baizhu had looked into a mirror, ran a tongue that suddenly felt odd in his mouth over them, and nearly collapsed on the spot.

It was obvious then what was happening.

Changsheng finally spoke up and told him this was a side effect of the contract helped, too. He had scolded her then about needing to be upfront about every last detail that day. Nagged her for hours even between a lisp that came with a split tongue he had eventually learned to talk with after hours practicing by chewing the snake out.

That night, he had looked back at that same mirror, the one he already hated to see when Baizhu knew his reflection would be inside and stared.

This was a part of building himself anew.

For that first you must break.

Just like the shards splicing into his ankles, leaving his feet and ankles a bleeding mess after Baizhu had tipped the glass over and watched it fall.

So with another year more snake-like traits blossomed into his very being.

Some, admittedly, are so simple that he can fix them with a new lens prescription. Others… are far from appetizing. From the one time he actually looked at a rat and thought for a split second how it would make a perfect meal all the way to having to lock himself away for an entire week all because of one thing: going into heat.

Another talk with Changsheng had followed shortly after that debacle.

Since then, a schedule of sorts had fallen into place, all around these blasted changes that had him all the more tempted to hang a cloth over every reflected, warped version of him in Baizhu's apartment. For makeup can't cover scales the way they can the dark circles under his eyes from nights staying up studying, lotion can't smooth the peeling skin coming off like he was shedding the same way a snake would, and it certainly can't make Baizhu see anything appealing in the sweaty, almost rabid thing he hates to admit becoming once a year.

It’s unappealing.

It's gross.

It means there's nothing more than a creature staring back at-

Baizhu's grip on the brush in his hand tightened, almost threatening to snap the thin piece of wood as it crackled with restraint to stay together.

Changsheng would have told him to snap out of it, to calm down and breathe just as Baizhu was forcing himself to do now. In and out. Once, twice, thrice. And the words in front of him became clear once again.

It was everything that needed to be done next week, only four days away, and yet the promise of what was to come, again, was already haunting him. Whispering in Baizhu's ear to hurry up with writing every prescription gracing his desk, the list of herbs that need to be either bought or gathered, and anything the pharmacy will undoubtedly need in his absence.

Gui was used to this by now, at least. He would be able to fill in the gaps Baizhu wasn't able to as his own impending doom lingered.

As for Qiqi..? Well, not so much, but it's not like Baizhu could blame the little zombie, not even as he could hear her outside on the patio counting down the time she's supposed to hold her stretches with a “three, two, one,” and release. Then, on to the other arm.

Reminding herself to breathe all the while.

Advice he should take, too, as Baizhu's brush dipped back into the ink pot before him, swirling in the black liquid only to be run along the rim to remove any excess now sliding down the glass bottle in droplets. A poised hand was ready to write again, but it fell just as quickly when someone unceremoniously plopped themselves on the table Baizhu had been working on with an oof causing it to push back along the floor with a screech.

The ink bottle jostled as a mess of green, gold, and platform heels he could recognize from a mile away with their bejeweled wings filled his vision.

“Michi.” Baizhu said plainly, his brows pinched together as he stopped the bottle from tipping over.

“My favorite doctor.” She responded back with a smile on her black lips, and right below them was a new pair of gold piercings replacing the spikes he had long since gotten used to seeing them wearing.

She liked his gift, then. The charm hanging from her lip swayed back and forth with every move Michi made. That was enough to soothe some of the tension in his shoulders, keeping Baizhu’s muscles taut.

“I see you're back from visiting your employer.”

“And you were my second stop after I got back.” Baizhu's gaze traced over their arm to their hand as Michi extended her fingers to count out two. “After visiting my shop, I ran right on over here. Really, you should be honored that I graced you with my presence, Doc.”

“And who would have been your second visit then, if not me?”

As he spoke, Baizhu tapped her leg in an attempt to urge Michi to sit down properly. There was a perfectly good stool right beside him, but of course they opted to sit up where she could look down on him instead; even after all the times he's told Michi to use the furniture for its intended purpose.

“Well, let's see”- she crossed her legs, refusing to budge from her perch- “Beidou, Kazuha, Qiqi, Changsheng, and Gui over there who's failing at being subtle about the fact he's trying to sneak off to the back.”

Gui froze in his spot at being called out, one foot already through the doorway with his brown head of hair ducked down. “Hello to you too, Michi.”

“Yeah, hi.”

“I was just going to put on a pot of tea. It's about the time Doctor Baizhu here takes a break, and I'm sure you wouldn't mind?”

Michi waved Gui off with a reminder to add two spoonfuls of sugar to their cup just how they like it and tacked on a please- just to be polite.

As soon her gaze was turned away from the herbalist, Baizhu caught Gui giving him a thumbs up, silently mouthing out the words “Good luck” right before the door clicked shut.

Slipping off with ease to leave him and Michi all alone.

Or, as close as they can get to it when Baizhu can still hear a soft, deadpan voice counting out her stretches.

Maybe it was about time Baizhu put a stop to both his and Changsheng’s attempts to play matchmaker. He was having enough of it lately between the endless jabs and his worsening mood as doom day approaches. The urge to pick up his xuan brush and add it to his to-do list had his fingers running over the lacquered bamboo wood, tracing the way it was carved by expert hands.

It had to be written down before he forgot. Too many things had to be handled before he could afford to sit back and have a leisurely chat. Still, Baizhu refrained in favor of asking: “Then what brings you to me?”

“Certainly not medicine.” Michi responded, her leg stretching out to tap at the wall with her shoe.

Normally, he'd say, if Michi was anyone else, to visit after the pharmacy had closed. It was a strict rule Baizhu tried his best to keep with anyone and everyone. After all, this was the time for patients, not visits. That could be saved for after hours. It's just with Michi they would hum an agreement, one that never failed to remind him far too much of his older patients who would roll their eyes and bat off his care without a word to return to their old habits only a day later; so stuck in their ways they wouldn't bother to change damaging habits despite the fact they came to him for help. So he didn't bother.

Or, at least, that's what Baizhu has come to tell himself every time she sits before him, and he can see her tongue darting out to trace the new jewelry.

“Though, it seems you might have too much on your plate for a friendly visit.” Michi said as she gestured to the loose stack of papers he was working on, eyes scanning over it.

It took a moment longer than he would have liked to process her words, but when they did, Baizhu was already repeating the same old lie he had used time and time again for these occasions. “I'm going out of town in a few days. On Monday, to be exact. This is all my preparations for the time I'll be gone.”

“Oh yes, we can't have the pharmacy unmanned. That would mean there would be people lining up for you to come back all trying to cough into their fists.”

Baizhu ignored Michi’s fake cough into her curled up hand.

“I doubt anyone is going to suddenly break into a fever and spread it around town while I'm gone, especially when Gui will be here to man the counter, but it never hurts to be careful.” A puff of air bew past his lips, brushing that stray lock of green hair he had tried to tousle into place that morning. Today, it seems to have decided upon being just as stubborn as Changsheng always says he is.

“Fair enough.”

Michi dropped the paper she had only just picked up when Baizhu smacked her hand away, telling her it was confidential.

“Shouldn't be doing this out in the public eye then. You have a back room for a reason.” Michu huffed.

“Or, dear, you could learn to listen to me when I tell you what a patient discusses with me is only between them and I. You always have had an issue minding your own business.”

Baizhu winced at his own tone, hating how it was sterner than he meant to be with her.

“Me? My, I never.”

Not that she seemed to mind. Much.

Besides, there was always the issue of…

“Have you procured any burns since I've last seen you?”

A beat of silence passed between them before Michi mumbled out a “No.”

Holding out his hand, Baizhu waited, staring up at her with a raised brow, until Michi’s own fell into his perfectly. Briefly his touch ran over her callouses, the tough skin almost a comfort at this point, so unlike the scales he hid and the smoothness of his own after lathering himself in lotion day in and day out (they always did start to crack after he washed them too much) as he moved to push the sleeves of their dress up and out of the way to reveal a few spots of burn marks littering her arms; a result of stray sparks, as they have explained to him. At the very least, he could do something about this, for busy hands were better than idle ones.

“‘No'?” Baizhu repeated.

“Okay, maybe.” Michi admitted.

“That's what I thought.”

Baizhu tapped her knee again, encouraging Michi to sit down beside him so he could look over the scabs and patches of pink, irritated skin. This means he will have to make some more of that gel, again consisting of mist flowers, lumitoile, and a single lizard tail. The exact recipe was already pictured in his mind reading out each measurement.

The image of his recipe book, the old binding, helped distract from how her fingers were intertwined with his. A writer's bump nudging against Baizhu’s middle phalanx.

“I can already see your mind toiling away coming up with some wicked concoction.” Michi teased as she nudged the stool closer to him, also with a screech against the hardwood floor, before sitting down.

Their voice was in Baizhu's ear, so close he could hear the strain on her vocal cord as she leaned in closer and closer, all he had to do was shut his eyes and pay attention when she said “You're so cute when you're all concentrated like that.”

Baizhu's eyes snapped open as he felt her breath grazing his ear.

“Michi.” Baizhu tried to warn, only to feel like he was choking on the smell of smoke and gunpowder that always seemed to cling to her, and something that had his slitted eyes narrowing as he stared down at the list of needed stock before him. It made it all the harder to read the text ‘Order 15 windwheel asters’ all the harder even with his glasses perched perfectly on Baizhu's nose.

“Yes, Doc?”

“I'll-” Baizhu cleared his throat, “I'll get to making that salve. Please, excuse me.”

His shoes were padding across the floor, feet taking Baizhu to stand behind the counter before Michi could even reply with what would undoubtedly be some plafuk remark. Baizhu’s hands reached out to randomly grab at whatever he could through an all too familiar haze, fingertips running along the endless shelves lining Bubu's walls, tracing each handle and painted golden leaf as he relied on muscle memory to guide him.

The lizard tails were here.

The lumitoile is here.

The drawers pulled open as Baizhu fished out each item he needed, all while his head swam.

How did Changsheng go through this every year?

Even with the snake currently hiding away, nestled up and waiting for her own week of burning misery with a few extra mice Baizhu had gone out of his way to make sure she had, he couldn't understand. Not when each year since this manifested in the very depths of his bones dragging down, every step was unbearable. Only to be made all the worse as he remembered the feeling of Michi's lips on his. How the spiked piercings she had worn before poked at his skin. How Baizhu faltered as the unexpected pain shocked him to the point he hadn't even taken the time to truly memorize what kissing Michi felt like.

…The hurt look in her eyes when he pulled away.

A mist flower broke Baizhu out of his shock, the cryo energy sending a shiver down his spine causing Baizhu to gasp.

Breathe, he told himself. In and out. Three, two, one, just like he heard Qiqi still muttering from outside.

Baizhu fixed his glasses, pushing them along his nose until the golden and crystal charms hanging off the frames tickled his cheeks. Briefly the scent of herbs had Baizhu calming down, the familiarity easing him, washing over his mind like a calming breeze on a hot day, but it did nothing to soothe the smell of her burnt into his senses. It's just like a stick of incense slowly being eaten up as smoke licks at the air, masking everything else.

Baizhu looked back over at them, watching for a moment as she stared back at him with pursed lips.

“I'm sorry, Michaella,” he could see her nose wrinkling at being called their full name, “but I think it's best to have Gui take care of your prescription today.”

“That so?”

Baizhu fixed the sash tied around his waist, fiddling with the fabric to pull it just so. “As you said: I have a full plate. I know he'll be just as dedicated to taking care of this for you as I would be, but at the present moment, I don't have the time.”

“Right.” She drawled out, saying the word so slowly Baizhu could have sworn she was tasting it on her tongue. “I'll just go, then. After all, I'm a big girl. I don't need some salve for something like a burn or two.”

Baizhu tugged the sash again, trying to ignore how he strained against it. “Please, this is no issue to him at all. It won't take Gui long.”

“No, no, I should have just visited Beidou first. Saved us both the trouble since you're so busy.” Michi spat out.

Baizhu didn't reply even as they stood up, Baizhu didn't tell her to stay for a moment longer as she walked to the door, Baizhu didn't break the barrier he placed between them by going behind the counter to cup her cheek, and Baizhu didn't kiss her this time like he promised himself he would if the opportunity presented itself.

No, instead, his eyes stubbornly found themselves glued to the floor even as the sound of her heels clicking over that polished hardwood switched to stone as she left him behind.

Baizhu’s fingers curled around the fabric in his hands even tighter.

“Really, Baizhu?” He asked himself.

Michi is too flirtatious, he reminded himself; she has a quick temper and is keen to drag anyone into her anger with sharp remarks and harsh actions; she's- she's- Baizhu's eyes raised to catch sight of her in the plaza walking away from him, her abysmally short skirt swaying side to side with every step.

She makes a mess of him.

One he doesn't have time for. Not now, not ever. Not with all of this pathetic moth’s goals still so far from reach as he breaks every day his fingers fail to reach the moon. Not when Michi doesn't even know everything he's promised for the sake of saving others. She doesn't need to get involved in the scales he threw his life at to balance on between life and death.

Surely, she would pull away just like he did (no matter how much he regrets doing so) if his fangs grazed her skin.

The smell of smoke, gunpowder, and her ovulation still lingered.

He was supposed to have four more days, but that thought was for naught as he quickly called Gui to man the counter as he had something to attend to upstairs. The words came out strangled, faltering from what he originally intended to voice just like when Michi was sitting before him, playful eyes looking down at Baizhu with a mirth to them that never seemed to extinguish; blazing with a fire that burned everything in her wake.

The same burn tore at his joints, leaving them aching, as Baizhu ran up the stairs as fast as he could manage when his legs always felt so weak.

The door slammed between him, and Baizhu couldn't even bring it in himself to feel sorry.

Four more days. It always started on an exact date. Always. When did that fact shed away as easily as his clothes as Baizhu pushed the fabric of his pants out of the way.

The loss of friction was both a blessing and a reason to have Baizhu's eyes fluttering shut at the sight of himself. Pink, flushed tip aching to be touched and soothed.

But Baizhu hesitated.

Maybe he could drink some tea and try to calm down, maybe Changsheng could temporarily balance his Qi out just long enough to tamper this urge down, maybe he could force himself to write those prescriptions with shaky hands, anything but this: wrapping his hand around himself.

A groan fell from his lips.

Mumbling to himself Baizhu fumbled over the mattress, trying to completely kick his pants off as he reached over for the box Baizhu kept on top of his night stand along with a few silver jars containing red makeup powder, scented balms, and perfume; they were all pushed aside in favor of a bottle of lube.

Baizhu breathed in as the cold slick hit his skin, sliding over it in thick droplets, threatening to fall down to the silk sheets of his bed.

The image of Michi laid out in the sheets, brown hair spread out on the pillowcase as far as it can go, spent and satisfied with a flush to her face after she's done whatever she wanted with him struck Baizhu.

And what would happen before that….

Baizhu's forked tongue slid out, flicking as he took in the scent of his own arousal.

Michi's legs would be on either side of his waist, black lips parted as they moaned whenever he brushed against her. Three inches deep, spongey, easy to find if you have lithe fingers, and would make her toes curl as Michi rode him. How she'd squeeze around him…

Lube was pressed into his tip, smeared in with his precum as Baizhu pressed his thumb to the pink slit.

“I shouldn't be doing this.” Baizhu muttered to himself, but it did nothing to stop the way his hips jolted just at the mere thought of helping slide that dress over their thighs as she climbed on top of him.

It was always annoying. So short. It would be so easy to-

Baizhu dropped his face to the plush of his pillow to muffle the groan on his lips. It welcomed him in with the soft scent of glaze lily from his shampoo, yet he craved the lingering smell of ash that clung to Michi wherever she went; drifting through the air with ease all the way to him time and time again.

She would sit back, cross her legs as a smirk crept its way on her face and tease him without mercy just like Michi always did when they shared tea together; lipstick marks would always be left behind on her cup. Strangely, he never minded cleaning them off.

Tentatively, Baizhu gave himself a slow stroke against his cock, begging to be satiated by calloused hands.

A drop of lube fell to the linen below as Baizhu swallowed the need to say her name.

The word Michi lived and died in his tongue. Just as the idea of her hands in his hair did.

(Lips on his with the cool metal of their piercings sending shivers down Baizhu's spine).

(Her chest as he teases her nipples until she was batting his hand away because of course she would. Things always did have to be her way even with Michi's lax attitude, and Baizhu didn't see why making love would be any different).

(Hearing her say his name).

Baizhu's teeth dug into the pillow, muffling his apology to her for daring to do this- fucking his own hand- with the thought of her in mind.

Baizhu's hand squeezed his cock, the lube making it all the easier to move it up and down until his fangs were ripping through the seams of the pillow.

Tufts of cotton slipped off the mattress.

Cum joined the drop of lube.

His knees shook as Baizhu stared down at the mess he made, slitted eyes going from the splattered white painting on the sheets to the pillow he would now have to replace.

Torn apart.

The sharp tip of Baizhu's fangs poked at his lip as the image of blood, a torn neck, and wide hazel eyes flashed through his mind. Immediately, he wanted it to stop. Cricopharyngeal muscle contracting as he gagged.

If it had been Michi under him rather than a pillow...

Baizhu's scaled hand, how they traveled over every dip and curve of his knuckles, clung to the bones, had his lips curling back into a grimace as he dropped it from his half hard cock, already begging to be touched again as the burning ignited in his gut.

The tufts of cotton brushed against Baizhu's face as he rolled over to look down at himself: a creature in human skin.

The thought of what Michi would think of him in this state sent the pace of his heart fluttering like the wings of a dragonfly passing by his cheek to leave him in the dust as it flew on and off without him.

“First you must break.” Baizhu reminded himself, hand already reaching out for his aching need again.

[savemeafruitjuice]

lee bebop ler rocksteady 2012 if ur comfortable :)?

Tickletober Day 10- Spidering

This is a 2012 fic! Also, there are spoilers for season 3, so be aware in case you haven't gotten that far!

Lee: Bebop

Ler: Rocksteady

TW!: None!

Trying my best with the dialogue here, because man they talk in a unique way.

Shredder's lair wasn't a fun place to be in. Any, and all of his henchmen were forced to work for him with immense loyalty, as punishment was always severe if one lacked those traits.

Although they managed to scrape by without getting their heads cut off, Bebop and Rocksteady were the most frequent ones to face the wrath of their master.

There had been a meeting called for that exact reason, Tiger Claw giving everyone yet another informative speech about professionality, and how failure will always have unpleasant repercussions. As he droned on about the seriousness of pleasing Master Shredder, Steranko had lost interest, glancing around the room. Eventually, his gaze had been drawn to his comrade, and the small insect crawling across his back.

Though they were no longer in his warehouse, and had more available food, the habit of eating any living thing they could find had stuck. The rhino mutant slowly moved his hand as to not draw the attention of the insect, and swiped at the other's torso. There was a surprised noise, and the whip of the warthog's head to face the larger.

Zeck clenched his jaw, voice high pitched from surprise, though he tried his best to stay as quiet as possible. "Ivan. This is one of those important meeting-thingies. Do. Not. Touch me." Rocksteady gave him a mildly disconcerted look, and tried to follow the roach that had jumped away from his hand.

He found it to be much more difficult to do simple things, such as grabbing small objects, when he had hands twice the size of his previous ones. The mutant continued to grab and prod at different spots along the smaller's body, undisturbed by the hushed shriek emanating from the tech-savvy.

Zeck slapped at the hands that seemed to be attacking him without provocation, stomping his foot as laughter piled up inside his throat. "'Steady, quihihit! SNRT-"

Some of the others that were close-by were giving the pair weird looks, and Tigerclaw cast them a beyond-annoyed glare, but continued with his meeting. Bebop was most definitely aware of the fact that he was being forced to steal everyone's attention, but he also knew he had no hope of stopping a likely seven-foot rhinoceros.

Said mutant was trailing the roach with his remaining eye, trying and failing to grab the arthropod with incredibly low accuracy. He tried catching it again, hand latching onto the other's side. When the warthog practically jumped away from him, he held onto his shoulder, preventing the smaller from wiggling away, and went right back to trying to catch the bug.

At this point, Zeck had a hand slapped over his mouth, pushing desperately at his friend's hands, as he stomped on the ground. As soon as the hand latched onto his hip, he screeched, flailing away. Tigerclaw had stopped speaking, crossing his arms over his chest as the rest looked on awkwardly.

Steranko had finally caught the roach, either unaware, or indifferent to all of the concerned glanced he was receiving, and popped the roach into his mouth. Some cringed at the wet crunch that followed the silence of the room, and Bebop wrapped his arms around himself at his release, putting his head down and trying to quiet himself before he got into even more trouble.

"Anton Zeck. The behavior you and the rest of these imbeciles demonstrate is the exact reason why we are here in the first place, wasting time that could be used to complete orders."

The pig groaned, clearly entirely uninterested in being scolded like a child, and shot Rocksteady a glare. "It's not me you should be talking to, pussy cat.."

-----

Uhhh I had no idea how to end this one, and am in a bit of a time crunch. I hope you like it anyways, so yeah.

[redsandspirit]

Matthew Stover ruined Dooku

It is perhaps generally accepted that Revenge of the Sith novelization by Matthew Stover is one of the best books ever written in the Star Wars universe, if not the best. It's not hard to see why, since in many ways the story is head and shoulders above the movie, and Anakin Skywalker is, in my opinion, better captured by the author than anywhere else in the Expanded Universe. Still, I can't say that I was completely satisfied with the novel. Count Dooku is one of my favorite EU characters and I was saddened by how he was portrayed by Stover.

Xenophobia

Matthew Stover's Darth Tyranus is a terrible xenophobe, who never fails to remind the reader of this even during conversations with his colleagues such as Grievous and Darth Sidious. He deeply believes that creating the Empire of Man is what he was born to do? Seriously? Dooku is so evil in this book that it seems as if he would have been able to carry out all of Palpatine's plans exactly to the smallest detail without the participation of Palpatine himself. I think Stover here erases the complexity of the character that Jude Watson and Sean Stewart were able to create, and that's something we'll come back to.

A government clean, pure, direct: none of the messy scramble for the favor of ignorant rabble and subhuman creatures that made up the Republic he so despised. The government he would serve would be Authority personified. Human authority. It was no accident that the primary powers of the Confederacy of Independent Systems were Neimoidian, Skakoan, Quarren and Aqualish, Muun and Gossam, Sy Myrthian and Koorivar and Geonosian. At war’s end the aliens would be crushed, stripped of all they possessed, and their systems and their wealth would be given into the hands of the only beings who could be trusted with them. Human beings. Dooku would serve an Empire of Man. And he would serve it as only he could. As he was born to. - Revenge of the Sith, 2

In the novels written before Revenge of the Sith, we saw many important episodes from Dooku's past, and there were no premises for xenophobia. As a child, he was constantly dealing with other sentient species in the Jedi Order, and his father figure was a literal gremlin. One of Dooku's childhood friends was Eero Iridian, who is also not human. Darth Tyranus shows some remorse due to the fact that he and Darth Sidious took advantage of the Troxans (a non-human species) to drain the Republic's resources. This definitely doesn't fit with the way in RotS Dooku gleefully imagines crushing non-humans under the new government.

“These are the envoys from Troxar,” his Master said. How could he know? Dooku didn’t ask. Darth Sidious knew. He always knew.“They are considering surrender,” Dooku said. “They claim they have a resistance planned, ready to rise in insurrection when the clone troops withdraw.” “No!” the flickering figure said sharply. “The war has already damaged the planet too much to make it worth saving. Its only value now is to chew up more troops and resources. Tell them they have to fight on. Promise them reinforcements—tell them you will be deploying a new fleet of advanced droids to retake the whole system within a month, if only they can hold on. Explain that such weapons will not be put in the hands of those who surrender.” “And when the month passes, and no reinforcements arrive?” “Help will come within another month at most. Promise them that, and make them believe it. I’ve shown you how.” “I understand,” Dooku said. How casually we betray our creatures. The hooded figure cocked its head. “Having an attack of conscience, my apprentice?” “No, Master.” He met the hooded figure’s hideous eye. “It was their own greed that brought them to you,” he said. “In their heart of hearts, they always knew what they were getting into.” - Yoda: Dark Rendezvous, 1

Technophobia

The next uncharacteristic trait that was added to the character is technophobia. Anakin Skywalker's prosthetic arm disgusts Dooku, and he almost spits bile while talking to Grievous. The aristocrat hates not only cyborgs, but also ordinary droids, calling them “repulsive” and hoping that they will be destroyed along with the General.

“Which is precisely,” Dooku said meditatively, “why it might be best if I were to kill him, instead.” “Are you so certain that you can?” “Please. Of what use is power unstructured by discipline? The boy is as much a danger to himself as he is to his enemies. And that mechanical arm—” Dooku’s lip curled with cultivated distaste. “Revolting.” “Then perhaps you should have spared his real arm.” “Hmp. A gentleman would have learned to fight one-handed.” Dooku flicked a dismissive wave. “He’s no longer even entirely human. With Grievous, the use of these bio-droid devices is almost forgivable; he was such a disgusting creature already that his mechanical parts are clearly an improvement. But a blend of droid and human? Appalling. The depths of bad taste. How are we to justify associating with him?” - Revenge of the Sith, 2

Dooku nodded judiciously to himself, frowning down at the translucent blue ghosts slinking toward Palpatine. “Sound the retreat for the entire strike force, General, and prepare the ship for jump. Once the Jedi are dead, I will join you on the bridge.”“As my lord commands. Grievous out.” “Indeed you are, you vile creature,” Dooku muttered to the dead comlink. “Out of luck, and out of time.” He cast the comlink aside and ignored its clatter across the deck. He had no further use for it. Let it be destroyed along with Grievous, those repulsive bodyguards of his, and the rest of the cruiser, once he was safely captured and away. - Revenge of the Sith, 3

Why doesn't this make sense? As with xenophobia, the previous books and comics do not contain any hints that Dooku has disdain or hatred towards people with prosthetics and cyborgs. Moreover, when Grievous proposed using Geonosian technology on the Jedi Padawans for experimental purposes, Dooku approved the idea. Not to mention, the Sith Lord enjoyed Grievous' training.

Grievous had been a delight to train, as well. - Labyrinth of Evil, 22

Love and friendship

Next, Stover gaslights the reader by talking about the friendship between Dooku and Lorian Nod. Because if we go back to Legacy of the Jedi, it turns out that Dooku wasn't such a bad friend. He cares about Lorian and tries to be careful with his words so as not to hurt his feelings. Then after Lorian betrayed Dooku by blaming him for stealing the holocron, did Dooku worry about his reputation? Sure, but what unsettled him was that he was betrayed by someone so close to him. Even after what happened, he considers Nod his friend and cannot decide to refuse his request.

He doesn’t remember quite when he discovered this; it may have been when he was a young Padawan, betrayed by another learner who had claimed to be his friend. Lorian Nod had said it to his face: “You don’t know what friendship is.” And he didn’t. He had been angry, certainly; furious that his reputation had been put at risk. And he had been angry at himself, for his error in judgment: trusting as an ally one who was in fact an enemy. The most astonishing part of the whole affair had been that even after turning on him before the Jedi, the other boy had expected him to participate in a lie, in the name of their “friendship.” - Revenge of the Sith, 3

His best friend had betrayed him. Throughout the years at the Temple, he could always depend on Lorian. They had shared jokes and secrets. They had competed and helped each other. They had quarreled and made up. The fact that this person could betray him shocked him so deeply he felt sick. Legacy of the Jedi, 3

Dooku didn't know what to say. He wasn't prepared to lie, but he couldn't say no to his friend. So he said nothing, and, after a long while, the two friends fell asleep. Legacy of the Jedi, 3

Was Dooku the perfect friend? Of course not, and his pride played a role in escalating the conflict, as did Lorian’s envy, but to reduce everything to the words that “Dooku was different and did not understand friendship” I think is a monstrous simplification. The loss of his friend played a big role in Dooku's life, and that's how the story ends.

Lorian had been wrong. Dooku's heart hadn't been empty. He had loved his friend. But he had changed. Lorian had betrayed him. He would never believe in friendship again. If his heart was now empty of love, so be it. The Jedi did not believe in attachments. He would fill his heart with nobility and passion and commitment. He would become a great Jedi Master. Legacy of the Jedi, 6

We further learn that Dooku cannot care about the feelings of other beings and does not even see those around him as entirely real. Now, I don't by any means think that characters with these traits are a bad thing, or that you can't do something interesting with them, but that's not Dooku. We've seen how important his relationships with some of the other characters are to him (there's a whole novel written about him and Yoda), and that he cares to some extent about the feelings of those around him. Moreover, Stover will not explore these new traits, because Dooku will die in the next chapter anyway.

He is entirely incapable of caring what any given creature might feel for him. He cares only what that creature might do for him. Or to him. Very possibly, he is what he is because other beings just aren’t very … interesting. Or even, in a sense, entirely real. For Dooku, other beings are mostly abstractions, simple schematic sketches who fall into two essential categories. - Revenge of the Sith, 3

Jedi Order

Stover's Dooku ideal Jedi Order would forcibly remove Force-sensitive children from their families. Perhaps it's just my opinion, but it seems strange in light of the fact that his rejection trauma, as described by Sean Stewart, is related to his parents and the Jedi Order.

And that Fist would become a power beyond any Jedi’s darkest dreams. The Jedi were not the only users of the Force in the galaxy; from Hapes to Haruun Kal, from Kiffu to Dathomir, powerful Force-capable humans and near-humans had long refused to surrender their children to lifelong bound servitude in the Jedi Order. They would not so refuse the Sith Army. They would not have the choice. - Revenge of the Sith, 2

Ultimately, I can make the case that the ending of Yoda: Dark Rendezvous may have served to develop Dooku and make him even more bitter, but that doesn't justify the radical personality transplant Matthew Stover performed. And now, I often see these lines used to say that Dooku was always pure evil, had no good intentions and was always pretending, and also see questions like "as a human supremacist, what did Dooku think of Yoda?" And how can we know? All of these things were added to the character at the last minute and didn't match anything we'd seen before. This is not my Dooku.

[fridaynightmuses]

Oh, is that KENZO TSUCHIYA? I heard the TWENTY EIGHT year old is EASYGOING. But don’t let that pretty face fool you, they are also RUTHLESS. Makes sense seeing how they are a HITMAN in the CRIMSON gang. 

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒

full name : kenzo tsuchiya.

nicknames : ken, kt

date of birth : february 14, 1996.

gender & pronouns : cis male, he + him.

birthplace : chicago, il.

length in new york : 12 years.

occupation: a hitman who moonlights as a tattoo artist

gang affiliation: crimson

relationship status : single.

sexuality : heterosexual.

positive traits: easygoing, patient, loyal

negative traits: ruthless, resentful, confrontational

alcohol/drugs/smoking: is almost always smoking weed

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋.

faceclaim : mackenyu arata,

hair color : black,

eye color : dark brown.

piercings : two piercings on each ear

tattoos: he has many (a sleeve in one arm, half a sleeve in the other, his back and chest are also tatted, one on the side of his leg, and both hands)

height : 5'11

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘.

Most children's earliest memories with their parent was playing in the park or tossing a ball in the yard. Kenzo's earliest memory with his father was being included in a con. He could pick a pocket before he could throw a ball. 'Preparing for the future' his father would say while he would simply roll his eye. It didn't interest him very much, but he followed along. There was no saying no to Kaito in his house or they'd be consequences. Not that his father needed a reason to target his family. Somehow they were always at the receiving end of whatever failures the man faced in the outside world. Kenzo was very quiet growing up. Keeping mostly to himself, doodling away on a notebook. It was his favorite pastime. His escape from the nightmare that was his home life. He played it off well if anybody asked - covering up any bruises, socialiazing just well enough with others for the trauma to go unnoticed...just like his mother did. After all, not every night was bad. His father had his bad days...wasn't every dad like that? He started smoking weed pretty young and was immediately hooked. It helped him less feel fazed by what was happening around him. At least until his dad caught him stealing his while drunk. It was one of the many times he found himself starring down the barrel of a gun. As he grew older, it became so common that he became unfazed, or how his father referred to him - not man enough. As any other teen, he took his rage out on others at school. The threatened to expel him many times. He was fifteen when police broke the news that his father had been shot down - a deal gone wrong it seemed. Scared for what that could mean for them, his mother packed their bags and moved them to New York as soon as they could. She needed to take them away from that gang life - both him and his younger sister. It took him a long time to process his father's death. It was like a big, bad monster suddenly disappearing...he couldn't believe it. His aggression became even worse. Getting into fights with anyone and everyone - like he had something to prove. Like his father, he found a home with the Crimson gang. He kept it from his mother for as long as he could, but he made a promise to himself that he was going to protect them whatever it took. He had to be a man. Being with the Crimson gave him strength and the discipline he needed. Art was his gift, but his true calling was with a gun or knife in his hand. As a child he used to play with his father's gun out of curiosity - but there was no describing the feeling after he fired that first shot. The rush of adrenaline he felt in that moment. He almost didn't notice the body drop. He climbed through the ranks, proving himself time and time again. He learned to be a better fighter and quickly master his precision. Kenzo was taken under the wing by an older member, a previous security chief who saw himself in the younger man. He learned everything from him - even saw a father in him. Until he too met the same fate that his father had. This one hurt just as much, but in a different way. He found himself shutting people out - at least emotionally. He never thought of himself as a cold-blooded person, but as it turned out, he really was. Nothing made him flinch or hesitate. Save for his weakness - his mother and sister.

HEADCANON:

he keeps his mom and sister out of his life as much as he can, not wanting them to become a target.

has recurring dreams nightmares of his loved ones meeting their demise by his hand

can't make a single relationship work because he feels if he lets his guard down, they'll screw him over

toxic dick - bad for you, but addicting

situationships and hookups are the closest thing to a relationships he'd have

very private, despite his easygoing persona

goes from 0 to 1000 very fast , very confrontational

if it can be a text, don't call him

your girlfriend's side piece lol