#he's insufferable and i love him so much its concerning

[ratatatastic]

Guess Who? Global Series Panthers edition.

my favourite dynamic for dumb games that don't particularly matter is sore loser who's trying not to be a sore loser and man who acts like winning means he gets the keys to the city rather than just a participation sticker

[ma1dita]

said he likes crazy

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> anything you want | next -> play pretend words: 2.1k summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where only he can help you with a bad day, even if he's been avoiding you since your first kiss. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader a/n: SAID HE LIKES CRAZY GIRLS, BUT HE HATES WHEN I ACT CRAZY guys i didnt sleep for this pls tell me its ok (posted 1/29/24, beta’d by the lovely ellie @lixzey )

—

He’s been avoiding you. 

To be specific, Luke’s been running away from you. Typical son of Hermes, and a typical teenage boy at that. But if anyone’s asked you what’s up (which, they all have, after almost 4 years of seeing you two not go a day without bickering), it’s just easier to say you’ve been busy.

Okay, so perhaps you’ve been avoiding him too.

Annabeth clocked you as soon as you turned tail after almost bumping into him after archery practice. Damn children of Athena; it’d be nice if they weren’t so perceptive sometimes.

“What did he do this time?” she pipes up, filling the silence of the Big House. It’s late now, and the cabin counselors’ meeting just ended.

“Seeing as you’re the one helping me with the paperwork tonight and not him, you can take a good guess, Annie,” you sigh.

Honestly though, who the fuck kisses someone senseless and then runs away? (Luke Castellan, that’s who.) You weren’t sure what to make of it. You’re a daughter of chaos, after all, not love. But if there’s anyone who can read your emotions better than yourself, it’s him. 

Annabeth stares at her idiot brother through the window as he wanders in the grass outside the Big House.

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s just…being Luke,” you say, blinking slowly as you shuffle through the last of the files you need to put on your dad’s desk before you mutter, “I’m just having a bad day.”

A noise of concern makes its way up Annabeth’s throat. You haven’t had a bad day in a while, in all honesty, not one that makes you act like this, admittedly not one that makes you act like you— the daughter of Dionysus, god of insanity, and not the daughter of Mr. D, camp director.

It was just a bad day until it turned into a bad week, and the voices in your head were starting to get loud without Luke distracting you. Because that’s what he ultimately is, a distraction from your camp duties. 

There’s so much to do and so little time, however, that you hide away your microexpressions that seem to be clawing at you from the inside. The anger, the mania, the hurt. If you unleash it, only the gods can predict how much of camp would be affected by your ‘outbursts’, as your dad likes to call them. Not like you had a choice in the matter. Your days of wreaking havoc are behind you, now presenting yourself as the stellar star of the Camp Half-Blood show. It’s almost a one-woman production with you picking up after your father and trying to tame the traits he passed down.

Thanks for that, D. 

So you give and you give and you give—all your attention and time and effort into keeping camp upright, into being the perfect daughter, that at the end of the day, you’ve drained yourself of who you are with who you try to be.

You look at your tired reflection in the window, before your eyebrow raises at the sight of Luke blending in with the shadows of the tree he’s leaning against. Idiot.

“Annie, would you mind…”

“Yeah, I’ll do cabin checks myself. Might drag your brother to do them with me,” she smiles, patting your arm before grabbing her bag.

“If he complains, let me know. Pollux has heard me bitch enough today.” The small girl raises an eyebrow at that, biting her tongue from responding. You chewed out a lot of people today, acting extra uptight and demanding of the counselors to “just do the right thing.” It was almost insufferable, but despite you trying to hold it in, your emotions bled into their own. Everyone was agitated by the end of the meeting, filing out quickly with biting words and hot tempers. You couldn’t help but notice Luke led them all out of there, and they also somehow got the feeling that he was to blame. 

Smiling at Annabeth in thanks, you watch her walk out to Luke before punching him in the stomach as he grimaces, meeting your violet gaze through the window as he raises a hand. It’s hard to tell if it’s to signal a truce or his embarrassment, but he trudges the way up the path and the door creaks open.

“Heard you were having a bad day,” he mumbles, scratching the nape of his neck. You look at him from the corner of your eye as you continue to write down the weekly to-dos and organize papers for your dad to sign and send back to Zeus.

“Why are you still here, Castellan?”

“So we’re back to that? I thought…” his voice trails off at the sound of his last name, not Luke, not angelface, or anything in between, and both of you are unsure how to proceed. Neither of you have done this before, at least not with each other. You tilt your head to the side, daring him to speak, and it reminds him of a week ago, you bathed in sunlight when he leaned in and kissed you. Though if he did that right now, he’s not sure how you’d react. 

“It’s just a bad day,” you whisper in defeat, lilac eyes wilting in front of him like an overwatered flower.

He realizes then that he cares for you more than he knows how to. And Luke knows what it means when you’re having a bad day.

There’s a deranged look in your eye, a subtle eye twitch and clench of your jaw that is almost insusceptible to the average demigod, but he knows you’re on edge, having taunted you mercilessly until you scream, cry, laugh, or all of the above. But most of all you look tired and in need of someone who knows how it feels to be underappreciated. 

“D’s a great dad to the twins. But I just feel like… maybe he wasn’t meant to be mine,” you whisper, rolling your tongue against the front of your teeth to push back the sob a 14-year-old version of you would let out deep in the dark of cabin 11, having been there for months and knowing Dionysus was your father and waiting for him to see you. To know you. 

“Giving me a hard time about all of this,” you say, hands gesturing to the things you have to prepare for him by morning. You’re overworked, underpaid, and definitely not appreciated— and Luke decides he hates your dad for what he puts you through, not just as a shitty camp director but as a shitty dad. He’s learned to live with the hurt—to use it to fuel his vengeance for how he plans to make the world better. But your ambition makes you change yourself constantly to try to be better. Both fatal flaws are fueled by the ignorance of your fathers. He knows the feeling all too well.

He knows you.

“What do you need?” he asks simply, stepping closer to your form hunched over the desk.

“I can do it, you know. D’s wrong about me,” you whisper, and the words come out sounding so desperate for him to believe the performance you always put on that you avert your eyes.

He doesn’t need to be convinced; instead, he holds his arms out waiting for you to let you make the next move. Luke is neither a fool nor a knave— there are no tricks here, no hidden agenda as he watches you try to compose yourself with a deep breath instead of showing him the real you. The one who’s beneath the mask of being head counselor, your father’s saving grace, and the one who carries her responsibilities like Atlas carries the weight of the sky.

“I know you can. You always have. You really think I’m here to help you file paperwork?”

“Will you let me?” Whether he meant sharing the workload or being there for you, you wouldn’t dare to ask. It’s all the same, anyway—laying yourself bare for someone to peek into your mind and have them not laugh at it.

Suddenly you speak, and the intensity of your tone makes him straighten his posture. 

“Sometimes… Do you ever feel the need to just…”

“What?” He reaches out to tug your hair, and in the dim light, he can see the bloom of your cheeks. You’re shy, and Luke thinks you look soft like this, wary of how he perceives you.

“I shouldn’t.” Fuck the gods. He can see the thought form in your eyes, the heat of your stare tearing through his, and his lips pull into a smirk.

“What was that, Trouble?” 

“Luke, don’t be an asshole…” You say warily, biting the inside of your cheek. There’s no way you’re going down in the history books for cursing the gods because Luke Castellan of all people made you. 

“I thought you liked me like that,” he’s grinning now, and grabbing your chin lightly, mouthing the words to echo your thoughts. 

Fuck the gods.

“Fuck.” you whisper, before your voice fails you, your eyes closing both from his touch and the genuine fear of the heavens falling down from the sacrilege falling from your lips.

“Louder,” he whispers, pulling your face up close to his, “come on, you used to be more fun, Trouble. I believe in you.”

“Fuck!” you say louder and he’s whispering in your ear, urging you to toe the line between perfect child and degenerate.

“Say it again.”

“FUCK! FUCK THE…” you yell before you sigh exasperatedly, eyes widening as you feel the breath release from your chest before your head lolls onto his shoulder. 

“Gods, you’re fucking insane, Castellan.”

He laughs lowly, and it sounds as sweet as sin. Your smiling lips make an imprint on his collarbone, and he wishes they would sear themselves on there for the rest of eternity.

“Hey, I get it from you. Feel better?”

To be seen is a fickle thing. But to be known is something more intimate, and nothing will be able to erase the connection you both share—fatal flaws and all. There are things you can’t change about people, what they are at their core, and so he takes what you hate about yourself with both hands and pulls you towards his chest until you settle against him with a sniffle. Luke tilts your chin up again, a rough thumb wiping away evidence of your watery smile. He thinks he sees a glimpse of a past you—a younger one that dyed his socks purple to make him feel like he belongs here. And he knows now that he does belong with you, right here as he holds you in the quiet of the Big House.

“Ugh, I’ll kiss you later, I still have to finish up here. You’re not off the hook, angelface.” You sigh, pushing away from him before he tugs you back, your feet stumbling as you roll your eyes at his impish expression.

“Let me make it up to you then, Trouble.”

“What, so you run away again?” you scoff, snickering at the sight of his ego being taken down a notch.

“I’ve just….I don’t know how to do all of this with you. Guess I’m worried it won’t meet your expectations, Miss Head Counselor.” A boyish sort of bashfulness crosses his features, and he’s twirling a piece of your hair in his hands like spinning silk.

“I just hope you never stop surprising me. That’s all I ask.”

Your hand touches his wrist lightly, and he sighs like you’ve already taken his breath away.

“I keep my promises. Do you?”

“Who said a kiss was a promise? I meant it as a threat,” you laugh before he’s pressing your hips into the table, nose nudging against yours and suddenly work is off the table for the rest of the night.

You on the table, however, well... that could be negotiated.

“I knew something was wrong with me when your so-called threats got less scary and more sexy,” Luke teases, running a finger on the side of your cheek. His breath tickles your lips, and you can imagine the rage your father would feel if he caught the two of you in his office like this. Besides the blatant defiance, you briefly wonder if your rebellion would get him to respect you more. An interesting thought.

“You’re absolutely terrible. I need to get this done… The gods don’t wait for us.”

A weak sigh leaves your mouth as your brain is already riddled with thoughts of him and he closes the gap between your lips.

“They can wait until morning. For now, you’re mine.”

—

“You can’t love someone unless you love yourself first — bullshit.

I have never loved myself.

But you —

Oh god, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like. (via swxrn-in)”

ask to be added to general/luke taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

[voidsuites]

MULTI BOT RELEASE !!! (1/31/25) ⌢ ✨ .ᐟ

art donaldson ・゜゜・．noid. tennis has given art everything anyone could ever want— a fulfilling career, you and lily, and countless influential titles and wins— and with him getting closer to becoming a household name, art’s more than aware of his luck. he’s beyond grateful. however, fame’s a double-edged sword and it’s getting harder to both play into the paparazzi and their mind-games and also protect his family, so it’s not a surprise that art loses his temper when those lines finally get crossed. (based off “noid” by tyler the creator!)

bruce wayne・゜゜・．billie bossa nova. underneath all the sneaking around hotel rooms and charity galas, both you and bruce long to be understood for more than just your family names and your money. whatever’s going on between the two of you is merely putting a band-aid on a niger issue, you’re aware, but there’s something about bruce that helps you rationalize the less-than-ideal circumstances. a lot can change in twenty seconds… a lot can happen in the dark. (based off “billie bossa nova” by billie eilish!)

jim hopper ・゜゜・．you’re a fighter. in one moment, all hop had to worry about was you slowly growing more independent and mike wheeler’s insufferable attitude, but now the mind flayer’s set its sights on you and you’ve seemingly lost your powers. setting the mess with the russians beneath starcourt mall aside, hopper’s main priority is making sure you’re safe and away from any more danger. you may be a fighter, but you’re his kid first. (based off “you’re a fighter” by kyle dixon and michael stein!)

joel miller ・゜゜・．western nights. joel knows you’re not supportive of the violent ways he provides for you, but in a post-apocalyptic world morals are put on the back burner while he concerns himself with keeping you both fed, housed, and taken care of. you’re stubborn, he’s stubborn, but you’d never think of taking off and leaving him behind. this time’s no different. (based off “western nights” by ethel cain!)

patrick zweig ・゜゜・．part of your world. mermaids were nothing but a mere children's bedtime story— they weren't real. that’s what patrick’s father had told him since he'd been a boy; that the wondrous creatures he believed in with all his heart were nothing but tall tales meant to put the children of new rochelle to bed with little fight. that’s proven to be false when you rescue him from swimming with the fishes for eternity, and now that he knows your kind is real, patrick just has to learn more. he’ll bring you as many human trinkets for your collection as you’d like if you’d let him be part of your world for a moment. (based off “part of your world” by jodi benson and disney!)

tashi duncan ・゜゜・．bodyguard. wlw. tashi’s always been protective of you since you started seeing each other, but it’s always amusing to see just how worked-up she gets when you’re the center of attention. stanford’s hosting a concert in the park, art and patrick are nowhere to be found, and tashi’s left to keep herself in control lest she “accidentally” scare people off because they’ve looked at you too long. she’ll protect you in the mosh pit, no doubt— but she’s still working on keeping that territorial nature of hers in check. (based off “bodyguard” by beyoncé!)

got a request? go ahead and leave em here :) THANK YOU GUYS SO SO MUCH FOR FOR 10.4K! so excited to get started on my celebration requests— you guys once again are the BEST!!!! i hope all of these are to your liking… but do forgive me if joel is a little too ooc lol i’ve only seen bits of tlou but i tried to capture him right. hehe. i also made a tumblr community for all things voidsuites-oriented 🤭 join yap city if you dare (i’m still figuring out what i’ll post on there but think of it as a communal close friends story on ig haha) anyways i love these characters and i love these songs and i love you all!!!! thank you for making this so much fun for me i’m so grateful <3

[dipperscavern]

I’m thinking about which is the stark men are most cocky. None of them are like insufferably so I think (maybe Robb, if he’s in a certain kind of mood), or like, assholes about it, obviously. I feel like first place definitely goes to Robb, but he’s very teasing about it. He knows he looks good, and likes that he can make you flustered with it. And you can tell. He does it on purpose, the idiot. As you said, “is one of those types who only teases because of a certain confidence behind it.” Like, only when you’re comfortable around him does he brag. (And is the type to fuck you so good that you’re laying there afterwards, head still spinning from the amount of times he made you peak, and then ask if it was good only so he can get praise and/or a blush from you)

Cregan I think is second. But I would not necessarily call him “cocky”, more like- almost intimidatingly self assured. He knows he fucks good, he knows that you know he fucks good (he’ll prove it to you often). I feel like he won’t brag, he’ll just quietly look pleased with himself. Whereas Robb will walk around your chambers naked only to catch your eye, and then tease you relentlessly about it, Cregan would do it because he isn’t at all concerned about being naked around you (intimidating self assured) and when he catches you starting, the ghost of a smile tugs at his lips as you flush and look away. He won’t comment on it, just get into bed and give you what you clearly want.

Poor Jon is last. Like definitely. Plenty of reasons to be cocky, but isn’t at all. Needs reassurance more than any of the other two.

I love them

“intimidatingly self assured” THIS IS EXACTLY HOW TO PUT IT. YES. it’s part of that authority-figure-ness that cregan has about him…. ugh i’ve never been able to put it into words very well but u just hit the nail on the head !! “he won’t comment on it, just get into bed and give you what you want” why is that so.

AND ROBB. UR ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. he’s soooo cocky it’s annoying — like a james potter level of cocky almost. does that make sense? “he knows he fucks good, he knows you know he fucks good” YUPP YUPPP !!!! it’s part of why you let him get away with teasing you so much 🙄🙄

jon…. my sweet gorgeous angel. he needs reassurance, but he doesn’t even know he does until you give it to him. he’s been standing on his own for so long he’s not used to the idea of you being there to catch him if he falls. “plenty reasons to be cocky, but isn’t at all” GODDDD ITS BANGER AFTER BANGER W U. In conclusion: jon = humble king 👑

this order is perfect. it’s so perfect. are you inside my brain rn???? if you aren’t then GET IN HERE. i love YOU.

[episodone]

HAIR TIE

SYNOPSIS: It was a heated day back in Coruscant and your body was starting to give up. With your long hair making the situation worse, Anakin decides to be of help.

PAIRING: rots!anakin x fem!reader ( implied )

CONTENT WARNING: established relationship, a bit of swearing, teasing, a whole lot of fluff, reader is implied to have long hair, anaking being a bit suggestive but nothing major

WORD COUNT: 857 ( i think … )

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hi everyone!! wow … here’s my first ever work on this account ? this is a special moment for me, okay !! anyways, i really hope you all enjoy whatever this turns out to be! this is also my first time writing properly with upper case letters so this is weird to me .. also please excuse any mistakes ! this was written by a very sleepy lily …

star wars masterlist

You had experienced long hot days before, but never something quite like this one. The heat was insufferable back in Coruscant, and as much as you would love to complain about it, you couldn’t. The Jedi Temple was nice enough for having a cooling down system for all of the Jedi’s inside to enjoy, and it seemed to be working for everyone, except for you.

Training was getting harder for your body. You could feel sweat drops running down your face and you muscles wanting to give up due to the temperature. You felt vulnerable, which wasn’t usual of you. Even your Padawan was giving you weird looks from time to time, but you decided to brush them off. For all that matters, your Jedi robes and cloak weren’t helping, either.

You weren’t one to back down on your trainings, and you wanted to persist in the duel against your Padawan, trying to give them as much knowledge in lightsaber fights as you possibly could. That was you purpose, after all. But enough was enough, even for you. Just as you were about to call out for a break, they were faster than you. You thanked Maker it was over and granted them to leave the room to cool down and rest and you decided to do the same yourself shortly after, running outside. While walking down the long hallway, with your heavy chest panting from the heat, a familiar voice calls out for you.

“Here’s my pretty girl.” a tall figure makes its way to your side and you look up to see Anakin, as perfect as ever. Not a single drop of sweat on his face and biggest grin ever while looking at you, like the heat doesn’t even bother him. How you envied him in that moment.

“Not here, Ani. Someone could hear you.” you look to your sides, searching for any sign of life besides you two that could compromise this moment, and Anakin watches you with a glint in his eyes.

“As far as I’m concerned, everyone is too focused on cooling down right now rather than look for forbidden couples walking around the Temple together.” you turn to him with an unamused look and playfully hit his arm as he only laughs at you.

“You should probably do the same, my love. It seems the heat is taking a toll on you.”

“Very funny, Anakin. Not everyone looks as perfect as you after a long session of training under the warmth.” You curse under you breath by how unaffected he was, with his perfect blonde locks and perfect smooth skin with no signs of tiredness. How confident he seemed when his whole body was stinging, begging for a breath of cold air.

“So you think I’m perfect?” he turns to you with a teasing smile and you scoff in response.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Skywalker.” you answer bluntly and he smiles at you, inspecting your figure.

“No hair up today?” he asks and you turn to him, clearly confused.

“What?”

“Your hair. Since it’s so hot, I thought you would put up your hair.”

Oh. That’s right. Your hair. Your forgot about that one little detail. How were supposed to manage the heat better if you hair was blocking your neck from all the cooling around? Now you know why your Padawan was giving you funny looks. What kind of person in their right minds would walk around with their hair down on an extreme heat day?

You quickly sense around your pulses for a hair tie, only to find out that you forgot about them in your dorm earlier today.

“Kriff.” you mumble. “I forgot my hair ties this morning.”

You think back to who could borrow you one for the day. A fellow female Jedi around the Temple. The one’s you didn’t know so well, unfortunately. While your mind runs through the endless options and the embarrassment that would come with you asking, you hair gets suddenly lift up.

You try to look back to see what happened but you’re stopped by Anakin, who now holds your hair with one of his hands in a makeshift ponytail.

“Wait.” his other hand sneaks around your waist, stopping you in your tracks. A sense of relief washes over you as a breath of cold hair spreads around your neck and shoulders. You instinctively close your eyes to the feeling, letting out a deep sigh. Pink tinted blush creeps up your cheeks at the thought of Anakin behind you, his lips puckered up and busy being your savior of the day. You stayed in that positions for a few second until air flow suddenly stops, making you flutter your eyes open.

“Better?” his voice makes a smile creep up your face and you shyly nod in response.

“Yeah... Thank you.” you feel his strong arm pull you closer to him as he drops sloppy kisses to the area he just cooled down, smiling between each peck.

“You should really start bringing your hair ties with you, my love.” he mumbles against your skin and you nod, savoring the moment as he was savoring your skin. “I can’t walk around like this all day.” he shakes your hair in his hand and you smile at him, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“You should start bringing them too, you know. With how long your hair is right now.” The kisses suddenly stop and you feel a hand pinching the side of your waist, making you giggle.

“Don’t make me drop your hair already.”

“Please don’t.”

[sexyandcringe]

Hopeless romantic

Part 2 ◇ Part 3 ◇ Part 4

Warnings: none, osamu feeling inferior to tsumu :(

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt/comfort

A/n: Osamu's POV! I swear i'm gonna continue the story-line in the next chap.!

All of his childhood, Osamu felt like he was divided in half because of his brother: half food, half clothes, and half affection from their parents. It was almost like people didn’t see him as his own person. To the world, they were “The Twins”, never just “Osamu” and just “Atsumu”.

Time changed, things changed, they each started to become their own person, dreaming of different futures and places to go to.

Osamu always felt like he was the shadow to the light named Miya Atsumu, but he loved him dearly, so much that even today he half-expects to find Atsumu tangled up beneath the sheets of their childhood bunker bed, only to be greeted by the disappointing sight of his mirror, where his reflection gets blurred with the lines of his twin brother.

Osamu loved Atsumu but he didn’t want to hurt people like Atsumu often did; he told his brother that he was never going to become like him, so he became a little less selfish, less stubborn and less greedy.

With you, though, he is greedy. And he wants all of you.

He wants to hold you while you two watch some stupid anime called Haikyuu that you’re obsessed with, he wants to listen to you rambling about your day and your disdain for Alice, the insufferable colleague of yours; he wants to cook for you and feed you with his own hands and he wants to wait for you in your shared bed.

Osamu didn’t want a lot of things in his life, except his restaurant and his family, but since the day he saw you walk in with wet hair and drenched clothes, he started to want a lot more than he could afford, from the most mundane acts of waking up together to the intimacy of making love to you.

He is patient though, he lets your relationship grow steadily.

He thought that he would be happy with the leftover crumbles of affection that you gave him, but when you stopped coming to his shop, Osamu lost it completely. 

He was waiting for you around 7 PM like every Friday, he was feeling confident that day and wanted to suggest a casual outing to the neighbouring town's food fair.

(Nothing like a date, just a friendly hang out, he told himself).

His resolve wavered when you didn’t show up, not for one, not for two, but for three weeks in a row. He thought of all the possibilities as to why you didn’t come for so long, and he tried his best not to imagine the worst-case scenario. That can’t be. Nope.

On the third Friday of your absence, Osamu was crumbling. He closed the shop earlier than usual and went straight into the supermarket to get his guilty pleasure: the Butter Cookies.

His grandma always used to get them for him and unlike many other children, he never found sewing tools or anything of the sort in the box; his grandma knew that that kind of disappointment would be far too great for a six-year-old, food-enthusiast ‘Samu.

Well, grandma, that kind of disappointment is too great for a twenty-six-year-old ‘Samu too, because the guy was nearly panicking when he couldn’t find the boxes of Butter Cookies at their usual place. 

He was positive, though, because even after searching everywhere and not finding them, he didn’t lose hope. They will be available in another grocery store for sure. He got his priority straight and redirected his steps to another store across the town.

Luckily for him, the store was still open for another hour and it didn’t take him long to finally see his comfort food, in all its glory, staring at him from the shelf in the second aisle.

He was just about to go and pay for his box when he caught a glimpse of your silhouette, halting him in his tracks and confirming that it was, in fact, you.

Concern etches across his features as he looks at your tired and empty eyes, wondering if you have been taking care of yourself. Did you eat enough? Sleep enough?

The desire to call out to you is strong, leaving him no time to think before he is already approaching you, “That one will go bad in like 2 days.”

You look like a deer caught in headlights, doe eyes staring at him in what he wants to believe is awe.  You smile timidly before saying: “Hi Osamu, long time no see.” 

Yeah, long time no see, indeed. Osamu wants to be mad at you for making him so worried, for not coming to his shop, for not letting him know if you were doing okay, but he is just the owner of a restaurant and you’re just a regular client.

At least, you used to be a regular client. He can’t force you to like his company or his shop, no matter how much he wishes it.

Despite this, he can’t stop the bitter remark that slips past his lips,“Yeah, because someone hasn’t been coming to my restaurant lately.” you visibly wince, though he can’t seem to care enough.

You stutter some poor excuse as he inspects the other vegetables in the aisle, handing you one with a clean surface that will last at least five days, per Osamu’s calculations.

His hands touch yours and it makes him blush like a middle schooler.

You both talk about nothing and everything and in between the mundane banter and playful jabs, Osamu finds himself agreeing to a cooking lesson at your apartment.

And he couldn’t be happier.

Reblogs are really appreciated!

Tags: @lees-chaotic-brain @writingsofanomnivore @pressuredtreasure @k4sumis0u

[activesplooger]

ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ | ᴘᴀʀᴛ ꜰᴏᴜʀ | ᴠᴏx x ᴀꜱꜱɪꜱᴛᴀɴᴛ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Notes: (MDNI) SORRY ITS ALMOST BEEN A MONTH I'VE BEEN BUSYYY. feedback is greatly appreciated!

Summary: Confronting Vox and attending a meeting! CW: Angst, platonic heartbreak, fluff, reference to pt. 3 paragraph 2 (hint hint). Word Count: 2,626

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Masterpost!

The room fell dead silent. Vox sat in his chair looking unamused and bored as he waited for you to speak. A hint of dread in his eyes, like he knew this was coming. You open your mouth to speak, yet, no words come out. It's hard to articulate everything you need to say along with how you should even start a conversation like this.

All these years of anger and a hankering for confrontation. Yet, here you are, the opportunity laid out in front of you and all you can do is stare in silence.

Vox exhales roughly in impatience, "Are you gonna talk or-". "What's wrong with you?" you blurt out. Yeah... That was definitely not the right way to start this conversation.

Vox quirks an eyebrow and glances at one of his monitors displaying the time, "Can you speed this up?" he huffs dismissively, "I have things to do.". At that moment, his audacity led you to find the words to speak, "No! I can't!" you step closer, waving a pointed finger at him sternly, as if you were a mother scolding a child, "I have waited far too long for you to just disregard this as if it's some type of chore! Now, you are gonna sit there and listen while I talk!." Vox's eyes widen as he straightens out his posture. Surprisingly, your little rant seemed to catch his attention. Taking a deep breath, you begin to speak calmly, "Look, ever since that day- the one with the whole Alastor thing- you've been... different, to say the least. Meaner, colder-". "Like I wasn't those things before then." he chimes in defensively. "Don't interrupt!" you begin, "And, you know what I mean... Even if you weren't the greatest person before, it got way worse after... It wasn't just that either... You're more distant now... and cruel..." "Well, what am I supposed to do about it? You think I'm gonna do a 180 just because you 'called me out'?" Vox laughs bitterly, "Nice try, sweetheart, I've come up with worse things to say about myself." Your face contorts to one of confusion and concern. Did he just openly admit to self-loathing? And brag about it?! This was gonna be a long talk... "Was that supposed to be a flex? You know what, that's beside the point," you say.

"Then what is the point?!". he says exasperated.

"The point is that ever since your fight with Alastor you've been a major shithead!" You snap, narrowed angry eyes meeting his red ones. "So what?!" Vox pushes on the arms of his chair as he gets up, a frustrated scowl etched across his features. "So? SO?!" your eyes bore into him with a fierce glare, stepping closer until you're less than a foot apart from him, "So I wanna know what happened! I wanna know what Alastor did to make you such an INSUFFERABLE PRICK.". Vox looks at you as if you had said the most offensive thing imaginable, "I'm the bad guy? I'M THE FUCKING BAD GUY? No, you don't get to do this. You don't KNOW me. You don't know what happened that day!". "Then tell me!" you plead sharply. Vox's voice glitches as he speaks, "₦Ø!".

"Why?" you ask, pretty much at the end of your rope," you can't put all these walls up and act like a douche for some big ominous reason only to shut people out when they ask!". "You don't know what you're talking about!" he dismissively replies. Letting out a sharp huff, you repeat, "For the love of Lucifer- Then fucking tell me!"

"I CAN'T" he yells, breathing heavily before speaking in a softer tone, "I can't... you don't know how badly he fucking hurt-" a voice crack cuts him off. Bringing a large hand to cover his mouth, he swiftly walks past you to avoid you seeing him. You weren't certain, but you could've sworn you saw his eyes water... Turning your body to face him, you watch as he walks to the edge of the platform and sits, legs dangling off the edge just above the water. He watches the sharks swimming below him, taking a deep breath before he murmurs, "Just- Drop it. Okay?". Ugh. You hated that you felt bad for the fucker. You shouldn't feel bad, you had every right to leave him here wallowing in self-pity. But, you didn't. Despite everything, you just couldn't leave it there... You kept telling yourself that you just wanted to yell and make him feel horrible for everything he did but, in reality, you wanted him to go back to normal. At this point, you wonder if he can be normal anymore... Still, there was no harm in trying... Curse you and your savior complex.

Before you can second guess yourself, you walk over and sit beside him. Your hand reaches out and hovers over his shoulder hesitantly. After a brief moment of contemplation, you shake your head and rest your hand back down beside you.

"I really loved him, you know..." Vox quietly admits. Eyes widening to the size of bowling balls, your head sharply turns to face him. Vox looks back at you and groans, "Not like that!". You let out a soft "oh" in response, your expression relaxing as you turn to look back out at the vast array of sharks.

A sharp exhale leaves Vox's lips, "What I meant was that he was my best friend... I told him everything, trusted him, loved him... I loved him more than I've ever loved anyone or anything in my life.". You nod and gaze sympathetically at him as he explains. "I was too blinded by this idea that Alastor could never hurt me to realize that the whole thing was completely one-sided. I told him everything, but I was too dense to realize that he didn't tell me ŞⱧł₮! That smiling bastard just wanted me to spill my guts so at the right moment, he could use it against me... and he did..." "Oh," you start, "so that night is when he-" "Yeah.". Vox rests his elbows on his knees, hunching over and resting his head in his hands, "I invited him over to join the Vees and- fuck.". As he cusses, his voice croaks, and tears well up in his eyes once more. "And," he proceeds, "he denied me. When I got mad and asked him why he said, "Why would I ever want to do something so frivolous as working with a vain incompetent TV? I know you Vox. And this isn't what you think it is."". You speak, a bit astonished, "Shit... And that's all because he didn't like your business proposal?" "Yeah, I mean, I didn't react calmly to his rejection by any means but still. Nothing warranted that kind of reaction... Anyway, then we got into an argument. I said horrible things I didn't mean, and he said even worse things that he did mean... As a last resort, I tried hypnotizing him, I was just so desperate, I couldn't believe what he was saying to me... And that didn't go over well since he beat the shit out of me after..." As he explains, the pieces of information start clicking together in your head, "Oh yeah... and that's when I found you-" "Yep. That's when you found me."

…

A familiar silence fills the air after Vox stops explaining. His expression is thoughtful as he looks down at the sharks below him, as if he’s debating on whether or not to break the silence.

Your eyes are fixed on him as he looks out, unable to look away. Before, you saw him as this powerful, callous, sadistic overlord… But now, all you see is a broken sinner. A tired defeated sinner. Just like everyone else in Hell. Just like you.

A few minutes of silence roll by, the only sounds being the buzzing of monitors and the occasional quiet splash of water. Vox takes a deep breath, “I almost died that day… That is if you hadn’t saved me.”. Not knowing how to respond, you stayed quiet.

He turns to meet your gaze, “I never thanked you.”.

“You did not.” you respond matter-of-factly, with a hint of bitterness in your tone.

Vox’s eyes meet yours with sincerity, “Well, thank you.”

A soft smile grows on your lips, “You’re welcome.”

Looking back out at the water, he apologizes, ”-And sorry.”. Your eyebrows furrow, “For?-“.

“For being an asshole,” he states flatly. "Oh yeah..." you reply with a casual tone. Vox looks at you with an almost-offended look. "No hesitation, really? No, "Mr. Vox you could never be an asshole!"", he says half-jokingly. You chuckle and roll your eyes, "No way in here would I ever say that.". The two of you share a short-lived bittersweet laugh before Vox's tone grows serious again, "Seriously though, you didn't deserve that... no one did...". You sharply exhale, not saying anything in return. He was right. He was an asshole and he wasn't off the hook for it because he had some backstory to prove it. You felt bad for him, but it felt worse to be mistreated and see others be mistreated by him.

"Earlier, when you said I grew distant... You're right, I was- or, am," he affirms... "I know," you respond, not making eye contact with him anymore as your mind races with thoughts of his maltreatment. "Yes, but do you know why?". This seems to snap you out of your thoughts. Your mind is screaming 'YES', however, you keep it casual and nod slowly.

Vox takes a deep breath, "I stopped being friends with you and well everyone because I don't want another Alastor in my life...".

"What about Val and Vel?" you inquire.

"That's different" he shifts over, swinging his legs over the edge and onto the platform, sitting crisscrossed in front of you, "Val and Vel are... business partners. I only really keep them around for appearances.".

"How charming," you say sarcastically.

"I just thought you should know," he says softly, eyes never leaving yours, "I didn't want to hurt myself again, so I distanced myself and didn't give anyone a reason to like me.". Fuck. You wanted to just forget everything and go back to normal, but you know that can't happen. After all, these are just meaningless words. He hasn't even promised to get better or at least try to! You need time to process everything and he needed time to get his shit together. Not everything could be fixed in this one moment, and you both knew that.

Silence fills the room once more, there's nothing left to say now that everything is out in the open. 'It's not your job to fix him' keeps repeating in your head, as if to convince yourself of it. His eyes stay fixed on you with a slight frown on his face. Maybe you should go.

Pushing off the floor to get up, a large hand grasps at yours, "Wait-". You stumble a bit when he grabs at your hand, "Wh-".

"I really need you to know that I'm sorry," he pleads, "Y/N I know I'm an asshole that you could never forgive but trust me, I hate myself just as much as you hate me... please...".

Taking your hand back, you sigh and step back. You look down at his pleading, desperate form, "I never said I didn't forgive you... but that doesn't mean that what you did and what you're continuing to do is okay by any means... I can't keep forgiving you Vox, and frankly, I'm the only person that will even forgive you to begin with. You need to change. You can get better, I know you can. I've seen you better...". And with that, you leave, not bothering to turn back. You know that if you look back now at his sorry-ass you'd stay. And what good would staying do?

You've done enough. The rest was up to him.

-- The blaring sound of your alarm wakes you up. Groggily sitting up, you rub your eyes and hop out of bed. Today's an important day, you had to accompany Vox to an important meeting with the overlord Carmilla Carmine.

After a much-needed cup of coffee, you take a shower, letting the soothing hot water wash the grime of yesterday off you. As you wash up, you can't help but wonder what today would be like... 'Would Vox be nicer? Would he stay the same?'. Questions plagued your mind throughout getting ready.

Stepping out of the shower, you put on a robe and plug in your hair dryer to style your hair. You style your hair and put on your make-up after. Glancing over to check the time, you panic a bit, 'Shit, I'm gonna be late if I don't haul ass!'. Hurriedly, you put on your uniform: a form-fitting white blouse and navy blazer, a teal and navy tie, navy pants, and black stiletto heels. Taking one final glance in the mirror, you leave for work.

Pulling into your parking space, you speed walk into work, worried that Vox will be pissed if you make him late for his meeting. You push open the large circular doors to his office and hurry down the walkway. Vox is sitting in his chair with an annoyed expression as an employee stands beside him. Of course, your nosy ass wanted to see what was happening, so you stood and watched.

Neither Vox nor the employee had noticed you as you eavesdropped. Vox sits with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth as he holds back his anger, "You want a what?". "A raise, sir." the employee squeaks. The hand that was previously pinching his nose drags across his face as he tries to restrain his anger, "Why the ₣Ữ- ahem- Why would I do that?".

You could tell Vox was trying to not berate the employee. An involuntary smile crept across your lips. 'He's trying...'. "W-Well because I've been working here for a long time and-" the staff member goes on and on, stuttering about why they should get a raise. Vox felt frustration rising in him as the employee went on. Vox rose up from our chair quickly before the staff member could continue any longer, "Fine! Just-" he pointed a large teal claw towards the door, "GO!". The employee says their thank-you's as they swiftly rush down the walkway.

His eyes land on you, standing there with a grin, "What that look for?". "What? Oh! Nothing, just here to remind you of your 10:00 meeting with Carmilla," you respond. "Oh," he begins, "right, let's go.".

-- A sleek black VoxTech limo chauffeurs you and Vox to the meeting. The ride was fairly quiet, and a tad awkward since you both didn't know how to talk normally after what went down yesterday. Luckily Carmilla's office was a short ride from the Vee Tower, so you didn't have to sit in awkward silence for too long. Upon arrival, the two of you briskly walk into her office so as to not be late. When you walk in, Carmilla and Vox exchange formal greetings and pleasantries 'How are you' 'Nice to see you' blah blah blah. Carmilla's sharp eyes fell on you after they finished the courteous exchange, "And who would this be?".

Vox's eyes flicker to you, then back to Carmilla, "Oh. This is Y/N, my assistant... and friend."

-

ITS DONE WNIWEHIWHFOUIWHEI. i hope you guys liked it! lmk if u wanna be tagged for future chaps! if theres any grammar mistakes or parts that dont make sense lmk!

-

TAG LIST:

@lovelyemily, @preppyfellaa, @diffidentphantom, @lil-glum, @leonotlara,

@matpatsstuff, @rapunzelbro, @n0tmentallystable, @that-one-person-blue If I missed anyone or incorrectly added anyone, let me know!

[idkyetxoxo]

Davos Blackwood - Losing Game

Summary - A Bracken and a Blackwood fall in love against all odds. They face the heart-wrenching reality of their families' feud and the fleeting nature of their passion, culminating in one final night where they confront the bittersweet ache of what could have been.

Pairing - Davos Blackwood x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2085

Masterlist for Davos • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

I spent all of the love I've saved, we were always a losing game.

A Bracken and a Blackwood were as unlikely a match as light and dark, fire and ice, the sun and the moon.

Despite generations of bloodshed and hatred between our families, we thought we could be different. Foolish, maybe, but love is often blind to history. 

For a time, we convinced ourselves we could overcome it.

But now, on the last night I would spend in Davos Blackwood's arms, I knew that this love—our love—was slipping away, like water through my fingers. 

That night was heavy with silence, our unspoken regrets echoing louder than words ever could.

When I first met Davos, I had no idea he would ever occupy my heart, much less break it. He was an insufferable man with a sharpness in his gaze that felt like a blade. 

I despised his arrogance, the way he seemed to stride through a room like he owned the very air I breathed. 

The Blackwood name was etched on his face as much as in his soul—a lineage steeped in darkness and bitter pride.

It was in the bustling marketplace that fate, with all its cruelty, decided to introduce us. I was minding my own business, trying to barter for herbs, when I felt a shadow fall across me. 

I looked up to find him standing there, dressed in that unmistakable Blackwood attire, his eyes sharp as winter frost.

"Tell me," he sneered, glancing down at my basket with disdain. "Do Brackens often wander into towns where they're barely tolerated, or is it just you?"

My blood boiled. "Last I checked, this market didn't belong to the Blackwoods," I shot back, gripping the basket handle tightly. "Or have you taken to policing where others may go?"

He smirked, a cold, infuriating expression that only made my anger grow. "It's my business to ensure vermin don't overrun our streets."

"Careful," I replied, lifting my chin defiantly. "It's awfully easy to poison oneself when they're so concerned with everyone else's filth."

He blinked, his smirk faltering for just a second. 

But before he could reply, I turned on my heel and walked away, heart pounding as much from our exchange as from the way his voice seemed to echo in my ears.

Our paths crossed again only a few days later, this time at a gathering of lords and ladies where our families' interests inconveniently converged. He was across the hall, but I felt his eyes on me, like a hawk circling prey. 

And when our eyes finally met, he gave a slight, mocking bow, lips curving in that same insolent smirk. 

My pride demanded I look away, but I couldn't. There was something in that gaze, something I couldn't put into words. 

Was it challenge? Curiosity? Whatever it was, it held me captive, like a spell I had no hope of breaking.

The third time we met, it was no accident.

The moon was high, casting a silvery glow over the forest path where I waited, cloaked in shadows. I had heard his footfalls long before he stepped into view as if the night itself had grown colder with his arrival. 

And when he saw me, a gleam of surprise flickered in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual indifference.

"Davos Blackwood," I murmured, unable to keep the hint of contempt from my voice. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were following me."

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath, his voice low and dangerous. "Believe me, I wouldn't bother. I don't make a habit of entertaining Brackens."

"Good," I retorted, though my voice betrayed me, quivering slightly. "Because I despise you."

For a long moment, he was silent, his gaze piercing and inscrutable. Then, to my astonishment, he chuckled softly, a sound so foreign from him it was like a crack in the armour. 

"So you keep saying," he murmured, his voice softer than before. "And yet, here you are."

The words hung between us, more binding than a vow, as he stepped closer still, his hand lifting to brush a stray curl from my face. 

I stiffened, resisting the urge to lean into his touch, to give in to this madness. 

And yet, some part of me—a foolish, reckless part—wondered what it would be like to close that last breath of space between us.

Days bled into nights, and those nights became clandestine meetings beneath a sea of stars, our rivalry dissolving under the weight of words whispered only for each other. 

He told me of his youth, of a father who demanded perfection, a life suffused with cold duty and loyalty to a family he had never chosen. 

I, in turn, told him of my world—one bound by loyalty to a different banner, driven by expectations I had never asked for. 

His touch, once cold and unyielding, grew softer, gentler like fire finding kindling in a frost-covered forest.

Until one night, that ember between us flared, wild and all-consuming. He pulled me to him, fierce as a storm, his lips crushing mine, and I kissed him back with a desperation I couldn't name. 

In that moment, it didn't matter that he was a Blackwood and I a Bracken. 

All that mattered was the fire between us, the thrill of giving in to the one person I should hate above all others.

"How can something so wrong feel this right?" I whispered, my voice fragile as I pressed my trembling hands against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips. 

It felt like a lifeline, one that I knew was slipping away even as I held onto him.

Davos looked down at me, and for once, that familiar icy stare softened, melting in a way that made me feel both exhilarated and broken all at once. 

"Maybe it's because we're tired of fighting," he murmured, his voice low, like a confession he'd never wanted to make. "Maybe we're finally just letting go."

The night swallowed our words, but the truth in them lingered, wrapping around us as tightly as his arms did. 

For months, we became each other's only refuge, two broken souls hiding from the shadows of our pasts. He was my fire, burning fiercely against the cold world that surrounded us; I was his light, pulling him out of the darkness he'd been raised to embrace. 

Together, we crafted a hidden world where the walls between us dissolved, where a Bracken and a Blackwood could belong to each other.

But reality is a cruel thief. 

It gives and tempts, then it steals. Rumours of our forbidden love slipped through cracks we'd left unattended, and soon enough, whispers of betrayal found their way back to both our families. 

Threats circled like vultures, eager to devour any hope we had built. 

They made it clear—there would be no peace if we stayed together.

A Bracken and a Blackwood—no matter how fiercely we clung to each other—were never meant to be.

And so, we had one night left. Both of us knew it.

The wind was sharper than ever that evening, slicing through the trees and biting at our skin as if nature itself was mourning what we were about to lose. 

We sat close by the fire, its warmth pale and futile against the cold that clung to my bones. 

Silence draped over us, heavy as a shroud, each unspoken word a burden neither of us dared release.

My hands lay in his, but even his touch couldn't stop the chill from creeping in. 

I stared down at our entwined fingers, struggling to hold onto the memory of that first time he'd touched me, when his hand had burned against mine, igniting something I had thought impossible.

"This isn't fair," I whispered, my voice cracking, eyes stinging. "Why can't they just let us be happy?"

He looked at me, a painful sadness etched into his face, a face I had once loathed and now couldn't bear to live without. 

"Because happiness doesn't matter to them," he replied, the words raw, almost bitter. "Power. Legacy. Pride. That's all they care about. And that's all we'll ever be to them—another weapon in a war that has nothing to do with us."

A tear slipped free despite my efforts to hold it back, and I bit my lip, angry at myself for breaking down, for letting our last memory together be marred by sadness. 

But the grief, the hopelessness was too much, crashing over me like waves I couldn't withstand.

"I can't say goodbye," I choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "I can't let you go, Davos. Not like this."

He pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me as if he could shield me from the world, from the fate that would tear us apart come morning. 

His hand slid through my hair, his lips brushing against my forehead in a gentle, heartbreaking caress. 

"I know," he whispered, his own voice quivering. "Gods know, I don't want to let you go. But if I stay... if we try to defy them... they'll kill you. And I could never—" 

He broke off, struggling to steady himself. "I'd sooner see a dagger in my own heart."

Anger flared within me, surging over the sadness like fire. I pushed away from him, fists clenched. "And what about me?" I demanded, my voice filled with frustration and hurt. 

"Do you think this is any easier for me? Do you think I'd rather live without you than risk whatever future we might have together?"

His face fell, a deep despair clouding his gaze as he reached out, his hand trembling as it cradled my cheek. 

"Please," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw as if memorizing it. "Please don't make this harder than it already is."

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch, letting myself sink into the warmth of his hand, the gentleness in his fingers as they brushed against my skin. 

This was our last night, and each second felt fragile, stolen, like glass that could shatter with a single breath. 

I didn't want to break it, didn't want to ruin these final moments with anger or sadness, but the ache was unbearable, and I knew that even as I clung to him, he was already slipping away.

Our final kiss was a slow, searing thing, a kiss filled with all the words we couldn't say, every promise we knew we couldn't keep. 

I could taste the sorrow in it, the desperation, the ache of a love that could never truly belong to either of us. 

It was a kiss that burned, searing itself into my memory, carving out a piece of my heart that would always belong to him.

We lay together beneath the stars, wrapped in each other's arms, breathing as one. 

For a brief, bittersweet moment, I let myself believe that the night would stretch on forever, that morning would never come to tear us apart. 

But dawn, as always, was merciless, creeping over the horizon, casting light on the futility of a love we had no right to.

"Promise me one thing," I whispered, my voice barely more than a hollow echo in the quiet morning.

"Anything," he replied, his own voice laced with the same sorrow, his fingers tracing the curve of my cheek, his gaze holding mine.

"Remember me," I begged, my fingers ghosting over his face, memorizing every line, every scar, knowing this would be the last time I'd ever see him. 

"Promise me you'll remember me, even if we never see each other again."

He nodded, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, his voice breaking as he spoke. "I swear it. I'll remember you until my dying breath."

And then, as the sun rose, we whispered our final goodbyes, words torn from us as if they had claws, leaving us raw and bleeding. 

I watched him walk away, his silhouette fading against the dawn, each step taking another piece of me with him.

And as he disappeared from view, a hollowness settled in my chest, an ache that felt like an open wound. 

I was a Bracken, and he was a Blackwood. We were bound by fate to be enemies, destined to be torn apart by a hatred we had never chosen.

But for one fleeting, beautiful moment, we had dared to defy the heavens. 

For one night, a Bracken and a Blackwood had held each other close, and nothing else mattered.

All I know, all I know loving you is a losing game.

A/n - Sorry but sometimes everyone has to suffer when I feel like writing sad stuff 🫣

[sodamnradd]

Hermione Granger was going to die on his operating table.

Fuck.

Draco paced the room and tried to ignore the ghostly girl lying unconscious a few feet away.

Potter was the only person keeping Draco here and, if Granger died under his care, it was all over. The Order would blame him for her death.

“What am I meant to do with you now?” he mumbled, glaring at his patient.

He touched Granger’s pulse and felt it fading. Her skin was cold and clammy. Even her hair seemed deflated, giving up the good fight.

There was no other way.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, feeling a flash of remorse for the fate he was bestowing on her. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall in love with me.”

--

The Order promoted Draco to main headquarters. He had his own room and went to bed with a full stomach every night. Sometimes, there was even beer.

But Draco would have slept in moth infested sheets again and eaten stale cereal for dinner every night if it meant staying away from her.

After her miraculous recovery, Granger visited him in the medical wing. Often.

The first time to thank him for saving her life. The second to borrow a book she spotted on his desk, swapping it for one of her own. The third to return his book and tell him about all the ways it had pissed her off. Before he knew it, she’d cajoled Draco into a war-time book club, reading all the books Granger bartered off other Order members.

She started confiding in him about odd things that were happening to her.

“It’s not my problem,” he cut her off, popping open his collar as the room grew three notches too hot.

“But you’re my healer.”

“I’m not your healer. I’m just a healer. A reluctant one. Your idiot friends won’t let me do much else.”

“Help me find out what’s wrong with me, and I’ll have them reassign you.”

“No.”

She was insufferably stubborn.

“See how I did that?” she asked one afternoon, squashing a fly with her palm and resuscitating it seconds later. “That’s odd.”

“That’s magic.” He feigned disinterest, swatting the irritating fly. “Couldn’t you have let it die?” Sometimes Draco wished he had.

“It’s like holding sand in my hands. I have a handful of seconds to decide whether to preserve its life or let it trickle out—Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m counting inventory.”

“Stuff your blasted inventory. This is serious!”

He made her concerns seem trivial, shooing her off and demanding she mind his office hours.

Yet she always came back, always wanted to hear his expert opinion on why Dark Magic was so easy now, why she was quicker than Harry at casting off Dementors, why she didn’t need her wand to perform magic anymore.

One evening she visited him, devastated. “Tell me why I can’t stand letting anyone touch me.”

Red mist filled Draco’s vision, noting her rumpled figure. The state of Granger’s hair was an old joke by now, but he could tell someone’s fingers had been raking through it. Her shirt was misbuttoned. She looked messy and fierce and unbearably debauched.

“It certainly looks like someone tried,” he mumbled, trying to choke down the emotion that rocked through his chest.

“Tell me, Malfoy.”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Because you’re all I think about!” she exploded. Her face went crimson.

She cleared her throat. “I know my own body. You did something to me that night, didn’t you? When I was injured.”

She stormed forwards, poking him in the chest. “What did you do?”

He snatched her fingers in his fist. It was like he was pure whisky, and she an Incendio spell, set astray. “Fuck.” He dropped her hand at once.

Granger leapt away too, gasping. “Did that just…?”

“You almost died,” he said, physically restraining himself from reaching for her again. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“Malfoy?” Her voice was little more than a croak, her eyes too wide and innocent. Looking at him like-like—

He had to look away. “I split my magical core and gave you half.”

“Like a Horcrux?”

“It wasn’t my soul. But magic is binding in its own way.”

“What do you mean binding?”

“As in, you can tap into it now. It’s yours.”

“So I have my own magic and half of yours?”

He shrugged.

Granger’s mouth fell agape. “How do I return it to you?”

“It’s irrevocable.”

Realisation dawned on her face. “So, all of this,” she wagged a finger between them, “is because of your spell?”

“There’s no ‘this’.” He repeated the gesture. “It’s you and it’s me. Separate.”

She shook her head. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not—”

“You looked like you wanted to commit murder when I walked in just then.”

He shifted his gaze, jaw clenching. “My magic recognizes itself in you. It’s… possessive.”

“And mine recognizes you,” she concluded. “It doesn’t like me being with anyone else. You knew this would happen?”

“Should I have let you die instead?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, and Draco tried not to wince. “Is this it, then? We’re bound to each other for the rest of our lives?”

He couldn’t stand looking at her anymore. Remorsefully, he replied, “This is it.”

(883 words, prompt: soulmates from @dhrmonth)

[jhuzen]

Small brainrot--

Zhongli: You always seemed to get injured when I accompany you on your commissions, is there something wrong? Have I done something to cause this? Please, talk to me...

Reader: My love, darling, sweetheart, I swear it's not that deep. I keep getting hurt because I'm distracted staring at your ass-

-Morax

distractions [gn/m.reader]

AAAAAAAAAA MORAX ANON PULLING THRU WITH A GOOD ZHONGLI BRAINROT! i planned to make just me also brainrotting but here’s a quickie HAHDHSJDCJD. i had so much fun making this LMAO

𖦹 kinda crack lmao, degenerate reader 😭

He was hypnotic.

Zhongli, as your dearest beloved, exceeded your expectations far more than you could ever imagine. He was all too good! An absolute gentleman, completely attuned to your needs and would never lead you down into a path of agony and harm. He was always there, perhaps almost always there, considering that his job as the consultant at the funeral parlor was the only thing keeping him away from you 24/7.

You had no doubts that this man is absolutely enamored with you, tailing you around like a loyal dog when you’re out in your errands. And by these errands, often they are commissions posted by certain people, asking the bravest souls out there to get rid of a few pests loitering around in Liyue.

You were perhaps one of the most sought out bounty hunters in the field. And while you weren’t directly affiliated with world renowned Adventurer’s Guild, you still were often dragged into their commissions, as adventurers personally had to come and ask for your help in the middle of your afternoon tea to track down some pesky ruin guards that indiscriminately attacks everything in its sight.

People may have fretted at the sight of any ruin machine that they came across their paths, but to you, they were the quickest way to earn a lot of mora as having Zhongli for a lover doesn’t come cheap, the man basically buys anything that catches his eye, and the fact that he’s absolutely atrocious in bargaining with you barely excelling at it as well, you’re bound to constantly have enough on you for his spending exploits. Suffice to say, you were the apex predator of these machines, constantly on the hunt for them.

Though that did not seem to apply as you winced for the tenth time at this very moment.

How lucky was it that you were nearby Mingyun Village when you took on a certain bounty that was given on you. It offered a million mora as you had to deal with two hulking ruin hunters, aggressive in temperance as it looked to be one of those just seem to lock on to you in sight.

Zhongli was free that day, and offered to come with you. Your endearing lover expressed his concerns when he happened to look over the paper that contained all the details for your target. And to see you deal with those merciless machineries, he couldn’t hold himself back and immediately asked to come with you.

You weren’t one to deny his offer. Zhongli was a warrior god above all and you’ve seen him countless times on the battlefield when the traveler had asked you and him to accompany them on a tedious commission. And on the off chances that you’ve been on a mission with your adoring lover… you’ve noticed one insufferable thing.

He’s far too distracting.

There was a common denominator in every single time you and him went out on a mission; you were always somehow barely escaping death by the skin of your teeth. It was ridiculous. You’d think having Zhongli in the field would inspire you to do better — but no. He distracted you. Him and his graceful movements, the way his shield just granted you unparalleled protection and when he kicks his spear, you could almost shrivel up and just die then and there.

And unfortunately, this one almost had you kicking the bucket.

Blood trails can be seen on the grassy fields as your worried lover hurried to the nearby village. The residents were quick to aid him and had given him the much needed things for your wound treatment. There was a concerning gash on the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and Zhongli was damn near in tears as he patched you up.

You failed to hold in a wince as you joked around to lighten the mood, “Guess that hunk of junk was eager to be on me, huh?” You peered up at your lover while you sat on the chair, whose frown never left him as he continued to clean around your still bleeding wound. “Hey, c’mon, don’t look so sad… I just happened to be at the wrong spot, love.”

A tensed silence fell between you and him and even in his unresponsive state, you could feel the worry that emanated from him. And even that was something you felt responsible for, unable to say anything else.

And finally he granted you mercy as he heaved a soft sigh, looking at you with eyes that overflowed with so much concern, “I was so worried… you’ve never been this badly injured before.”

You had no heart to tell him the stupid reason behind your fuck up, so you opted to stay silent.

Zhongli took your silence as remorse for your mistake and only continued to press on, eyebrows furrowing as he caressed your face that had a tad bit of dirt smudged into it, “I never wanted to bring this up… but it seems as though every time I accompany you on your hunting missions, you always seem to end up getting hurt far more than when you worked alone…”

You hated where this was going but did not bother protesting, you know trying to get ahead of him is a losing battle, “Is… Is it me? Have I done something to cause this? Am I perhaps lacking in providing you protection? Please…” his words were soft as he pleaded, amber eyes meeting you with a hint of desperation. “Please tell me… I must know what led up to this point. I don’t want to realize things when it’s much too late.”

Stupidity pounced on you as Zhongli expressed his dissatisfaction. This is awful. You felt the guilt seep through your veins when your precious lover was unloading so much of his scorn all for a reason so stupid.

But then again, your dignity was always a notch lower than your love in a list of priorities. You can only hope the man doesn’t hurl his giant meteor at you once you do tell him the reason.

“Don’t… be mad,” you started and immediately grimaced at his pointed stare. Right. Never patronize a worried lover. With your good arm, you pulled him by the waist, looking up at him with a small grin, “It’s not that deep. I promise you. Though, yes, to an extent, my subpar performance has something to do with you.”

Your grip around his waist tightened when you felt him bristle at your words, almost close to pulling away. You quickly fished him out of his misery as you continued, “Forgive my crudeness… but you have been a distraction for me when you join me on my missions…”

“Pardon?”

“Your…” you coughed a little as a light blush dusted your cheeks, “You… uh, how do I put this delicately… you present a rather delectable view on certain angles when you fight.”

Yet another blanket of silence enveloped the both of you, but you broke out a sweat as Zhongli slowly processed your words. The frown on his face suddenly deepened and it was only now or never before he hurls the meteor at you and kills you for good.

Zhongli jolted as your hand brushed against his fine ass and gave the supple area a little squeeze. You bargained for an ounce of mercy with that charming grin of yours.

The former archon sighed with a loaded indignation. He wonders sometimes how on earth can you be a bounty hunter with that kind of reckless attitude. “You… you are impossible.” He murmurs with the intention to chide you but even you can hear the embarrassment in his tone.

“Aw c’mon! It’s not too bad!” You cackled as the atmosphere between you cleared. You gave him one last wink before going in for another squeeze, prompting him to smack your wounded shoulder out of instinct, making you keel over, pressing your head against his stomach.

“Ah! My apologies, are you—?”

“Yep. All good. I deserve it.” You managed through a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

“Yep. All good. I deserve it.” You managed through a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

Whether or not you passed out from the pain or Zhongli’s meteor, you’ll never know. This was your punishment after all. One you would gladly take head on.

“Yep. All good. I deserve it,” you managed with a pained groan.

And you took one last chance at life and gave yet another squeeze.

Whether or not you passed out from the pain or Zhongli’s meteor, you’ll never know.

[umakeme-moonstruck]

HQ MUSIC HCS EXCEPT IM PROJECTING AKDNJDDNKS

hinata:

ngl, i feel like hed have like mainstream taste but like also not??? hes a swiftie tho no one can change my mind on that. also feel like he’d like mac miller maybe?? idk. id say like chill rap/pop would be his thing

kageyama:

feel like hed either have like an 27 hr long playlist w js a bunch of bullshit from his faves in middle school all the way till hs and it would be a major vibe OR he doesn’t listen to music very often but doesnt rlly care whats on 🥲 he’ll vibe either way lol

tsuki:

this man is fucking EMO AND/OR A METALHEAD 😝 you cannot say ANYTHING that’ll change my mind. metal wise, i feel like hed fw nu metal more than classic metal. like korn’s his fave (specifically life is peachy). emo wise, mans seems like a ptv stan. like i can see him tryna grow out his hair to be like vic but failing so hard

yamaguchi:

80s to 2000s pop is this kids entire personality. britney, destiney’s child, diana ross, jlo, nsync, backstreet boys, madonna, YOU FUCKING NAME IT!!! hes pretty open w newer pop but it doesnt hit the same. he does however fw metallica a hell of a lot bc of tsuki lol 🫶

suga:

he listens to CUNTry 🤯 like divorced angry wife country. and he gets SO into it to the point where it concerns daichi akdjddksks!!! he fw yamaguchis music too n they trade playlists from time to time. hes also the type to listen to some of the most vulgar shit w a straight face. were talking like some insane clown posse type shit. when hes alone he’ll grab a hair brush and lip sync to halls of illusion and act like hes all hard and not the sweetest soul the world has ever known 💀

daichi:

hes a 90s rap kid fr. like nwa, 2pac, laurynn hill, ice cube, early eminem, eazy e and so on. hes open to p much everything but if this man gets the aux, expect to hear fuck the police at FULL BLAST ( #improjecting ) 🥲😇

asahi:

INDIE INDIE INDIE INDIE!!!!! were talking car seat headrest, the strokes, early arctic monkeys, spoon, tool!!!! he rlly likes brit pop too, his roman empire is oasis vs blur alkdkddnsjsj

noya:

was a victim of 2020 music 💀 BUT ITS OK HE RECOVERED GUYS!!! i feel like hed listen to sza, kendrick (he HATES drake lmaoo), mac miller, a lil kanye here and there, 21 savage. hes a MASSIVE doja cat fan tho OML its insufferable how into her he is aldjdjdbskdbd!!!! feel like hed also secretly a kpop stan lmaoooo like were talking p1harmony, skz, enhypen, TWICE OMG HE LOVES TWICE

[romione-trope-fest]

Stand Still

Fic Title: Stand Still

Author Name: flaming-brown-witch

Selected Trope: Cockblocker Harry

Brief Summary: Harry blocks cock not once, but twice when Hermione asks Ron to Slughorn’s party that day in Herbology.

Word Count: 2423

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: None

Note: Excerpts from Half-Blood Prince are bolded. 

***

“Time stands still

While we stand here

Don’t wanna fight you

I need the same as you”

- “Stand Still,” Sabrina Claudio

If Hermione Granger had any doubt that she was in love with her insufferable best friend, those doubts were completely dashed when the citrusy aroma of Ron’s shampoo greeted her full in the face as she entered her first N.E.W.T. potions class. 

And judging by the perplexed sniff Ron gave in the direction of her own locks as he entered the classroom with her, Hermione had it on good authority to believe that Ron Weasley loved her back. 

Now, for any normal young woman, the confirmation of requited love is the cause of elation. But Hermione Granger was not a normal young woman. So for her, knowing that her love was requited was the cause of anguish. 

Hermione and Ron had grown accustomed to this limbo they had found themselves in, somewhere between friends and something more. Although they had both made several attempts to move onto something more in the past year, such attempts were always half-hearted, shrouded in debilitating distress and confusion. They also never seemed to be on the same page about what they wanted. When Hermione hinted at wanting to deepen their connection, Ron retreated, and vice versa. Their relationship had been volatile from day one, so levelling up seemed akin to poking a sleeping dragon in the eye. 

And yet…Hermione yearned to, well, poke the sleeping dragon. It was a classic battle between the head and the heart, and Hermione—ever the stalwart defender of logic—cursed her heart for winning. As much as she tried to distract herself with her studies and extracurricular activities, her desire for Ron was ever present, a dull, growing ache that finally reached a crescendo during a lesson on Snargaluffs. 

The Snargaluff was by far the most dangerous plant the trio had studied in Herbology. Extracting pods from its stump was a job recommended for no less than three people. Even a second of inattention marked the difference between life and death. 

After exchanging looks of apprehension, Harry, Ron, and Hermione regarded the innocent-looking lump of wood in front of them, took deep breaths, and dived. The stump sprang to life at once; long, prickly, bramblelike vines flew out of the top and whipped through the air. One shot straight towards Hermione, weaving in easily through the space within her curls. 

Before Hermione could move a muscle, even to scream, there was Ron with a pair of secateurs, beating the deadly plant into submission. The vines retreated. Hermione vaguely registered Harry moving forward to grab at them, her attention fixated instead on how closely Ron was standing. The scent of his freshly-laundered robes dampened by his sweat was overwhelming in her adrenaline-fueled state.  

“Are you all right?” Ron asked, face flushed from exertion and panting slightly. Completely unprompted, he grabbed her head and began examining it for damage. The calloused thumb resting on the left side of her jaw and the fingers splayed across the right side of her neck made Hermione’s heart thump more wildly still. 

“Yeah,” Hermione responded, voice breathy. She locked eyes with Ron’s concerned ones. Ron let go quickly, his face turning more red. It was his turn to realise how close they were. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, still gazing up at him. 

“Anytime,” he shrugged, two-parts sheepish and one-part cocky. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, and he grinned down at her as the sheepishness began to disappear… 

“Now that we know Hermione is okay…!” yelled Harry. The pair jumped, flustered. Harry frantically shook the vines he had captured between his hands. “Can we please get back to this monstrosity?”

Resolutely avoiding eye contact, Ron and Hermione came to Harry’s aid. The three stared at the hole in the stump with mirrored expressions of dread.

“I’ll do it,” said Hermione briskly before trapping her arm in the hole, eager for a distraction from Ron. But her wish for a reprieve was short-lived. With Ron grunting and heaving and knocking into her back as he and Harry pulled at the vines with all their might, it was a miracle that she was able to tell up from down, let alone concentrate on the task at hand. Just as her hand closed around a squishy pod, Ron and Harry managed to reopen the hole. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ll be having any of these in my garden when I’ve got my own place,” said Ron, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead and wiping sweat from his face.

Even Hermione’s repulsion for the pod she was holding at arm’s length was not enough to keep her from briefly imagining what it would be like to create a home with Ron. She gave a firm, small shake of her head and requested a bowl. Harry handed one over and she dropped the pod into it.

Ron reached for the bowl. “Let me at it,” he muttered in her ear. “You’ve been through enough.”

Hermione, barely registering Professor Sprout shouting something about squeezing the pod while it’s fresh, watched as Ron began to knead the pod with his fist. This act of care was Hermione’s final straw, and she found herself wanting Ron as she had never wanted him before. Luckily for her, the conversation they had been having right before attacking the Snargaluff provided the perfect cover for her to seal the deal. It was a risky move, due to Ron’s ire regarding all things Slughorn, but if she played her cards right…

“Anyway,” said Hermione, turning to Harry before her nerves would fail her, “Slughorn’s going to have a Christmas party, Harry.“

Hermione braced herself for Ron’s reaction. Sure enough, she sensed him shift behind her. She continued. 

“And there’s no way you’ll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings, so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come.”

Harry groaned. A few seconds of heavy breathing filled the air as Ron continued to squeeze the pod. Finally, he managed to growl through his strain, ”And this is another party just for Slughorn’s favourites, is it?”

Hermione paused, weighing the best way to proceed. “Just for the Slug Club, yes,” she began delicately. “But—”

At that very moment, the pod slipped from Ron’s grasp, ricocheted off the glass wall of the greenhouse, and knocked Professor Sprout’s hat off.

“Sorry professor!” yelled Ron while she glared reproachfully over at them. Harry went to retrieve the pod, and Hermione took her opportunity during his absence, hoping to avoid another awkward moment.

“Look, as I was saying,” she said quickly, putting a hand on Ron’s arm, “while the party is only for members of the Slug Club, we can bring—”

Ron looked down at Hermione with disdain. “No offence, Hermione, but I couldn’t care less about your stupid club. Anyway, can you make yourself useful and look up the best way to juice this abomination of nature? There’s no point in trying to plaster it.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not doing anything useful, either,” she snapped. “Why don’t you look it up?”

“Because it’ll take me ages whereas it’ll take you two seconds. Or would you rather continue harping on about how superior you are to me?”

Hermione huffed, bent down to lift her bag, and slammed it on the table, all the while glaring at Ron. Then she swiftly turned to her bag and began furiously messing with the straps. Clearly, she would have to find another date for Slughorn’s party. She was done with Ron. She was done with whatever this was.   

After a moment, Ron scoffed. “Bet that looks great on your CV, that does,“ he muttered. "Hermione Granger, esteemed member of the fucking Slug Club.”

“It does actually,” said Hermione, whipping to face him, unable to resist the bait. “In the past, the most valuable asset a Hogwarts student could have entering any workforce in the magical world, not just in Britain, was—”

“Let me guess. A recommendation letter sealed with a trail of slime?”

“Look,” Hermione said, temper rising, “I didn’t make up the name ‘Slug Club’ —”

“‘Slug Club,’” Ron repeated with a sneer worthy of Malfoy. “It’s pathetic. Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don’t you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug —”

“We’re allowed to bring guests,” Hermione all but shrieked into Ron’s face, completely at her limit. Somewhere in her brain had registered that Harry had returned, but she was already a runaway train. There was no stopping the next words from spilling from her mouth. “And I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it’s that stupid then I won’t bother!”

Ron froze. Then, as the fight began to leave his body, time started to stand still. 

It no longer mattered that Harry was standing there with them because as far as Hermione was concerned, Harry ceased to exist. The greenhouse and all its mayhem—the shouting N.E.W.T. students, the wooshing of Snargaluff vines, Professor Sprout’s booming voice giving instructions—simply melted away. All that was left was just her and Ron and his heart-stopping eyes that shifted from coldness to warmth in a matter of seconds. It was quite curious, actually, how much warmth could be contained in the coldest colour on the spectrum. Maybe, she wondered vaguely, that’s why the hottest part of a flame was the shade that it was…

Ron took a step closer. 

“You were going to ask me?” he asked softly, hopefully. Tender, really, was the best way to describe the tone. She had never heard that tone before in her life, not by Ron, not by anyone.

“Yes,” hissed Hermione, looking away. She refused to let him get away with being a colossal prat just moments ago simply because his voice suddenly took on the quality of velvet. Or that his eyes were too blue to be real.

Rifling through her bag for Flesh-Eating Trees of the World, Hermione added with a heavy measure of snark, "But obviously if you’d rather I hooked up with McLaggen…”

There was a pause that felt like infinity. Hermione dimly registered Harry pounding away frantically at the pod, a mirror of her heartbeat. She should probably tell him his efforts are futile, but she was grappling with her own futile attempts to regain composure as she rummaged aimlessly in her bag. Hermione felt tears prick her eyes as the silence stretched. This was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made, she thought furiously. I just have to accept that Ron and I will never work out. We’ll never be on the same page.

Suddenly her breath hitched. Ron’s rough fingers slowly encircled her right forearm, stopping her movements. Almost despite herself, she turned and locked eyes with him again as time stood still once more. 

“No, I wouldn’t,” Ron whispered, hand hot on Hermione’s skin.

CRASH.

The rest of the world zoomed back in an instant. Hermione wrenched her arm from Ron’s grasp and desperately hoped her face wasn’t as red as she felt it was.

“Reparo,” said Harry hastily at the bowl he broke with his trowel. He glanced up and happened to make eye contact with Hermione. He looked equal parts uncomfortable and apologetic.

Hermione immediately dropped her attention back to her bag. “Where is that damn book?” she muttered feverishly. “I could have sworn that I packed it today…Ah, it was on the top of the pile after all…”

Hermione yanked the book out of the bag and made quick work of flipping to the chapter on Snargaluffs. She ignored Ron’s eyes on her, finally coming to her senses. Under no circumstance was she to fail a lesson because she was too distracted by a boy.  

“Hand that over, Harry,” said Hermione hurriedly, indicating at the bowl. “It says we’re supposed to puncture them with something sharp… .”

As Hermione scoured the table for a sharp object, she felt Ron shift positions to have better access to the stump, working with Harry for the second retrieval. Hermione found a metal skewer, grabbed it, and paused, the mundanity of her task allowing her to fully process what had just happened.  

She had basically asked Ron to be her date at Slughorn’s party, and Ron had basically agreed to it. There was no misinterpreting what had transpired, was there? After years of misunderstandings and crossed signals, they were finally on the same page, weren’t they? Finally wanting and needing and ready for the next step at the same time… 

“Open…you…psychotic…stump!” gasped Harry somewhere in the background. Hermione gave another shake of her head and poised the skewer over the pod. 

“Gotcha!” yelled Ron, pulling a second pod from the stump just as Hermione managed to burst the first one open. 

At Ron’s victory yell, Hermione’s head lifted to find him regarding her bowl of wriggling green tubers. He looked up, and his face broke into a jubilant grin. He raised his pod triumphantly over his head with both hands and cheered. Harry laughed. Hermione looked heavenward and tried to suppress a smile. 

Without warning, Ron tossed the pod to Harry, aiming at his face. Harry caught it effortlessly and made an angry, forceful motion as if to return the favour, causing Ron to flinch and chuckle. Harry dropped the pod into a new bowl, and Hermione handed him the skewer, her laughter finally giving away.

“Ace teamwork, eh?” Ron said to Hermione as Harry worked on puncturing the second pod. He drew closer to her under the guise of examining the contents of her bowl, yet again compromising her ability to breathe. 

“We’re not so bad, I suppose,” said Hermione, attempting to keep her voice even as she flipped to the section on harvesting Snargaluff tubers.  

Ron snatched the book in his direction, forcing her to meet his gaze again. There was no lingering resentment or frustration. There was no doubt or uncertainty. There was only excitement and awe and…dare she say…love. It was a look that made Hermione dismantle any defences she may have still had up and reflect back everything he was showing her. 

Ron grinned and turned pink, biting his lip bashfully. It was all Hermione could do to keep from launching herself at him and claiming that bottom lip for her own. They had already put Harry through enough, and it wasn’t even ten in the morning.

Still grinning, still pink, Ron dropped his gaze to the book and said, “Not bad at all, I reckon." 

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Round 1

Propaganda why Dean Winchester is insufferable:

"This man is racist against anyone other than humans and abused the people he was supposed to love the most. He literally abandons Castiel at his most vulnerable and never lets Sam leave the whole hunting monsters thing. Worst part is that the fandom will get behind him and defend him because what, he’s pretty? Pretty much a terrible person, more like. I sympathize with his backstory but Dean has ZERO character development during the course of 15 whole seasons. When he DOES have development it involves abusing someone. Sam tries to be a normal person and always gets punished for it. The only hint we have that Dean might’ve been trying to change is a piece of paper in the final episode AFTER HE DIES. then guess what? Sam lives out his whole life and has a family 😭 that’s very, very telling."

"misogynistic scumbag. theres also a few different times that dean finds teenagers sexy with the most recent and prominent example that i can recall being the scooby doo crossover episode in season 13 where hes super into daphne who in the version they chose for the episode is 15-16 and is interacting with her as if shes a real person cause they got magicked into the episode. he treats everyone around him like shit and the only time the narrative agrees that thats a bad thing is when he has the mark of cain put on him and hes acting no differently than he does usually its just now acknowledged that hes treating others like shit. ive been rewatching the show for shits and giggles with a friend and wow he really does not treat anyone well but i wanna focus on how he treats sam for a second cause dude's hobby seems to be ignoring what his brother wants and lying to sam about doing stuff that directly concerns him the demon blood and souless things are reasonable cause those were both Bad for sam but theyre still part of a wider pattern and the most prominent example of this being when dean tricks sam into letting gadreel possess him and actually gaslights sam about it with the whole ordeal ending when its revealed gadreel lied about who he was and while possessing sam murders a friend of theirs. his voice is just also stupid as fuck im sorry this is just petty but he just sounds like hes trying so hard to be gruff n intimidating but he just sounds like a kid pretending to be batman"

"Dean’s list of sins is crazy long because of how long the show ran, but the key thing for me is that post-locking Sam in the bunker (season 4 I think?), I just can’t enjoy their relationship anymore. I normally love their sibling dynamic, but Dean’s ultimate worst past-the-point-of-no-return moment for me was demonizing (pun intended) his little brother for being “addicted” to demon blood, which only happened because of a series of events that were either Dean’s or someone else’s fault, not Sam’s. I also really dislike how the fandom treats Dean like this angel (pun intended) who has done no wrong and even tries to justify the MULTIPLE times he’s beaten up and otherwise abused his little brother. Canon Dean is like the polar opposite of fanon Dean: he’s homophobic and racist (jokes about a Black man being sexually assaulted in prison), misogynistic (take a shot every time he calls a woman a slur and you’ll die of alcohol poisoning), and abusive."

"Misogynistic asshole and too many of the things he does get treated as not actually bad or even good by both fans and the show when he violates peoples autonomy and is incredibly abusive to the people he loves the most. And it wouldn't be as annoying if people didn't justify so many of his behaviors or if he ever changed or even just was seen as a bad guy in the show more than he is."

">Was a misogynist (loved to call women skanks, bitches, hoes)

>Used gay as an insult multiple time during the show's run (idc if he's gay an homophobic, that's still insulting)

>Beat up his brother for being possessed

>Beat up his brother for losing his soul (not his brother's fault)

>Used dubious consent to get his brother possessed in a different unrelated possession incident after possession was being used (badly...this is supernatural after all) as a metaphor for SA

>Threatened to murder his brother when he was hallucinating (yay we aren't ableist)

>Locked a child up in a box

>Threatened to kill the child he locked up in a box

>Made a creepy, sexual comment about a barely-legal high school girl

>Got the woman and kid he was living with memory-wiped"

"Really mean to Cas (called him a child, zero respect for him, calls him family and casts him out when the angels are looking for him), and an absolute dick to Jack (threatening to kill him CONSTANTLY)"

Propaganda why Batman/Bruce Wayne is insufferable:

"Always has to be right. Does the most janked up stuff and doesn't care who it hurts. Imposes his will on others to the point of willing to bodily harm them if they do not comply (and yes, this does include his children)"

"I’ll also support Batman as a candidate because of the slapping Robin meme, which is annoying, and because he is just way too much. Too much all the time."

"Has to always be right, regardless of situation. Because somehow the billionaire has knowledge of how middle class people think."

"Obviously it's the writers who have screwed him over, but my gods the fact that he can do whatever he freaking wants and still be "the hero" bcs hes the main character is insufferable. He killed his son (slit his throat) in one canon, in the canon where said son survives, he’s beaten half to death by Bruce, who of course is "in the right" because B thought J had tried to murder someone. He can hit his kids, he can be a total asshat to people, and yet he's still framed as being in the right for doing so, simply becaude he's the protagonist. There's no character development, no "whoops maybe I shouldn't have hit dick/punched tim/beaten and exhiled jason" - and it's so damn infuriating. He used to be fun. He used to be a good dad.

Now he's just an insufferable prick."

"Oooh look at me, I'm brooding in my cave because my parents died and this gives me an excuse to be a bad father, he's SO ANNOYING"

"Always has to be right. Will literally alter the makeup of his kid's brain because said kid doesn't live the way he wants him to. Acts like his worldview is the only one that matters."

"he is always portrayed as good and right by the narrative even if objectively he's a pretty terrible person"

[humanpurposes]

My Heart Belongs to Daddy, part v, modern!Aemond

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // She's the first one that I see

modern!Aemond x step-daughter

Warnings: 18+, smut, language, questionable relationships, you know the drill, also mentions of terminal illness.

Words: 9300

A/n: Aemond's pov here we gooo. This part gets its own header coz vibes. Also available to read on AO3.

Another summer brought another two months at Dragonstone. 

The relief Aemond felt clambering out of his mother’s Volvo and into the coastal breeze was immeasurable. Helaena got the front seat, as always, which left the three boys to be packed into the backseat for two hours, in the middle of a June heatwave.

He somewhat resented Daemon and Laena’s absence this year. Generally they alternated summers between Dragonstone and Pentos with the Velaryons. It was a shame, his uncle often brought some much needed tension to family holidays, the entertaining kind as opposed to the depressing kind, and Baela and Rhaena were by far the most tolerable of the younger family members.

Viserys hadn’t arrived yet. He had some work things to catch up on and would drive down later, which just left the Strongs. Alicent had received a call from Rhaenyra while they were in the car to say they’d be a few hours behind them. Thank the Gods. At least it gave them a few hours of peace.

Dragonstone had originally been built as a castle, preserved over the centuries as a place for pleasure rather than a defensive keep. It had a gatehouse, turrets, arrowslits, parapets and ivy sprawling over the outer walls that turned red in the autumn. It looked idyllic, like a castle out of a fairytale.

After bringing his bag up to his room there was only one place Aemond wanted to be.

His favourite part of coming back to Dragonstone were the gardens, sprawling walks of greenery, sweet-smelling rose bushes and sandstone archways. If the weather was right, he could convince himself he was in some remote corner of an Italian manor house. 

One of the gravel paths led down to the pool, overlooked by a patio from the back of the main house. It was a blissful little oasis, when he could have it to himself, of crystal clear water, tall hedges and blue and orange tiles laid out in intricate patterns. 

He had his trunks on already and left his t-shirt and shorts on a sun lounger before he slipped into the water. The cold was a welcome reprieve, especially when he dunked his head under and pushed off from the side, cutting through the water with powerful strokes. 

It had been a while since he’d had time for swimming and he felt slightly irritated at the ache in his arms from the unfamiliar movements. To be fair to himself, he hadn’t made time for any hobbies over the last few weeks on account of his exams, and it had paid off at least. He still had a few weeks until he would get his results but he knew he would do well. 

As far as he was concerned, his future was set. He would get four A*s, then in September he’d be off to Oldtown to start university. In three years, he would graduate with a first and come back to King’s Landing to start at Targ Corp, despite his grandfather’s attempts to convince him to consider a career at Beacon, the Hightower family business. Otto had a vision that one day, his grandsons would run two of the largest companies in Westeros, Aegon at Targ Corp and Aemond at Beacon.

Although the offer of a generous salary and an internship during his studies had sounded tempting, it was a question of pride more than anything. The silver hair should have been evidence enough; Aemond was a Targaryen before he was a Hightower.

Despite his determination to live up to the family name, he had come to resent these summers at their ancestral home. The house and the gardens were beautiful, and he loved being so close to the isolated beach below the hill the house was set on, but he could think of no worse fate than having to spend ten weeks with his insufferable sister, their father’s pride and joy, her idiotic husband and their three sons. 

He ran his hands over his face as he emerged on the other side of the pool, his left palm skimming over the scar on the side of his face. It was easy to forget it was there sometimes, until he’d catch someone frowning at it. 

Rhaenyra was lucky his mother hadn’t pressed charges and publically issued a statement that the whole thing had been a “tragic accident”. Later he learnt Alicent had been holding it over Rhaenyra’s head ever since, waiting for a time when she’d need the leverage.

Ten weeks with the Strongs was all that stood between him and the rest of his life, some sick test of patience. 

He wasn’t alone for long before he spotted Aegon and Daeron at the outlook up at the house. They sprinted out of view and soon came hurtling down the steps to the pool in their trunks. They leapt in, disturbing Aemond’s laps but he reluctantly let himself be happy that the three of them were in the same place for once.

Aegon had just finished a degree in criminal psychology. Alicent and Otto had had to practically buy him a place at KLU. How he had managed to pass was a mystery to everyone, Aemond wondered if he had pulled it together at the last minute purely out of spite. He had already been living in a flat in central with a few of his friends for the last two years. Helaena said he rarely visited the house.

Aemond and Daeron had barely been back from Duskendale before they were all in the car to Dragonstone. He hadn’t minded boarding school, in some ways it made him appreciate the times he got to be at home, and it meant he didn’t have to see his father on a daily basis or watch his mother drive herself insane with her self-imposed workload. Again, Helaena gave him updates on that. He supposed it would make the move to Oldtown less jarring. 

For now he laughed as Aegon challenged them to swimming races and tackled Daeron when he lost. The oldest Targaryen brother was surprisingly strong for his shorter stature. Daeron towered over him but he was wiry, easy for Aegon to sling him over his shoulder.

They were making such a scene in the water that Aemond didn’t notice his mother until she shouted Aegon’s name from the bottom of the steps. “Put your brother down and get changed, seven hells!”

Aegon tossed Daeron’s legs over his head, sending him flopping unceremoniously into the pool. “What’s the rush?” 

“Rhaenyra and Harwin are only half an hour away!” Alicent shrieked, as if this was something they should have cared about. “And they’re bringing a guest, so I want you all presentable and ready for dinner before they arrive.”

Daeron was starting to climb up the ladder, so Aemond pressed his palms to the edge of the pool and pushed himself out. 

“What guest?” he asked, reaching for his towel from one of the sun loungers.

Harwin’s niece. 

She’d been a flower girl at Harwin and Rhaenyra’s wedding, but he only knew that from the photographs. He didn’t remember the last time he must have seen her, probably some family gathering with the Strongs, before Luke slashed a knife in his face and they stopped seeing them as often. 

Aegon seemed eager for “fresh meat” as they marched back up to the house.

Daeron was more sceptical and shot Aemond a concerned frown. “Just what we need, another Strong kid.”

After a quick shower, Aemond changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of dark green cargo trousers, and made his way through the maze of hallways and ornate staircases. He found his parents in the reception hall, a spacious room located at the front of the house, leading off from the entrance hall,  going through to the dining room on one side and the drawing room from the other. It was where they usually lingered when the arrival of a guest was imminent. 

Most of the visitors to Dragonstone considered this to be the most impressive room in the house, with its tall stained glass windows, silver chandelier, walnut panelling and carved columns supporting a gallery on the first floor.

The smell of smoke and charred wood drifted from the fireplace, mingling with the musk of antique velvet sofas. Alicent was torn between typing something on her phone and discussing some arrangement with their head of security, a deceptively young looking man with black hair named Criston Cole.

Evidently Viserys had arrived. He was sitting in a red armchair, taking small sips of a glass of whisky. He looked up when he heard footsteps against the floor, and offered his son a vague nod.

Helaena and Daeron weren’t far behind Aemond, and Aegon was of course the last to make it down. He insisted it was “perfect timing,” because the moment he walked into the room, Cole received a call from the front gate.

Daeron perched on the windowsill and jittering like a puppy as a black escalade pulled up before the gatehouse. 

Within minutes Viserys was throwing his arms around his favourite child. Aemond cast a cold glare over Harwin, Jace, Luke and little Joffrey, clinging to his father’s hand with his thumb in his mouth. The sixth guest followed behind them.

Her hair was pulled away from her face, wide eyes sweeping curiously over the people, the paintings on the walls and the antiques in glass cabinets. The beginning of a smile spread across her lips, but her face fell when her eyes met his.

Aemond sucked his teeth into his lips. He was used to people looking at him like that, or averting their gaze altogether. He could only imagine what Jace and Luke might have told her about their cruel uncle and his horrible scar. 

At dinner she sat on the other end of the table from him, between Harwin and Jace. She was a few years older than her cousins but they all seemed to get on well, joking and smiling at each other. It made Aemond’s blood boil.

Daeron made a point of introducing himself to her but he suspected this show of hospitality was mostly because she was pretty.

She really was pretty though, and quiet, but not necessarily in a nervous way. She seemed content to listen, smiling vaguely at the things people said, feeling no need to fill the silences. When she did smile– properly smile– it was wide, bright and unashamed. 

He overheard her mention an interest in history as dessert was brought out, asking Rhaenyra and Viserys all sorts of questions about Dragonstone’s origins and architecture. He thought of a few books in the library he could recommend but dismissed the idea. When Aegon suggested giving her a tour of the house he felt his grip on his fork tighten. 

Dragonstone was large enough that even with most of the family there it was easy to feel alone, and Aemond spent the first few days of their stay doing exactly that. In the mornings he’d go for a run, then head down to either the pool or the beach for a quick swim. He had his reading list for uni already and was making his way through a textbook on political philosophy, which he read either in the library or a quiet corner of the garden. 

Daeron and Aegon were far better at being civil with Jace and Luke than he was, and she seemed happy to tag along with their antics. Aemond avoided them where he could. 

One afternoon he decided to take his textbook to the patio at the back of the house, and winced at the shrieks of laughter coming from the pool. He was going to head back inside but found himself stepping towards the balustrade, looking over the greenery to the unnaturally blue water.

She was sitting on the edge of the pool in a red swimsuit, with her legs in the water. Even from so far away he could make out the details of her smile, her teeth, the roundness of her cheeks and the way she squinted her eyes.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, until a gentle voice pulled him from his trance.

“Aemond?”

His heart almost stopped and he spun around immediately. An awful feeling sank into his chest, like he’d done something wrong.

Helaena was standing in the doorway, in a pale blue sundress and purple sandals. “Me and mum were going to drive into the village, if you’d like to come?”

Maybe some time away from the house would do him good. He nodded and uttered a quiet “yes.”

She came onto her tiptoes, trying to peer past his shoulder, but from where she was standing she wouldn’t have been able to see what he was looking at. Maybe she didn’t need to see. Another few howls of laughter drifted up to the patio, and a cry of “Aegon, you bastard!” 

Helaena sighed and smiled. He left his book on a table in the entrance hall and followed his sister out to the gatehouse where Alicent was already waiting in the Volvo.

The village was just over a ten minute drive away from the house. Aemond leaned his head against the window in the backseat, feeling content in the blur of vibrant greens and blues. He could have fallen asleep to the hum of the air con and the voices of his mother and sister.

Until he heard her name.

“What?” he mumbled, absentmindedly, shifting himself in the seat and catching Helaena’s eye through her overhead mirror.

“She’s starting her A Levels in September,” Alicent said. “Politics, philosophy and history, same as you.”

He had also taken an extra class in High Valyrian, but he wasn’t going to hold it against her.

“You’d get on I think,” Helaena added, pushing her John Lennon-esque sunglasses on top of her head. He could see she was smirking.

Aemond huffed and went back to staring out the window at the fields, the sky, the sea and the wildflowers growing at the side of the road. He could say he didn’t care about their guest but it would have been a lie. He couldn’t get that red swimsuit out of his head.

Eventually he started agreeing to the occasional beach trip or tennis match. Turns out he quite enjoyed spending time with his nephews when he could beat them at something. And it meant he could see her more often.

There were these odd moments, when he’d catch her staring at him over breakfast or by the pool, that got his hopes up a little, only for her to quickly look away and find someone to fawn over, usually Aegon or one of her cousins. But then she’d find him in the garden and ask about the book he was reading, or sit next to him when they lit a campfire on the beach, just brushing her leg against his. 

They could be confusing but he liked those moments. Every day he woke up ectatic that he would get to see her, and that they might talk about politics or philosophy or a shared love for Daphne du Maurier or the Great Gatsby.

He needed her alone, just once.

He got the chance on the last weekend of July. Alicent, Rhaenyra and Helaena had gone to Rosby for the day, while Harwin had been talking about a trip to Dragonstone harbour to go fishing, something Daeron sounded rather enthusiastic about. Leaving him, Aegon and Viserys at the house. 

After a late breakfast, Aemond went up to the library with the next book on his reading list, An Introduction to Essosi Regionalism. He was rather taken aback to see her sitting at the writing desk by the window. He had assumed she had gone to the harbour with the others.

In a sudden and awkward motion she stood and turned to face him, with wide eyes and a small smile.

“Sorry,” she said, pointing at the desk, “did you want to–”

“No.” He instantly regretted how short and final he sounded. 

Her eyes dipped and he realised he was clutching his book far too tightly.

“I was only looking really,” she said, reaching back for her book, a biography of Queen Alysanne. 

“You like history,” he said, intending it to be a question but it sounded more like a statement.

She smiled again, at his mistake, he guessed. “Yeah, it’s incredible getting to spend so much time here, it’s a beautiful house.”

He stepped forward to place his book on the desk behind her, noticing the sweet citrusy scent of her perfume and the way  she tensed up when he came too close.

“I could show you around, if you’d like? I mean, you’ve already been here long enough and you’ve probably seen most of it by now–”

It was only when she put a hand on his shoulder did he realise his head had dropped down to the floor.

“I’d love to,” she said.

Suddenly his chest felt a little lighter.

He showed her his favourite parts of the house, except the library which she had already seen, obviously. She had so many questions, noticed every detail and traced her fingertips along the ancient stone walls with a look of wonder that made his heart flutter.

Then they came to the long gallery overlooking the reception hall. He pointed out the fan vaulted ceiling detailed with gold and the line of portraits of hundreds of years of Targaryen history, monarchs and more recent family members. She was especially fascinated with a portrait of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne with children. She could put a name and a story to every face.

She turned her head towards him and her breath hitched when she realised he was looking at her. His first instinct was to back away and apologise, but she didn’t move or say anything, just looked up at him with those pretty eyes. 

He wondered if he should kiss her. He’d never tried to kiss someone before. It should have been simple enough but it felt so daunting. What if he did it wrong? What if she didn’t want him to?

He saw her eyes flicker to his scar, and felt like he understood.

“Do you want to look at the old solar?” he asked, already walking towards the north door at the end of the gallery.

Behind him he heard her mutter a quiet “yeah.”

He rushed through the last few rooms. He could hardly catch his breath or think beyond the choking feeling in his throat or how hot the house seemed all of a sudden.

“Do you want to go outside?” she asked when he suggested going to the Maegor suite. 

He nodded, and followed her down to the entrance hall, where they ran into Aegon. He was in trunks and an unbuttoned shirt to show off the tan on his abs.

He glanced between them with a strange look in his eye. “Beach?”

“Sounds good!” she said with a bright smile. “I just need to get some stuff from my room.”

Aegon grinned at her, then at his brother.

“I’m good, thanks,” Aemond grumbled, and went to spend the rest of the day sulking in his room.

Something was different about her after that. She stopped asking so many questions and rather than smile at him when they passed each other in the hallways she sighed and put her head down.

He really didn’t have much experience with these kinds of things, and he sure in seven hells wasn’t going to ask Aegon for advice. 

He wished there was something he could do, but every time he thought about trying to talk to her he pictured her eyes on his scar and decided he’d rather spare her the trouble.

August went by far too quickly and then she was gone.

His time at the University of Oldtown brought some interesting experiences.

People seemed to respect him in a way he wasn’t used to. His lecturers complimented his work and his commitment to his studies. His classmates listened to him when he spoke in seminars, asked for his opinions on current affairs and invited him to lunches and parties. 

He felt like a novelty in Oldtown, people wanted to befriend him, be seen with him, earn his approval. He felt shallow for admitting it, but the newfound attention felt good.

When he went back to King’s Landing that first summer, everyone said he was different. He’d always been interested in sports but he’d committed to a gym routine, shed some of the baby fat and toned out nicely. He traded the trackies and sports trainers for black shirts and leather jackets, got his ears pierced, drank whisky and smoked cigarettes on nights out.

And it turned out he wasn’t as hideous as he thought he was, in fact more often than not, the scar worked in his favour when it came to flirting. 

After graduating he spent the summer in Oldtown, on an internship at Beacon, until Alicent told him she needed him in King’s Landing. She needed a contender of her own to pose as Viserys’ successor against Rhaenyra, and it was obvious neither Aegon or Helaena were going to live up to her expectations. So he did as he was told and moved back home, just in time for everything to start going wrong.

Viserys made his will. Rhaenyra was set to inherit Targ Corp and just about everything else he owned, including Dragonstone. Fucking typical. She had always been his golden child, all that was left of his beloved first wife. His mother always said he never got over Aemma. Singling out Rhaenyra was his way of making it up to her.

But Alicent had been the one helping Viserys run Targ Corp for twenty years, while Rhaenyra’s only real talent was her ability to get whatever she wanted out of their father.

If Rhaenyra were to succeed Viserys, everything his mother had worked for would be for nothing, but Aemond could be the one to change that. He could bring Targ Corp to new heights and live up to the legacy of the Targaryen name. All he needed was for Viserys to give him that chance.

Alicent had been in talks with Borros Baratheon of Storm’s End, an energy company based in the Stormlands. A deal with them would open Targ Corp to a whole new industry, and maybe then Viserys would recognise the lapse in judgement. 

The Storm’s End contract was everything and Alicent had trusted Aemond to see it through. Only it fell apart in his hands. One seemingly minor mistake and Baratheon was out.

Alicent was devastated and it killed him. The late nights and weekends working in the office when she should have been with her children, the constant spite and security from the corporate world, the tabloid news stories that called her a “gold digger,” and the years she spent chasing her husband’s approval had all been for nothing.

She never said it, but Aemond knew she blamed him.

It had been a shitty three months and by December he was exhausted. Daeron was back from Duskendale, Aegon was staying for a few weeks, and Helaena was adamant that they were going to have an enjoyable Christmas. She covered the house in fairy lights and put up a tree in the living room, decorated with colourful baubles that really had nothing to do with Christmas; rainbows, butterflies and bees. 

The other three agreed to indulge her. Aegon suddenly became an expert at Christmas cocktails, Daeron was in a baking frenzy and Aemond put his old piano lessons to good use. He sat at the baby grand in the hallway for the first time in forever and played some old hymns mum used to make them sing. Until Aegon put the chords for Fairytale of New York in front of him, which he agreed was a much better song.

Alicent came in from the office on the 24th, rain soaked through her coat and her eyes red. She’d had a call from Lyonel Strong.

Harwin was in the hospital. Pancreatic cancer. He’d been ignoring the symptoms for years apparently, and by the time Rhaneyra made him get a diagnosis it was too late.

Nothing was an isolated issue. Mum, dad, Rhaenyra, work… everything fed off each other in a single spiral of chaos and grief.

He needed the space, he decided at a fundraiser on New Years Eve. He and Viserys had arrived together but they didn’t so much as make eye contact the entire night. Rhaenyra was understandably inconsolable, mum had refused to go, Helaena wasn’t cut out for these kinds of events and Daeron was studying for mock exams. He at least found solace in the knowledge that he was preferable to Aegon.

A woman with black hair caught his attention. She moved effortlessly throughout the room, martini in hand, which she sipped through dark red lips as she struck up conversations with the other attendees. Did she realise she was targeting the richest people in the room? Probably. She blended in well, in a black slip dress and a pearl necklace, but there was something else, glaring him right in the face.

She was familiar, but he couldn’t place where he might have seen her before.

She smirked when she realised he was staring at her. After ordering herself another drink she waltzed over to him and introduced herself as “Alys Rivers.”

He must have let a little of his shock show on his face, because she smirked again.

Alys Rivers. Harwin’s cousin. The woman with the pretty daughter who’d spent a summer at Dragonstone.

They chatted for hours, she was very curious to hear about the company politics at Targ Corp, the few months he’d been working there and the whole debacle with the Storm’s End contract. She told him about herself too. She worked for Harrenhal PR, alongside her brothers, but was looking to start her own company.

He asked about Harwin. 

That was the only time her perfect persona faltered, just for a moment, but then she took a sip of her drink and she was back to business. She said she was doing alright. It was a shock, he was like a brother to her, and she was trying to make the most of the moments she had left with him.

“It makes you appreciate what you have,” she said. They had found a table in a corner of the bar, ordering too many cocktails. She sighed heavily and put her hand on her chest, over her heart, “I’m so lucky I’ve got my darling girl.”

He didn’t even need to ask before she started telling him more. She was in her second year of studying history at KLU, a bright student, a sweet and serious girl.

She said Harwin adored her, always had, even once things got serious with Rhaenyra and he started having kids of his own.

“Poor thing,” he said, “this must all be so hard on her.”

“She’s like me,” Alys insisted, finishing off another martini. Her words were starting to slur, but even when she was drunk she did it gracefully. “Nothing phases her.”

He could still remember the smell of her perfume, sweet and citrusy.

Alys’s perfume was dark, bitter and boozy. When he kissed her the taste of her martinis burned on his tongue. Vodka. He was more of a gin man.

Generally he tried to avoid one night stands, but it didn’t take much convincing before he found himself in her hotel room.

He spent the entire night on his back while she edged him relentlessly, with her hands and her mouth, before she finally rode him, whispering praises in his ear as she did it. 

He decided it would be bad manners not to text her, so the following Friday night, they went to a steakhouse on Conquest street. It felt more like a business meeting than a date, they talked more about Targ Corp and her plans for her own PR firm. She had the ambition and industry knowledge, but needed the strategy and the connections to make it work. 

“You and I could be a match made in heaven,” he said.

She paused midway through a sip of red wine, and raised her eyebrow ever so slightly. “I don’t usually go for younger men,” she said, “but you’re smart and uncomplicated. I think we could work something out.”

The line between business and pleasure was non-existent. They looked over contracts and business plans over coffee, accompanied each other to conferences and fucked in hotel rooms. She was straightforward, blunt at times but he found it impressive and refreshing. He never had to guess what she was thinking because she didn’t see the point in trying to hide behind niceties. Every time he complimented her confidence she said it was “a consequence of age.”

Things moved faster than he realised. Suddenly winter was turning into spring and Alys asked him to work for Rivers PR full time. 

He found the wherewithal to tell Alicent and Viserys on a rare occasion that his father actually bothered to eat with them. He tried to be as casual as he could about his sabbatical from Targ Corp. It ended with an explosive row over the dinner table, leaving both Helaena and his mother in tears. Viserys was still shouting from the hallway as he packed an overnight bag and stormed out to his car.

He had to call three times before Aegon finally picked up. “Good for you!” his brother cheered down the end of the phone. “Who would have thought you’d end up like this though? Six months ago you were mum’s favourite son.”

“She just kept telling me I was selfish,” Aemond said, first the Storm’s End contract and now this. “And apparently Rhaenyra’s been up in arms about Alys branching off from Harrenhal, especially with everything that’s going on with Harwin.”

“Will you go to hers then?”

He was already heading towards central. “That’s why I called, I need somewhere to stay, I thought you could put me up for a bit.”

Aegon drew out an exaggerated “uhh,” and Aemond hung up, not in the mood to listen to some long winded excuse.

He gripped the steering wheel as he came to a junction and a sign for Queen’s Park. So much for being “uncomplicated.”

Alys was in a silk robe when she opened the door. “Mummy and daddy kicked you out?” she asked with a pouty frown.

He insisted he had left of his own accord.

It was a beautiful terraced house, plaster fronted, overlooking the park. The interior was understated and elegant, dark wood floors, white walls and bursts of muted greens.

It was quiet too, and the only light came from the kitchen.

“Where’s–”

“She’s out with a few friends,” Alys said.

He followed her through to the kitchen, where she poured out two glasses of wine and he told her everything. 

By the time he was done she had finished her glass. She looked into it, like she was surprised to see that it was empty. He hadn’t touched his. 

“Are you planning on staying for long?” she asked.

For a moment he felt stupid for coming to her at all. He couldn’t quite figure out what they were to each other, and suddenly he was showing up on her doorstep and using her like a therapist. 

“I called Aegon first but I think he’s busy. I can be gone in the morning if you want.”

She took hold of his shoulder, stroking her thumb over the fabric of his shirt. “You can stay as long as you need to.”

He looked at her. He was used to her expression being so smug and severe, but she looked gentle now, her eyes wide and full of pity. When he took a shallow breath he realised she was wearing the same, dark perfume from New Years.

He kissed her slowly, nudging his nose against hers and slipping a hand around her waist to pull her in closer.

She chuckled softly as she pulled away. “I’ll be off early in the morning. Take some time if you need to, sort something out with Aegon or…”

“Right,” he said, swallowing down the lingering taste of red wine from her lips.

They slept in her bed, with their backs to each other.

When he woke in the morning Alys was gone. He checked the time on his phone, 8am, and he had a text from her: Help yourself to coffee. Let me know what your plan is.

He threw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before he headed downstairs. He quickly figured out his way around the expensive coffee machine and settled on a stool at the island with a cup of black coffee.

His hands were restless, tapping against the coffee cup and the counter top. 

She was in the same house as him, probably sound asleep upstairs, though he hadn’t heard anyone come in during the night. Did she know he was here? She must have seen the car outside, but she wouldn’t know it was his. 

He’d hardly even considered the possibility of seeing her again until now, but he hadn’t expected things with to Alys to go this far.

He looked down at his phone. Maybe staying with Alys wasn’t such a good idea. He started typing out a text to Aegon when he heard the door to the kitchen open.

“Hello again.”

She stood in the doorway, squinting her eyes at him, hair loose and tousled, in nothing but an overused Black Sabbath t-shirt that covered the tops of her thighs. She looked a little dishevelled and utterly perfect.

“Hi,” Aemond said, putting his phone down and reaching for his cup. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I got a text from mum. She said she had a guest and I was free to ignore him or kick him out.”

“Have you decided which?”

She huffed a laugh and there was that smile again, though not as wide as it had been that summer. “I felt like being nosy,” she said. 

She moved towards the sink and filled a glass of water, which she finished in one go, with a sound of satisfaction. She drew the tip of her tongue between her lips and set the glass on the counter before she turned to look at him again. “So you’re mum’s new boytoy?”

“Is that what she calls me?” he said, trying to play off the tight feeling in his chest with a small smirk.

“She doesn’t call you anything, actually. She’s been going on these little dates, calling them ‘work calls’ and hoping I won’t notice.”

“How do you know they’re not work calls?”

“I wouldn’t have until she brought you home with her.”

“That was my fault…” he looked down at his coffee. He was convinced he could already feel the caffeine buzzing in his fingertips.

“You look different,” she said.

His eyes shot back to her. “How so?”

“Your hair’s longer. It makes you look older.”

He raised an eyebrow and smiled at the way she recoiled into herself.

“I meant it as a compliment, honest.”

She looked different too. Her face hadn’t changed much from what he could remember, but mostly he noticed that she seemed more subdued. Her eyes were set in dark circles and they weren’t as wide, and when she wasn’t speaking her lips fell slightly. She looked older, but then how long had it been since Dragonstone? More than three years, less than four. 

She told him where everything was in the kitchen, which he could have figured out himself but he didn’t want to interrupt her. She asked how long he was going to stay and he said until he heard back from Aegon.

That turned out to be a week later, and by then Alys insisted she liked having him around.

Initially he looked at a few rentals, which Alys discouraged and insisted he should buy his own place. Between work and the daily mass of texts he was getting from his siblings about Targ Corp and their parents, he couldn’t find the time to truly consider it.

It was easy to fall into a routine with Alys. She left for work earlier than him so he took his own car every morning. Everyone at the office guessed they were ‘together’ but they kept things professional. If he so much as put a hand on her shoulder she scared him off with a warning look. She always stayed later than him so he’d go back to the house, sort out dinner and have it waiting for when the girls got home.

The girls. He was going domestic.

She only had lectures a few times a week and when she was at home she stayed in her bedroom, only occasionally bringing a book down to the garden or the lounge while he worked in the kitchen. He wondered if she was avoiding him. Considering the awful impression he made at Dragonstone, he didn’t blame her. 

But eventually she started to warm up to him. They found some common interests and small talk turned into in-depth discussions of history and politics and their favourite films and albums. She loved Mazzy Star especially. Sometimes, when he had the house to himself, he’d listen through their albums and imagine her listening to the same songs.

He soon learned just how elusive Alys could be. She always had something going on, a work event, a conference or even trips to Pentos with her old uni friends. When she was at home she was usually in the study on the top floor of the house, on a call, looking over contracts or managing some kind of crisis that only she could solve. If he joined her on work trips it was by her invitation.

So he often found himself alone with her. Movie nights became a weekly ritual, usually late in the week, and every week they seemed to sit a little closer to each other than before.

One night she fell asleep against him. His arm was around the back of the sofa and her head gently fell against his chest.

He wasn’t sure what to do, if he should wake her, but she looked so peaceful with her eyes closed, lips parted and breath fluttering down the collar of his t-shirt. Her body was warm and she was wearing that same citrusy perfume. 

He wanted to keep her there. He could lie down, hold her in his arms and fall asleep pressed into her back.

Guilt told him otherwise. So he moved away from her, as carefully as he could, and guided her to lie fully on the sofa with a pillow under her head and a blanket draped over her body.

Alys came in from a dinner sometime after 1am and slipped wordlessly into her side of the bed. Within minutes he could hear her gentle snores.

He closed his eyes but he didn’t sleep. All he could think about was her breath on his chest, the way her shorts had ridden up her thighs, and that fucking perfume. 

He was probably just tired, getting excited by some old crush which he was way past by now. He was sure he would forget about it by the morning.

If only it had ended there.

By the time spring came around she had warmed up to him. They spent Sunday mornings drinking coffee together in the garden and went for drives out to Blackwater Bay. They had inside jokes and talked about their families. Some nights she’d come crying to him over uni, arguments with her mother and a stupid boy who broke her heart. She was so pretty when she cried.

When she asked him to help her with a particular exam he couldn’t help himself. He noticed everything about their study sessions together, the way she shuddered when he put a hand on her shoulder, the way her breath hitched when he praised her.

His heart swelled when she came home from that exam with a wide smile, throwing herself into his arms and telling him all the details she could remember. Her eyes were so bright and gazing up at him almost adoringly. 

He was so happy for her, and so proud.

She didn’t pull away when he kissed her. She met him with soft touches to his neck and a hummed whimper that threatened to spark something primal in him. 

They smiled at each other when it was over, until the haze started to wear off. He cleared his throat, and muttered that he still had work to do. She nodded but they kept staring at each other, his hands on her waist and hers drifting down from his neck to his chest.

She was the first to step away. He watched her disappear through the door and wondered how he had managed to make such a mess of his life.

For the entirety of the next week he couldn’t get that muffled whimper out of his head.

Every time he saw her he wanted to drag her into him and kiss her again, harsher, hungrier, with his hands tracing over every inch of her body. 

He told himself he was being stupid and he just needed an outlet. For the most part, he and Alys doing well together, but on the few occasions they actually fucked he found the novelty of being beneath her was starting to wear off. 

Frustratingly, everything else seemed to be working well for him. He was good at his job; working for Rivers PR was certainly helping to distract him from his family and the company was thriving. He didn’t have to put up with his parents and the Rivers girls seemed happy enough to have him around. The only problem left was him.

In June Alys was accompanying a client on a trip to Dorne, a few days in Salt Shore, Lemonwood and then a week in Sunspear. Aemond wasn’t sure if he was elated or dreading her absence. Every time he’d been around her lately he held his breath, waiting for her to realise something was wrong.

She remained perfectly normal though. Her exams were finished and she had an internship at Lion Publishing lined up for the month of August. In the meantime she was living life as she pleased, lunch dates and picnics in the park with her friends, but she spent a lot of time at home too, mostly reading or writing in a leatherbound notebook.

The kiss was a mistake. A stupid mistake. He kept looking for a chance to talk to her, but decided it might be best until Alys was away.

Alys’ flight was due on a Friday evening and he dropped her off in the afternoon. They sat in silence for most of the journey but silence wasn’t a rarity for them.

When they reached the airport they both went to take the bags out the boot.

“I’m a big girl, I can manage,” she said dryly, but that was just her sense of humour. 

“I don’t doubt it,” he said.

She set her suitcase by her side and slipped her arm through her Prada tote bag. “The two of you can look after yourselves well enough,” she said, fussing with the collar of her blouse. “I don’t need to tell you not to answer the door to strangers or anything?”

He smiled unenthusiastically. “No.”

With her eyes one the pavement, she brought her fingers to the styled waves of her hair, bringing a few tresses over her shoulder.

“She’s fond of you,” she said. “I know I can’t always be there for her when she needs me, but I know you helped her with that exam and I appreciate it.” There was no sign of shortness or irritation like there usually was when she spoke about anything remotely personal. She was being sincere and it just made him feel worse.

“Don’t mention it,” he said.

She shrugged her shoulders and the businesswoman was back. “Right then. I’d give you a kiss goodbye but I have lipstick on.”

How devastatingly practical, as always. She threw an arm around his shoulder and he pecked her cheek before she headed for the terminal, quickly and gracefully, heels clicking against the ground. 

He had plans to meet Helaena for dinner at a restaurant in central. With her mother out the way, she had invited a few friends to celebrate the end of exams and he figured she’d appreciate the space.

He didn’t realise how much he missed not living with his sister until he saw her. That was the downside of the new circumstances, he never got to see his siblings as much as he wanted to.

Helaena asked him about Alys and her, how they were dealing with Harwin still in the hospital. He told her the truth, they didn’t really talk about it much, but by that point it was a matter of waiting for the inevitable.

Apparently Rhaenyra was a mess. She would be. Her husband was dying, she had three kids to look after and Harrenhal PR was falling to pieces now that Larys was in charge and Alys had poached half of their best clients.

Helaena was exhausted. She was getting ready to start a PhD in Highgarden and she should have been excited, but she hardly had the wherewithal to think about it with Alicent and Viserys’ constant rowing. At least Daeron would be back in a few more days so she wouldn’t be the only child at the house.

“Are you coming to Dragonstone this year?” she asked.

He took a telling breath through his nose and finished off his glass of wine.

“Aemond, please, it won’t be the same without you.”

He scoffed. “No one wants me there.”

She frowned at him with those sad blue eyes of hers. “Don’t say that.”

“Did you know mum hasn’t called me once since I left? It’s been five months. Do you really think I can just show up and we’ll play happy families then go back to hating each other when we get home?”

Her face twisted like she might start crying. 

“Sorry I just–” he held his forehead in his hands and dragged them back over his hair. He didn’t want to think about Dragonstone, it just made him think of her.

He felt her hand gently take his wrist and guide it down to the table so she could see his face. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m just tired.”

She raised her eyebrows and hummed like she didn’t believe him.

It wasn’t long after 10pm when he got back to the house. He heard voices and giggles in the front lounge. He walked softly through the hallway and slowed when he came to the door.

“... that’s always been a fantasy of mine.”

“Jo, you’re sick.”

“Oh step-daddy!”

Laughter followed, with a few disbelieving sighs. He recognised her laugh, and made out two other distinct voices. He guessed they hadn’t heard him come in.

“Is he hot though?”

He listened for a reply but she stayed quiet.

“Oh come on! I bet you’ve thought about it.”

“No.” She said it so simply he almost believed her. 

He moved through to the kitchen intending to get some water. There were two empty pizza boxes and an assortment of empty wine bottles on the kitchen island. He went to clean them up when the door opened.

“Hi,” she said softly. Her face was dewy and a little flushed. “I didn’t hear the door.”

“I only just got in,” he said, “don’t worry I didn’t hear anything incriminating.”

She tilted her head at him with a slightly dazed smile. She looked gorgeous and the pair of jeans she wore fit her perfectly. 

She refilled the glasses from a new bottle and nodded to an empty glass on the counter. “Do you want to join us?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” she said.

He followed her through to the lounge, bringing the glass and the bottle with him. 

Before he opened the door she leaned into him and whispered, “don’t worry, Margarey has work tomorrow and Jo’s waiting for her boyfriend so they won’t stay long.”

Margaery and Joanna were effortlessly charming but he distrusted them for being law students. They both grinned when he sat on the sofa by the window and were eager to ask him about his time in Oldtown and his job.

Joanna kept glancing over to her, but she remained unphased until Margarey mentioned Targ Corp. Her face slowly fell in irritation. He found it quite endearing.

“So why did you leave?” Joanna asked, “it was something to do with Viserys’ will, right?”

“It’s none of your business, is it?” she said shortly.

Aemond gave her a quick smile to let her know it was alright and she settled back to contentment.  

Just as she said, they were both gone before midnight. She saw them to the door and when she came back to the lounge she fell beside him with her legs against his and her head on his shoulder.

“Did you have a nice evening?” he asked. If he turned his head just a little further his lips would brush against her temple.

“Really lovely,” she sighed.

He considered asking about the kiss, but she was definitely tipsy and just sitting with her was too peaceful. He couldn’t bring himself to disturb the moment and the sound of her breathing. 

Her fingers began to trace up over the fabric of his shirt, up and down over his stomach and the lines of his abs underneath.

He put his hand over hers to stop her, but somehow it only seemed to spur his own want. He closed his hand around her, tracing his thumb over her knuckles.

She shifted her head so she was looking at him and her breath echoed over his neck. 

She leaned in first. Their lips met with gentle grazes, just feeling each other and breathing the same air. 

Gradually they deepened their movements. Her tongue slipped into his mouth and he melted at her softness and her warmth. He cupped her jaw to pull her into him despite the gnawing feeling in his chest, like he was getting too close, like he could never get close enough.

She started to move and he tried to keep hold of her, expecting her to slip from his grasp, until he felt her weight on his lap. She straddled him, wrapping her hands around the sides of his neck and threading her fingers through his hair. She gave him another dazed little smile before she continued to kiss him fiercely, desperately.

It was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea, but for now he would take the guilt if he got to feel her like this, her lips trailing along his jaw and down his neck, her heavy breaths and whimpers as she started to rock her hips against him.

He reached to take hold of her hips, moving with her at first before he set a new, steadier pace, dragging her against the tightening bulge in his jeans. “You alright there, pet?” he hummed.

She nudged her forehead against his. “Please can you just…” her eyes followed her hands as she propped herself against his chest. 

“What do you want, baby?” he whispered.

She let out a whine that went straight to his cock.

“Come on,” he hissed, “talk to me.”

She clenched her fists to tug at his shirt. “I want you,” she breathed.

He strained an exhale as he tried to stop his hips from bucking into her. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said with a groan, but he was already trying to rationalise it.

She could be the outlet, just once, just to get it out of his system. 

“No it’s not, but I still want you,” she said.

Or maybe it didn’t have to be about him. He could just give her what she needed.

“Please,” she whined trying to fight against his hold on her hips, “I want you so bad, it fucking hurts.”

“Oh you poor thing,” he cooed, moving his face down to tease the skin of her throat with his lips and tongue. 

He knew they were on the cusp of something dangerous and damning, but it was her, the girl from that summer, the girl with the pretty smile and the curious look in her eyes, Alys’ daughter. 

When he looked up to her face her eyes were wide and pleading.

Maybe he felt he owed it to a younger version of himself, or maybe it was the wine he’d had at the restaurant but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences. 

He pressed his palm against her stomach, feeling her body tremble and her quick, shallow breaths. He trailed lower to undo the buttons on her jeans. “Take these off for me,” he muttered.

She didn’t hesitate to follow his instruction. She drew the jeans down her legs, leaving her in her top and a black thong. He told her to straddle him again, which she did. 

With firm but gentle hands he felt along the bare flesh of her thighs and her ass, positioning her over his thigh. He pulled the thong against her until she was squirming and trying to rut against his jeans.

He chuckled softly to himself and held her waist tightly to keep her still, and she followed the silent instruction so well. She was panting, leaning in closer to him, but waiting for his lead. He was slightly scared of how much he loved it.

He brought his hand to her cheek, stroking and toying with her bottom lip. “Do you want to be good for me?” he whispered.

She hummed her agreement. 

“Fuck yourself against my thigh, pretty girl, show me how desperate you are.”

With a small nod she started to move, letting out little moans when her clothed clit rolled against his leg.

He kept her movements slow, even when she tried to fight against him and go faster.

“No,” he said, “be a good girl for me, do as you’re told.”

The pace was agonising for her, eyes screwed shut and jaw hung open as her hands got restless, running over his jaw, his neck and into his hair.

He kept her steady and pressed her down against his jeans with each drag of her hips, playing with the change in pressure and smiling at the way it made her whine and her eyes water.

“Aemond… I need more…”

He still kept the movements nice and slow. “Just let it happen– there you go, good fucking girl.”

She didn’t hold back her moans as her climax hit her, tensing hard and falling into him. He kept her moving through it, until her thighs were shaking and she begged him to stop.

He was sure he’d never been so hard in his life, but he held her there, breathing in the smell of her hair and her perfume.

Then he brought her away from him so he could see her face, beautifully blissed out. There was that light, hopeful feeling in his chest, but it was starting to crumble under the realisation of what they’d done.

“Is that actually a thing, the step-daddy thing?” he asked.

She huffed a breathy laugh. “According to Jo it is. Why, do you want me to call you daddy?”

He wouldn’t admit it then, but he liked the way it sounded coming from her.

General Taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

Series Taglist: @marthawrites @urmomsgirlfriend1 @aaaaaamond @boundlessfantasy @sahvlran @tinykryptonitewerewolf @arcielee @tssf-imagines @aemondsfavouritebastard @skikikikiikhhjuuh @queenofshinigamis @lost-and-founds @izzydlb @dc-marvel-girl96 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @padfooteyes @castellomargot @pet1t3 @okfashionista @khaothick

[icedragonlizard]

I very much like my headcanons of all the villain-turned-dream-friends still being very flawed people one way or another.

I'd say that they could all be considered morally grey to various degrees. Some may be nicer than others, but overall I wouldn't really call any of them saints. None of them are irredeemably evil, and Kirby is friends with every single one of them, but they're all still flawed. And Kirby is basically their 'parole officer' as he keeps them all in check.

This post got quite long as I wrote everything I wanted, so I'm gonna post a 'Keep reading tag' down below.

Feel free to click on it if you'd like to see my interpretations on the flaws of some Kirby characters! I'll be covering Marx, Dark Meta Knight, Daroach, Magolor, Taranza, Susie and the mage sisters here.

Marx may be on Kirby's good side now as he's not looking to attempt conquest on Popstar again, but he's still essentially an agent of chaos. He's loud, he's obnoxious, he's widely known to be a prankster, and he loves getting a rise out of people. He enjoys causing scenes purely for the sake of it. And his sense of humor isn't exactly good at having tact, as he'll make jokes out of things that most others wouldn't dare do. He can be considered the most insufferable one out of the bunch.

But there are good qualities to him, too. Some people legitimately think he's the funniest guy alive, so there's that. Marx loves attention in general, regardless if it's bad or good attention, and so he gets delighted if someone likes him and enjoys his antics. He loves it when people decide to join him on mischief. If you're his friend, he'll often give you stuff to laugh about and you're likely to find yourself having fun with him. If he likes you enough, he'll even stand up for you if someone else antagonizes you. His friends are literally his homies.

He's still quite the wild creature, though. It requires a lot of patience and a lax/chill attitude to be able to put up with Marx. It's not uncommon for him to find ways to instigate chaos in Star Allies gatherings. But he CAN be forced to behave, albeit not always easily. Kirby and Magolor are the ones that can most easily get him to listen.

Dark Meta Knight is still a standoffish jerk with a temperament. He's rude, brutal, and isn't at all afraid to say things that might run shivers down people's spines. He's prone to violence if he feels even the least bit agitated. He's also a rather detached person that does not care to make friends with most of the other star allies, and is quite a big hater for the ones that get on his nerves. He has a bad habit of being too blunt about wishing death or general ill-will for people he hates.

Not just that, but I headcanon that Dark Mind is technically still alive as a neutralized little fragment that desperately needs assistance. DMK hasn't given up trying to bring DM back to its former glory, and is still devoted enough to do what DM asks of him to do. It's not actually as frightening as it sounds, though. Trying to bring DM back to its former glory may be impossible due to how much it'd take, so that threat may not warrant much concern, but DMK still strives for it.

But DMK can be kept in check at times by a few others in the cast. I headcanon that DMK is friends with Daroach, Adeleine, Ribbon and Kirby, and he does care about what they think of him. But I hc those are the only friends he has in the cast, as he's the dream friend with the least amount of friends. He doesn't care about anyone else. He's also willing to do art stuff with Adeleine, and will protect his friends from danger. But overall, DMK is still a ruthless son-of-a-gun.

Daroach has a notably kind-hearted side to him, but he's also absolutely still a thief. Some people are ticked off by his persistent thievery. He likes the challenge of breaking into certain areas and to see what's he capable of successfully stealing. This can get especially irritating for some if he's brought the entire squeak squad with him for these instances. Daroach also has a trollish/smug side to him, as he thinks it's funny to get reactions out of people as he steals from them.

He does have standards, though. There are people that Daroach will NOT steal from. This includes Kirby, Adeleine, the entirety of Ripple Star (he'd feel bad to rob from that planet) and he also respects Meta Knight enough to never steal anything from the Halberd. He's also a softy around Kirby. And there's times in the day where Daroach decides to be chill and not steal anything. He can be quite a laidback bro if he's your friend. He has a big sense of humor and if you don't mind him pulling lighthearted fast ones on you, he'll gladly do that.

But he's still our resident thief! Hahaha. And he often has a rather shady demeanor that might make some people put their guards up.

Magolor did make a well known apology and created an amusement park to back it up, but I headcanon he's still very much a flawed person. Much like his buddy Marx, Magolor is a mischievous prankster that likes getting a rise out of people at times, although he's much more tactful than the jester in this regard. There's other problems with Magolor, like how he often says awkward things that make it evident he doesn't have the best understanding of social cues. He also has a tendency to insert himself into things, due to still having a bit of an ego, and he can sometimes be a blatantly obvious suck-up.

It's also arguably somewhat flawed morality-wise on Magolor's behalf to have made all the masks he did for Merry Magoland. He had great intentions with that, as he wanted to honor many people with that, but he made a lot of them without permission. And it ended up being pretty awkward for some people to see the masks. Thankfully, it didn't elicit any reactions bad enough for Magolor to lose any friends, but he arguably should've gotten many people's permission first.

Magolor is still buds with Kirby despite his current flaws, though. And he actually cares about being liked and cares about making people have fun, and so he makes sure that he has standards accordingly for that. He also just has very weird ways of going on about trying to be a better person than what he was before. But regardless, he's trying!

Taranza may be mourning the death of his beloved queen, but as a matter of fact I do not headcanon him to be a complete softboy! Once enough time passed for him to start properly recovering from his loss, he's eventually started coming back to being a snobby rich-theater kid type of guy like he was before. He can be very bizarrely smug and confident at times. He has an iconic devious smile. He makes webs at people's homes with often trollish messages. Don't be surprised if he sneakily rearranges the stuff in your home without you looking.

And believe it or not, he also has a secretly vengeful and vindictive side to him. He'd love to torment and beat up everyone that picks on him. And because it was a dimensional mirror that corrupted his queen, he heavily resents the mirror world and talks smack about its inhabitants. Honestly if he saw a dimensional mirror again he'd love to break it and smash it to pieces. He also legit wants DMK to die.

But overall, Taranza is no serious bad guy anymore. He does have a definite nice and caring side to him. He's really grateful to all of his friends that have helped him out with his grief (especially Susie, who understands him better than anyone else does) and he'd panic like frick when one of his friends gets hurt. He doesn't want to lose any of his current friends, the last thing he needs is MORE things to grieve over. He's also glad to show people about flora. He's also still just a silly-ass rich theater guy that can be quite a big, dramatic handful.

Susie, while no longer the terrifying colonizer she once was, is still very much a corporate-minded woman with a lot of unhinged stuff going on with her. The HWC's practices are substantially improved in her rule compared to what it was in her dad's rule, but she still makes corny business decisions at times. She has a notable stubborn streak, and is often a bit too blunt and formal to people she isn't close enough to be friends with. She's also feisty and a bit too ruthless when it comes to combat, as it may require others to calm her down. And like Magolor, she gets awkward at times with her low understanding of social cues.

She's also still a mad-scientist at heart, although she's mostly stopped mechanizing people (except for those that explicitly WANT it) and has largely shifted to applying her mad-scientist desires on inanimate objects such as toys and accessories. I headcanon that Susie has an entire hobby of making super-detailed custom furbies as I wrote a post about it. But despite the improved shift, she often gets way ahead of herself when experimenting on inanimate objects to the point that the final result of her creations are pretty darn freaky and unnerving to some people. She really loves doing it, though! And the unhinged level of detail to her creations can be hilarious to some.

Susie does have friends that she cares about, and she lets them reign her in as she doesn't want to disappoint them. And despite usually being rather cold, she's not entirely without her kind moments. Susie is at her nicest when interacting with Taranza and Kirby, and she has other friends like Magolor and the mage sisters that she can be great with. Her friends are the one thing that help motivate her to get better. But despite that, Susie is still absolutely a big handful in terms of flaws. She's still a vindictive, standoffish, corporate mad-scientist that's ballsy enough to constantly snap back during confrontations!

The Mage Sisters are still chaotic menaces. They're exceptionally grateful to Kirby and co. for saving them and Hyness in HiAD, and so they definitely ain't doing that Void Termina crap again, but these women still engage in absurdly violent and bombastic activities. They love to destroy random buildings for no real reason other than just for kicks and giggles. They cackle like hyenas when they cause mischief.

Francisca is perhaps the most obviously flawed mage sister, as she literally keeps her frozen trophy collection and even tries to expand it! That's a bruh moment. It doesn't exactly help that she's close buddies with Marx as those two will just make some absolutely absurd hijinks together. Her relatively quiet nature can also be rather unnerving. It's not all bad, though, as she can be genuinely sweet to people that she cares about. And she's kind enough to give you free water with her soda gun if you'd like that, but overall she's an extraordinary freak.

Flamberge is the nicest of the three mage sisters, but she still has her fair share of chaos as she loves causing big booms with her fire abilities. She can be considered a daredevil with that sort of thing. Another notable flaw with her is that she lets Francisca get away with anything. She will NEVER hold her psychotic blue sister accountable. And there's of course her temperament, but she's surprisingly chill a lot of the time and is really only angry if given an actual reason to be.

Zan Partizanne can be quite rude with excessive name-calling, as she has a mentality of "it goes both ways" when her name can't be said right. If you can't say her name right, then she'll make it even by giving you some unhinged nickname. She also has a guilty pleasure of starting playful bickering matches with people purely for fun. That being said, she's something of a leader alongside Hyness at the Jambandran base and is always glad to help guide people around the place, but she can overall be quite a standoffish and feisty person.

The mage sisters do care about trying to be better, though. They want to make Kirby proud as he's essentially their little hero. They're still incredibly unhinged people by virtue of being raised in a literal cult, though, and they still love to start ruckuses and cause chaos. With the amount of mischief they cause with their weapons, it may be wise to keep some distance as to not get caught in their weapons' range.

-----

That's basically everything I got. All these characters are still very flawed people to me. They're all redeemable to various extents, but yeah. I like to think that they all need occasional slaps on the wrists by Kirby. He's their 'parole officer' like I said at the beginning of the post. He keeps them in check. And it works as they all respect him!

But despite sometimes slapping them on the wrists, Kirby does care about all these people. He's friends with all of them. He cheers them on as they progress in life. When they do good things, he's proud of them! He also can't help but feel sorry for the more traumatized ones.

Kirby has remarkable tolerance. He can basically be friends with bad people, lol. He always has faith and sees the good in people. He's the perfect little guy to motivate people to get better. He can keep someone in check from doing bad things, and is merciful enough to always give them a second chance. Man, thank this universe for Kirby!

Thanks for reading if you did. See you for the next one.

[scarabsinthestardust]

The Hurtin' Kind

MASTERLIST

Josh x male OC

I know I should be working on Tender, but I got this silly little idea in my head and couldn't ignore it any longer. And no, I definitely *checks notes* did not model this character after Orville Peck (I just think he's neat, okay??) If anyone's feeling adventurous and wants to write the actual smut for this, you're more than welcome to (we will have a spring wedding). Anyways, enjoy! And thanks for reading.

Listen to the inspiration here

WARNINGS: drinking; some light, general sadness; implications of sex; I dunno, let me know if I missed anything

word count: 1800+

Josh was not having a good day. It had been stressful, to say the least, and quite disastrous. He’d been at the studio all day trying to record music for their newest album, and nothing seemed to be going right. He couldn’t hit the right notes and kept forgetting the lyrics, which then led to insufferable bickering between him and his brothers. He pushed back, blaming it on their inability to play the music they’d all written together, and before long, everyone was so frustrated they couldn’t look at each other. Josh had been fighting off a headache all day and wanted nothing more than to go home and get some much needed sleep, but he was wired from the arguing and he needed to wind down.

On top of it all, and he hated to admit it, he was lonely. He couldn’t pinpoint when or why he started feeling that way, but it had become an ever-present nagging in his gut, like a splinter he couldn’t free from under his skin. He’d always been the happy one, the one who’s constantly smiling and laughing, the one who gets compared to the sun due to his joyous nature. But sometimes it was exhausting. Sometimes he just wanted to abandon the role for someone else to have, to go some place where no one knows his name, where he could wallow in peace.

That’s how he ended up here, in this dimly lit bar on the edge of town, where he almost forgot he was even in the city. He’s seated at a table by himself, nursing a drink and allowing himself to get lost in his own thoughts. He turned his phone off, and he’s sure to have quite a collection of missed calls and text messages from his brothers, but he wasn’t currently concerned about that.

The atmosphere of the place was kind of relaxing. It wasn’t necessarily dingy in any way. In fact, it was sort of homey. Mostly everyone seemed to know each other, exchanging friendly conversations as they sipped their beers. A couple on the opposite side of the room were leaning into each other, lost in their blissful smiles and subtle touches. Some patrons appeared to be in the same kind of mood as Josh, sitting alone, sorrow painted clearly on their faces. The jukebox in the corner was playing a familiar song – Wicked Game. It seemed appropriate for the climate of the bar.

Josh hummed along quietly to the music as he traced a finger through the condensation on his glass, staring down at the chipped varnish on the table. He wasn’t paying much attention to his surroundings, and he jumped when a deep voice rang out in front of him.

“Ain’t seen you around here before.”

Josh raised his head, fully intending to ask to be left alone, but things don’t always go as planned. He found himself staring at the handsome stranger, intrigued by the way he carried himself, obviously so confident, with a charming smile on his face. His short, reddish beard was neatly trimmed. He was dressed in a maroon, Western-styled button up, his sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, a pair of dark jeans (that fit him nicely if Josh was being honest), and a black cowboy hat perched atop his head. Josh couldn’t help but notice his tattoos, including the snake wrapped around his right arm, its head resting on the back of his hand. He decided to humor the stranger, oddly curious as to where it might lead.

“Yeah, I’m new to the scene.” Josh smiled sheepishly, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically shy.

“Well, I’d love to be the one to show you around.” His accent was thick; he was probably a Tennessee native or hailed from some other deep southern state. “May I?”

Josh nodded, inviting him to sit. The yellow light above the table didn’t offer much in the way of illumination, but the man’s blue eyes practically sparkled in it regardless.

“I’m curious though, why a sweet thing like you is sittin’ here all by your lonesome.”

Coming from anyone else, his words might have been cringe-inducing, but they had heat rising up in Josh’s cheeks. “Just had a long day. Needed to wind down, ya know.”

The man seemed to contemplate Josh’s words, turning them over in his head like he was trying to decide if it was a lie. “What are you actually runnin’ from, Blue?”

Josh was taken aback by the question and the impromptu nickname. “What makes you think I’m running?”

“Hm.” The man leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He maintained such intense eye contact that had Josh feeling squirmy but was unable to look away. “You’ve got a thunderstorm in you. I can see the lightnin’ in your eyes.”

Josh’s heart was racing, the undeniable fluttering in his stomach getting harder to ignore. How does one even respond to something like that? The man’s presence was powerful, and it seemed to make everything and everyone around them melt away. Just being in close proximity to him was enough for Josh to feel the buzz. He wondered what it would feel like to touch the mysterious man, and Josh definitely wanted more. But overall, he was mostly curious. Something in him knew this wasn’t just a basic interaction with a flirty, and likely tipsy, cowboy. “Who are you?” The raspy sound of his own whisper surprised him.

“Most folks call me Colt, but you can call me whatever you want, sweetness.”

He knew that must be a fake name, but it didn’t matter too much at this point. Josh introduced himself in turn, and mindlessly fiddled with the straw in his drink. He hadn’t come here with the intention of leaving with someone, but he was like an insect caught in a trap. Colt just had to flash a smile and Josh was putty in his hands. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Colt grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

~

This was a risk that Josh typically would not have taken. The pair ended up at his house; he knew better than to bring strangers there, but it was too late to change his mind now. He put on a record and offered his newfound companion a drink.

“Thank you, darlin’, but I think we both got something else in mind.”

Josh smiled at the implication, a mischievous glint in his eye. He allowed himself to be drawn in by the taller man, melting under his touch as their lips met. It wasn’t soft or romantic, but hungry and desperate. And it was just what Josh was craving. He practically clawed at Colt, removing pieces of clothing as he reached them. He whined when Colt pulled away and grabbed Josh’s hands to still them.

“Relax, there’s no rush. I promise I’ll take care of you, Baby Blue.”

A thought crossed Josh’s mind and he faltered. “Hey, uh… we should…” Colt waited patiently for the curly-headed man to find his words. He was nothing if not a gentleman. “I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.”

“Is that all?” Colt smiled sweetly and pulled him in for another kiss. “This can be whatever you need it to be. I’m all yours tonight, to use, to lie to. I don’t mind either way. I ain’t really the hurtin’ kind.”

Josh searched the other man’s eyes for something… he didn’t really know what he was looking for. Maybe a sign that this was a mistake, a warning to turn back while he still could. But he found none. And if this did turn out to be a bad idea, he would deal with the consequences later. Right now, though, he needed this. He didn’t speak as he grabbed Colt’s hand and led him upstairs to the bedroom, where they fell into a heated clash of lips and skin, fingernails scratching expanses of flesh as the rest of the world and its worries faded away.

~

When Josh awoke the next morning, he felt tranquil. He was warm and relaxed, like he’d just gotten the most restful sleep of his life. Memories of the night came flowing back and he realized he was alone, with no sign anyone had ever been there. If it wasn’t for the soreness in his body, a satisfying ache reminiscent of the evening’s activities, he would have thought it was all just a dream. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed to find Colt already gone, but he wasn’t surprised. He never really expected him to stick around, and Josh never asked him to.

Still, the sense of peace that seemed to surround him was euphoric. He was almost afraid it would slip away. It was like a high, the best he’s ever experienced, and it did stick with him long enough for things to get back to normal. Josh fell easily back into his routines, the glumness that had been following him nothing more than a wisp. His patience had returned, along with his determination and love for the music they had worked so hard to create. The band was able to find their footing again and pushed out some gorgeous new songs they were all proud of.

After a while, though, Josh got wild hair. He wanted another fix.

He found himself back at the place where it all started. He sat at the same table in the low light, a drink in hand. Except this time, he knew what he was looking for. He scanned the room for the familiar figure, hoping he’d catch those pretty blue eyes again.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited before he resigned, dismayed that his search yielded no results. But he was never one to give up that easily. On the third night of searching of waiting, the doorman stopped him on his way out.

“You’re lookin’ for him, ain’t ya? Colt.”

Josh stared at the man, unsure if he should answer the question. He didn’t want to seem like some creep, stalking a guy he’d spent one night with. He also didn’t want to out himself or spill anything about Colt to someone he didn’t know. One can never be too careful these days. He considered just walking away; he didn’t owe this guy an explanation, after all. But the doorman’s next words stopped Josh in his tracks.

“You won’t find him. No one that’s lookin’ ever does. He’s like a ghost.” He leaned closer to Josh to conceal the conversation from any eavesdroppers. “But don’t worry. He’ll find you. When you really need him, he’ll find you, Blue.”

///

Josh’s jaw dropped. “What? How did you-“ He was interrupted when a couple greeted the doorman upon entry. He said his ‘good evening’ to them before the bartender waved him over to help with something. He spared one more glance before walking off, leaving Josh standing there, mouth agape and so very confused.

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