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beckyninja · 3 months ago

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Dread

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemOC (Formerly FemReader)

Warnings: stalking, abduction

Description: Someone is watching Sera from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike.

I hope you guys like some old-fashioned horror movie shenanigans. Remember to check out the previous chapters of this series on my Masterlist.

(And feel free to ask if you'd like to be added to/removed from the Taglist.)

The lumens flickered in time with your heartbeat. Your breath came in quick pants as you made your way down the deserted corridor.

Where is everyone?

It was still the middle of the day cycle. You should be in the midst of a crowd. Cleaning crews pushing brooms. Techpriests on their way to perform interminable Rites of Repair. Fellow medicae running errands for the Lord Apothecaries.

But the corridor stretched ahead of you, empty and silent. Except for….

Footsteps.

Ceramite boots on metal flooring, the sound as familiar to you as the patter of your own sandals. You whipped around, searching for the source of the heavy thuds.

“Lord Chairon? Lord Gadriel?”

The corridor behind you remained empty and dim, your protectors nowhere to be seen. A sudden chill sent shivers across your skin.

Perhaps….

You whispered the name in desperate hope. “Demetrian?”

“No.”

Iron-hard fingers dug into your hair, wrenching your head back until you stared into the fiery lenses of a skull helm.

You screamed.

***

“Sera! Wake up!”

Your eyes snapped open. Vesta leaned over your cot, hands shaking your shoulders. Her freckles stood out even more vividly than usual against her white face. You clutched at her sleeping robe.

“Don’t let him take me! Don’t-”

Thin arms wrapped around you. “Shhhh, Sera. You’re all right.”

Slowly, your surroundings came into focus. A room, far smaller than the quarters you shared with Titus. A converted storage alcove, really, just off the main Apothecarion. You remembered Vesta telling you Lord Callistus had requisitioned it especially for her.

Your cot butted right up against your friend’s, halving the already minimal floor space. Vesta could kneel on her mattress and still lean over yours.

“Sera? Please say something.”

You gasped for breath. “I… I’m fine, Vesta.”

Your friend narrowed her eyes. “Liar.”

“Vesta-”

“You’ve been having these nightmares for weeks, Sera! Are you finally going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

You bit your lip.

Maybe I should tell her. I can trust her.

An image of bloodred lenses in a skull helmet flooded your mind. You shivered.

Tell her what, fool? That the Honored Lord Chaplain of the Ultramarines 2nd Company haunts both your waking and sleeping hours?

You shook your head. “It’s just… just stress, Ves. I worry for Dem- for Lord Titus.”

Demetrian.

Your heart ached and you clutched at the necklace you never removed.

Where are you? Are you safe? Please come home. I need you!

You sniffled like a child.

Vesta didn’t look convinced, but her eyes softened. “Oh, Sera.”

Her arms tightened around your torso, pulling you into an embrace. “He’ll be back. He won the Laurels, for the Emperor’s sake! What could defeat such a warrior?”

You drew comfort from your best friend’s undimmed optimism. You needed it. With each passing week, your own seemed to fade a little more. You missed your lover’s touch, his strength, the safety you felt in his arms. Nothing could harm you with him near.

Please, Emperor, please! Protect him!

You buried your face in Vesta’s shoulder.

And protect me.

***

“Are you still asleep, girl?”

Lord Callistus’s growl snapped you out of your haze. Looking down, you realized you’d mislabeled an entire row of medicines. Your face burned.

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t bark at her, Uncle!” Vesta placed her hands on her slim hips and glared up at the towering Astartes.

You tensed, expecting reprisals. But none came. Instead, the Apothecary’s granite face seemed to soften.

“I am no Space Wolf, child. I do not bark.”

“You could’ve fooled me!” Vesta’s eyes glinted with mischief. “You growl like an old canine.”

“Impertinent creature.” He huffed. “Why do I tolerate you?”

“Because you like me.”

Another huff. “See this fixed before I regret taking on a personal serf to perform a medica’s tasks.” Turning away, he stomped off, muttering under his breath.

“I do not bark.”

Vesta sighed and came to stand beside you. “Are you all right?”

You dodged the question. “Three weeks, and I still can barely believe what he lets you get away with, Ves.”

She grinned. “He practically raised me, remember? And, as I said, he likes me. Even if it doesn’t seem like it sometimes. Besides,” she began replacing labels, “I only speak like that when no other Astartes are present.”

You could understand that. Again, thoughts of Demetrian pushed into your mind. It was getting harder and harder to push them out again.

A yawn all but cracked your jaw.

“You could ask him for something to help you sleep, you know.”

“Oh no.” You helped Vesta correct your mistakes. “He may like you, but I think I’m a different matter entirely.”

She handed you another vial. “Don’t say that! You’ve been doing a wonderful job here. And you’d know it if he didn’t like you, trust me.”

You arched an eyebrow.

She smiled. “The last medica who truly angered him spent three days and nights scrubbing the Apothecarion with a brush the size of my thumb before being reassigned to Sanitation.”

“Throne! Vesta, if that is supposed to make me feel better-”

“He’d been hoarding pain suppressants and making Guardsmen trade… favors for them.”

“Oh.” You remembered the bloodied, desperate Cadians you’d treated during the Battle of Demerium. “Bastard.”

“Mmmhmm.” Your friend returned her attention to the vials. “I’ve only seen Uncle lose his temper like that once before, when this one Ultramarine Scout shook me after I dared suggest he- but that’s another story.”

You smiled. “You’re very fortunate, Ves.”

“We both are.” Vesta set down the final vial and stretched. “There, all fixed. And just in time for the mid-cycle meal.”

You froze.

A meal. In the Refectory. Five decks away, down the corridors. The long, dim corridors full of shadowed alcoves, sharp corners, flickering lumens, and half-dead candles. The echoes of booted feet-

“Sera?”

You shook yourself. “I… I’m not very hungry, Ves.”

“How can you not be hungry?! You barely touched your ration bar this morning!” She placed the back of her hand against your forehead. “You don’t feel feverish. And I know it’s not that time of the month yet. Sera, please, tell me what’s-”

The Apothecarion door slid open, and a booming voice filled the chamber.

“Excuse me, ladies.” Brother Chairon’s smiling visage drained the tension from your body. “Would you care to join me for a meal?”

***

Chairon listened to the medica chatter on and on, glad Gadriel had decided to forego food in favor of another round in the sparring cages. The Sergeant had made no secret of his distaste for the bubbly female.

“The Lieutenant may have asked us to watch over his personal serf, but that does not mean I must play nursemaid to every gibbering annoyance she associates with!”

“Careful, brother.” Chairon had chuckled. “Rumor holds that Apothecary Callistus guards that one with all the ferocity of a mother ursus.”

“The Emperor only knows why.”

He, for one, did not mind the chatter. It was… pleasant to be treated with informality. Refreshing.

Especially from such a pretty little thing.

The Ultramarine blinked at the intrusive thought.

“Sera,” the medica turned to her companion, “would you please eat? You’re going to need your strength if Lord Callistus assigns another round of supply categorization.”

Chairon turned his attention back to his charge, chastising himself for becoming distracted. Did she look thinner than she had a week ago? The skin under her eyes a few shades darker?

He frowned. Once, she had stood out amongst the other serfs. A picture of health unusual aboard the battle barge.

“Are you ill?”

“No, my lord.”

“I have given you leave to call me by name, little one.”

Did her smile seem forced?

Chairon cursed his uncertainty. He prided himself on recognizing baseline emotions better than some of his more detached brethren.

“I promise I am fine, Brother Chairon.”

The medica, Vesta, glanced his way. He read concern in her eyes as well.

Sera seemed to observe the shared glance. “Is there any news of Lord Titus?”

Ah, an explanation.

He gave her a pitying look. “You ask me or Gadriel the same question each time we meet, little one. I swore I would inform you as soon as I heard anything.”

She looked away, picking at the food on her plate. “Forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive. The Lieutenant is blessed to have such a loyal attendant.” Another frown. “Though I confess I am still uncertain why you were not permitted to accompany him.”

She tensed, but said nothing. He studied her, a memory striking him. Just after the Lieutenant’s departure. Finding his serf cornered against a railing by none other than….

“Little one, when the Chaplain spoke to you-”

She stood. “Maybe I am feeling a bit unwell. With your permission, my lord, I think I’ll return to the Apothecarion.”

He stood as well. “I will accompany you.”

“Please, my lord!” She looked almost panicked. “I know my Lord Titus requested you watch over me in his absence, but I cannot bear the thought of being a burden. I can make my own way.”

With a hurried bow, she all but fled the Refectory.

Chairon remained standing, torn as to whether or not to follow. Vesta moved next to him.

“Please don’t be angry with Sera, Brother Chairon. She hasn’t been sleeping well.”

His eyes remained fixed on the door she’d run through. “Oh?”

“More often than not now, I awaken to her screaming. And just last night she grasped me with fingers like ice and said-” She hesitated.

He looked down at her. “What did she say, Medica?”

Vesta bit her lip. “She said, ‘Don’t let him take me.’”

***

You didn’t know how long you’d been running before you realized none of the corridors looked familiar.

I must have made a wrong turn at the….

You couldn’t remember.

“Warp damn it!”

Pressing yourself into a shrine alcove, you covered your face with your hands. Your eyes burned. Your heart threatened to beat its way out of your chest. Tears wet your fingers before you even realized you’d started crying.

I am so tired. So tired.

Perhaps that was the problem. Insomnia could cause hallucinations, you knew. It was a common enough complaint amongst serfs who’d worked days without rest.

Yes, that’s it.

Your anxiety about Demetrian robbed you of sleep, and therefore of rationality. There were no eyes in the dark. No skulls watching from empty doorways. No following footsteps-

Thud.

Your heart stopped.

Looking up, you realized you stood alone in the corridor. The lumens flickered. The empty passage seemed to stretch on and on in either direction.

“Emperor….” You whimpered, torn between the urge to flee and the urge to hide.

No. No no no! It’s not real. It’s not-

Thud.

At one end of the corridor, the lumens crackled and went out entirely. You tried to tear your eyes away from the patch of darkness, but couldn’t. Something stood there. A darker silhouette in the shadows.

You couldn’t breathe.

The red lenses appeared first. Then the skull helmet. The figure you’d seen out of the corner of your eye for weeks now. Watching. Always watching.

You’d tried to ignore him, following Titus’s command to stay away. But the sick dread of being stalked day after day wore upon your nerves until you felt on the verge of madness. He invaded your dreams. Stole your appetite.

You clutched at the golden laurel leaf around your neck.

“Please….”

He stepped toward you.

You ran.

You ran as you hadn’t run since the day you fled your village, as a prey animal runs. Corridors and doorways flew past. Sobs wracked your straining lungs.

And still the footsteps followed. Closer. Closer!

Tears blinded you. You stretched your arms out, praying for something, anything-

Armored hands caught your shoulders.

“No!”

“Calm yourself, woman!”

You knew that voice. Through blurred eyes, you looked up into Sergeant Gadriel’s perpetually annoyed expression.

His scowl deepened as he stared down at you. “What in the Emperor’s name are you doing here?”

Where am I? How far did I run? Where is-?

With a choked cry, you twisted in the Sergeant’s grasp, staring over your shoulder to see-

No one.

“Woman?” The Sergeant’s voice sounded more confused than angry. “What is-”

“Don’t let him take me! Don’t… don’t let him….”

Your world spun and went black.

***

Voices filtered slowly through to your semi-conscious mind.

“... sure she has not told you anything, Vesta?”

“No, Unc- Lord Callistus.”

“Is the Lieutenant’s serf a madwoman, Brother Apothecary?”

“I will not believe it, Gadriel. The little one is terrified of something, or someone. Which means we are failing in our promise.”

“We have done our duty, Chairon! It is not our fault if she is mentally deficient in some-”

“Shut up, both of you!”

Footsteps. An armored hand against your shoulder.

“It is all right now, girl.” Lord Callistus’s voice sounded more gentle than you’d ever heard it. “Come back. You are safe.”

Your eyes flickered open. You lay on a bed in the Apothecary. You tried to rise, only for a fierce pain in your head to drive you back down.

The Apothecary tsked. “Remain still. You struck your head when you fell.”

Glancing around the room, you saw Chairon glare at Gadriel, who looked affronted.

“I did not expect her to collapse in front of me!”

“Are your reflexes so poor that you could not-”

“I told you both to be silent!” The Apothecary glared at the younger Astartes. “Vesta, fetch me a mild sedative.”

Your friend complied, but not before shooting you a worried glance.

You tried to speak, to reassure her, but found you could not summon the energy.

How did I get here? Did I have another nightmare?

All your memories seemed so unreal.

The Apothecary looked you over. “Vitals are stable, though your heart rate is elevated beyond what is normal for a baseline.” He humphed. “And you have lost a concerning amount of weight since your reassignment here.”

“Are you overworking her, Apothecary?” Chairon frowned.

Callistus turned toward him, expression stormy. “Do I look like a Black Templar, boy? It is not, nor will it ever be, my custom to abuse my medicae. Such practices are a waste of resources, as are those who employ them.”

Gadriel spoke again. “So, my question stands. Is she unbalanced in some way?”

A long silence.

I am not mad. I’m not! Am I?

Tears threatened again.

“She is a relatively new serf, yes? Such reactions are not unheard of for those not born and bred to this life. And personal serfs are a different breed. Her separation from her Lord only added to her turmoil.” Callistus glanced at you and must have seen the fear in your expression. “But, this one has proved herself strong before now, and I believe it will pass in time.”

You met the Apothecary’s eyes.

Thank you.

A corner of his mouth tipped upward. The closest thing you’d ever seen to a smile from the grim veteran.

Vesta returned with a syringe. Callistus nodded to her.

“Inject the sedative. What she needs most is rest.” A snort. “After the last campaign, most of the serfs on this vessel need rest. I am surprised we have not seen more breakdowns.”

His words comforted you.

Rest, yes. I just need to rest.

Vesta pressed the needle into a vein on your arm with practiced skill. “It’ll be alright, Sera. Sleep now.”

As your eyes closed, you heard Gadriel’s voice once more. “She… acted as though someone pursued her. And, now that I think of it, for a moment I swore I saw the Ch-” His voice stopped.

“What, brother?” Chairon asked.

“No. It is irrational.”

Wait… who… who did you… wait….

But you could not fight the sedative.

***

You awoke in the middle of the night cycle, curled on your side, heartbeat pounding in your ears. All was dark.

That’s not right. The candles. Who snuffed the candles?

Thud.

You whimpered.

No. I’m supposed to be safe here.

Another footstep. Behind you. Closer.

This is another nightmare.

Closer.

Wake up. Wake up!

Breathing. Not your own.

“Lord Apothecary?” You forced the words through a bone-dry throat.

No reply. You wanted to roll over, to see. But terror froze you in place.

“Vesta?”

The breathing came from directly above you, now. You squeezed your eyes shut, your hand automatically seeking the laurel leaf around your neck.

“Demetrian… help me-”

A gauntlet slammed down over your lower face, fingers biting into your flesh. You tasted blood. You tried to shriek, to struggle. But your assailant’s weight held you immobile.

A deep, dark chuckle.

“Finally.”

The Chaplain carried you into the darkness.

@remembrancer-of-heresy @solspina @sleepyfan-blog @moodymisty @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

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#warhammer 40k #space marines #ultramarines #space marine x oc #demetrian titus #demetrian titus x oc #chairon #gadriel #the damocles brothers tried their best

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asherthehimbo · 4 months ago

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Hunter

synopsis: Visha Odessa was a legendary hunter, a protector of nature and its balance, they never let an abomination live to tell the tale of having stared into the poisoned hunters eyes, but stories are told, whisperes shared amungst drunk mercanary's after a long day, a story of one man, one beast whom has drank the poison and still lives to tell the tale. Odessa's greatests failure. Or in which you never could quite bring yourself to kill Jung Wooyoung, for all the names you've had and titles you've garnered, his immortality only still being intact by your own hands. Jung Wooyoung was a gentle beast purring in your lap by the light of the fire, but he was a beast none the less, and you had made a promise to end all beasts.

Pairing: Vampire! Jung Wooyoung x Hunter! Female! Reader

Warnings: blood, death, vampire feeding, a but suggestive ( just like a makeout session nothing too bad), a hint of mysogany in the begining, reader has no specifics BUT is described as having freckles and a scar on her nose, no happy ending :((

wc: 5.6K

notes: WAAHHHHHH WRITING THIS FOR MY STAR @beetheseal YAYAYAYYAYA IM SO HAPPY I GOT HER INTO PARIS PALOMA AND ALSO HAPPY I GET TO WRITE SMTHN BASED OFF ONE OF PARIS'S SONGSSSS and special thanks to @housewifeonlsd for proofreading and helping with editing!!

The tavern was loud, painfully so, at least to you that is. The rest of the barflies and the guests seem to enjoy themselves at least, dancing to the music played by an elderly man and his acoustic guitar, others listening to the tales told by the drunken hunters and veterans, who are all too happy to share their war stories for a moment of recognition.

You don't frequent this pub a lot, at least not at this time of night, you have a job to do after all, and yet you find yourself sitting at the bar nursing a cold glass of strawberry cider while you listen to the men badger on. You're really only here for your friend, Seonghwa, owner of the Halazia tavern. He asked you to come in, scare some respect into the men who's bothered his regulars and brushed fingers with his workers a few too many times for comfort.

You're the only one in the bar with the hood of your cowl still drawn up, nobody notices that, nor the box and arrows placed carefully next to you as you lean back against the bar and study the men. “Yaknow, I get I was askin’ for a favor, but sittin’ here drinkin’ on my dime aint actually helpin’ the problem” Seonghwas voice sounds behind you, the southern twang to it a bit lighter in his sultry voice than it is with some of his other workers.

“I'm studying them, can't attack without proper knowledge of your enemy Hwa, you know this” you turn your head to shoot him a smile, drinking in his appearance: hair long and messily tied back with a clip your pretty sure he stole from you the last time you were around, he's wiping off the counter behind you, face flushed from being in the heat of the kitchen only moments prior, apron tied around his waist.

You don't like studying people, especially not when it comes to your friends, it's an annoying habit of survival, one some primal part of your brain refuses to turn off no matter how much you beg it too. Seonghwa is too perfect, you purse your lips as his attention is focused on a speck of dirt that doesn't seem to want to listen to him and his trusted cloth. His hands aren't caloused, despite the work he does, they're delicate and well manicured, opposite of yours, grime and dried blood under your own nails after every kill, callouses on your fingers that are roughly shaven off when you know you don't have a hunt for the next few days.

His face stays unblemished, no marks of any kind, no scars of battle, no dots that show his travels in the sun. You suspect he's what you would've looked like had you been born into a different life, and while deep down it hurts a part of you, on the surface level you cannot care for it. You were made for this, for protecting, killing, each part of yourself, no matter how much you dislike it, it serves to further your purpose in life.

You move your focus back to the drunkard twisting his own tales, the ladies and young men around him all looking at him in interest. “So you've met him then? met Visha?“ a young hunter asks excitedly, you don't bother to remember his face, he'll die within the week. “Hey I heard Visha was a woman!” a young lady next to him protests but her eyes are still on the drunkard, “still did you meet her?”

The drunkard, a big man, broad shoulders with a brown beard and locks that reach his shoulders, he seems almost too big for his seat, as if his legs are uncomfortable but his face tells the opposite story. “Visha? Of course I've met him.” The young woman's smile falters a bit as the pronoun leaves the drunkard's lips, but she doesn't say anything else. “I mean he's skilled, sure, but the rumors crack him up to be some type of legend- he isn't. He's a hunter. That's all he is” the man takes a gulp of his beer as his friend continues, the tinier man already drunk.

“You young hunters should stop idolizing him- he let a beast go yaknow?” there's a sharp intake in the room, whispers break out and you can feel Seonghwa’s eyes on you as both him and his workers start moving to the kitchen- they know what comes next and they hate having dirty uniforms. “And where did you get that information from?” you call out to the two rumor spinners as you face them, one leg crossed over the other and hood still covering your face.

“Hey lady, no need to yell from all the way over there. We're hunters ourselves, you can trust us. ” The smaller man gives a slimy smile but the larger one stays quiet, almost like he can feel something is wrong. “Dilin Royer, Veteran of the West war, although the word veteran is a stretch given you never actually fought in it, only trained for a year before running away-” the man stands up, his glass of beer being thrown at you head, you simply move to the side as it smashes against the wall, internally cringing for the scolding Seonghwas going to give you for that. You pick up a piece of the glass that had landed on the counter next to you as you start using it to clean your nails, some leftover blood from your last kill still being stuck underneath.

“Who do you think you are? Do you know who I am? Who he is, ” the tiny man, Dilin, points his hand to his friend as his face turns red in fury, “Rayder Terkem. Son of Commander Terkem- well estranged son given the fact that you had multiple of your squad members killed and took credit for their work, ” you tilt your head looking at the two despite knowing that they can't see your eyes. The bigger man, Rayder, stands up now finally, “Listen here tramp, I don't know where you got your information from but you've got it wrong, so say one more word and I'm feeding you to Visha’s beast myself, ” he throws his glass down just as his partner had threw his at you. Internally you cringe at the fact that another broken glass only means an angier Seonghwa.

You watch the shards of the glass splatter, hitting some of the young hunters who were gathered around Dilin and Rayder, cuts on their faces and open arms, much smaller versions of the scars they'll receive in the future of this career. “Really? You're that close to Visha Odessa? The legendary Visha Odessa?“ you force your voice to sound a bit surprised, and Dilin smirks as Rayder nods. “Well that's funny because I know I'd never acquaint myself with a coward and a traitor, ” you huff out laughter as you pull down your hood, staring at them and finally they see your face.

The dots littering your cheeks, proof of your work under the mother-suns watch, the scar running over your nose a tell-tale sign of who you are. It's something every young hunter is told, a warning, for as much as they admire the legend there's a reason Visha stays just that - a legend.

“Visha’s loyalty to our nature-mother had granted them a constellation of their own, littered on their face, the scar running across their nose a reminder of the pain they receive in honour of our nature-mother. ”

You never minded the name they'd given you, didn't care enough to fight back when they called you Visha for poison, you had known your blood was poisoned for a long time now. Visha for the poison in your blood and Odessa for the pain you receive in order to carry out your duties to mother nature, to fulfill your purpose.

You didn't mind the name they'd given you, but you did mind when they used it in vain, when they used it to fulfill a status they saw as important without carrying out their own duties. “Oh yeah?” The men had clearly realised their mistake, but Dilin seems like a man with a big ego, one who even when faced with the hunter known to bring death, won't back down. It's not a brave act, it's a stupid one, one made in an act of self preservation of an ego rather than a life.

“You wouldn't acquaint yourself with a coward nor a traitor, but you would with a beast?" The moment the words have left Dilins lips, the last syllable barely escaping, an arrow shoots through his throat, pinning his frame against the wall behind him with it's force. A gurgle leaves his mouth, blood dripping down to the couch he was previously sitting on and you know Seonghwa will absolutely tear you a new one, but you don't care.

Rayder looks at you, eyes filled with anger as his gaze darts between the strung bow in your hands, the new arrow you already have pointed at him, and his friend, dead, lifeless pinned up against the wall like some sort of warning, like a message. A message Rayder chose to ignore, his bulky arm raises, an axe in his hand that he's ready to throw but you're quicker, letting the next arrow hit his wrist, pinning it to the wall and causing his own axe to imbed itself in his freshly dead friend's head. He lets out a scream, one you ignore as you start nocking your next arrow.

Rayder blabbers on, trying to call the younger hunters around him to help out but they don't move, they know better. His voice is background static as you aim the next arrow at him, now between his eyes, he looks at you with disdain. “A coward- only a coward would kill the two opposing he-” his words aren't finished as the arrow hits him. You sigh, slinging your bow on your back and downing your last bit of cider before putting your glass back down, pulling up your hood as you start to walk out.

The tense atmosphere breaks as the young hunters start screaming. The workers come out from the kitchen, not in a rushed pace because they already know what's happened. It's much too common of an occurrence for you to have to deal with people like these for Seonghwa and sure you may have went a little far this time, indenting the wall and executing them so publically, but they pissed you off, the words from their vile mouths seeped in beneath your skin, mixing with your tainted blood, creating a more intoxicating poison flowing in your veins.

You catch Seonghwas eyes as you reach the back door, his lips are pressed as he looks at the scene and then at you, as if he can't decide between being angry at the mess, or worried at the unusual display of inhumane violence from you. You don't give him a chance to decide as you open the door and disappear from the tavern without one last glance.

You know how the story goes, how long the travels take and the possibility of never being able to come back, one last glance at your friend's tavern could be all it takes to distract you. The last glance is not motivation to return, it's hesitation to go, you can not share Seonghwa a last glance, you cannot hesitate.

The night air hits you, the wind blowing the fresh smell of the trees and berries up the mountain down to the mouth of the woods where you stand outside the tavern. It's 's quiet, save for the few noises of the night and voices from the quiet growing town, it's the complete opposite of the inside of the tavern where your comfort person resides, and yet, you enjoy this more.

Enjoying the cold breeze, the smell of everything around you, the awareness the earth brings, the figure lurking in the shadows of the Taverns outside walls as it waits for your call. You take a breath, deep as you inhale almost tasting the scent of strawberries that lingers in the air, you're tired and yet you know within the next few seconds you will have to aim your bow again, lest the figure believe you've gone soft.

“Why do you defend me?” his voice asks, playfull, as if you can hear the smirk even if you have yet to see his face hidden in the night, “I do not defend you, I defend myself” you state, “and yet you shot them when they spoke of me” he steps into the light, and you can see his face, almost hopeful as he looks at you, “I shot them because I didn't want to be associated with you, and I'll shoot you too if I need to” you draw your arrow and he steps closer, as if daring you “You won't, you won't kill me [Name]? ” the smirk from his face has disappeared, the daringness now replaced with something else, something more desperate that you can't quite place.

“Why won't you kill me? ” his voice is almost a broken whisper, the words falling from his mouth with a curiosity, an intense desperate curiosity, a broken curiosity only heard from those who had been at their limit. You don't answer him, you don't give him the words he wants to hear, you don't do it because you can't. It's the same question that had been plaguing your mind countless nights, hundreds of hunts spent looking down at the beasts you've killed wondering why the image of Wooyoung in the same position sent a nauseating bullet through your skull. You don't answer, instead you shoot your arrow, hitting him in his right shoulder, in the exact same spot you've hit countless times before. “I'll kill you Jung.. just not tonight” not tonight, not tomorrow night… there's always a reason not to, when the time inevitably comes, will you be able to complete your duty?

Wooyoung hisses in pain as he grabs his shoulder, he seems more affected by the shot than he should be, seems weaker, he pulls out the arrow with another hiss before he walks over and hands it to you. A bloody hand slightly trembling, as if the nerves in his shoulder were damaged, he’s not healing, not fast enough. ‘He hasn't fed’, a voice in your head tells you, “You haven't fed, ” you say bluntly, looking from his injury, to the trembling bloody hand holding your arrow, Wooyoung's eyes narrow at you, grabs your hand with his own bloodied one as he places the arrow in your palm, it's a frustrated action, but not rough by any means. He pulls his hand away, hiding the trembling behind his back as the other goes back to holding his slowly healing wound.

“You don't like it when I feed” he states simply, and he's right, he knows you feel like a failure whenever you're reminded of the fact that not killing him causes him to drain more humans every night. “I try to limit it” he says, as if looking for some sort of praise, as if he wants you to be proud of him for starving himself. You hate it, whether he feeds or not, both ways you feel the guilt of knowing you let a beast live. Wooyoung makes you feel a wretched guilt, one buried deep in your heart, that seeps into your bones and wraps around your soul. Maybe that's why you can't kill him, he's a part of you, it's not easy to kill a part of yourself. If it was, Wooyoung wouldn't have been standing in front of you, if killing him was as easy as killing any other beasts, then you wouldn't even have known his name.

You sigh, looking back down to the arrow before placing it with the others, you don't say anything when you turn around, and it's your lack of words that informs Wooyoung he should follow you, it's always like this with you, you'd never accept him outright, but the moments of silence, of you trusting that he'll know what you mean, those stolen little moments mean the world to him, ensures his undead heart beats just a little bit faster each time, as if you bring him closer to mortality with each glance.

He follows, quiet as you walk, watching as you bend to pick up your bag that you had stashed away at the edge of the woods before you enter them. It's only then when Wooyoung starts speaking, when the two of you are in the cover of nature and he knows you'll speak freely, because you feel safer here, away from people. “How long are you staying?” he asks softly, almost afraid of the answer, you don't know why, he usually follows you wherever you go anyways, but to him it means more, the more you stay in one place the greater the chance you can rest, that you'll think, that he gets to spend more time with you. The more time you spend in one place the greater the chance will be that you'll settle down there, with him. At least that's what his deluded mind tells him.

“My work here is done, I'm going by sunrise” Your original plan was to go by nightfall, but Wooyoung doesn't know that, and you don't have to tell him your travel was delayed due to him, he doesn't need more of an ego boost. Wooyoung only nods at your words, the cogs in his head turning as he thinks of how he only has a few hours to spend with you.

You loved the woods, it was the reason you preferred camping in your travels rather than staying at an inn, nature would surround you and you were far gone from men, you loved nature all its soft sounds of life, the leaves blowing and water running, but when Wooyoung was with you, you always had a sense of paranoia. His steps would follow you, silent always until you reached your campsite, he had a habit of going quiet when surrounded by the very thing he is an abomination of, the phantom noise of his steps would haunt your thoughts when you traveled without him, and if you were to ever allow yourself the possibility of forgetting them, then he'd remind you by the next travel.

Always following, his lonely soul drawn to yours, both outcasts in your own communities, a hunter who let a beast live- let a beast feed from her, let a beast poison her with his touch; a beast, not feeding unless given permission, following the every order of one of those vowed to kill him. But the thing was you never did, for all the injuries you had caused and the words you had threatened, for all the times you'd clutch your unsheathed dagger as you stared at him, you never held a true bloodthirsty thrill in your eye, not like he'd seen you hold for others of his kind.

Sure you'd hate him, but was hate not the closest emotion to love? In his mind, it's simply a blessing that you think of him so much, that he's so deeply bedded in your soul for you to even hold such a feeling towards him. Sure you may shoot him with your arrows, you may stab him, but at the end of the day you choose not to kill him, choose to have him feed from your neck, choose to have him keep you warm under the cold blanket of night. Could you really be so sure you hate him, when you let him do things that only make him fall deeper in love?

You reach your campsite and Wooyoung perches himself on a large log of wood as he watches you work, he's tried to help before, but you'd only get mad at him, claiming that you could do everything yourself, he doesn't like it when you're mad, so he sits, he watches, staring into the fire after you'd set it aflame to use the light for constructing your tent. He'd sit and think, maybe even reminisce on all the times he's seen you like this, not knowing that you were doing the same.

The setup of the fire and construction of the tent was muscle memory at this point, you did not have to think of your actions, the motions second nature and so your mind was left free, stolen glances at the usually injured Wooyoung- injuries usually caused by your own hand- would always send you back to the night you had met him.

It was your first hunt, sent out to kill an amature beast, amature was a name unbefitting of him, if he was an amateur you would've been able to kill him. No he was completely new, worse than an amature, turned not even a day before your arrival, having been caught by you during his first feed, he looked so young then, not that he'd aged since, but his bones were skeletal, hair cut choppily, he clinged to the dieing body in his lap, tears flowing from his eyes, mixing with the blood messily dripping down his chin as he fed. His eyes were wide, frenzied as he looked up at you in fear, and yet he could not detach himself from the body.

His sobs still haunt your dreams sometimes, he didn't want this life and yet you had almost killed him for it. He makes you think, makes you question your duty, if each beast you kill had started out like that, it's a dangerous thought, one you wouldn't dare voice nor entertain for too long, but a thought that passed through your mind whenever you look at him in these moments nonetheless.

When you're done, you remove your coat, not undressing but riding yourself of most of your protective gear, a small sign of trust you subconsciously show him, in the presence of anyone else you'd keep it on, and yet when with him you'd leave your weapons, still in reach but not on your person. You sit beside him on the log as you stare into the fire, he moves down, knows its not yet time for him to be sitting next to you, his head rests on you lap, and your hand rests on his head, you don't scratch his scalp yet, it's too early in the night for that affection, it's a routine you two have built, certain actions only happening after the other. You look down at him, his gaze on the fire, as if studying the flames. They cast a light that shines on his face, a warm light that compliments his tanned skin much more than the soft white light of the moon. You guess fires are the closest he'll get to being seen in the sun.

It's dangerous for beasts in the day, when most humans, most hunters are awake, so they hide away, this had spread rumors, rumors that they're nocturnal, others that they're allergic to the sun, but real hunters know it's not true, they're simply afraid, afraid of the hunters that stalk them as they do humans. You look down at Wooyoung, his breathing even and eyes starting to close, for a moment you allow yourself to believe he's human, that maybe life had not dealt the both of you these cards, that you'd met under different circumstances, but as you lift your had to finally pet his head, and your long sleeved shirt rides up just enough to reveal the almost faded marks of his bite on your wrist, reality sets in, even if just enough to remind you of the fact that he is still a beast, yet not enough to remind you that you are a hunter.

You run your fingers through his hair as you lift his head from your lap, making him look up at you as his cheek rests on your palm, he looks pathetic like this, but not in a sad way.. no, it's a picture you'd want saved in your memory, he looks up at you with those big eyes, ones shining as they line with tears, you don't know what for. “You haven't fed, you're weakened” your statement is unnecessary, its information shared before you even stepped foot in the woods, but your statement is not just that, a statement. Wooyoung knows that, you'd never tell him to feed outright, it would go against your very nature just as not feeding goes against his, but at times like these you give him access to the nectar running through your veins, your words spark something in him, a fire in his stomach hotter than the one now behind him.

He turns his head to kiss the inside of your palm, bringing up a hand which he uses to hold yours, fingers slipping between your own as he keeps your palm against his lips for a moment before he moves down, placing featherlight kisses against the coulessed skin before he reaches your pulse point, his other hand moves to push your sleeve away, fingers tracing lightly over the faded marks before he rests it on your wrist to feel your pulse, the most calming beat, your heart. “They've faded” his voice is soft, sad, disappointed at the fact that you've healed, “they have” your own is soft as well, softer than normal at least, although yours is not in disappointment, its inviting, reassuring him to recreate them.

His eyes lock with yours, you watch as they start to shine, big and brown now holding a pathetic type of desperateness. You see his jaw tighten, an action signaling the growth of his fangs and before you know it his teeth puncture your skin. You bite your lip at the subtle pain and he makes a stifled whimper against your skin. His hand that was holding your arm gently now tightens as he feeds, his eyes closing as he relishes in your taste, the one he's missed, the one he's longed for. You try to focus on the feeling of his lips on your skin, not on the fact that he's poisoning your blood further.

You know he's almost done when the edges of the world start to blur, it's a good feeling, a free one. His feeding acts almost like an aphrodisiac, the venom in a beasts veins being injected into their prey to keep them calm and willing, you feel light headed, not enough to faint, but enough to float, to be able to release yourself of the stress, the inner turmoil your actions bring you. Your mind is only consumed with thoughts of him, thoughts of the peace of this moment, not of the wrongs you've committed, not of the failures you've created by being this willing to keep him alive.

You feel his fangs retract from your wrist, his lips still on your skin as he softly kisses off the last drops of blood, he looks up at you, watching closely as his lips start to move from your wrist up your arm, your skin cold due to the drained blood and night air, his lips warm against your arm, once he reaches the part where your rolled up shirt covers the rest of your skin he decides to finally remove himself from your arm. His hand moving to your face, thumb gently moving across your cheek as his eyes trace over the freckles adorning your face as you lean against his hand. He takes in the moment, your eyes fluttered closed, your body lax, face relaxed and void of your usual faux resentment aimed at him, he takes it in because he knows he won't be seeing it any time soon again, won't be given the grace of your true feelings ever, this is the closest he'll ever get to a confession.

The sight warms him, the soft sound of your breath, of your blood thumping in your veins, the pulsepoint in your neck staring back at him tauntingly as your head is leaned on his face, he takes his chance, very little does he get it. The faded marks on your neck almost invisible, more so than the ones on your wrist were mere moments ago, his lips still against the skin of your pulse, feeling it beneath the skin before his teeth sink into you again, careful not to nick an artery, with practised precision, it's not to feed, no he's had enough, but the intimacy of the act, of his lips against your neck, teeth feeling the flow of your blood, injecting his own venom to keep your stress away, the way you don't push him away rather, your hands trace his spine, holding his shoulders.

He knows he needs to let go soon, that you need your rest, but he loves having you in his arms, even if it's just for tonight. He stays like that until you gently squeeze his shoulder, letting him know he needs to retract himself, and he does, with great hesitancy, his lips instead trailing a path up your jawline, your blood that's coated his mouth trailing with him, and he wouldn't be himself if he let the delectable nectar you offered him go to waste, he licks a stripe back down your neck, cleaning you like animals do to one another, before his lips move against your jawline again until they reach your own.

It's only now that he looks at you for permission again, your eyes are barely open, but they catch his, full of love and a warmth that could rival the fire behind him, he doesn't ask, knows better than to speak, whispers in the night could only be carried by the wind, and this is a moment he wants, he needs to stay between the two of you. You simply nod, and that's all he needs, his lips, warm and wet, still covered in trace amounts of your blood find your own. It's a slow kiss at first, as if he's uncertain, he’s testing the waters, but when your hands that were resting on his shoulders move so that your arms could wrap around his neck and pull him closer, he lets himself deepen it. He familiarizes himself with the feel of your mouth against his own as he's done many times before, he guides your body, off the log and onto the ground without separating himself from you, he forgets that he needn't breathe sometimes, that it's only an action he does to make him feel more human.

Why would he need to breathe if the action would interrupt him kissing you? Its a sin, truly a tragedy that you pull away for a moment, even if he lets his mouth explore down your jaw again while you regain your breath, you're tired, he can tell, and as your breathing becomes normal again, and he feels your neck slumps against him, he knows you're down. He sighs as his lips finally detach from your skin, admiring the marks his teeth have left, he moves your head to rest on his chest, he knows you'll wake up before him, and even though he doesn't have to sleep, even though he doesn't want to because he knows when he wakes up you'll be gone, he can't bare to stay awake and have to plead with you again.

Too many times has he asked you to stay, to actually kill him in lieu of leaving, and too many times have you stabbed the dagger, he knows is strapped to your thigh, into his heart while he slept, disappearing into the early morning with his blood coating your most prized weapon as he regains consciousness just a moment too late.

He looks down at you, the dimming fire beside you illuminating the freckles on your face, he wishes to kiss every single one, he wishes you'd let him hold you as a lover all the time, not just in moment of weakness in the middle of the night when nobody can see. He wishes he doesn't disgust you, but Wooyoung has learned a long time ago that wishes are a force of nature, and nature doesn't take too well to his kind, after all she created yours just to end his own.

The tent you had built is long forgotten as you lay in Wooyoung's arms, his eyes closing with the last sparks of the fire burning out, the gentle purring of his chest lulling you into a deeper unconsciousness, in theory it be easy for Wooyoung to kill you. You're in his arms, completely at his mercy, but that's only in theory. If you were easy to kill he would've done it already.

When the sun starts to rise, and your eyes open, you silently prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at the sleeping man- sleeping beast beneath you, for someone who doesn't need sleep, he sure doesn't wake up easily. The dagger strapped to your thigh seems painfully heavy as you look down at him, reaching up to move a peace of his hair out of his face, you lean down to kiss his forehead, the action of love accompanied by your hand unsheathing the dagger and pressing it down into his heart.

He won't die, not if you pull it out, but he'll be passed out long enough for you to leave, and even if he'll probably find you within the week, you can still give yourself the delusion of believing you'd done your job.

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aesteries · 8 months ago

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⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful?

〔incest, innocence and fantasies, fluff and romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

words: 6.6k series' masterlist.

CHAPTER 2.

Court affairs often put him to sleep, hours of incessant complaints and requests from worthless high-born lords and ladies who wanted more than they deserved, but not today. What was unfolding before his healthy eye was just too gripping to ignore, and for once, he thanked the gods that he did not fake an illness to miss the spectacle. His half-sister, Rhaenyra, had been bold enough to bring her illegitimate children to the Red Keep to stake their claim on Driftmark. She was demanding to recognise her second son’s legitimacy, placing him as his apparent father’s heir, amidst opposition from Vaemond Velaryon, who argues that the title belonged to him instead. Many lords in the room nodded in secret agreement with Vaemond's reasonable demand, yet Rhaenyra refused to back down, her determination palpable.

The sudden boom of the throne room doors echoed throughout the chamber as they parted, a loud announcement of the King’s arrival snapping everyone back to reality. Glancing to his side, he saw his siblings straightening up, eyes fixed on their father, King Viserys, as he struggled down the stairs with his body curved over himself. Haera, ever the dutiful daughter, had perked up at the mention of her father’s name, but her clouded vision refused to settle over the fragile man as he began his laboured progress toward the throne.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

The room sank into silence, a deafening sound as all eyes focused on the King's pathetic frame. The status of his health was known, but to witness his decay was a shock to everyone, and even the unflappable Otto Hightower had concern etched all over his face, though it did not seem quite genuine as he scrambled out of the throne he had been keeping warm. The air was heavy with tension as the King's slow, agonising approach to the throne seemed to take an eternity, pain burning up his skin with every step.

He trudged up the steps toward the Iron Throne, pridefully waving off the guards' offers of assistance as he stumbled, his legs trembling beneath him. In his struggle and exhaustion, the crown that dangerously balanced over his balding head slipped and fell to the granite floor with a shattering clank of metal. Aemond’s eye locked on the back of his uncle’s head as the man was the only one to act, guiding his older brother on the final few steps and placing the crown on his head.

“I do not understand,” King Viserys’s voice was frail, breathless as he spoke, “why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

The sight of the bastard-born boy, with his head of brown locks and the whiteness of his skin standing between the rich tones of the Velaryons, triggered a low laugh from the prince’s lips, earning a side glance from his mother. The air in the throne room was thick, an obvious buzz of energy flowing between the Targaryen royalty.

“As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to Lord Corly’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena.” Princess Rhaenys’s tone was firm and confident: “A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Suddenly, as if he had finally heard something that interested him, King Viserys’ eyes snapped to attention, rising on his seat as if the weight of his crown had been redistributed to him with full health. The left side of his face, that side that was uncovered by the mask, twisted into a smile of cracked lips. “Very well…” His voice filled the space with anticipation, his tired eyes darting around the faces of his family. "However, I have a say in the matter of the betrothal of my grandson, Prince Lucerys.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted to his half-sister, who was already watching them with an air of confidence, a smirk on her lips with a subtle challenge. Her piercing glare seemed to dare him, to provoke him, to let him know that she knew something that he did not. His stomach twisted into knots, and he suddenly felt the ghost of a noose around his neck.

"I believe in the continued union of our families, those with the blood of Old Valyria," the king declared, his voice echoing through the hall. "And therefore, I have decided to unite my youngest daughter, Princess Haera Targaryen, to Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon, the rightful heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the future Lord of the Tides."

The young prince’s world was shattered, like that night when he claimed Vhagar, the remnants of untouched innocence finally scattering over the floor for everyone to see. His despair must have been that obvious, as Aegon’s worries were evident when he turned to glance at him. Aemond remained statue-still, his gaze fixed on the back of Haera's head as she stood rigidly, flanked by Helaena and their mother. Alicent's grip on the young girl's wrist was like a vice, a desperate attempt to prevent them from tearing her away, her knuckles white with tension.

Aemond’s heartbreak was soon replaced by a raging fire, like Vhagar’s fire, that consumed his every thought as his eye daggered Lucerys Velaryon, who in return dared to challenge him with a subtle nod. Any outburst in the King’s presence would be suicidal, his wrath barely contained as his hand lingered on the hilt of his sword. He was all too familiar with the King's blind devotion to Rhaenyra and her brood, and he knew his powerlessness against it. Perhaps he could take her and rescue her from the toxicity of the court, where her innocence was being sullied by the very presence of the Strong bastards. He recalled the day Lucerys had slashed him, the resentment still festering like an open wound. In this moment, Aemond felt trapped, forced to endure the insolence of his nemesis.

It was only when gentle warmth had wrapped around his fingers that he was brought back to the present from his deadly fantasies. He looked down to find Haera’s tearful eyes welling up with crystal tears, her mind consumed by her future. The quivering of her lips fed the fire in the pit of his stomach. She was likely aware of the implications of their union, of the dark legacy they would pass on to their children, a heritage shrouded in deceit and tainted by the lies that had defined their past. She was meant to clean Lucery’s dirtied Valyrian blood with their union.

Time stopped for them as they gazed into each other’s eyes, the gentle flutter of her white eyelashes betraying the warmth of her adoration. He knew, deep down, that he and she were meant to be; it transcended tradition. It was fate; it was the will of the gods—they made her just for him, everything that he was not. Even if she were to stand before the altar, before that naive boy to exchange vows, Aemond was resolute; he would set things right. His sweetling would not be made to suffer for the mistakes of others. He would move heaven and earth to ensure her freedom from the shackles of injustice, no matter the cost.

A sudden scream cut their moment short.

Aemond’s mind was reeling, struggling to comprehend just what was unfolding before him as the two of them snapped out of their trance that had drowned out the inheritance hearing. Daemon Targaryen’s sword sliced through the air with a swift swing, decapitating Vaemond Velaryon with a deadly motion. In the aftermath of the violence, as the body began to spill over the floor, Haera instinctively wrapped her arms around his middle for protection. He enveloped her tightly, his hand on the back of her head as he held her close to his chest. The feeling of her slender frame pressed against him and his arms cradling her felt surprisingly natural, out of a dream. It was a gesture that brought a sense of calm to the chaos surrounding them; it grounded them, a fleeting moment of solace in the face of Daemon's ferocity.

His heart was racing as he clutched her. It was where she belonged: sheltered in his embrace, secured in his grasp, shielded by his unwavering protection. The half-sister’s eyes were fixed on the pair, intense with the fire of the dragon, her mind reeling with the plan she had put in place. A brother consumed by his passion and a sister who reciprocated those feelings, now a forbidden romance. She felt the danger in the pit of her stomach, not for her claim to the throne but for the future of her second-born son. Persuading her father to accept the match had been easy, serving the young prince an opportunity on a silver platter. Lucerys saw the two Targaryens lost in their own world, and he saw a challenge.

The air was heavy with tension, thick with the weight of forbidden love and the ominous foreshadowing of strife to come.

The day after the disastrous inheritance hearing, the sun cast a gentle glow on the beautiful gardens of the Red Keep, its rays illuminating the many flowers that adorned the greenery. As she strolled through, a soft breeze caressed her face and tangled her hair, pulling the strands from the intricate braids her ladies had crafted. Yet she was overwhelmed by anxiety and a sense of unease that had settled in her stomach. The company, she was convinced, was to blame for her discomfort. Her mother’s encouragement still echoed fresh in her mind, and she would not let her down even if she had missed the worry behind the Queen’s forced smile.

Lucerys Velaryon had appeared outside the Queen’s chambers; his arm extended in invitation as a way to formally begin courting his promised princess. The young man possessed an unusual charm, an air of innocence one moment, and a sharp tongue the next. Within mere minutes of their stroll, he had dropped too many complaints for her comfort, criticising the alterations to the Red Keep, the gardens, and even the maids’ outfits. The food, as well, was apparently not to his liking, and she found herself on edge, bracing for the next critique to tumble from his lips.

Lucerys droned on about the dragonpit or something about dragons, but her mind had drifted to some of the times she had taken strolls around the garden. Aemond cherished their shared moments. He never complained, never interrupted her, and listened to her. She recalled how he would gently hold her hand over the cracked stones, ensuring she didn't trip and fall. He'd pluck flowers from the nearby bushes, presenting them to her so she could marvel at their beauty up close. In those quiet moments, Aemond always reminded her that she possessed a beauty that rivalled the flowers, making her feel treasured and unique.

As she stood beside her betrothed, Lucerys, her eyes widened in stark realization. Her thoughts strayed back to Aemond as if her mind were trying to escape the present.

The one-eyed prince lingered in the darkness, fixed on every step they took. The torches cast long shadows over him, clouding him from their sight and helping him blend into the darkness with his black leather. His mother had attempted to stop him, claiming that it was for her own good, but he refused to abandon her, especially since she was to be alone with that bastard and Gods knew what he could be capable of. She looked radiant, shining like jewels even under the weak sunlight, clad in an exquisite silk dress with delicate lace patterns. Her beauty, so pure, made his heart ache with jealousy, seeing how her beauty was being wasted on Lucerys when it should be reserved for him alone.

“I was wondering,” Lucerys’ voice finally directed at her shook her from her thoughts. “How come you do not ride your dragon?”

Her brows furrowed, initially confused at his question but realising he had no idea about the tragedy that had befallen her hatchling, Brightfyre, during childhood. The memory of that painful day was still so fresh in her mind, even if she had been too young. It was like an open wound that would never heal, and his question had rubbed salt over it. "My dragon passed away when it was just a hatchling," she explained, her voice laced with a hint of sadness.

As she spoke, Lucerys's face lost its colour, his features contorting into a grimace. "The dragon keepers believed it was due to a malformation during incubation. According to the maesters, I wouldn't have been able to ride for long even if Brightfyre had survived anyways, as my sight would have continued to deteriorate with age.”

She missed the expression, her gaze fixed on the ground as she continued her walk, her footsteps steady and deliberate. Behind her, Lucerys had to consciously relax his facial muscles, shaking off the tension that had built up. Aemond, ever the observer, caught the subtle movement and raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting between the young couple as they strolled through the castle grounds.

“I’m relieved,” she confessed, her tone a stark contrast to the sorrow that had taken over her voice moments ago. “It gives me a sense of freedom, not being bound to one of them... being different from the rest of my family, to make a name for myself and not through my dragon.”

Lucerys's incredulity was palpable as he struggled to comprehend her words. "But you're a Targaryen," he protested, his voice laced with disbelief. "The blood of dragonlords from Old Valyria runs through your veins. Having dragons is the greatest symbol of our power and strength." He couldn't imagine a life without a dragon; it was unthinkable, especially for a Targaryen and for someone like him. Memories of his childhood came flooding back like an aggressive tide of the times he and the others had mercilessly teased Aemond for not having a dragon, only for him to claim the largest one alive. Lucerys swallowed hard, the memory still a bitter pill to swallow, especially when he thought of the Aemond of today.

She halted, her footsteps suddenly heavy on the stone floor, and turned back to him with an unreadable expression etched on her face. "I do not believe that," she said, her voice laced with conviction. "To me, we are more than the blood of dragons.”

Lucerys's response was immediate and firm. "Blood is everything.”

Her eyes, a light shade of purple that no other Targaryen shared, narrowed, and a spark of defiance flashed within them, lighting up like a flame. It was a glint Lucerys had never seen before—a darker, more intense, suffocating as she stepped closer, her shoulders squaring and her chin tilting upward. Lucerys felt a jolt of surprise. The gentle girl he had been introduced to had transformed before his very eyes into someone else. The corner of her lip curled into a faint, mischievous smirk, and for a fleeting moment, Lucerys could have sworn Aemond's spirit had possessed her, imbuing her with his audacity.

Her voice, usually so sweet and feathery, was laced with sarcasm that sent icy cold shivers down Lucery’s spine as she spoke. “Is that so, my prince?” Her tone dripped with irony. “Is your blood that..." Her eyes wandered over his form, her tilted head making it seem that she was speaking down on him. “Strong… that it defines who you are and determines your worth?” The emphasis on the word "strong" was a subtle challenge, a dare to Lucerys to defend his stance.

Aemond smiled to himself, filled to the brim with a sense of satisfaction as he observed the confrontation from his corner, her voice clear as she landed her verbal blow. He couldn't help but feel proud of her, amused by this feisty side of hers that she had never shown. Despite likely dying inside from the weight of her words, she had stood up to Lucerys, refusing to back down. Aemond knew she would learn to defend herself, and their nephew wouldn't easily intimidate her.

Lucerys's face flushed with anger, his ears burning as he understood the hidden message in her words, her intention to offend him clear as day. His nails dug deep into his palms to the point they almost drew blood, a desperate attempt to restrain himself from lashing out and from raising his hand to teach her a lesson about disrespect. He had to find a way to bend her to his will, and despite her venomous words, she had a rather fragile nature, and he was sure that a few swift blows would be enough to shatter her spirit.

“Anything the matter, nephew?” Aemond’s velvety voice halted the conversation between the young prince and princess, as he had made his way out of the darkness and into the light, having decided that they had spent too long together. His voice dripped with superiority, his shoulders tight as he looked down at the boy.

They turned to face him, eyes wide as they fixed on the intimidating figure with hands clasped behind his back and a smile that froze the prince in place, a smile that seemed to revel in the power it held over others. Lucerys' skin broke out in goosebumps as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. In stark contrast, Haera’s body reacted differently the moment his calming presence washed over her; tense muscles relaxed, breathing slowed, and calmness took over her.

Lucerys, on the other hand, stumbled over his words, his voice trembling as he tried to find an excuse for their conversation that had taken a disgusting turn, eyes darting towards Haera, who seemed to be the only one immune to Aemond's intimidating aura. The prince's courage, once bold enough to consider striking his future wife, now shrank to the size of a timid rat, cowering in the face of Aemond's dominance.

Aemond turned to address his younger sister, his eye intense with adoration that seemed to suck up all the air around them, to the point Lucerys felt bitter jealousy like a kid watching someone else play with his toy. He could not lose this silent competition over Haera; she was his to claim, announced in front of everyone.

"Our mother has requested your presence," Aemond said, his voice low and husky, like the rustling of leaves in an autumn breeze. "Shall I escort you to her chambers?" He extended his arm, inviting her to take it.

And Haera smiled, the sight so beautiful that it would inspire the finest painters for their masterpieces. She placed her hand on his arm, touching gently and lovingly, and he pulled her away from Lucerys to seethe in silence. As they walked away, Haera's eyes sneakily shifted back to look at the dark-haired prince through a blurred gaze, sparkling like diamonds in candlelight, their secret message clear as day: she knew the game they played, and she would not be swayed. Aemond was the one she wanted, and he was who she was going to get.

The entire family gathered in the grand dining room after the darkness of the night took over the once clear sky, forced out of their chambers to avoid each other since Rhaenyra’s kin arrived. Even the melodic notes of the music could not fill the space between the strained relationships or clear the thick tension of the room as they sat around the table.

The two sides of the family sat awkwardly in silence until the arrival of the King, carried in by his guards in an ornate chair that allowed him to move with ease. As he was placed in the centre of the gathering, between both sides of the family, Aemond's gaze darted to the far end of the table, where Haera had reluctantly taken her seat beside Lucerys. It had been their mother’s idea, her sullen expression telling him all he needed to know as her pouting lips and folded arms screamed defiance.

The king spoke, his wheezing voice piercing the air, the frail state of his body evident even as he rested in a seated position. He welcomed his heir and her family with genuine warmth between laboured breaths. Aemond’s mind wandered, tuning out the king as he spoke of the importance of family unity. But, as the king began to congratulate the newly formed alliances, he snapped back to the conversation. His stomach churned with disgust as their father praised Lucerys and Haera, his jaw clenched in frustration. He wasn't alone in his sentiment; Aegon, too, seemed put off by the king's flowery words, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the gathering.

Aegon couldn’t contain himself for much longer, pent-up frustration and anger simmering like a pot about to boil. His eyes darted around the room, meeting Haera’s as he looked at the faces of his family. Though her vision was blurry, she could make out the wink he sent her way, tilting his head towards the young prince beside him.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” He was a master at pushing his buttons. He took great pleasure in witnessing his reactions, his face reddening with each carefully crafted comment that would leave him fuming and frustrated, like a shaky vial of Wildfire ready to explode. “You do know how the act is done, I assume... like, where to put your cock.”

“Let it be, cousin.” Baela did her best to manage the situation before the two boys escalated it.

However, Aegon continued; this time he addressed her instead, "I... regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer.” The young man gave her a pitiful look; the drunken joke was clear in his amethyst eyes: “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Everyone was jolted out of their casual chatter as Jace’s fist thundered down on the wooden table, the sound like a crack of lightning, and all eyes darted to the source to find him springing up from his seat. He gave Aegon’s shoulder a tight, almost brutal squeeze but then gave a playful punch to his arm. He then strode around the table with heavy footsteps and offered his hand to Aegon’s sister-wife, Helaena.

There was a sudden spike in tension, as if there was room for any more, as Jace boldly trespassed into forbidden territory. The King, in agony, remained oblivious to the rift between the members of the royal family, his sentimental gaze fixed on the unfolding drama until his frail health betrayed him, forcing him to be escorted back to his chambers for a dose of much-needed medicine.

The servants emerged from the kitchen with steaming plates of food, momentarily easing the bubbling tension that set over the family, calming their sharp glares at each other. During the bustle, one kind-hearted servant, unaware of the significance of her actions, placed the largest, most impressive plate in front of Aemond—a massive, glistening pig', its beady eyes staring up at him like a haunting spectre from his tormented childhood.

Lucerys did not miss the way Aemond’s gaze shifted momentarily, and he let out a snort, his own dark eyes shining with mockery.

As the room fell silent, Aemond's hand came crashing down on the table to get their attention, the sound echoing through the chambers like a challenge. He rose from his seat with his cup in his hand, holding it up to toast. Everyone turned to face him, their hands tightening around their cups of wine as if bracing for an impact that would rival Vhagar’s powerful landing, eyes fixed on the one-eyed prince as his voice boomed through the hall, "Final tribute."

“To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey.

Each of them handsome,

wise,

strong.

Come!

Let us drain our cups to these three... strong... boys.”

The fragile vial of wildfire shattered, releasing the fury of the young princes as they jumped to their feet, determined to defend their honour, no matter who witnessed it. Jace moved wildly at Aemond, landing a blow to his face, who barely staggered backwards. Meanwhile, Aegon shoved Lucerys headfirst into an empty plate. The guards hesitated, taking a second too long to intervene and separate the boys, allowing the drama to unfold as the frantic mothers rushed onto the scene, their worried cries piercing the air.

Aemond's voice resonated through the air as Haera rushed towards the group that formed, her grip on her mother's shoulders tight with concern. Her older brothers stood before her, their faces tense with anger but their bodies relaxed. Jace's swift punch had left its mark after all—a small gash on the corner of Aemond's lip, a dark bruise starting to spread over his skin. "I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," Aemond said, his words dripping with sarcasm as he gazed at Haera. The real insult, however, lay in his next sentence: "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs, an unlikely match for my sister."

The family was dismissed, and each of them was sent away to enjoy their dinners in each of their chambers.

The flickering flame in front of Aemond captivated him, his gaze fixed on the gentle rhythm of the dancing fire. Time had passed since the tumultuous events of dinner, and he had yet to return to his chambers, finding himself in Haera’s safe library instead as he tried to ease the disgust that still lingered in his stomach. He waited for a long time to make sure everyone had returned to their chambers for sleep to avoid having anyone see him visit his beloved in her chambers.

But before he could act, the creaking of old hinges shattered the silence, and his eye darted instinctively to the source, finding no other than his girl, Haera, seemingly coming to fetch him. His heart immediately picked up the pace at the angelic sight.

Her cloud-like hair was elegantly pulled up by a soft braid, and her slender body was delicately wrapped in the rich velvet she was accustomed to wearing to bed. Only a thin, embroidered coat rested over her shoulders, tied at the front of her chest with a delicate silk cord, covering her modestly yet radiating an aura of luxury.

The gentle smile he always saved for her tugged on his lips, the book he had been holding slipping from his hands and forgotten in the excitement of her arrival. "Haera," he whispered, his voice full of affection, as he welcomed her. The young princess sighed in relief, the tension in her shoulders finally released. Her soft eyes caressed the contours of his familiar face. "I was looking for you, brother," she said, her voice tinged with worry. Why did you leave your chambers?” The words hung in the air as if she had been searching for him everywhere, her heart heavy with anticipation.

“I needed some time to myself.” He muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor as she approached him, stopping only in front of the chair where he sat with an air of exhaustion. Now that she had moved closer, she could see the purplish bruise on the corner of his lips more clearly in his swirl of colours, and something shifted in her stomach, stirring of concern. He was leaning back on the backrest, his legs splayed out before him, signalling a sense of comfort. His coat, discarded on the floor next to him, and the leather jacket, unbuttoned and open, revealed his plain cotton undershirt. She had never seen him in such a vulnerable state, somehow so at peace after the fiery argument he had sparked with their family, like a stormy sky clearing.

Aemond noticed how her eyes travelled over his figure, absorbing every detail, and his hand motioned for her to get closer to him to take a step into his quiet world. He would have gladly slid over to allow her some space next to him and enjoy the warmth of her company. Still, she might have interpreted it differently, as she lifted herself over the cushion to sit sideways on his lap instead, her movement sudden and fluid, taking place over him as she had always belonged there.

Somehow, courage had taken over her, building from the adrenaline of dinner; if her brothers were capable of such, she was as well. Haera had promised herself that her secret would remain locked away, especially now that she was a betrothed woman, yet witnessing Aemond’s distress over the impending union with Lucerys Velaryon and the impassioned speech he delivered at dinner had ignited a fire within her. A dormant aspect of her character had awakened, a part she never knew existed. This newfound sensation felt distinct, like the first crackle of autumn leaves. It felt exhilarating and empowering. With deliberate intent, she had taken over his lap, her legs dangling off his side, her side pressed flush against his chest, and her hands settled upon his shoulders, claiming him as her own.

Aemond’s vision blurred, everything around him dissolving into nothingness as his mind came to comprehend what was happening—her gentle pressure against him. The scent of her sweet skin, a blend of flowers, enveloped him, making his senses reel. She flushed a deep crimson, her bold facade crumbling beneath a wave of embarrassment, her cheeks burning. His hands trembled with longing, hovering above her hips as if touching her would shatter her and make her disappear forever. "Sweet girl," his voice was low and husky, his throat parched as the desert. "What are you doing?" The words were barely above a whisper, a struggling sound, as if speaking too loudly would banish the moment's magic.

She responded with silence, her unsteady gaze on him, eyes narrowing to clear her vision. The proximity served them like her magnifying glass, bringing him into sharp focus. She was drawn to the subtle curve of his eyebrows, the slight crook of his nose, and the sharp cut of his chin. Her eyes lingered on the corner of his lips, where the faint imprint of the punch had turned into a delicate purple bruise, barely staining his skin. Without thinking, she reached up, her fingertips lightly tracing its edge. The gentle touch sent a shiver through Aemond's body, and he sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the gesture.

She had touched him before, gentle and hesitating as she searched for his hand, arm, or shoulder to rest her head on, but that was not with the same intensity or intimacy as now. Her touch was a spark, setting his body aflame, a drive that propelled him forward with a motivation that came from the desire to be worthy of her.

Haera’s skin felt strange, her body shifting from hot to cold and back to hot again while his hands finally came to rest on her waist, his slender fingers digging softly into the thin material of her nightgown. The voices in her head took to a contradictory choir, some screaming at her to feel more of him and the other trying to force her away, but a side was stronger and yearned to feel every inch of him, to be consumed by his presence, and for him to realise she would forever be his. The marriage to another man was nothing for her. She would forever be bound to him in her heart, and no contract or agreement could change that.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing against the corner of his mouth in a hesitant, gentle touch. It would be her first kiss if she had pressed herself fully over his, and her inexperience in the intimacy of her touch was too evident in the way she just pushed against his skin, unsure of how to proceed. The gesture was so sweet and innocent, yet it almost sent him over the edge with a surge of heat, causing his desire to wrestle with his sense of restraint. His mind was a battleground, torn between the purity of her intention and the depravity of his own desires, as he felt the softness of her lips tantalisingly close to the spot where he wanted her to be, to devour her.

But Aemond was a gentleman; he cared for her feelings, so he refused to push her into anything she was not ready for and instead let her take the lead, allowing her to explore and discover the sensations at her own pace.

Haera pulled back with wide, innocent eyes that sparkled with the surprise of the burning sensation on her lips, covering them with her hands as the tingling was left behind. She looked unsatisfied, her curiosity still burning bright, but she didn't know how to ask the questions she wanted to. So she tried again, her lips finally pressing squarely over his in a chaste, exploratory kiss before pulling back to gauge his reaction. She repeated this once, twice, and three times as she peppered kisses over his lips, each time pulling back to look at him with her beautiful eyes.

He realised she was testing him, watching how he responded to her touch. Aemond smiled, his grip on her waist tightening to hold her in place. “Go ahead.” He muttered, a voice reserved just for her. "You can keep going." The words were an invitation, a permission to explore, and he could sense her hesitation dissipating as she leaned in again, her lips a whisper away from his.

The next time they touched, he leaned in to meet her halfway, brushing against hers with a guiding touch to encourage her to follow his lead and discover the warmth of a real kiss, one between lovers. She immediately mirrored his movements with the soft, tender pressure when his lips danced across hers. As she tilted her head, the kiss slowly gained intensity, and she felt herself becoming lost in the sensation, the heat taking over her lower body as her desire for him grew. Despite her initial uncertainty with him, she felt an innate knowing, as if she had been kissing him all her life.

The kiss deepened, and she felt herself melting into him as the flame grew within her, body moulding to his and pressing heavily against his thighs underneath her legs. Aemond's hand cradled the back of her head, taking control of the kiss, his passion for her growing with every passing moment. His hunger was palpable, and she felt herself responding, drawn to him like a winged insect to a funeral pyre, the world around them fading into insignificance.

His tongue darted out to press itself against her lips, a gentle invitation that she accepted with boldness, granting him entrance to her mouth. He slid inside, his hot muscle caressing hers tenderly as the kiss escalated from their tongues intertwining, sending shivers down their spines as they set into a passionate rhythm with their kiss. At first, her body had stiffened, unfamiliar with the sensation, but he persisted, his gentle prodding wearing down her defences. Soon, she found herself melting into the embrace, her senses surrendering to the intensity of the moment. It was as if her entire being had been submerged in a cauldron of molten lava.

The world around her began to fade, leaving only the two of them, lost in the vortex of their passion. The air was heavy, alive with the promise of what could be, and she felt herself getting swept away by the sheer force of his desire. The kiss was no longer just a meeting of lips but a fusion of bodies that left her gasping for air yet craving more. She started to feel the overwhelming pressure of release, and her body began to sway over him, seeking for something.

Aemond's senses grew heightened as the darkness within him began to unfurl, a dragon awakening from a deep slumber. With each deliberate roll of her hips, the danger escalated, threatening to engulf him. The thoughts swirling in his mind were primal, raw, and completely consumed by the proximity of her body to his. She had surrendered completely to him, pressing her small form against him on the worn couch, her arms wrapped tightly over his shoulders. The light of the room seemed to fade into nothing as Aemond's focus narrowed to the rhythmic movement of her hips as she began to squirm over him, the gentle pressure of her body, and the sweet curve of her neck as his hands began to travel over her body, feeling her form under his rough palms.

His mind wandered, consumed by the forbidden thought: could he claim her innocence? The notion sent a searing flame through his gut, fuelled by the knowledge that she was promised to another for political alliances, someone devoid of honour and talent. Another would never cherish her like he could, never adore her like he would. Aemond, a man of substance, could provide her with everything her heart desired. He would mount Vhagar, his majestic dragon, and fetch the moon itself if that's what she yearned for.

Yet he resisted the temptation to take her on that chair, despite the alluring sight of her sitting over him, her barely covered body pressing against him, unknowingly seeking pleasure as she rocked herself over him. She merited more than a fleeting passion; she deserved to be cherished and worshipped. The chair limited him to mere sensations—the feel of her skin, the rhythm of her movements, the sweetness of her taste. He needed to be patient to witness the moment she discovered true pleasure for the first time.

Perhaps if he were her first—the first to touch her, to feel her, to take her maidenhead—he would leave an indelible mark on her soul. She would remember him forever, even on her wedding night and the following nights. Even without the most intimate of touches, she had awakened a deep longing within him that he couldn't ignore. He yearned to be the one to ignite the flames of true pleasure within her and to hear her soft, velvety voice whisper his name in rapturous surrender. The thought of another person claiming the right to shatter her, to push her to the limits, and to witness her stunning features twisted in ecstasy was unbearable. She would see him, not some other man, in her mind's eye. Maybe she would gaze upon her firstborn child and imagine what a child with him would look like—a Valyrian offspring with snow-white hair and piercing purple eyes. The thought tormented him, a sweet temptation that echoed through his being.

He refused to let the beast win—that beast that wanted to break her innocence over a pathetic chair, as tempting as she was in her sheer gown. Instead, he encircled her waist with his arms and drew her nearer, their lips parting with the most lustful sound as they pulled apart to breathe, a translucent string of saliva still connecting their mouths. She let herself fall over him, her head resting on his shoulder as she struggled to catch her breath. The love he harboured for her was a tidal wave, threatening to engulf him at any moment, but having her close and feeling her warmth and weight in his embrace was a balm to his troubled mind. It was as if the world, with all its cares and worries, receded, leaving only the two of them, lost in the silence of their own private universe.

Nothing could prepare them for what would come next.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

i HATE this chapter lol. i feel like it's so much of the show content that i didn't really play around with more stuff, but at least i added an alone moment with lucerys and finally a moment with aemond at the end, to help spice things a little bit before that inevitable chapter where everything goes to shit.

as i think i have said before, this is not a story that will continue with the show or books, so after chapter three there will only be two more chapters remaining and i'm planning for the last one to be almost no-plot smut, since that is what this series was originally. i have added the posibilities to little "spin-offs" one shots in the masterlist and if everything goes right i will go through with them but after i'm done posting other content.

i apologize for any mistakes in grammar or something, i did not have much time for editing but i'm hoping that it gets better by the next chapters! i'm definitely trying to pull my big guns for the last two chapters for sure.

a big question; should i cover blood & cheese completely, or let it be something that happens in the background and is not written down? it will happen, and it will be referenced, i just don't know if i want to write it all going down.

chapter two; Sunday 10th. ╰⪼ thank you for reading!

#ᡣ𐭩 #⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞#aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #original character #hotd #house of the dragon #asoiaf #aemond x reader #aemond one eye

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cartoonsinthemorning · 8 months ago

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So I absolutely love all your thoughts and ideas about a fem Stan, but what about a fem Ford? I feel like that could also be a really fun dynamic. Stan trying to be the man and protecting fem!Ford from bullies, but is really just entirely wrapped around Fords fingers. And then! The jealousy could come into play in other ways! Like Stan starts dating someone and Ford is pissed about it so she leaves a lipstick mark on his collar or subtly sprays him with perfumes so that Stans partner thinks he was cheating and leaves him. And the obsessionnn. Imagine her stealing Stan’s shirts and sleeping in them just because they smell like him. Or staring at him while he sleeps and sketching him in her personal diary (though let’s be real, canon Ford did that too lol.) Anyways, I also like the idea of all of these pent up feeling finally coming out and her just riding Stan until he can’t think straight and her being like “that’s right, you’ll never have it this good with anyone else.” Idk. Thoughts?

Hello new friend! Thank you for enjoying my thoughts and ideas about fem!Stan, and for now kickstarting a conversation about fem!Ford too! I have a lot of thoughts. So many, in fact, that before moving to the shippy part, I need to focus on Ford alone, first. What would differ, was he born a girl. Quite a lot. I’m gonna be blunt. All things Ford had been oppressed by, in canon, would hit ten times harder, if he was a girl. Take academic ambitions, for example: I’m not saying that fem!Ford’s extraordinary intelligence wouldn’t had earned her praise. I just doubt she would had been encouraged to pursue higher education, and convert her studies into a career. A jewish WOMAN into STEM? Back then? I don’t think any of her teachers suggested she shoots for a prestigious university- why give her and her family unrealistic expectations? Ma and Pa would had been happy to have a smart, studious daughter, but I’m sure the idea to invest into her studies would had been up to debate, if not shot down immediately: to spend that type of money, when her likely future job would be either high school science teacher, or museum curator- would had been a pointless waste, to someone like Filbrick Pines.

To be honest, I think teen fem!Ford would had rather been encouraged, by her parents, to attend professional classes instead, something like a typewriting course- in order to find a stable secretary job, for example, after high school. Can you imagine, someone with Ford’s potential, being told “Well honey, at least you can put those extra fingers to a practical use, if you learn to type very fast”? Can you imagine how UTTERLY humiliated fem!Ford must had felt, all the time? Just like Ford, I think she’d be perfectly aware what a genius she is, and how drastically she’s been underestimated. And yet, she’d have to take in consideration the evidence: it doesn’t matter how great her mind is. They are right, there’s no place that would want her. The only person that would root for her, ever the dreamer, would be Stanley. He’d just take her hands, wipe her tears away, and promise, with naive, granitic certainty, that he will find a way to help her. His plans would range from completely unrealistic and cartoonish (“Ya could invent a machine that turns me into a brainiac, and once Pa send me to that tech uni ya like, I’ll sneak you in the classes, and you’ll take my place!”), to painfully sweet, albeit still unrealistic (“If Pa doesn’t want to support ya, I’ll take two or three jobs and pay for your studies and stuff myself!”). Stanley would look at his sister with bright eyes, and a huge optimistic grin, stating that she’s the smartest gal that ever existed, so there’s NO WAY she won’t become some posh scientist and prove everyone in Glass Shard Beach wrong. Every time Stanley would pull his stupid, naive, adoring Protector Knight acts, fem!Ford would feel so angry at herself for blushing, and for her heart-rate speeding up. Because it’s so intoxicating to be believed in, but she can’t afford to fall for Stanley’s overly-hopeful view of her condition, and she can’t afford to fall for him either. And this brings me to yet another point I wanted to make: self-esteem, and societal expectations.

If canon Ford’s hands got him bullied, and classified as freak- for a girl, they would had also been a mark of ugliness and considered remarkably un-feminine. I bet F., as a little girl, suffered a lot for having more in common with the grotesque antagonistic creatures of her favorite books, rather than the princess. And I’m sure EVERYONE around her didn’t fail to make her notice too. In subtle ways, sometimes. Like her mom suggesting she gets ear-rings, for her birthday, rather than bracelets, because it would be best not to concentrate more attention on those, right? Even if teen fem!Ford would act aloof, as if she didn’t care anymore, she’d be so self conscious about her large palms and extra fingers- so unfeminine and gross- she’d fantasize about chopping them off quite often. If Stanley hadn’t happily held her hand throughout their childhood, and “made fun” of how tiny her hands look in his large ones, as teenagers, maybe she would have, in a fit of self-hate. Thing is, fem!Ford would hold grudges and set secret standards in her head. It’s not like she thinks she’d never be able to get a boyfriend, despite her hands: she doesn’t look horrible, she’d be pretty, even, if she cared for her appearance like her moms begs her to do- but F. wouldn’t be able to suppress the burning conviction that “No other man but Stanley deserves me”. Other men may want her despite her hands, but Stanley was there since the beginning, telling her her hands make her more special than any other girl, like she was magical, like she belong in the fairy tales book she used to read aloud to him. What a stab to the heart, then, that she can’t have him. Not only because they are siblings, but because, just like you said, Stanley would date someone else. Carla, and some other stupid bitch that F. would need to get rid of, because they don’t deserve Stanley like she does neither! I love all the strategies you listed, to “mark her territory” and push other girls away!! I love toxic, jealous girlies!! I don’t condone Ford’s yanderism, but fem!Ford has my blessing. She can be a creep, as a treat. As for the part you mentioned, about fem!Ford snapping and riding Stan- YES I also agree, AND I’d like to add to it. In this AU, Stanley isn’t a misogynist in the classic sense: he doesn’t consider his sister an inferior at all. But… he would not be immune to absorbing the Madonna-whore complex:Girls like Carla- he can fool around with, because they are that kind of girls. Promiscuous, slutty- bad girls. But his sister is different. She’s so virtuous, so smart- his pure, innocent little sister. Stanley would NEVER lay a finger on her. Yes, he may admit to himself he is in love with her, which is also horrible, but at least he would never, ever sexualize her. Cue Stanley playing dumb, or finding excuses to weasel away, whenever fem!Ford flirted with him, or even made clear advances- during the entire length of their teenage years. Until fem!Ford just. Decided she couldn’t take it anymore, stripped naked, slipped into Stan’s bed, and grinded and kissed his neck until he caved, lmao. I have even more thoughts, but it’s getting late, here. I must cut the yapping short, for now. Please, feel free to come chat again, and throw more ideas of your own at me! Thank you for this one, MMMMWAH, baci baci!

#stancest #fem!Ford #please help me find a girl name for Ford as good as “Constance” is for Stanley

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scribbledghost · 3 months ago

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Thank you for the manor headcanon!

I have another thought. In The Visitor series, the creatures from TMBTE exist in the realm of Sleep. Imagine if Reader interacted with them.

I can’t stop thinking about Reader giving them gifts or crocheting scarves to put on them. Or one of the creatures tries to attack Reader and another protects her.

This is such a neat idea? I haven't really gotten into the dynamics of the creatures in The Visitor, so let's dive in there! (Note: this is not related to the regular "Inhuman!Vessels" AU I have. This is solely in the universe of my story "The Visitor").

Like, I imagine some are more mellow than others, and as such are more easily approached. Aqua Regia and Rain are probably fairly easygoing, and it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for them to interact with you in a kind manner. If you give them gifts, you will be able to spot them walking around with it later. Some are more aloof, like DYWTYLM or Are You Really Okay. They're not hostile, but they likely won't really interact with you.

Others are... debatable. The Apparition, Granite, and Ascensionism can go either way - they can be kind, or they can be hostile, given how you approach them at any given point. Euclid also sort of falls into this category, though it is more hostile than not most of the time, so it's probably best to give it a bit of a wide berth, even if it doesn't seem to be in a sour mood at the time.

And some are to be simply avoided. Vore is a big one, as is Chokehold. Any slight provocation from you is prone to trigger a rage response (or a hunger response, in Vore's case). The Summoning tends to shine in these moments - it is a protector, and while it doesn't really interact with you at any other point, it will keep you safe from the more dangerous creatures. However, if you gift it anything as a thank you for rescuing you, you will be able to spot it dangling from its rifle the next time you see it.

Then there's TMBTE itself. You don't know it yet, but this is Sleep's physical incarnation. It is not shown often - Vessel is its main conduit for a reason - so if you're in any sort of situation where you can see the reaper angel, you're in deep trouble. At this point, only Vessel himself may have even the slimmest chance of saving you, and even then your chances are not good.

#the visitor au #though this did get me thinking abt the TMBTE creatures in the setting of the regular inhuman vessels AU #imagine them being reeeeeeeally teeny tiny. like little housepets. i think that would be very fun tbh #sleep token x reader #ghost scribbles

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ink-casket · 2 months ago

Note

coming here because i& don't think i& have seen Dream SMP on a bah creators blog that i& remember , but who knows , i& have a memory disorder .

anyway , do you think you could do a transfem tubbo inspired alter ? doesn't have to be a fictive , but it can be if you're fine with that :]

thank you in advance for your time !

angel / oath ( she / he ) , host .

Requested pack ᯓ★

Transfem tubbo

// keep in mind headmates may not form exactly like the pack! //

Tags ;; @angelic-oath

🪦﹕BASICS . .

★ NAME !? ;;; Tubbo . . Tubs . . Tubz . . Tubbie . . Tubi . . Nyx . . Nymeri . . Vaelira . . Nerith . . Zarienne . . Velatha . . Elowen . . Nivelle . . Aeriseth . . Saelari . . Liora . . Thalwen . . Sylwen . . Selathae . . Naera . . Lirael . . Lauremirë . . Mírieloth . . Daisy . . Clover . . Tilly . . Lulu . . Poppy . . Flower . . Fauna . . Elara . . Ember . . Storm . . Hazel . . Meadows . . Buttercup . . Honeybell . . Voira . . Eris . . Kaida . . Azira . .

★ PRNS !? ;;; She/Her . . They/Them . . re/rei . . sae/saer . . rie/rhem . . sie/hir . . shy/hyr . . sie/hir . . sie/sier . . shi/zir . . ?/?s . . chi/chir . . fel/feli . . claw/claws . . ram/rams . . fawn/fawns . . stag/stags . . be/bees . . e/em . . Am/Amour . . Alo/Alom . . Ar/Fla . . Bee/Bee . . Burn/Burn . . Bomb/Bombs . . Fla/Flar . . Ig/Ni . . Ig/Nite . . In/Ferno . . Thi/Thim . . Bomb/Bombself . . ⚠️/⚠️s . . ☢️/☢️s . . ☣️/☣️s . . 💣/💣s . . 🐐/🐐s . . 🔥/🔥s

★ AGE !? ;;; 18 / late teens

★ GENDER !? ;;; TransFem , Female, Sweetheartlexiden, callagirl, Key Lime, Light Moss Green, Granite green, River Valley Femme, Goatplushic, Goatvalentinic, Bombgender, Nukegender, Firegender, FireChild, monoceros

★ ORIENTATION !? ;;; Pansexual, Bisexual, Biromantic, Panromantic, Pi, Ceteroromantic, Bifluix, Lovesexual, Loveromantic

★ SPECIES !? ;;; Goat , human, bee

★ KIN TYPE !? ;;; Tubbo from DSMP, Bee, Goat

﹒SYSTEM STUFF﹒🪽

⊏　 ROLES 　⌑ ;;; dyslexia holder, hemiplegic cluster headache holder, overseer, ADHD holder, artist, Attraction holder, auxiliary protector, auxiliary, decision holder

⊏　 SOURCE 　⌑ ;;; DSMP tubbo !

⊏　 LOCATION 　⌑ ;;; L’Manberg, Snowchester, Bee Sanctuary, Watchtower or Outpost, Workshop or Lab (making nukes), Rooftop Garden or Treehouse, War Room / Strategy Bunker

⊏　 BEHAVIOR 　⌑ ;;;

She is deeply loyal to her friends, especially Tommy, often putting their safety above her own. Willing to make hard decisions if it means protecting others for the best.

Tubbo plays the character of a hyperactive, earnest, and somewhat naïve sidekick. She is often seen following Tommy around, usually assisting him in his pranks and hijinks. Tubbo is fairly easygoing and optimistic if a tad phlegmatic, and tends to be more of a follower than a leader. She likes to do as she is told and is easy to push around, which has caused several problems for her in the past. She'll go with the flow of most things as long as they don’t directly interfere with her morals, which she sticks very close to. Tubbo hears voices in her head, and said that this is what her Twitch chat is in the canon of the SMP.

Taken from the wiki !

Tubbo can be a bit over protective, especially when it comes to her country and her child, Michael. But, Tubbo can also be very reckless and quick to action. What’s more reckless than building nukes and constantly threatening to use them?

Without someone there to keep Tubbo in check, she could end up like Wilbur or Fundy some day by completely giving up and adopting a absurdist or nihilistic view of the world. Tubbo has already put herself in harms way for seemingly no other reason than for excitement.

Taken from here !

⊏　 PERSONALITY 　⌑ ;;;

ENFJ

Tubbo (Dream SMP) is most commonly typed as 9w1 (The Peacemaker, The Mediator) in the Enneagram system. This suggests Tubbo (Dream SMP) is easygoing, agreeable, and accommodating, and is often conflict-averse and seek harmony and peace. These traits shape Tubbo (Dream SMP)'s worldview and behavioral patterns, influencing how they navigate challenges, connect with others, and pursue their goals. Understanding these traits provides insight into Tubbo (Dream SMP)'s motivations, strengths, and potential growth areas.

The Basic Fear of Tubbo (Dream SMP) is being without inner peace or harmony, which drives them to avoid certain situations or behaviors that trigger this fear. Conversely, their Core Desire is to be at peace with themselves and others, guiding their aspirations and actions in pursuit of fulfillment. This dynamic between fear and desire often shapes Tubbo (Dream SMP)'s life choices and personal development journey.

Tubbo (full name, "Tubbo_" [maiden name] or "Tubbo_Beloved" [marital name]) is the tenth member of the Dream SMP, joining on July 7, 2020 and is a major character in the Dream SMP. She was one of the original members of L'Manberg, fought on its side during the Dream Team SMP vs. L'Manberg War, served as its first Secretary of State under the Soot Administration, and supported POG2020 during the election. She acted as Jschlatt's right-hand woman under the Jschlatt Administration while spying for Pogtopia until her public execution at the Manberg Festival. After the Manberg vs Pogtopia War, she became L'Manberg's third and final president, serving until its destruction in the Doomsday War. She then founded Snowchester, and is currently one of its residents and the first person to create nuclear weapons on the server.

Taken from — Here !

Tubbo is somewhat scatterbrained but an all around loyal and good person. She knows what she can and can't do and prefers to just stay within her own boundaries. She also is very lawful, knowing where her loyalties lie, and is a poor fibber when it comes to facing authorities like Schlatt or Wilbur - even when she knows it’s the morally right thing to do. She shows a surprising capability for manipulating situations, indicating that her character is more intelligent than she typically lets on. Tubbo knows almost every glitch and exploit in Minecraft and is able to work basic and above Redstone. She is also one of the best builders on the server, which makes her a valuable asset.

Taken from the Wiki !!

⊏　 TITLES 　⌑ ;;; The beekeeper, Bee lover, she who loves Bees, Nuke lover, She who makes nukes, She who hides, The Hiden one, Nuke keeper, Flower girl, Bee girl

⊏　 FASHION 　⌑ ;;; She wears Green cottage core dresses ! Or casual clothing ! She enjoys to be comfortable yet pretty. To her fashion means a lot as it is one of the few things that makes her feel gender affirmed !

⊏　 TYPING QUIRKS 　⌑ ;;; She uses Emojis in place of some words ! She also uses a lot of exclamation points as she's very happy. She will also mis spell uncommon words (even if the body knows them as she is dyslexic). Like this ;

"👋 ! I am [name] I like 🐝 and 🌻s ! My husband is Ranboo and my son is Micheal ! I love making 💣s !"

⊏　 RELIGION 　⌑ ;;; Non religious

⊏　 SPEECH PATTERNS 　⌑ ;;; Very energetic and quick. Has a hard time slowing down, her words will often slur together. When she is alone or stimming she will making buzzing noises. It's very obvious to tell when she is front due to her quick speaking and slurred together words

🪄　 ✝︎ 　EXTRA ． ⌅

⁑　 LIKES　 ∘ ;;; Cozy / comfortable things, Gaming, talking, friends, accepting people, Art, music, being able to be creative, her friends, safe spaces, words of affirmation. She likes to be around people who are okay with her being MTF and accept her for who she is and don't treat her differently for being trans !

⁑　 DISLIKES.　 ∘ ;;; Being ignored, being rejected for who she is, Misgendering, Arguments, being treated like an object or an thing. She doesn't like being treated like an EXACT copy of Tubbo. She has her own diffences and unique qualities that she likes and loves about herself.

⁑　 SIGN OFFS.　 ∘ ;;; -💣 . . -💣⚠️ . . -💣☣️. . -💣☢️ . . -⚠️ . . -⚠️🌻 . . -🌻🐝 . . -🐝 . . -🐝📀 . . -📀⚠️

⁑　 FAV ITEMS.　 ∘ ;;; Blankets, Sweaters, her dresses, flowers, her plushies mainly her bee one and the one she handmade of Ranboo and Tommy, headphones, her journal she uses to press flowers and note how the bees are doing, a handmade plushie of a totem of undying, a pig clay sculpture with a crown for Techno

⁑　 FAV COLOURS.　 ∘ ;;;

#606C38 , #283618, #FEFAE0, #DDA15E, #BC6C25

⁑　 FAV SEASON.　 ∘ ;;; Spring

⁑　 HOBBIES.　 ∘ ;;; Crochet, making nukes, mindless doodles, making music, role play, Outfit planning, making clothes, designing clothes. making mood boards, stim boards and pintrest boards. Journaling about her day and her bees. As well as drawing her latest ideas for weapons.

⁑　 INT.　 ∘ ;;; Other systems, Other trans girls, especially questioning or closeted ones as she loves to help others find out who they are, other Queer or disabled people/systems, people who respect boundaries, feminism (she is a feminist), system friendly non sys people, other MC intojects, her moots ! Other artists (any type)

⁑　 DNI.　 ∘ ;;; Transphobia, Homophobia, TERFs, Proshippers / pedophilia apologists / 🗺️s, Racists, xenophobes, ableists, misogynists, sexiest, Anti-plural / system-phobic, Sysmeds, Pedo, Nazis, Racists, Any form of politics as it leads to arguments and she just wants everyone to be happy. Ai "artists"

⁑　 EXTRA APPEARANCES.　 ∘ ;;; she has longer hair with handmade bee and bomb hair clips ! A bee side bag that Tommy made for her when she first came out. She loves wearing cottage core dresses, mainly green plaid. She had a flower crown of her favorite flowers all the time, and made one for Tommy as well. She has freckles all over her body, in more then just her face, mainly her arms and hands. And her back. She loves to paint her nails new colors and designs every week. She also loves doing others nails. She has a warning pin on her bag at all times just so she can show she works with dangerous things !

⁑　 EXTRA QUIRKS.　 ∘ ;;; When she is in front.

She loves to play with hoodie string pulling them back and forth, but not chewing them as it's unclean. She will try to wear dresses or cute clothes when in front, and if she is wearing a dress or skirt she will often sway back and forth with the dress. She talks very quickly which causes her speech to be slurred. She usually uses We/Us but not as a system since but because she is talking about her and Tommy (sometimes ranboo)

⁑　 HEX CODE.　 ∘ ;;; #A6B98B

⁑　 AESTHETIC.　 ∘

⁑　 FACE CLAIMS.　 ∘

( 1 . 2 . 3 )

This took us a second but I hope you enjoy it moot ! Sorry if it's not what you wanted 💔

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headmateelevator · 7 months ago

Note

hello! could we ask for a koi fish mermaid headmate, perhaps? or a tubbo headmate of any variation, but preferrably with the role of caring for the body? thank you in advance! have a lovely day!!!

order up!

name(s) - Abyssal , Alkali , Allur , Bay , Brim , Brine , Brooks , Cecaelia , Cloud , Coastal , Coral/Coralie , Cordelia , Delilah , Dooriya , Flood , Gale , Irv , Jubilee , Lake , Mari / Maris / Marina / Marine , Maritime , Mere , Merrick , Misty , Oceana , Pollyanna , Riverine / Riviera , Seashore , Seaside , Seawater , Serena , Shore , Siren / Syren / Syrin , Storm , Summer , Sylph , Thalassa , Themis , Tide , Whirlwind , Windstorm, Aquamarine , aquatique , astraea , astro , athena , atolla , aura , aurelia , aurita , aurite , baia , bio , biolumine , blanche , blu , blue , bluette , bubble , capillata , caru , cassiopeia , cephea , chiro , chrysali , chrysao , cnidaria , coral , coralle , cordelie / cordelia , cosima , cosmo , crystal , crystalle , cyanea , cyanei , dentelle , divinity , dove.

pronouns - They / She / It / Blu / Blue / Blues / Cora / Coral / Corals / Cove / Coves / Coves / Drift / Drifts / Drifts / Ebb / Ebbs / Ebbs, Fi / Fin / Fins / Fo / Foam / Foams / Ke / Kelp / Kelps / Oce / Ocea / Ocean / Pe / Pearl / Pearls / Ree / Reef / Reefs / Sal / Sals / Sals / Se / Sea / Seas / Shel / Shell / Shells / So / Shore / Shores / Star / Fish / Starfishes / Ti / Tide / Tidal / Wa / Wave / Was / Blub / Bubble / Fish / Sing / Song / Splish / Splash / ⚡️/⚡️self / 🫧/🫧self / 🌊/🌊self.

gender(s) - agender fem , merfolk , mereic , mermaidcore , sirenish , merlikic , merblood/merfolkblood , sirenblood , mermonster , sirenmonster , autimeric/autimerfolkic , genderaqua , oceandream , sirekenic , creauterelle , thalassagender , seacreature , seaperilic , auramaric , seatix , autisirenic , merplayful , merpuplayful , merplaymate , mergender , phosirenial , merive , gendermerpup , merenvic.

orientations - sapphic , nmlnm , polyamorous.

role(s) - protector , soother , sister figure.

species - koi fish mermaid.

source(s) - brainmade

emoji(s) - 🐠 , 🐟 , 🧜 , 🧜‍♂️ , 🧜‍♀️ , 🎏 , 🦪 , 🐚 , 🌊 , 🪸.

faceclaims -

( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 )

name(s) - Tubbo , Ram , Beloved , Toby , Doe , Fox , Tango , Faren , Pan , Faun , Bee , Clay , Dawn , Loaf , Moth , Luna , Eclipse , Stella , Flora , Buzz , Bug , Spyder , Flora , Forge , Garnet , Granite , Grayson , Harper , Hazel , Hero , Holly , hopper , iris , ivy , jade , jett , juniper , lapis , laurel , lilac , lily , magnolia , maple , marigold , mason , meadow , miner , mira , moss , nova , oak , onyx , opal , pearl , pebble , poppy , prairie , pyre , quill , red , reed , river , rocky , rose , rowan.

pronouns - he / ram / horn / headbutt / bzz / bee / book / write / explo / toxic / nuke / buzz / dawn / presi / civil / baa / fawn / flor / flower / petal / a / axe / adventurer / axe / birch / blaze / block / build / bun / cake / chest / clay / cobble / cow / craft / dark / dig / disc / end / eye / fight / flint / forge / fox / ghast / glow / goat / heal / hive / hx / hxm / hy / hym / ice / lava / love / mob / oak / ocean / ore / pearl / pick / pig / play / ram / sea / sapling / sheep / shx / hxr / shy / hyr / skele / skeleton / slime / smelt / smp / snow / stone / survivor / sword / teleport / thxy / thxm / thy / thym / tnt / tnt / tor / torch / tree / ve / vex / vwoop / warrior / water / wood / xp / xp.

gender(s) - Boy(?) , UuuuuuuuhhhhMasc , SomethingMasc , Genderwhat , dimedowic , floraine , sheepcoric , sheeptransmasculine , starlemonic , tailic , fleecygender , maskgender , RAAAHHemotionic , Forestpicnicmulviboard , Beemoviescriptic , Cakehoneybeena , Sunnysummermulviboard , mossygoatgender , softpancakic , groggymorninggender , stargrapegender , arienfernian , hornjewelryaesic , goatgender , ramgender , goatplushic , starryapplegender.

orientations - bisexual , ambiamorous.

role(s) - caregiver , caretaker , soother , hygienist , body caretaker , taskdoer.

species - humany goaty thing.

source(s) - c!tubbo , DSMP.

emoji(s) - 🐝 , 🍯 , 🌻 , 🌼 , 🐐 , 🐏 , 🐑 , 🌿 , 🌱.

likes - bees and other bugs , friends , the color green , flowers , drawing , sourcemates , goats and sheep , animals and pets.

dislikes - being alone , people being hurt , rude people , fireworks , loudness.

front triggers - Sourcemates , friends , other source media, goats/rams , bees , explosives , fireworks , the system being threatened , being alone , the body needing care.

personality description - a rather hyperactive part , very energetic and interactive with friend and people bee likes to be around. he prefers to be near people rather than alone, and goes along with most things asked of him unless he outwardly has an issue with it. he enjoys making things like friendship bracelets from time to time.

faceclaims -

( 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 )

#✦ 一 ding!#✦ 一 headmate pack #✦ 一 mod 🌈#✦ 一 mod 🌧️🌼#I KNOW U ASKED FOR ONE OR THE OTHER BUT I COULDN'T DECIDE!!#SO RAH!!! HERE YOU GO!!!#alter packs #build an alter #build a headmate #headmate creation #alter creation #id pack #headmate pack #headmate template #create a headmate #bah blog #alter pack #baa blog #alterpacks

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spiritluxray · 9 days ago

Text

Time for these mf's stories in one place, because they have more character depth than the heroes and caretakers

Why? Idk. Just like them more ig- I don't choose who gets more attention

What these three have in common, is that they wield a divine weapon. Basically, a strong weapon with a specific summon ruleset, made with the energy of the hero trees and especially good at finding and defeating unnatural corruption

From left to right, is Dez, Tera, and Cleo. Based off the songs Creatures Ov Deception, Interlude, and Cool Friends respectively

Dez was given his divine weapon shortly after the events of the fourth corruption (the most recent one, so about a year and a half ago). Upon receiving it, other shapes quickly noticed his complete flip of personality. Dez used to be quite bubbly and mischievous, always getting himself into crazy situations and causing light and relatively harmless chaos. Now, he doesn't let himself ever have a break or any fun. He's always training and finding new ways to use his weapon effectively, or patrolling around Paradise to shut down any strange activity as quick as possible. While it has made him well known as one of the best protectors to Paradise, it came at the cost of everything he had before. The only shape that really talks to him anymore is Paper Dolls, only because of how close they've been for so long. He's scared of ever taking a break, worried that he would fail his role and everyone around him if a single little thing got by him, and this has caused him to severely deteriorate both physically and mentally. And yet, he carries on, believing that he can't accept help from anyone. He believes that his purpose is now to protect Paradise without help, without a single break, that is now all. he. is.

Tera was given her divine weapon during the second corruption, and has mastered it long ago. While she doesn't actively scope out issues, any problems that do come her way are often easily eradicated. In the event she can't, though, she doesn't usually hesitate to ask the caretakers for help, especially Granite, the one that escorted Tera to the tree to get her weapon in the first place. She doesn't know the other two divine weapon wielders very well, and hasn't made any point to go and really meet them, dispite being encouraged to. Since the events between her and Spectra, she hasn't traveled to other parts of Paradise much. The divine weapon barely changed Tera as a person, which surprised many shapes. Considering how self centered her entire family tree is by personality, others expected Tera to start seeing herself above everyone else because of her newfound power. Instead, though, she remained kind and humble, regulating her power well when sparring with others and never carelessly demonstrating that power. This lead to her becoming an idol in the western part of Paradise, and younger shapes especially looked up to her. Dispite it all, the fame and power never changed who she was as a shape.

Cleo is the only of the three that wasn't the intended shape to have their divine weapon. The way divine weapons work, is that their physical state can't be changed if their shape is too hurt. Basically, it can't be summoned or despawned if their wielder is in too much pain. When Cleo was younger, his dad, the original wielder of the divine weapon, got fatally hurt from the corruption. The weapon was stuck in being summoned, and it would likely cause major issues if it fell into the wrong hands. So, his dad had to hand it to Cleo, trusting that he wouldn't be careless with it. A week later, Cleo's dad passed away. A lot of the events around his dad's death were quite traumatic to Cleo, mainly being hunted down by the corruption for the strong weapon stuck in the summoned state, so most of it he no longer even remembers. Fast forward to the end of the corruption, and unfortunately Cleo still had no clue how to wield his weapon well. It doesn't seem to listen to him at all, and never does what Cleo wants it to do. The only way he's gotten use out of it so far is by recklessly swinging it around and hoping it goes well. Katana Blaster saw this and decided to try and help, dispite not knowing how the weapon works either. The two are good friends now, and Katana Blaster has taught Cleo quite a bit with fighting, but he's teaching Cleo what will only benefit him, and what's only right in his eyes, which has lead to Cleo being manipulated into doing not what's right, but what will get Katana Blaster into receiving his own divine weapon, or at least some recognition. This has also lead to Cleo not at all getting the correct teachings he so badly needs, which leads him into some pretty bad situations at times.

#jsab #just shapes and beats #jsab au #tpc #the pink corruption #tpc au

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captainoxymore · 2 months ago

Text

Somehow, @notsolonedesert just motivated me to publish that. It's the meeting between Thomas and the Countess just before everything goes dang mad in my comic-

the first comic strip is not my best, but I swear it's going better and better on the following~ (6 comics strip down there)

AH AND YES IT'S IN FRENCH BCZ I AM FRENCH BUT DOWN EVERY STRIP I PUT THE TRANSLATION :D

I know you're watching me, you know.

I'd have been surprised if you hadn't.

Stones from the 3rd century, carved in Gévadant granite. It's a pity some lout knocked it over.

To tell the truth, I'm more interested in the damage than the stone. Are you a historian?

Archaeologist, researcher, adventurer, fencer, ethologist, scholar, biologist, sculptor, among other things. And historian.

Polymath, then.

Right, like you.

I'd come as a man-at-arms, but I don't think my sword can do much against this.

That leaves your brain, then! I'd be delighted to help you, but that's for another day, as the bell calls me to my duties!

With pleasure…

Thomas! Thomas!

I've been looking all over for you! I'd like to introduce you to someone.

I'd love to! Who's this?

The Countess Amalviva!

There's no need for lengthy introductions, Your Majesty. The general and I have already met. My respects, General.

Indeed, indeed. My respects, Countess.

Would you like to take a few steps outside?

With pleasure. You've cut off your protector's whistle, I believe.

That's all right. He needs me more than I need him.

You forgot to add comptesse to your remit this morning.

You added it yourself, General. Just like you forgot your title.

Indeed, a period.

Aren't you afraid to leave your precious scientists alone?

I have a feeling I can wait a bit before worrying about that.

Instinct.

Any comment on that?

Cigarette?

No thanks, I don't smoke.

I do now, through passive smoking.

So it's your responsibility to stop.

Are you saying I'm responsible?

Well done, but leave that irresponsibility to me. It's not t0bacco anyway.

Let's just hope it's not c0caine, or I'll have to arrest you.

Countess! General! The orchestra has started playing!

Well, all that's left for me to do is ask you if dancing is one of the attributes I've forgotten to attribute to you.

Believe me, you'll regret it.

The weeks I spent watching the scientists were the best of my life.

I met some fascinating people.

I learned a lot and was able to make a modest contribution to research.

And above all, there was the countess. She was the first person with whom I felt like an equal.

I never touched her cigarettes, strange as they are. I did, however, discover that she was a fencer, and we crossed swords several times, much to my delight.

She also did me the honor of letting me assist her in her research. I enjoyed her company at least as much as she enjoyed mine. We were happy, I think.

AND THEN

BAOOOOOOOM

IT BECAME CRAZY (sowwy, not drawn it yed. But soon.)

#BDLCDElcdlc #drawing #original content #comic #french #french comic #bd #bd française #my ocs #art #artists on tumblr #female artists

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joybirdsworks · 2 months ago

Text

Neighbors in 313, a Star Wars AU

Chapter 1 - Console

Leia rubbed her arm where her father had wrenched it back earlier. It throbbed with pain, and she could already feel the fingerprint sized bruises begin to develop on her arm. Luke, thankfully, didn't know about this side of their father. This violent, angry, oppressive side. She wasn’t able to protect Luke from much after Padme died, but she was able to protect him from this. Their mother’s death put in perspective just how fragile their family was. Leia felt like she had taken rose colored glasses off, the day they’d declared her dead. Her father broke into someone unrecognizable, and Luke sunk into a depression she wasn’t sure he was going to come out of. With the only pieces of her family she had left so utterly broken, she had to stay together, she had to stay whole. She’d taken on the role of caregiver, of protector. And if she needed to endure Anakin’s wrath in order to protect Luke from it, she would. Still, it was a miracle he hadn’t found out. It probably had something to do with their upstairs neighbors he'd befriended, Han and Lando. Leia disapproved, thinking the two men to be a bad influence, but if it kept Luke from finding out, she might just have to thank them.

Complex, a Star Wars AU is a college-based alternate universe story. Trigger warning for abusive parents, violence, drugs, gun violence, alcohol abuse, and eventual smut.

Read it here on Ao3, or continue reading below. Check out the AU's pinterest board to understand general vibes.

Leia’s arm throbbed in pain. Her elbow felt like it had smashed into granite, and she could already feel the fingertip shaped bruises start to develop on her bicep. Traitorous tears blurred her vision as she hurtled her shared car down the road. 3 more miles until she was there, 3 more miles until she could collapse into bed and try to forget this day ever happened. 3 more miles until she could unload this stupid console she’d gone home for.

Luke owed her big time for this one. She never wanted to step foot in that house again. The being that occupied it could rot for all she cared, damn him and damn the hell he’d made his life into. She was tired of him dragging her down into it.

It was the same speech she always gave herself when she left their family home. It never changed anything. It also never stopped her from going back.

Leia’s heart rate had steadied by the time she pulled into their apartment’s parking lot, only about a 20 minute drive away. A quick check in the mirror told her that she had no visible marks on her face, thankfully. She’d just have to shrug her jacket on when she walked up. She flipped the visor back up and hurried out of the car. Slinging the jacket on, she flung her backpack on one shoulder and balanced Luke’s old gaming system in both her hands. She carefully stacked the ancient Mario games on top, the ones specifically requested by her brother.

In fairness, she did have the car. So, when Luke called her after class practically begging her to make the stop, she didn’t feel in a position to say no. Even though she really wanted to, and really probably should have.

Her twisted arm was screaming in response to its use, Leia having to balance it all to lock their car and start her trek up the steps. Up two flights of steps, actually, even though they lived on the second floor. Based on the background noise when he called, she knew where Luke was.

She knocked on the faded stickers that read ’313’. Inside she could hear three loud voices and some kind of game in the background. Lumbering footsteps approached, and the door opened to a friendly face. The more bearable of the two, Landen Calrissian — who only liked to be referred to as Lando, for some reason — opened the door, smiling down at her. "And we were beginning to think you got lost on the way here." He said, the lilt to his voice letting her know they’d been drinking. That explains why she had to go pick up the console instead of Luke just asking for the car. Figures.

"And then who would make sure the three of you haven't died holed up in here, huh?" Her lips tilted up, playfully pushing past him into the dirty apartment. Suspicions confirmed, there were several open containers of liquor on the table and a couple of six packs all missing bottles. Additionally, the alcohol landing zone seemed to operate as a card table. There were three small collections of cards and wads of cash and coins. She tried to keep the annoyance off her face, but she was never known for her subtly.

"Here." She said continuing her trek into the apartment, dropping the contents from her arms onto the couch next to her brother, who gazed up at her through a drunken fog. He knew she hated the way he drank, even if she never explicitly said it. She kept her mouth closed in a fine line, as she usually did, especially considering who was also occupying the couch with Luke.

She'd talk to him about it later, when it wouldn’t cause Leia and his friend to get into it… again.

"Care to join, princess?" Said friend asked, tipping a bottle of beer back into his mouth.

Han Solo was, unfortunately, probably Luke’s best friend. And a huge pain in her ass. He’d coined the name princess for her one of the first times they’d met, and she’d made the mistake of telling him she hated it. Therefore, it was all he used. He did, however, seem thoroughly more sober compared to both Luke and Lando, as it typically went around here. As much as the three partied, she'd never seen Han anything past tipsy, from the few times she'd bothered to join them.

"Wish I could." Her tone dripped in sarcasm. "Unfortunately, I have a job and responsibilities and deadlines to attend to." Her gaze flicked to Luke, who was oblivious as always. ’Which you should be doing, too’, she thought, swallowing back the comment.

"Oh, right" Han said, matching her tone and turning his attention back to the game. “Her holiness has more important matters to attend to.” She caught the sleek little smirk he always wore, which immediately set off her temper.

Leia rolled her eyes, turning back towards the exit.

"Ah come on, Leia." She heard Luke plead, getting up from the couch in a clumsy manner, grabbing onto the side of the counter for support. "One game? You and I used to love this thing." He asked, gesturing to the dusty console she’d dumped. It was hard to say no to him when he looked like that, all big blue eyes and pleading tones. Luckily, she’d gotten better at it over time.

"Maybe later. I need to finish the paper I was writing."

Her brother frowned, but the look she gave him told him not to push, opting for a disappointed shrug and reclaiming his seat next to Han.

Something like envy burned in her chest. In all honesty she would rather be up here, making a night of it. But the paper wasn’t a bluff. It was due at midnight. She managed to plaster on a fake smile, only interrupted by a cringe of pain when she readjusted her backpack.

“Have fun, don’t get alcohol poisoning.” She turned for the door.

"Promise you'll come back up?" Luke piped up from the couch, she bit back her retort.

"No promises, but I will try, okay?" That was the best she could do. She knew it wouldn’t happen, but Luke didn’t seem keen on taking that for an answer.

But, it seemed her lukewarm acceptance was all he needed. He returned his attention to the game and whined in annoyance when Han’s character killed his due to his distraction.

Luke had always been a kind person, sometimes aloof, sometimes clueless, a lot of times impatient, but kind nonetheless. Even when he was deep in his bottles, which happened more than Leia would like, he only seemed to soften. It surprised her at first, how well he and the two men who lived upstairs got along. Han and Lando seemed…. so different from Luke. Rough around the edges or something. She’d expected it to fizzle out by this point, but a year later, they still hung out nearly every night.

It was thoughts like these that distracted her from her paper as she tried to write. It didn’t help that she was thoroughly uninterested in the topic, and the consistent thumping and banging that came from the ceiling. Drunken yells of glory were enough to distract anyone.

But, to be fair, that was how they’d all met one another in the first place. One of their new neighbors had helped Luke move a few boxes in. However, what really sparked their budding friendship was Leia marching upstairs sometime well past two in the morning to thoroughly chew out the two for making a racket the first week of school. Her brother miserably followed, not wanting to start a fight with their new neighbors. While Leia was lecturing the tall man who wouldn’t stop smiling at her, Luke saw a glimpse of one of his favorite obscure movies playing in the background. And right then and there, it was a done deal. The three had become nearly inseparable since, despite Leia’s obvious disapproval and distaste.

She rubbed her arm where her father had grabbed it earlier. Grabbed was generous, he’d wrenched it back almost out of its range of motion when she’d tried to bulldoze past him to leave. While it didn’t throb anymore, she did have to take several painkillers to be able to type without difficulty.

Luke, thankfully, didn't know about this side of their father. This violent, angry, oppressive side. She wasn’t able to protect Luke from much after Padme died, but she was able to protect him from this.

Their mother’s death put in perspective just how fragile their family was. Leia felt like she had taken rose colored glasses off, the day they’d declared her dead. Her father broke into someone unrecognizable, and Luke sunk into a depression she wasn’t sure he was going to come out of. With the only pieces of her family she had left so utterly broken, she had to stay together, she had to stay whole. She’d taken on the role of caregiver, of protector. And if she needed to endure Anakin’s wrath in order to protect Luke from it, she would.

Still, it was a miracle he hadn’t found out. Whenever she saw them together, Anakin spit just as much vitriol and hate at Luke as he did to her, but she never saw him raise a hand to him, not once.

She used to ask the universe, why her? In her nights of extreme selfishness, she wondered why not him, too? Though she always felt slimy those nights, she should be grateful Luke doesn’t have to carry this burden around, too. It was nearly too much for her, she wasn’t sure if Luke would be able to stand it. But it didn’t matter, Anakin only seemed to turn his anger physically on her. Maybe because of her resemblance to their deceased mother... though she never really knew for sure.

However, even with the continued pain, moving out was the best thing that ever happened to the twins. They’d made an agreement to go to the same college. The loss of their mother still hung like a heavy cloud, losing each other, even just distance-wise, made them both feel uneasy. Technically, they easily could have commuted. The school was only a half an hour away from the home they grew up in, the one Anakin still occupied. It would have saved them thousands of dollars, as well as Leia’s sanity.

But she couldn’t live there anymore. She couldn’t take the daily beratings, the badgerings, the thrown picture frames and holes punched in the walls. She didn’t care if it landed her in debt for the foreseeable future, she had to get her and Luke out of that house before it killed them.

Leia was so distracted she barely made the midnight deadline, and that was with only one round of edits and review. Had she not picked up an evening shift and gone by their old house, she would have made it with time to spare. Exhaustion pulled heavy at her eyelids as she briefly thought back to her commitment to go upstairs. Briefly being the key term, because Leia changed into pajamas and hurdled into bed as soon as her laptop closed.

Luke would be fine. He slept on the couch up there at least once a week. She just hoped he remembered he had class in the morning — she sure wasn’t going to go up there and wake him up for it.

—

“Your Worshipfullness lives.”

Leia jumped, not prepared to see anyone in the kitchen this early. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes, checking if her ears had deceived her.

They had not, Han stood in her kitchen, holding a steaming mug — one of her mugs — of coffee, a barrage of tools littered on her counter and… oh no… her stove.

The top of it had completely been taken apart, pieces everywhere. It looked like a bomb had gone off inside, she could hardly even tell those parts put together even made a stove. Just looking at it gave her a headache, Han being the one to have caused it made it double.

"What exactly are you doing here?" She questioned after composing herself from the scare. Suddenly, Leia remembered what she’d put on to go to bed last night, and she felt her cheeks heat. It had been warm enough last night to want to wear her short silk set, something she didn’t even feel decent wearing around Luke. Before a blush could betray her, she began rifling around in the cupboard for another one of her mugs, pouring from the pot that had already been used. Annoyance clouded her features.

"Fixin' the stove." He said, motioning towards the mess in her kitchen. She waited to see if his gaze would linger, but he kept it planted firmly at eye-level. "Luke told me you kept gettin' annoyed the left burner wouldn't turn on."

She tried to look offended. After all, it was her security deposit she'd most definitely lose if he wasn't able to actually put it back together. Though, in his defense, if anyone could do it, it would be him. She’d seen him take apart his entire engine in their parking lot before, and put it back together with deft ease. He knew how to fix the AC compressors on the roof when they broke and the landlord drug their feet on hiring for repairs. He even managed to fix Luke’s laptop when dropped it while getting out of the car. He seemed to have a general knowledge of how to fix or tune up anything that could be considered mechanical. He was annoyingly good at it.

“So, breaking in at 8 o’clock in the morning to fix it was your idea of appropriate?” She seethed, but her heart wasn’t in it. Han nudged open the fridge door as she approached, which also annoyed her. Still, she merely glared while she rummaged around for the cream.

"Hard to break in when your brother opened the door for me.” He replied. She heard the rattle of the mug as he placed it down. "Besides, I was returning him. He was gonna be late for class."

"Of course you were." She muttered, also annoyed that he had genuinely helped. She dumped a splash of cream into her mug and replaced the carton, Han kneeing the door closed behind her. She was content to take this back to her room and enjoy her morning before work in peace, since she clearly wasn’t going to get any in here. She’d turned for her room when Han asked a question.

"Did the paper bite back?"

"What?" She turned, almost fast enough to slosh her drink right out of the cup.

He nodded to her arm, and fear replaced embarrassment. Gazing down, she saw at least five dark purple, fingerprint shaped bruises decorating her upper arm. Her elbow had ached less this morning, but the skin around it, she now realized, felt tender and swollen. Her cheeks blazed, but this time not out of prudishness.

"I fell at work yesterday." She answered simply. She didn’t give enough time for a response, turning back around and swiftly heading into her room, clicking the door shut behind her.

She wasn’t proud of the way her heart raced, or the way she couldn’t seem to forget that Han was still in the kitchen, no matter what she tried to distract herself with. She heard the clicking and tapping of tools, but when she emerged after a shower an hour later, he and his mess were gone.

#hanleia #star wars #han leia fanfiction #star wars au #star wars fanfiction #if you see formatting text no you didnt #this is also my first star wars story and im way too scared to write in universe #not sure if ill continue posting chapters here #entire story is on ao3 #pls pay attention to triggers #my works #han solo #leia organa #luke skywalker #han x leia #han and leia

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umbrakudo · 4 months ago

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𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐒𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐌 !

SUN • egotistical • melted wax wings and fingers • sunburnt skin • the most generous soul • blood in the fruit • halos • anger on fire • high vitality • thunderous laughter • is pride really a sin ? • halogenic aura.

MERCURY • expansion of the mind • silver-tongued • an everlasting wanderer • polyglot • high dexterity • handwritten letters • innately critical • en vogue • eyes in the trees • hidden libraries • there’s always room for improvement.

VENUS • in love with strangers • iridescent waters • love potions for your mirror • selfless devotion • shattering crystal • seafoam upon sand • the golden ratio • drowning in your own passion • material value & high principles • luring • plush lips.

EARTH • fresh springs • tree hugger • we can start again tomorrow • a blazing rainforest • respects survival of the fittest • nature’s adversity • lazy bones • constantly evolving • flowers sprouting from wounds • a granite altar • fossilized remains.

MOON • illusory • silver shimmer off the ocean • secrets and gossip • cycles of reincarnation • a crybaby • physically ethereal • shared glances with a stranger • cat eyes • mistrusting their intuition • fear is a prison • ornate magic wands.

MARS • healthy competition • attraction and repulsion • magma and rubies • a blade being forged • wrath wrath wrath • malefic • intense eye contact • cannon fodder & fireworks • blood floods • copper taste on your tongue.

JUPITER • red robes and a suit of armor • beacon of stability • leader by birth • thunderbolts and lightning • guilty but can’t stop • secret rich kid • golden touch golden tears • innate optimist • failure isn’t an option • constantly reaching for more • unfinished symphonies.

SATURN • traditional • overbearing energy • a sculptor of reality • this existence is a karmic one • has a heart, it’s just... way down deep • law, order & justice • avoid all necessary risk • the sound of shackles clanging • sisyphus’ struggle • grappling with the reality of time • self-governing.

URANUS • psychedelic funk music • overflowing cups • a rebellion with skin • looking good in photo id • oblivious but caring • middle fingers in the air • double rainbows • icy diamond exterior • holographic • afraid of their own mediocrity • pearlescent smoke.

i had SO much fun with this and thinking more about shinichi and his character on a deeper level... he's so moon coded while also having some ties with jupiter and saturn - representing his strive to be someone worthy of being looked up to and seen as a protector for the ones he loves, wanting to provide justice for any victims of murder cases he takes on, while also seeking justice for himself against the very organization that stole his chance of living a normal life with the people his age and being a normal high-schooler. not to mention mars LITERALLY just being his dynamic with kaitou KID.

tagged by: @nosenipped (thank you hubby <3)

tagging: @wildbolt, @normaltothemax (max or jake!), @miraculpa (vermouth), @iobartach, @snowcrowned, @theshinigamisupervisor, @sorenyamashita, @trattcria (hakuba!), and anyone who sees this on their dash! <3

#.⋆｡⋆˚✧ — kudou shinichi / headcanons.#.⋆｡⋆˚✧ — dash games.#(i definitely went overboard with this but UHHH we ball)#(im just so... head empty about shinichi)#(and his struggles with feeling as if hes stuck in time as conan)#(everyone is moving without him but 'shinichi kudou' hasn't. he doesnt exist anymore in a way)#.⋆｡⋆˚✧ — queue.

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tokidokitokyo · 1 year ago

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千葉県

Japanese Prefectures: Kantō - Chiba

都道府県 (とどうふけん) - Prefectures of Japan

Learning the kanji and a little bit about each of Japan’s 47 prefectures!

Kanji・漢字

千　ち、セン　thousand

葉　は、ヨウ　leaf, lobe

県　ケン　prefecture

関東　かんとう　Kantō, region consisting of Tokyo and surrounding prefectures

Prefectural Capital (県庁所在地) : Chiba City (千葉市)

Chiba lies on the Bōsō Peninsula on the east coast of Tokyo Bay, about 20 miles (30 km) southeast of central Tokyo, and boasts many international facilities such as Narita International Airport, known as the gateway to Japan); Makuhari Messe, one of the most prominent convention centers in Asia; Kazusa DNA Research Institute, a world leader in cutting edge research; and Tokyo Disney Resort, with two theme parks that draw in 30 million patrons each year. It also boasts beaches for swimming, surfing, and diving and was the location for the first Olympic surfing games. Historically, Chiba was a castle town controlled by the Chiba family in the 12th–15th century, and during the Edo (Tokugawa) period (1603–1867) it served as a post-station town for several major roads. After the construction of a railway connecting it to Tokyo, the town began to grow in the second half of the 19th century.

Recommended Tourist Spot・おすすめ観光スポット Mt Nokogiri - 鋸山

Mt. Nokogiri - Hyaku-Shaku Kannon carved into stone cliff

Mt. Nokogiri is named for the zigzag shape of a traditional handsaw that its topography resembles. Along with Mt. Kanozan and Mt. Kiyosumi, Mt. Nokogiri is one of Chiba's three most famous mountains. It stands at 330 meters high and features a grand lookout point as well as a temple complex containing one of Japan's largest Buddhas. The mountain is bare granite and has been a quarry since the Edo Period, providing stones for many of Tokyo's most iconic sites, such as Yasukuni Shrine and Waseda University. You can reach the top by an easy hike or via a ropeway to the top. Hell Lookout (地獄のぞき) is a lookout point at the top of the mountain that hangs over the edge of the cliff and offers a stunning view of Tokyo Bay, the Pacific Ocean, and the distant forests and hills of the Boso Peninsula, and on clear days, Mt. Fuji.

At the southern base of Mt. Nokogiri is Nihonji Temple (日本寺), an officially designated Important Cultural Property. There's a stairway leading from the top of the mountain down to the vast, picturesque Soto Zen Buddhist temple that dates back 1300 years and is still used to train young monks today. A giant daibutsu, or Buddha statue, is carved into the granite on the side of Mt. Nokogiri about midway up the mountain. It is 31 meters high and one of Japan's largest Buddhas, even larger than Kamakura's famous daibutsu at Kotokuin Temple. The statue was built to pray for world peace and most of the statue was carved over three years beginning in 1780.

In addition to the giant daibutsu, there are around 1500 small statues of various Buddhist deities around the temple grounds. Unfortunately, many of the smaller statues were beheaded during the anti-Buddhist movement that accompanied the Meiji Restoration, but there are ongoing efforts to repair them. This part of Nihonji was a spiritual sanctuary built over 21 years in the 18th century by craftsman Ono Kangoro and his students. Towards the top of the mountain stands a 30-meter tall Hyaku-Shaku Kannon, depicting the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy. Carved in 1966 into a stone cliff, it is dedicated to those who died in wars, of sickness or in accidents. The Kannon is also worshiped as a protector of transportation due to its protected location surrounded by rocks.

Regional Cuisine - 郷土料理 Sangayaki - さんが焼き

Sangayaki (source)

Namerou and sangayaki are well-known Chiba dishes, especially along the Bōsō Peninsula. Namerou (なめろう) is a dish usually made of minced horse mackerel and sardine mixed with miso, perilla leaves, and leek. When grilled and wrapped in perilla leaves, it is called sangayaki (さんが焼き). The name "namerou" may have come from the fact that namerou is so good that you want to lick your plate clean (nameru means to lick). The name "sangayaki" may be from the fact that the fishermen ate the dish along a river tributary, or sanga, and the word yaki means to grill (like yakisoba or yakitori). Namerou can be cooked in other ways, such as being shaped and grilled like a burger, or being coated in breadcrumbs and fried.

Chiba Dialect・Chiba no hougen・千葉の方言

Note: Chiba dialect is sometimes called Bōsō-ben (房総弁), after the peninsula. Chiba dialect is actually a family of three dialects: Bōshū-ben (房州弁), Tōsō-ben 東総弁, and Noda-ben (野田弁).

Bōshū-ben (房州弁)

1. おいねえ　oinee　not good

はしけえでおいねえや (hashikee de oinee ya)

Standard Japanese: かゆくていけないよ (kayukute ikenai yo)

English: This itches so badly

2. くわっせえ　kuwassee　please eat (command)

ばーさんほら、わーかでいーがらくわっせぇよ (baa-san hora, wa-ka de iigara kuwassei yo)

Standard Japanese: おばあさんほら、少しでいいから召し上がってよ (obaasan hora, sukoshi demo ii kara meshi agate yo)

English: Grandma, come on, please just eat a little bit

3. やんべえ　yanbee　health; condition (often used in a greeting)

いいやんべえだねえ (ii yanbee da nee)

Standard Japanese: こんにちは (konnichiwa)

English: Hello; Good day (lit. "you are in good health today")

Tōsō-ben 東総弁

1. あじょうだぁ　ajyou daa　how is it

あじょうだぁ？ (ajyou daa?)

Standard Japanese: どうですか？　(dou desu ka?)

English: How is it?

2. ねっけぇ　nekkee　warm

今日はずいぶんとねっけぇね (kyou wa zuibun to nekkee ne)

Standard Japanese: 今日はずいぶんと暖かいね (kyou wa zuibun to atatakai ne)

English: Today is fairly warm, isn't it?

3. わんらー　wanraa　you (informal, not very polite)

わんらーよー！んなことやってねーよ！ (wanraa you! 'n na koto yatte nee yo!)

Standard Japanese: あなたねえ！そんな事しないでよ！ (anata nee! sonna koto shinai de yo!)

English: Hey you! Stop doing that!

Noda-ben (野田弁)

1. こわい　kowai　difficult, taxing, bothersome

風邪ひいででまーだこわいだよなぁ (kaze hiide de maa-da kowai da yo naa)

Standard Japanese: 風邪を引いていてまだ身体がだるいんだよね　(kaze wo hiite ite mada karada ga daruin da yo ne)

English: I have a cold and my body still feels listless

2. はらくち　harakuchi　full

はらくちだよなぁ (harakuchi da yo naa)

Standard Japanese: お腹いっぱいだよね (onaka ippai da yo ne)

English: I'm full

3. やっこら　yakora　soon

やっこらいくべ (yakora iku be)

Standard Japanese: そろそろいこうか (sorosoro ikou ka)

English: Shall we go soon?

#japanese prefectures #日本語 #japanese #japanese language #japanese langblr #langblr #studyblr #都道府県 #千葉県 #chiba

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hollowbutcanlove · 2 days ago

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Emergency 18+

chapter 35

you x iso

The silence in the "Mammoth" on the way back was thick as resin. Echo sat next to Jett, her fingers gripping the girl's hand – not in panic, but like an anchor in a stormy sea. She looked out the window at the passing lights, her face pale but not shattered in the glass reflection. Yoru drove. Every turn of the wheel, every maneuver seemed to cost him visible effort, as if he were transporting not people, but his own shroud. His back was unnaturally straight; the stone mask had cracked, revealing the abyss of shame beneath.

At the ryokan, Echo didn't run to hide. She slowly got out, walked through the garden, and sat on the edge of the stone platform, where Yoru used to meditate. She hugged her knees but didn't hide her face. Her gaze was fixed on the empty spot by the stone lantern – his spot. There was no fear in it. There was assessment, cold and precise as a scalpel. Yoru didn't dare approach. He stood frozen by the car, like a condemned man awaiting execution. His own shadow seemed his only worthy company.

Council. Common room. Late evening.

Sage sat at the low table, her face carved from granite – weariness and anger fused into hard resolve. Clove paced the room like a caged tiger, their voice tearing the silence:

"Are you KIDDING me, Doc?! He crossed every line! He practically ASSAULTED her right there, in front of all those people! He's no better than Omega-Iso! Worse! He wore the mask of a 'protector'!" - They jabbed a finger towards the door, behind which Yoru stood. - "He belongs in the first prison transport back to Brimstone's disciplinary unit! Or better yet—give me five minutes with him and a rusty spoon!"

Jett, pale, clutched her tablet like a shield.

"Clove, cool it. You're right. But… who replaces him? Gekko? He's on assignment. Omen? His psi-field could be a trigger. Reyna? Doesn't know the context. Bringing in a new bodyguard means a new person, new adaptation for Echo. Risk." - She looked at Sage. - "What he did was vile. But his skills… and he knows her triggers like no one else. Knows the terrain. He's been the closest all this time. It's… practical."

Sage closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, the decision within was cold and clear.

"Come in."

Yoru entered. He didn't raise his eyes. Stood at the threshold, head bowed, hands clenched behind his back. The posture not of a protector, but of an accused awaiting the blow.

"Your actions this evening," - Sage began, her voice cutting the air, - "were an egregious violation of trust, your oath, and professional ethics. You transformed from a shield into a threat to the patient's psychological safety. Your presence near Echo is no longer possible in your previous capacity."

Clove growled, but Sage raised a hand.

"However, Jett is correct. Echo's physical safety is paramount. And in that, you are currently irreplaceable. Therefore, you have a choice." She stood, walked right up to him. Her gaze drilled into his lowered brow.

"Option one: You leave the group immediately. On the next 'Stream' flight, you return. Brimstone will be notified. You face a severe reprimand and suspension from upcoming missions for a significant period. Option two: You stay. But only as a physical security tool. Absolute rules:

Distance: Minimum 10 meters from Echo at all times. Indoors – at the opposite end of the room or behind a door. Out of her line of sight whenever possible.

Interaction: Zero. Not a word, not a glance, not a gesture in her direction without her direct, unambiguous order. You are a protector, not a person.

Oversight: Your actions are monitored constantly by myself, Clove, or Jett. Any violation of these rules, the slightest reduction in distance without command – immediate implementation of Option One. Without warning."

She paused, letting the icy words sink in.

"Choose. Now."

Silence hung like heavy lead. Yoru raised his head. His eyes, meeting Sage's gaze, were empty as a scorched desert. There was no hope, no protest in them. Only a bottomless pit of shame and acceptance of his fate.

"Second,"- he whispered, voice ragged, alien. - "I swear. Shadow. Stone. Nothing more. Until the end."

Sage nodded, without a trace of compassion.

"The rules take effect immediately. Your place is where it cannot be seen. And remember: one wrong move – and you disappear. Jett, prepare a report for Brimstone. Brief. Dry. Facts."

Jett nodded, her fingers already flying over the tablet. Clove snorted, crossing their arms:

"Fine. But if his shadow so much as looks sideways at Zombie – rusty spoon. Consider yourself warned." - They threw Yoru a look full of contempt and left, sliding the shoji shut with a loud clack.

previous chapter - 34

next chapter - 36

to the beginning

#valorant #valorant x reader #valorant x you #iso valorant #iso x reader #valorant iso x reader #iso x you

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heliopauseentertainments · 1 year ago

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An Unfamiliar Battlefield

Anonymously requested here on Tumblr

Continuity: IDW1 (roughly)

Relationship: Megatron/Hot Rod

Characters: Megatron & Hot Rod

Rating: Teen

Warnings/Notes: AU of an AU, Canon Blending, Past Relationships, Referenced Character Death, Romance, Recovery from Grief, Vignette

Crossposting: AO3 | Dreamwidth

Summary: In which a seemingly unqualified suitor vies for the open Lord Protector position for the Prime of Destruction.

Fic below cut.

Small. Thin armor. Loud paint. Incautious gait.

Megatron could have crumpled him like a frail sheet of foil if he so chose.

Yet in front of him, posed confidently with his hands on his hips at the foot of the impractically tall dark granite dais, beamed some red little fool the herald had introduced as “Hot Rod of Nyon.” Given the obnoxious flames painted on his chest, Megatron thought the mech’s name was a little on the nose.

This scrawny fool, apparently, wanted to be the Lord Protector of the alleged incarnation of Destruction itself. What a ridiculous thought.

Since Orion, Megatron’s previous Lord Protector, had succumbed to early onset cybercrosis more than three decades ago, Megatron had spent most of his time alone.

He, in fact, intended to keep it that way.

Watching his partner waste away against an invisible foe had been more of a punishment than being forcibly ascended to a position of ritualized shame and fear for his crimes had ever been.

The ritual mourning periods of seven months, then thirty months, and then a decade had all passed. The generals and officers who made up his “priesthood”—more like a religious militia meant to keep him in check—hadn’t pressed him to take another protector before the formalized markers of grieving had been reached. It wouldn’t have been proper, for all they, his prison wardens, pretended to care about propriety even when their “Prime” still lit decennial memorial lamps.

Megatron, regardless of his own opinions on the matter, was kept around solely for the fulfillment of ancient laws and summoning his strength in times of war. The First Prime was nominally the Prime of War, but Sentinel spent far too much time playing politician, leaving Megatron as the de facto holder of the purview.

It wasn’t as though he needed protection, not physically. He could protect himself, as was obvious from the battlefields they pleaded that he would drench in spilled fuel, like the arena of banal bloodsport they had unilaterally plucked him from. When Megatron had turned the rare suitor away before, the battle clerics hadn’t objected too strongly.

Usually.

Besides, it wasn’t as though suitors were commonplace. Not many were lining up to consort with a “deity” of death, forced to use his violence as a tool for theocratic control. Orion, before his untimely death, had been an irreplaceable exception. No one is else would or could ever take that place again; it would never be the same.

Starscream, the general who oversaw all the others who allegedly paid Megatron homage, was a sharp-eyed mech with innumerable half-spoken agendas. He relished being what passed for this "Prime's" high priest, chief jailer rather. This was clearly part of some of his machinations.

He stood, smirking, next to Megatron’s throne, arms crossed in front of his chest. His gleaming white wings were held out wide as he swayed side to side, not-so-subtly trying to make his heavily embroidered cape undulate in the artificial breeze.

“Starscream, this is unnecessary,” Megatron said, hunched over with his elbows against his knees. He glowered down at Hot Rod. “You know this is unnecessary.”

Hot Rod was hardly much bigger than one of Soundwave’s mini-bots, who were generally relegated to sabotage work as a result. A Lord Protector, expected to accompany him into the heat of battle, could never be allowed to fill a less combat-oriented position. Hot Rod would end up as little more than shrapnel littering the battlefield.

“Come now,” Starscream said, his slick grin stretched broad. It barely concealed that he was up to something, a fig leaf of pious duty. “It’s been so long since you’ve kept any company but your own.”

They both knew the other role a Lord Protector fulfilled: controlling the sacred monster.

“He’s not—“

"You've been lonely, absorbed in nothing but your work for far too long."

Starscream, of course, would be eager to have someone once more take up that mantle… for the approval of the public rather than practical necessity, given Megatron’s self discipline. That was likely why he had allowed this fragile mech to even put forward a petition. Any tether at all was better for their reputation than a beast with no leash.

“I’m right here!” Hot Rod, speaking for the first time, brazenly put his foot on the lowest step on the dark dais and smacked his tiny fist against his chest. His beaming grin became a frown at the perceived disrespect. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

What a rude little mech.

Talking out of turn, ascending the dais uninvited…. No self preservation to be had. The distance was supposed to be for the protection of any visitors, in case the “god” lost control. More time for the jailers masquerading as devotees to restrain him if the Lord Protector didn’t get there first.

This Hot Rod was clearly on some elaborate suicide mission for some reason. This was far more effort than most would bother putting towards such an end; there were doubtlessly easier ways to go about it.

“Just how badly do you want to die?”

“Not at all, actually.” Hot Rod didn’t back down, a determined look set on his face. “A big shocker, I know.”

Not the answer Megatron had expected, not that mechs tended to be forthright about their deathwishes.

“What exactly is your purpose here?”

“Surely, that’s self-evident.” Starscream’s opinions, as usual, were unnecessary so Megatron ignored him.

He merely repeated the question to Hot Rod, who had begun climbing the dais as though he thought he’d been given some sort of invitation. His bright paint was a stark contrast to the stone, black as the void, giving the impression of a rising star.

Some of the officers, all armed with guns and blades, stationed at various points up the steps began to shift, bristling with unease at the blatant disregard of norms. Several stepped forward, as though to get in the intruder’s way.

Megatron gestured for them to take no action.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s obvious what I’m here for.” Brow furrowed, Hot Rod continued scaling the dais, stepping past the officers as though they were harmless bystanders. Armor clattered in the quiet hall as they made way for him.

Hot Rod’s bravery reminded him somewhat of Orion.

Orion had not climbed to meet him, no, but had lain down his weapons on the floor of the hall and had challenged Megatron unarmed combat.

Hot Rod too was challenging him in a way, but why?

Megatron silently let him approach.

Starscream whispered a reminder to mind his manners, as though he were some uncouth newbuild courting for the first time.

If only Starscream didn’t have wings…. Megatron occasionally considered pushing him off the side of the platform.

Once Hot Rod reached the top level, he stopped just within arm’s reach of the throne.

Megatron leaned forward, as far as he could without overbalancing. Seated, he was at Hot Rod’s eye level.

“What do you gain by asking this?”

Hot Rod’s bright smile was back, this time as a smirk, like he thought Megatron was joking.

“What do you lose by letting me?”

Smart aleck.

“Why are you determined to die?”

“I’m not.” Hot Rod shrugged, as though that were the obvious answer despite all evidence to the contrary.

“So you’ve said before, yes, but that’s the only outcome at the end of the path you’re trying to walk.”

“That’s my business, I think.”

Stubborn.

“So be it.”

Huffing, Megatron waved Starscream over without looking at him. The clicking of thruster heels against black granite told him that the high “priest” had obeyed.

“Yes?” he purred, clearly pleased with himself. He was getting what he had wanted after all.

“Have him trained. Presuming he survives, schedule the ceremony.”

#fic #one shot #maccadam #idw1 #mtmte #megatron #rodimus #megarod #hot rod

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