#he's just trying to relate :pensive:

[millidew]

trans4trans4tra...sh (playing with these characters like dolls)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 4: Foxes and Sailfish]

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), awkward interactions on a boat, making friends in the Vale, references to war-related violence, Aemond flashbacks haunt the narrative, Red and Jace share an exciting new experience!

Word count: 5.8k

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The fireplace crackles, there’s smoke in the air. The shards of seashells take shape on the board as you affix them with paste made of boiled bones, unloved bodies you’ve scavenged: rabbits, foxes, deer, weasels, squirrels, snakes, turtles, birds. Sometimes Criston will find you searching for carcasses in the garden or the Godswood—a basket full of skulls and ribs, hands covered with dirt—and beg you to go back to Maegor’s Holdfast where you belong. He says: Please, princess, let me do that for you. I’ll bring you all the bones you need. This is too grisly a task for young ladies. And then, when you try to refuse him: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. And so you accept his offer and surrender your basket, knowing that being the daughter Mother wishes you were will always require pretending.

Aemond is in bed, freshly rid of his left eye and floating in a silent, pearlescent lake of milk of the poppy. He is unconscious for now, but he can only have a dose every six hours, and when it begins to wear off he becomes feverish and fearful. You can’t leave him. Aemond is a year older than you, always just a little bit wiser, always quicker and steadier on his feet; you have never known a world without him in it. But now he is the one who needs you. This is a strange feeling.

Mother, Criston, Helaena, and Maester Orwyle are always gliding in and out of the room—whispering, grim-faced ghosts—but at the moment you are alone with Aemond. A shadow appears in the doorway. It’s Aegon, and his face is marred too: there’s a bruise on his cheekbone from where someone hit him, Grandsire or Mother. He is slumped against the doorframe with a goblet of wine in his hand. He takes a slurp and uses his cup to gesture to where Aemond is sleeping. It’s a question.

“He’s alright, Aegon,” you say. “He’s resting. He’s healing.”

He licks his lips and skims his fingerprint around the rim of the goblet, pensive. “I wasn’t there.”

“None of us were.”

“Does he blame me for what happened?”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“But you would know if he felt it.”

Would I? Sometimes you don’t believe you know Aemond as well as they imagine you do. There have always been things he doesn’t tell you. You didn’t know he was planning to claim Vhagar. He is unpredictable, he is a deep reservoir of secrets; he taunts you, he guards you, he ignores you, he comes rushing back. You say to Aegon: “I don’t think he blames you.”

Aegon exhales, drunken exhausted relief. “Good.”

Beneath blankets that Helaena has embroidered with legends from the Age of Heroes, Aemond stirs. His remaining eye—glazed, drugged, an empty anemic blue—flutters opens and drifts to you. “Now we know why you don’t have a dragon,” he says, weak and raspy. “The price has gone up. They cost an eye each.”

You paint a sliver of a cerulean-colored shell with glue. “I’d pay that if I knew it would work.”

Aemond asks, as if it has been weighing on him: “Do I horrify you?”

You smile softly. “No more than you did before.”

From where he still loiters in the doorway nursing his wine, Aegon snickers. Aemond grins, then winces from the pain it causes him. “What are you making?”

“It’s Symeon Star-Eyes,” you say, tilting up the mosaic so he can see it better. “You read us that story, remember? He was a knight who used a staff with blades at both ends to cut down his enemies. He was blinded in combat, so he replaced his eyes with sapphires.”

“Sapphires,” Aemond mumbles drowsily.

“Yes.”

“Blue.”

“Like you,” you say, thinking of his game piece: the blue wolf, a mournful color, a beast that kills.

“Hm,” he murmurs to himself as he sinks back into sleep; and it’s not until Aemond’s wound has healed that you learn of the idea you’ve given him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Vermax is not an especially imposing dragon, a drab sort of green and smaller than Sunfyre, but he is frightening enough when he bares his teeth. He snarls and snaps at you, unloosed fire roiling up in his throat. You stand perhaps ten paces away from him, flinching away from the heat that refracts the air and puts ripples in it like disturbed water. Jace is attempting to soothe Vermax, a palm pressed to the beast’s scales. Rhaenyra and Daemon are watching, confounded.

“Mother wasn’t exaggerating,” you tell them. You are crestfallen; this is a humiliation. You have silver hair and undisputed parentage, and yet Jace is the one whose egg hatched. So who is the true Targaryen?

“Very, very peculiar,” Daemon muses, scratching his chin. He turns to Rhaenyra. “Make her get closer, let’s see what happens.”

“Daemon,” Rhaenyra says impatiently. In the light of day, you can observe her face more clearly. There are dark semicircles under her eyes, and lines that didn’t exist before Luke was killed. She is ten years closer to the grave than she was the night her father died.

You cannot see the riots from where you’re standing in the castle courtyard, but you can hear them, the ambient rumbling of people rejecting Rhaenyra’s rule. They decry the slaughter of Jaehaerys. They shout demands of proof that the imprisoned Greens are alive and well: Mother, Helaena, Jaehaera, Maelor, you. Fear of Rhaenyra’s soldiers and her dragons may delay their wrath, but you don’t believe she can quell it. High overhead, Sheepstealer sails past the Red Keep, casting a massive shadow. Rhaenyra’s frown deepens. Daemon pretends not to notice.

“Very well,” Rhaenyra sighs, summoning Jace to return to her and abandon his attempts to quiet Vermax. Dutifully—though perhaps not without resentment—he acquiesces. Vermax is still growling at you. You glower back, wishing that Vhagar was here to eat him. “There are other ways to get to Heart’s Home. A ship will take longer, ten days or two weeks depending on the wind. The journey should be safe. The Sea Snake’s blockade controls Blackwater Bay, and the Greens have no navy.” Rhaenyra looks to you. “That’s still correct, isn’t it? The usurper was refused by the Greyjoys?”

“I don’t know,” you lie.

She gives you a disapproving glare and then turns her attention back to Jace. “Alyn of Hull can take you to the Vale in his ship. I’m sure Corlys can manage without him for a matter as important as this. I’ve sent a raven ahead to the Corbrays. They’ll be expecting you, and you’ll be married upon your arrival, with Lord and Lady Corbray serving as witnesses. You have until then to get accustomed to each other.”

Jace begins to mutter a protest, low enough that you can’t hear. Rhaenyra shushes him. Vermax takes flight and soars out towards the ocean. You step closer to the castle wall and listen to the clamor of the crowds, willing them to rise up and free your family, to destroy Rhaenyra’s. Daemon stalks you around the courtyard, unsheathing Dark Sister and whistling so you know how near he is. You refuse to acknowledge him.

Rhaenyra is telling Jace: “When the war is won, the Greens’ surviving loyalists will accept you as my heir if you are married to her and father her children.”

“What about Aegon? What if Aemond and Criston manage to smuggle him into hiding somewhere, and then one day he reappears and—?”

“Aegon won’t live,” Rhaenyra says confidently. “From what we’ve heard, his burns must be dreadful. He will succumb to them, hopefully slowly and with great pain, and in the meantime Aemond and Vhagar will be pinned down in the eastern Crownlands tending to him. And even once Aemond is unincumbered, he will not want to fly into battle against Caraxes and Sheepstealer together. Vhagar is fearsome, but she is old and slow. Aemond is cunning. He knows this.”

“You told Alicent we’d pardon him,” Jace says, and his tone is accusatory. How could you? How dare you?

“I said I’d spare him if he’s still alive when the war is over,” Rhaenyra replies with a sharp glance. “So let’s make sure he isn’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner is sailfish, which you’ve never eaten before. All afternoon you saw them zipping through the water as Alyn of Hull’s ship cruised out of King’s Landing and towards the Gullet, their sapphire dorsal fins cutting up through the surf. Then the crew caught some and hauled them up onto the deck—large bulging eyes, toothless mouths agape as they suffocated in open air—and you watched as the fish were gutted and their scales and organs scrubbed from the planks with seawater that turned rosy with blood. Refuse washed back into the ocean: bones, fins, disembodied eyeballs dragging tails of optic nerves.

Alyn is a bastard of Corlys Velaryon, you’ve gathered; he is young to have been entrusted with his own vessel, and the resemblance is undeniable. He is chivalrous but very strict. You are not permitted in the room where several caged ravens are kept in case Alyn has to send a message back to the capital. You are not permitted to stand too close to the ship’s railing. You are not permitted to handle anything that could be used as a weapon. You are not permitted to converse with the crew. In truth, you are allowed to do almost nothing.

Now you are below deck, you and Jace seated at opposite ends of a long wooden table and alone except for two guards posted by the door. Tall white candles flicker, wobbling in their brass stands as the ship rocks. You drink too much wine and pick at your sailfish, pinkish lumps of meat seasoned with garlic and lemon juice. Jace pushes roasted parsnips and green beans around aimlessly on his plate. You can’t stop thinking of the family you’ve left behind: Mother and Helaena in a dungeon, Jaehaera and Maelor taken hostage by Rhaenyra, Daeron at war in the Reach, Aegon horrifically burned, Aemond and Criston battling to save him.

I shouldn’t be safe while they’re suffering. It’s wrong, it’s treasonous. I’m the least worthy of us. I’ve done nothing to help us win this war. I haven’t saved anyone.

You keep hoping for a vision of what Aemond is doing, what he is feeling, but you’ve never had any control over the glimpses you get into his mind. They are random, and brief, and fragmented. You don’t know if Aegon is still alive. You don’t know if Aemond is thinking of you.

“So that’s why you don’t have a dragon,” Jace says suddenly, and you look up at him, startled. He’s staring at you from beneath the dark curls that have fallen over his face, the mark of House Strong. He’s not entirely unappealing, if you don’t judge him as a Valyrian, an enemy combatant, a traitor. You can’t tell if Jace is being smug or sincere; you barely know him. “Because they hate you.”

Mother’s words resurface in your skull like sailfish dredged up from the waves: If you care for Aemond, as I know you do, you will give him a chance if he and Criston cannot win on the battlefield. You will earn Jace’s affection and convince him to spare us.

You aren’t sure how to earn anybody’s affection. With everyone you’ve known before you either had it or you didn’t, and that never seemed like something you could change.

“It’s not for lack of trying,” you say, fidgeting uneasily with your wine cup. “I tried to claim Vermithor when I was a child. He nearly killed me.”

Jace’s dark eyebrows go up. “Did he? On Dragonstone?”

You nod. “Grandsire arranged for us to visit the island while your family was travelling elsewhere. Driftmark, maybe, I don’t remember. I had always wanted Vermithor, and I felt…I knew that if I found him he would bond to me and let me ride him. I followed him all over Dragonstone for days, but he kept moving, and then…when I finally got close enough…” You’d outrun Criston and the other guards, but Aemond had been there to pull you out of the path of Vermithor’s flames; yet you don’t think Jace will want to hear this. It feels impossible to extricate Aemond from your memories. You’ve never known a life he was not intrinsically entwined with. “The Bronze Fury made his discontentment clear.”

Jace narrows his eyes and gives you an ironic smile, as if he’s thinking: Too bad you lived. “So you gave up.”

“Oh no, I tormented the others too. Silverwing, Grey Ghost, Seasmoke, none of them were very welcoming. I don’t recall Sheepstealer being there at the time…maybe he was feeding elsewhere in the Crownlands. I’d know if I’d seen him before, I think.”

“Sheepstealer is very…unique in appearance.”

You smile at the memory of Grandsire calling him hideous, then go somber when you remember he’s dead. “Grey Ghost was sweet, though. He didn’t attempt to burn me, he just flew away.”

“You’ve tried all of those dragons?” Now Jace seems genuinely intrigued. “Just…one after the other?”

You shrug and swig your wine. Jace gives you a disapproving glance; you put the cup down and begin eating instead. “I wanted a beast for myself. Everyone else had theirs, it seemed inevitable that I would find mine if I searched long enough. I even approached the Cannibal.”

“The Cannibal.” Jace shakes his head and forks sailfish into his mouth; it’s the first bite he’s taken tonight. “You were desperate. Or stupid.”

You smirk. “Or both.”

“What color are his flames? Green, like his eyes?”

“No,” you say softly, remembering the massive black dragon covered in spines like the stalagmites of a cave. “No, the Cannibal’s dragonfire is red.”

“Do you think yourself to be…” Jace gestures vaguely with his fork. “Lacking in some way? Less capable than Helaena or your brothers?”

This is a rude question. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I must be inadequate, or I would have a dragon.”

Jace seems to contemplate this as he eats.

“Why do you ask?” you provoke him, before recalling you’re supposed to be winning his affection, if such a thing is possible, and you very much doubt it. “Are you concerned I’ll pass this fault on to my children?”

“Well, it’s an interest of mine,” Jace says. “Locating dragonriders. What makes someone alluring to the beasts, as well as what doesn’t. This war will be won by dragons, I’m sure each side aspires to have more of them.”

You study him, taking nibbles of your sailfish. Recruiting dragonriders outside of the immediate family is not something Aemond would ever consider; he would not trust them, he would view them as supplanters of the natural order. But a bastard himself… “Was it your idea to find someone to ride Sheepstealer?”

Jace grins, cagey and teasing. He spears green beans with his fork. “I’m not going to tell you that.”

Because I can’t be trusted with the Blacks’ strategies. Just with birthing their heirs. “I didn’t know you had ideas.”

“Yes, well, Mother and Daemon try very hard not to notice them.” He points to your braid with his knife. “Do you wear your hair like that because of Visenya?”

You touch it self-consciously. You’re surprised he noticed. “Yes.”

“She married her brother,” Jace says, and this sounds like an accusation.

“She was also fearless, and dangerous, and she had a dragon.”

“Unlike you.”

“Right.”

Jace chuckles to himself. Now he is certainly being smug. Somewhere out in the night, Vermax is trailing the ship and will reunite with Jace once you’ve docked at Heart’s Home. You keep listening for Vhagar, imagining that Aemond will sense it as you sail near where he and Criston are tending to Aegon at Rook’s Rest, and he will fly to you and torch this ship and bring you home like he’s always promised. But perhaps Aemond is forgetting you. Perhaps he resents that you cannot help him win the war; perhaps he is beginning to hate you. Oblivious, Jace eats his sailfish.

“I had a bat named Sailfish,” you say.

Jace is puzzled. “A bat? Like…?” He makes flapping motions with his hands.

You smile and nod. “I kept bats.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoyed them,” you say, and again you must stop yourself from mentioning Aemond. He cared for them because I did. “They horrified most people, but the children thought they were adorable. I’d teach them how to hold the bats and feed them bugs and fruit, and Jaehaerys couldn’t stop laughing when they licked honey off his fingers…” Then you shudder and go quiet, because you cannot think of Jaehaerys without seeing his hemorrhaging, headless body in Aegon’s arms.

Jace frowns down at the table. The wooden beams of the ship groan; the candlelight flickers. “Just as Mother and Daemon do not often heed my suggestions,” he says carefully after a while. “They do not share many of their plans with me. I knew nothing of what my stepfather arranged to happen that night. And if I had known, I would not have allowed it.”

I don’t believe you can control Daemon at all, you think. But instead you reply hoarsely: “I’m glad you recognize it for the atrocity that it was.”

“I know I’ve spoken harshly in the past. But if you are truly to be my wife, I wish for us to be in harmony as much as possible. I hope you feel the same way.”

“I do.” You don’t have much of a choice. How can you sleep with a man who hates you, who you hate in equal measure? “And Jace…I didn’t know what was going to happen to Luke or Baela. I had no part in either of their deaths.”

“I can’t…” His voice breaks; he swipes at his dark glistening eyes, like flecks of onyx. “I can’t talk about them.”

You are alarmed. “Jace—”

“Goodnight,” he says as he leaves, already halfway across the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first time you’re together—at your vanity, late for dinner—Aemond doesn’t try to put his fingers inside you, and he doesn’t the second time either, or the third, or even the fourth. And this is just fine as far as you’re concerned, because the way Mother has mentioned the duty of a wife implies that there is a great deal of sacrifice involved for the woman, discomfort, pain, even harm, and what you have with Aemond—despite its many peculiarities—has never been painful, and you don’t want to ruin it. You don’t want to find out what other women mean when they talk about boredom and dread and blood.

Then one day you are in the garden, and you and Helaena are trying to teach the children how to play the game with the animal pieces, but they must not be quite old enough because they won’t listen. Jaehaera pokes Jaehaerys with Helaena’s yellow butterfly, Maelor chomps indifferently on Daeron’s purple shadowcat. You and Helaena laugh and give up the attempt as maids swoop in to corral the children.

“We’ll try again in a few months,” you say. “Perhaps they’ll be more tame by then.”

Helaena begins to gather up the game pieces. “We should ask Aegon to carve new animals for the children. Jaehaerys likes seals…” Then her hands go still and she stares at someone who’s standing behind you.

Before you can turn, Aemond leans down to where you’re kneeling on the cobblestones, grabs your braid, and wraps it around his fist. “Follow me,” he whispers into your ear.

“Why? Where?”

“Follow me,” he says again, more forcefully now. “I’m not asking.” Then he releases you with a rough shove and walks away.

You rise from the cobblestones and go after him, weaving through the paths of the garden, fountains trickling and flowers blooming and bees droning in the air. Aemond glances back to make sure you’re in pursuit, then disappears into an arbor grown over with roses, a tunnel of red blossoms and snagging thorns. Aemond sits on a stone bench that is draped in shadows and hidden from view; no one will see you unless they enter the tunnel. You can hear the distant sound of the ocean waves, and gulls and blue jays and the red-tailed hawks the noblemen hunt with. You take a seat beside Aemond, and immediately he lifts your legs so they rest across his lap, reaches beneath the hem of your maroon gown with his right hand, skims his way up the inside of your thigh as you pretend to fight him, all the while smiling and needing him closer, all your blood and muscles screaming for him, your bones aching like fractures that must be set.

“Look at me,” Aemond commands, catching your jaw in his left hand and holding you still, the transparent blue of his eye fixed on your face, where he reads every line and movement like a dead language, like the High Valyrian almost no one left can understand. “I want to know if I’m hurting you.”

Beneath your gown, his fingers are stroking you, waiting for you to be wet and relaxed enough, parting your lips.

“Are you afraid?” Aemond asks.

“No.” Maybe you should be, but you aren’t.

There is an unfamiliar fullness, strange but not unpleasant, and then when Aemond’s fingers begin to move inside you, you moan softly and close your eyes, breaking the spell. He lets go of your jaw and his palm shifts to cradle the side of your face, to bring you in closer, to hold you against him. And now you know that when he finally takes you, as a husband does a wife, it will be painless; and it will never be something you warn your silver-haired children about with dark resignation in your voice.

“What if they won’t let us marry?” you whisper against the warmth of his throat, dreading this more than anything. You don’t know that Targaryens and their dragons will soon be dying. “What if they send me away to wed some lord in the Reach or the Westerlands or the Vale?”

“Then I’ll find you,” Aemond says. “And I’ll burn down his castle, and I’ll bring you home.”

“You’re a monster,” you purr; but there’s a grin on your lips as he kisses you, something scalding and primordial like magma flowing beneath the earth.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heart’s Home is a small grey castle in a vast grey world, the shadows of mountains filling the horizon, the sky overcast and bleak and the air tasting like metal. The last time you were in the Vale was as a girl, when Aemond pushed you into a frigid stream and you caught a chill that almost killed you, and he never apologized but he slept on your floor like a dog so he could be there to climb into bed and hold you when you shivered, and surely that is a greater sort of repentance than two vanishingly small words that anyone could say and perhaps not even mean.

You and Jace disembark from Alyn of Hull’s ship on the banks of where an inland river meets the saltwater of the Narrow Sea. Outside the castle walls, Heart’s Home has a stable and a sizable field, surely green and fertile in the summer, that is surrounded on three sides by a thick forest of coniferous trees. Cawing ravens perch on the branches; a hunting party emerges from the pines accompanied by braying hounds and carrying corpses of foxes to be skinned. You are greeted warmly by Lord Leowyn Corbray—who is tall and ancient, over seventy years old—and his wife Lady Carolei, around fifty and very round, with dark hair and pale skin that the harsh mountain wind rubs pink. While her husband fawns over Jace—“We were so honored by the queen’s request,” “We will ensure that your every need is attended to, Prince Jacaerys”—Lady Carolei Corbray watches you with an amused little smile, as if there are many questions she is impatient to ask you. Then you and your betrothed are ushered into the castle and served mutton pie full of gravy and vegetables, dark bread slathered with butter, blackberry oatcakes for dessert. You drink too much wine, because you know what will happen next. Jace does not reprove you this time; he’s drinking a good amount of ale himself.

The people of the Vale worship the Seven, and for all you know Jace does too, because there is no mention of a Valyrian wedding with fire and blood. Instead you exchange your vows in a tiny sept with plain glass windows and cold slate stones. A weathered, bony septon presides over the ceremony, and Lord Corbray stands in for your dead father. Even if Viserys was still alive, he wouldn’t feel like much less of a stranger. You are covered with a maiden’s cloak of your house—Lady Corbray announces proudly that it was sewn especially for this occasion—but it’s wrong, because they’ve used the old black and red sigil of House Targaryen rather than Aegon’s banner, a golden dragon on a green background. But you suppose it’s fitting because Jace’s cloak isn’t right either, as it depicts the seahorse of House Velaryon rather than the tri-colored flag of House Strong.

At the septon’s direction, Lord Corbray removes your cloak from your shoulders and Jace covers you with his own. And once you’ve exchanged the requisite words and Jace kisses you—him swift and uneasy, you trying not to flinch away—you realize that this is the first time you can remember him touching you. On the journey northward, Jace would sometimes find you pacing the ship’s deck and ask you silted, shallow questions: What kind of weather do you like best? What are your favorite desserts? Do you prefer swimming or horseback riding? What colors do you favor? Your nightly ritual was trying not to discuss your murdered relatives over dinner.

You are put to bed in a grand chamber at the top of one of the castle’s towers. There is a fireplace where logs snap and hiss, and a rug made of a shadowcat’s pelt; a chandelier of lit candles hangs from the ceiling. Through the window, you can see a silvery full moon obscured by clouds. You and Jace—freshly bathed and wearing loose, cotton nightclothes—wait in the quiet once your hosts have left, the blankets pulled up to your waists. All the bedlinens are white, you realize; you don’t think this is by accident.

They want to know if I’m truly a maiden. They want to know if I bleed.

You have no idea if you will or not. Nothing that Aemond has ever done to you has resulted in blood.

I don’t want it to hurt, you think with abrupt panic. You look around for a jar of oil, olive or rose, something to help him enter you. You open the drawers of your nightstand and are disappointed to find them empty.

“What are you doing?” Jace asks.

“Nothing.” You can’t explain without revealing you know more than a virgin should.

Jace turns to you. “You really haven’t done this before?”

Your nervousness must be evident. Surely no whore who had already been defiled by her monstrous brother would be sitting here wringing her trembling hands. “No.”

“Okay.” Jace takes a deep breath. He seems resolved to be brave for both of you; that is a husband’s burden, after all. “I haven’t either.”

“But you’ve…I mean, you’re a man, it’s different for you. You have experience of some sort, I assume…?” With Baela? With anyone?

Jace blushes and can’t meet your eyes. “I’m not above temptation. We kissed a few times.”

This is not reassuring. “Do you think you’ll be able to…? With me?” The daughter and sister of enemies?

He nods and smiles faintly. “Oh yeah, I think it’ll all work as it should.” Then he looks at you, dark eyes, dark curls, not ugly but not who you’ve ever imagined you would give yourself to. His gaze settles on your braid. “Here,” he says, and then he gently begins to unravel it.

You aren’t sure what to do. You’re not going to hit Jace, or fight him, or shove him or grab him or scratch him, and so you don’t know where you should put your hands. Once your hair is loose, you sink down to the soft feather mattress until you are lying flat on your back. Jace yanks off his shirt and tosses it to the floor, then he leans towards you, gesturing to your nightgown.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“Sure,” you say, and help him pull it off you. Even beneath the blankets, your bare skin feels the chill of the night air, and with the apprehension and fear there is something else too, a longing, a craving that has gone unsatiated. It’s crude to think, but it’s true: you’re used to being fed, and you haven’t been since Aemond went away.

Unexpectedly, Jace’s eyes don’t go to your breasts or lower; instead, they catch on the scar that cuts down from your left collarbone. He touches it with careful, weightless fingerprints. His voice is tender. “What happened here?”

“An assassin’s blade,” you say. “The night Jaehaerys died.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Here—in bed, in the firelight—he is not Rhaenyra’s eldest son and someone you are supposed to hate, someone who is a threat to your life, someone who once played a part in Aemond losing his eye. Here Jace is just a man, and you are naked, and beneath the blankets he is taking off his cotton trousers and then positioning himself between your legs. You are a little wet already, you can feel it, but you know you need more, you know he needs to make you ready with his fingers and his mouth, but Jace isn’t aware of this and you can’t tell him.

You gasp as he starts to push himself inside you, overwhelming burning pressure. “Jace, I’m afraid.”

He stops and looks down at you with seeking, sympathetic eyes. His skin is flushed, his breathing quick. If you could read his face, you’d think it says: What do you want me to do? I’ll do anything. “We can stop.”

“No, just…just please go slowly, okay? Please don’t hurt me.” No more than you have to.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, and then—perhaps because he doesn’t know what else to do—he kisses you, and at first it is formal and unnatural like it was in the sept, but then Jace’s lips begin to move with yours and the kiss glows warm like embers. Your fingers go to his hair—not a Targaryen’s, a Strong’s—and tangle in his curls. His hands explore your breasts, grazing and circling your nipples with his fingertips. You wrap your legs around Jace as his tongue darts into your mouth, wanting this, maybe even wanting him.

Jace thrusts into you, and there is a moment of blinding pain that makes you cry out; and for everything that has been said about Aemond—a monster, a murderer, violent and arrogant and wicked—nothing he has ever done to you has hurt like this. Immediately, Jace moves to pull away, but you stop him. “Don’t.”

He shakes his head. “But you’re hurt—”

You hold his face in your hands to make him listen. “I’m alright, I promise. Just wait here, just give me a moment.”

“Okay,” Jace sighs into your throat that’s damp with perspiration. He kisses you there, tasting your salt, fear that has turned to lust. “Okay, okay…”

Already the pain is fading, and your muscles are relaxing, and you are slick with wetness to ease the razored friction. And it’s nothing like the way Aemond knew how to touch you—you are nowhere near a climax—but still, there is something pleasurable about it, there is something nice about being tangled up with a man this way again.

“Go on,” you tell Jace; and he rests his forehead against yours as he thrusts into you, very slowly, and he’s shaking all over, and between breathless kisses he is moaning, in shock that a feeling this good exists, in mindless ecstasy, and then he spills himself inside you and collapses onto your chest, still kissing you, thanking you, asking if you’re alright. Before you can answer, he throws back the blankets and examines the sheets. When you look down, you can see that between your legs is a stain of pale pink, a miniscule amount of blood.

Is that all? you think, relieved. It wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t so good either, but it was tolerable. And it will get better.

“No, no, no,” Jace murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh. He is distressed, he is repentant. “I wounded you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be alright, Jace,” you say, rather amused.

He crawls back to you and lies down beside you on the bed. He is struggling to keep his eyes open. “You weren’t lying. You’ve never done that before.”

“No.”

“I won’t hurt you again.” He kisses your cheek. “My wife. My princess.” And then he rests his head on his pillow and within a minute he is snoring softly.

“My prince,” you whisper, trying it out. It doesn’t feel right yet, but maybe one day it will. You have to clean yourself off; Jace doesn’t know this about women, but you do. You climb out of bed, and Jace stirs as you leave.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s a reflex he’s repeated a thousand times, like it takes no thought at all. You stare bewildered at him. Jace’s eyes are still closed. And you think of Aemond—suddenly, with great clarity, as Jace sleeps in your shared bed—and you will yourself to be able to see where is and what he’s thinking. But there is nothing: only silence and firelight and the full moon hovering in the overcast, indigo sky outside.

Is he thinking of me? Does he feel lost too?

You have the maids draw a hot bath and you wash it all away, the sweat and the blood and the wetness and Jace’s seed that might give you a child with the unruly dark hair of the Strongs, and still you cannot stop thinking of Aemond.

Did he love me then? Does he love me now?

Back in your bedchamber, you gaze into the flames of the fireplace and try to remember the sound of Aemond’s voice, but you can’t. It keeps bleeding into the words of other people: Aegon, Daeron, Maelor, Jace.

[augustinewrites]

alhaitham almost walks right past you in the hall, too engrossed in whatever he’s reading. it takes you gently grasping his wrist for him to look up, expression brightening briefly before diving right back into his papers. 

“is everything okay?” you ask when you notice the knot that’s formed between his brows. “i’ve hardly seen you all day.”

“i’m fine,” he tells you, which lets you know that he’s certainly stressed about something. he sighs, returning the correspondence to the envelope tucked underneath his arm. “i just don’t understand why dehya won’t accept the akademiya’s job offer.”

in his capacity as the acting grand sage, he’s been trying to get her in the akademiya’s employ for weeks, but the mercenary’s been as tough to wear down as the wall of samiel itself. “ah. still having trouble recruiting her?”

“i’ve already offered a generous salary, benefits, a signing bonus, even a housing stipend. she’d practically be working side by side with the general mahamatra.”

“well, working with the matra means she’d have to spend a great deal of time in sumeru city,” you point out. “that’s probably something she doesn’t prefer.”

“why not?” he asks (because while your man is smart beyond belief, he can be a little dense sometimes). “we have everything here.”

“that’s true, but we’re also quite far from aaru village,” you say slowly, hoping he picks up on what you’re implying. 

“i appreciate the geography lesson, but that doesn’t help me figure out how to hire–”

“i was trying to be obscure,” you press, drawing a breath. “because being in sumeru full-time means that she’ll have to spend time away from candace.” 

he stares at you blankly, waiting for you to elaborate.

“haitham–” you say, pressing your hands together and glancing around quickly to confirm no one is within earshot. “dehya and candace are knocking boots.” 

he seems taken aback by what you’ve just whispered, pausing in his stride to process it. “wait, what?”

“it’s an old expression from mondstadt that means–”

“i’m familiar with the expression. i’m just asking why you’re so positive that they are having… relations.”

“because i just know. they have crazy chemistry. nilou sees it too.”

“do either of you have evidence?”

you hesitate. “no…”

“then you’re not positive. you’re only speculating.” 

“i’m not speculating,” you insist with a pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “i just know–”

“oh, like you just knew that kaveh was only going to stay with me for less than a month?”

“that’s different,” you argue. so what if kaveh’s been staying at alhaitham’s for more than six months? that was due to various, independent factors that had nothing to do with you. “but the way they are around each other–”

“gossip is an unreliable source of information,” he says flatly. alhaitham, as a rule, did not deign to entertain gossip. it was a premise built upon the unsteady grounds of conjecture, and he could not care less to waste his time surmising about other people’s personal lives. 

“but–”

“therefore, your advice is redundant.”

you take the files from under his arm, reaching up and smacking him on the back of the head with them. “my advice is always relevant. you can trust me on this.” 

alhaitham adjusts his headphones with a sigh, a pained but contemplative look on his face. He knows you’re right, and he knows that he’s hit a wall with this proposal. “fine. i will utilize your…advice, to adjust my proposal.” 

“that’s what i like to hear.”

the two of you continue walking in silence, yours smug and his pensive. then, after a moment, 

“you realize you just hit the acting grand sage, right?”

“oh please, you don’t scare me.” you meet his amused stare with open defiance, getting up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, and finally his lips. “and when dehya accepts this job proposal, i can think of a few ways you can repay me.” 

_____

“you want to offer me what?”

“you heard me,” alhaitham shrugs, leaning back in his plush desk chair. “the akademiya is willing to offer you compensation of up to ten thousand gold for any and all travel between sumeru city and aaru village.”

alhaitham may be in charge of the entire nation at the moment, but he doesn’t quite feel like it when dehya is in the room. she leans forward, resting her elbows atop the highly important documents on his desk as she stares at him. “why would you do that?” 

“so you can stay in contact with your loved ones.” 

the mercenary scoffs at that. “alhaitham, come on. i know you’ve done your research. i don’t have any family in aaru village.”

moment of truth.

“i was actually referring to…significant others.”

dehya’s brows raise in surprise.

_____

when he returns that night, the first thing alhaitham does when he joins you in bed is take the patient files from your hands and place them on the nightstand.

you frown, reaching for them. “i wasn’t done with those.”

he doesn’t argue with you, instead climbing on top of you and caging you against the bed, a knee pushed between your legs. he merely chuckles when you push at his chest, cause you’re not really trying.

he simply chases after you, and any fight you had to get back to your work dissipates when he presses his lips to yours.

“oh…” you sigh, quickly looping your arms around him to drag him closer, patting your lips to let him deepen the kiss. you gasp when he moves down to press kisses to your shoulder, slowly trailing more up your neck, your jaw, the shell of your ear.  

“dehya must have accepted the offer then,” you breathe, your eyes beginning to flutter shut.

“part time only,” he murmurs. “but she signed on.”

you hook your leg around his waist, grinning “oh, so i was…what’s the word?” 

he nips at your ear in reprimand, only making you laugh as he mutters, you were right, under his breath. 

“oh, don’t pout, baby,” you tease, hands roaming the well sculpted planes of his chest. “let’s just—"

“if you say ‘knock boots,’ i’m going to leave you here and sleep on the couch.”

[princessbrunette]

jombee x reader x jj where they’re having sex but one of the boys obviously has an attitude and is more angrier than the other. could be from something related or completely related but the other boy is like “hey man is everything alright? gonna break er😭”

─── ⋆⋅🐩⋅⋆ ───

the bed frame smacking the wall became a rhythm your ears were fond of, unsure of the world around you as you get lost in the pleasure brought to you by your boyfriends. nothing else existed outside of that room in the chateau, and as you press your cheek harder into the jj’s thigh you feel time slip from you even more.

john b had had quite the day. three lost leads, a near arrest, and on top of that he’d forgotten to pay the tv bill — all leading to quite the shitty mood for him. you’d offered to let him take out some frustration on you, and whilst he’d usually kiss your temple and tell you that you’re “more than that, pup.” he instead stared at you for a moment, tight lipped and pensive before grappling your arm and dragging you to the bedroom. naturally, jj noticed the commotion and wandered in after the two of you — never wanting to miss out on the fun.

you’d been trying to suck jj off, craving the comfort of your blonde boyfriends touch and guiding hands whilst you let john b satisfy himself from behind, but with the firm and unforgiving thrusts the brunette was releasing on you — there was no way you could stay focused, removing the cock from your mouth to drop your cheek to jj’s lap, unable to finish the task.

maybank tongues at his cheek, sliding his eyes up to his angry best friend who channeled all his focus into the way your ass jiggled against his pelvis with each thrust.

“hey man, are you good? you go any harder and uh, i think you’re gonna break ‘er.” he sasses, stroking your head in a composed manner to acknowledge you. really, he was just a little peeved you were unable to give him equal attention.

“i’m fine, jj. kinda focused here.” john b mutters, punching out whiny little ‘ah, ah, ah!’s from you with each thrust.

“yep, uh — can see that dude. you wanna take it easy? or…”

without a second of hesitation, john b scoops your body up against his, holding you by the throat to make eye contact with jj. john b tucks his chin onto your shoulder, glancing at you from the side. “everything good pup? you wanna stop?” he asks as if he already knows the answer, staring into his best friends blue eyes.

“d’nt stop— please—” you cry out and john b nods once, lips pressed together before pushing your face back down against jj’s lap.

“as i thought. any more concerns, jayj?” he asks, pulling back and grinding his cock back inside you making you shudder with a yelp.

“n—nah. that about covers it.” he responds awkwardly before dropping his gaze back to you, instead spending his energy on stroking at your cheeks supportively. “damn, poor pooch.”

─── ⋆⋅🐩⋅⋆ ───

[winterrsun]

Comfort

Reader x Daryl Dixon

Warnings: Smut, 18+ only

A/n: This is smut but it’s like the fluffiest sappiest smut, it’s meant to be really emotionally gratifying. Also I’ve really kinda half heartedly set it up for a part 2 where they reunite with the group and Rick…let me know if you think I should continue this!

Summary: after the prison fell, you and Daryl start to mourn what you’ve lost and find comfort in each other, both emotional and physical.

————————————————————————

The last couple of weeks had been such a blur. After the prison fell, you were thrown back into survival mode and all sense of security was gone. You never knew where your next meal would come from, or whether you were minutes away from death. You were grateful you’d gotten out in the company of Daryl and Beth; you’d always gotten along with both of them and Daryl was one of the most experienced survivalists. It was nice having Beth to talk to and relate to the experience as well, neither of you being natural outdoorsmen. Even if he was a grumpy ass most of the time, and she was still a bit of a bratty teenager at heart, you’d fast grown extremely reliant on both of them being around you.

You’d all found a small shack to hole up in for a couple of nights, you’d also found a stash of moonshine in the cupboard. Beth had been insistent on trying her first drink. It made you both amused and sad when you compared her experience to your teenage party years, so while Daryl disapproved you thought it was only fair to have your own little party. That’s how the three of you ended up on the living room floor, laughing your heads off.

“Really Y/N, you never been camping?!” Beth questioned incredulously.

“Yer even more a princess than I thought” scoffed Daryl.

“Yeah yeah,” you laughed, “well I suppose my whole life’s a big camping trip now.”

“Alright alright, my turn!” Daryl exclaimed. “I never… bin to a wedding”.

“You what?! Daryl that’s just sad” you said before taking a large swig of the homemade booze.

“Yeah, even I’ve been to a couple. Only other time I drank any liquor, daddy let me have a glass of champagne” said Beth.

“What part of my life was a fucking shit show before all this do you two not get” he grumbled.

You rubbed his arm, “alright we know, just teasing you” you smiled.

Beth’s giggles turned to hiccups, and she eventually lay her head down on the sofa and you realised she’d gone to sleep.

You nudged Daryl and nodded at Beth. He smiled at you, and pointed to the singular bedroom in the shack- suggesting you and he should move into the other room so as not to wake her.

The room was small; a double bed took up almost all the floor space, so you plopped yourself down on it. Daryl followed, carrying the bottle of moonshine with him. He took a sip before passing it to you, who did the same.

“She’ll be right” he gestured to the door, referring to Beth in the other room.

“I know” you replied, “we’ve all been there, she just needs to sleep it off.”

He nodded and you fell into an easy silence, both taking additional sips now and then. You grew pensive, and some of the thoughts you’d been mulling around for days started to come to the surface. The tipsy haze in your brain had your lips moving before you even knew you wanted to share what was on your mind.

“I don’t think I’ve said it,” you said, looking to Daryl, “but I’m so grateful for the two of you. The amount of times I’ve wondered what kind of state I’d be in if I was on my own…”

“Can’t be thinkin like that” he replied gently.

“I know. It’s just, it makes me mad to think about how quickly our circumstances changed. Things were so good Dar, they were finally all coming together. And then…..it’s just nothing in this world can ever really work can it?” You were rambling a little, but Daryl didn’t look like he was going to challenge you or tell you to be quiet. He just looked at you sadly.

“Do you think we’ll ever see any of them again?” You whispered to him. A tear escaped your eye and started to trickle down your cheek.

“I don’t know” he replied, and to your surprise he reached towards your face and softly wiped the tear of your cheek, “but I’m glad we’re here together too”.

He didn’t remove his hand from your face, in fact he gently cupped your chin. You leaned into it, while his head dipped closer to you and he planted a soft kiss on your lips. You closed your eyes and allowed the sweet sensation to wash over you.

When he pulled back away he looked unsure of himself, and mumbled a “sorry” to you.

You shook your head, placed your hands on his chest and leaned back toward him, kissing him more deeply this time. His tongue crept into your mouth and started to dance with yours.

Your hands drew up behind his neck as the two of you continued, and he reached for your waist, pulling you into his lap. The kiss grew needier as you straddled him; it wasn’t a need driven by pure sex and physical desire. It was like all the emotions you’d been feeling since the prison poured into your movements, and Daryl lapped them up and returned them with his own. You could’ve been hugging, or crying in each others arms, but instead you were kissing and writhing against each others bodies and it had the same cathartic effect.

You clung onto him as he pulled his lips away from yours briefly, to gently and slowly peel your dirty shirt up from your body. You allowed him to manoeuvre your arms overhead so he could take it off and toss it aside. He then reached around and unclasped your bra, and took a moment to stare at and admire the sight before him.

“You’re beautiful” he almost whispered, starting to run his hands over your breasts and grope them lightly. “I’m gonna take care of you Y/N, I promise”.

You were almost overwhelmed at this moment of pure bliss. You’d never thought there’d be anything sexual between you and Daryl. He was one of your best friends, with a bond like family. Sure he was hot. You’d notice his biceps peaking out of that winged vest and your heart might’ve quickened slightly every time you saw the way he gripped his motorbike handles. But you’d always just been friends.

Let alone the fact that you actually had a thing with his best friend. You and Rick had never defined whatever it was between you, but there was denying when he snuck into your cell nearly every night who you belonged to.

But Rick was gone. You didn’t know where, or if he was even alive, or if you’d ever see him again. It played on your mind every single day. You missed him so much more than all the others, longed for him. You were sick of it eating at you, and you just wanted to feel good for the first time in weeks.

You clawed at Daryl’s shirt, and he took a break from massaging your breasts to help you remove the black tee from his body. You pressed into him as your lips found his again and you relished the feeling of his skin against yours. It felt warm and unbelievably comforting. He began to rub circles on the small of your back and you arched into his touch.

“Daryl” you breathed against his mouth.

“What do you need baby?” He asked, pulling back and grabbing your face in both of his hands, eyes searching yours.

“You…I just need you” you said pleadingly.

Daryl shifted beneath you and lifted you up to flip you onto your back on the bed.

He slowly pulled your pants down and hovered over your torso, looking at your cotton panties. He dipped down and placed a soft kiss on your abdomen, creeping along your hip line. You hummed and wriggled at the tickling sensation, enjoying it. You felt a warmth envelop you from his touches. Then his fingers hooked into the elastic around your waist and pulled the fabric down from your body.

He ran his hand back up your leg, his eyes following the movements before he flitted them up to your face. You made eye contact and he sought the non verbal confirmation that you were okay. You bit your lip in anticipation as you gazed up at him, allowing yourself to be completely vulnerable under his touch. Now fully naked on the bed.

You gasped as his fingers found their way into your fold, and began to gently stroke around. You flinched slightly as he ran over your clit for the first time, and he placed a kiss back on your lips, then trailing down your neck. He began drawing circles around your sensitive nub at a steady but not too fast pace and he lifted his head back up to study your face again.

“So beautiful” he commented. You arched your back off the bed and moan softly. He picked up the pace a little and your pleasure increased.

“Daryl” you gasped, “I need more. I want all of you”.

He nodded, stroked your hair with his free hand before withdrawing them both to unbutton and remove his pants. You lowered your eyes and watched as he freed his sizeable cock from his underpants. You sat up and leaned forward, glancing up at him with doe eyes before attaching your lips to his member.

He groaned as you took him in your warm, wet mouth. You suckled and licked around it, playing with him while lubing him up for you. His hands found their way into your hair, loosely gripping it while you bobbed your head back and forth. He threw his head back and savoured the sensation.

After a little while you pulled away and he gently pushed your shoulder so you lay back on the bed. He braced himself over you and lined himself up, gazing down into your eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here” he whispered, hovering outside your entrance. You nudged your head up to plant a kiss on his lips.

“Me too” you said softly.

Then he slowly thrust into you. It ached just a little on the way in, but you quickly adjusted to him. For the first time in weeks you felt whole, and human, and like you were capable of something other than simply just surviving as he sank inside you.

You tensed around him and wrapped your legs around his body, which he took as a signal to start pumping his hips in and out of you. Warmth filled your body, radiating from your core to chest at the feeling of connection and intimacy. To your surprise, tears prickled your eyes as you felt emotionally stimulated as much as physically. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit onto Daryl’s shoulder, allowing his warm skin to absorb the moan that left you.

“Don’t need to keep too quiet pretty girl” he said encouragingly. You smirked and let go, noting the love bite you’d left behind before moaning out into the room this time as his hips continued to pound into you.

He pulled out briefly and you were left feeling empty and disappointed, just for him to gently grab your thigh and push your leg back towards your face, hooked behind his arm. He pushed back in and you relished the new, deeper angle.

“Fuuuck, yesss” you hissed and he smirked down at you.

“Feels good baby?” He cooed before grind his hips in a particularly deep thrust and you nodded, moaning in reply.

He picked up the pace now and you felt the heat grow in your belly, driven more by lust at this point. Your climax was building, and it was as if Daryl could tell. He drove into you faster than before, angling his hips upwards to hit just the right spot.

“Dar! I’m gonna” you began-

“I know baby, let go” he soothed.

With an almost scream you came, it rippled through you in waves and he rode it out with you. In this moment nothing else mattered, not the situation you were in, the home you’d lost, the people you’d been seperated from. It was just bliss for a perfect moment.

As your pleasure subsided Daryl snapped his hips into a few more hard times before grunting himself and moving to pull out of you.

“Don’t!” You cried without thinking, holding his hips to yours with your small hands. You felt his dick pulsate inside you as he painted your walls with his cum. It was the last, comforting gesture you wanted to take from him tonight. The feeling of him filling you up as much he possibly could.

His sweaty forehead met yours as he stopped moving, and you felt his penis jerk inside you one last time before all was still. You panted together for a few seconds, before he slowly rolled over to lay next to you.

You felt his ejaculate trickle out of you onto the bed, and groaned at the mess, grinning at him.

He looked around and grabbed a throw blanket from the end of the bed, using it to roughly wipe up you and the linen beneath you. You both chuckled, and he tossed it aside before throwing an arm around you and pulling you towards him to lay your head on his chest.

With your head on his bare skin and listening to the sound of his heart beat and the sensation of his breath rise and fall, you closed your eyes and fell asleep. He planted once last kiss to the top of your head before doing the same.

You woke with a start to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight beginning to creep in through the window, neck stiff from the angle you slept at. You felt chilly and looked down to see goosebumps over your bare body. Not just yours, you noted the extra limbs tangled with yours and remembered the situation you were in. You smiled to yourself, knowing that the amazing night was a once off for you both.

Daryl had just started to stir at your movements on the bed, before you heard movements in the other room. A female voice groaning, before stomping quick footsteps and the sound of coughing and liquid splashing the metal sink. Beth had arisen, and was experiencing her first hangover. You almost would have giggled, except you realised you had to get dressed quick and decide how to explain the two of spending the night in a small room with one double bed.

You looked back at Daryl, now fully awake and judging by the expression on his face thinking the same thing you were.

“Well, back to reality” you whispered with a shrug.

He pulled you in for one last embrace, planting a kiss firmly to your lips before whispering back “thanks for last night beautiful”.

[elefishwrites]

Hello! Could I possibly ask for general (platonic) Cosmo headcanons?

- 🪻anon

omg yes you may!!

first platonic req AND first emoji anon?? already?? AND it's for cosmo!! man you have no idea how happy that makes me!!

enjoyyy~☆

"made with love!" ★ platonic cosmo x gn reader hcs

pairing ❥ cosmo & reader (dandy's world)

relationship ❥ platonic

reader's gender is not mentioned!

dividers made by me ⊹₊⟡⋆

☆ Cosmo is genuinely one of THE sweetest individuals you will ever meet

☆ He's a bit shy at first, but as long as you're nice to him and you give him time he'll warm up to you!

☆ He probably gives you some of the stuff he bakes if it wasn't made with anyone in mind!

☆ Likewise, he probably asks you to taste test new recipes! Politely of course, and he's always understanding if you decline!

☆ If you also bake—Great! It's his favourite hobby, so that's another thing for you two to do together!!

☆ Aside from baking, I can also see him enjoying making bead jewelry and charm bracelets and the like, so you might also recieve cute bracelets or necklaces on occasion!

☆ If you two are close enough, he might even ask if you want to make friendship bracelets for each other!!

☆ If you accept, he'll cherish whatever you make for him, no matter how it looks, and you'll probably see him wearing it along with the one Sprout made for him

☆ Speaking of Sprout, you'll probably end up being acquainted with him one way or another. Those two are pretty much inseperable, so there's no way you aren't meeting him at least once

☆ If you get along well, congrats! You're a trio now!

☆ Also speaking of Sprout, another perk of being close with Cosmo is occasionally getting to hear about the crazy shenanigans the two get into

☆ But it almost always starts off as some offhanded comment related to whatever you two are doing at the moment, like it's just the most normal thing in the world to him, which has resulted in a number of double takes on your end.

☆ Like... Say you two are in the kitchen, and something catches fire. While attempting to calm you down as he goes to help you put it out, he might say something like, "Don't worry-! We can deal with this, I've put out much bigger fires...!"

☆ Which, if questioned, then becomes a recounting of the time he and Sprout nearly burnt down the entire kitchen while trying out a new recipe.

☆ Overall, though, Cosmo is one of the sweetest, most kind and caring toons you could've befriended! Treat him kindly, and you'll have a friend for life!

You held your hands behind your back as you entered the toon rooms' kitchen, welcomed in by the enticing scent of sweets in the oven.

Cosmo was sat at one of the tables, fidgeting with something in his lap. He held a pensive expression, seemingly unaware of your approach.

You called out to him, causing him to jolt, head swiveling in your direction.

"Oh- Hi, [Name]." He greeted you with a little smile and a warm voice. "What's that you have behind your back...?"

You got a bit closer, grinning widely as you presented him with a bracelet—More specifically, the friendship bracelet you had made for him.

His eyes lit up, taking it gingerly out of your hands before excitedly examining it. "Is this-?"

You confirmed it as such, accompanied by a nod.

He looked back up at you, his gaze filled with stars. "[Name], this is... Perfect! I love it, thank you!"

He slipped it onto his wrist right away, taking a moment to admire it, before quickly speaking again. "Oh, I have something to give you, too...!"

He revealed what he had been fidgeting with before—Surprise! It was your half of the friendship bracelet exchange!

Now it was your turn to be excited, taking it out of his hands and looking it over. The beads were arranged in a pattern of your favourite colours, the only deviation being one half of a silver heart charm.

You thanked him, slipping it on and immediately leaning down to pull him into an embrace. He froze for a moment, before you felt his arms wrap around you in return, enveloping you in a comforting warmth.

As you two sit there, wrapped in a hug, you know with all certainty that you are loved, and so does he.

You hope this friendship will last forever.

[freedomfireflies]

Found

Summary: An extra for Mine*

The one where your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has to put you in danger in order to keep you safe.

Word Count: 2.8k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

“Asher?”

Harry’s eyes find the floor, narrowing with a malicious vengeance.

It’s a look you know well, but never in relation to the aforementioned man. His partner, his second-in-command.

His friend.

You stand and make your way to him, wary of his demeanor as you gently outstretch your finger to his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He almost looks like he wants to flinch when you touch him, and your heart aches for whatever he’s fighting inside.

But then, he looks to you. He looks, and he wraps his arms around you, and he nearly yanks you into his chest.

Everything is him. Every scent, every sound, every feel. His muscles are rigid, and his breathing is shallow, and he’s cursing through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t let you go. Not for quite some time, and despite your attempts to rub his back in soothing circles, nothing calms him.

Finally, he pulls back to take hold of your face. He nuzzles his lips and nose into your forehead, and whispers, “I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry I ever let them take you—”

“Harry,” you exhale, slipping yourself free of his hold so you can look him in the eye. “Don’t do that, we talked about this—”

“I don’t care,” he nearly growls. “I don’t care, I love you, and I never should have let them take you. You have no idea what they could have done—”

“Yes, I do. I was there.”

The reminder makes his expression drop. Skin paling almost as if the thought repulses him.

He moves to hold you again, and you let him, but you don’t wipe the stern look from your face. “Harry, what’s wrong? What’s going on? What’s wrong with Asher?”

He’s quiet for a long lull. Perhaps in an effort to prepare you or perhaps he’s simply trying to wrap his head around it himself.

“His comms are down,” Harry begins slowly. “And they found his tracker discarded a few miles outside of the warehouse.” 

You feel your heart leap into your throat. “What, um…what does that mean? Is he okay?”

That pensive look returns as he squeezes the back of your neck gently. “It means I have to do something I don’t want to.”

“Like…what?”

His eyes return to yours. A vibrant green that bleeds remorse as he dips down to run his lips along your temple lovingly. “I’m so sorry I ever put you in danger.”

Your heart sinks. “Harry—”

“I’m sorry that loving me causes you more pain than joy,” he whispers, and you can hear each ounce of guilt. “I’m sorry that my love comes with so many conditions—”

“Harry,” you try again, leaning back to take hold of his face and squeeze. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on with Asher, what do you have to do?”

He stares at you for a long while, a subtle red rim swimming beside his lashes. “I need to make a call,” he says shortly.

And with that, he pulls himself from your arms and disappears into the other room, the phone squeezed tightly in his hand.

You hear his heated conversation through the walls of the small apartment. Can’t decipher what he’s saying but you know he’s upset. And when he returns half an hour later, he’s wrought with frustration and regret. 

“Har?” you begin gently, cautiously watching from your spot in the tiny kitchen. “Are you…is everything okay?”

You know he won’t offer you an honest answer. He doesn’t particularly like sharing the details of his job with you. He claims it’s better if you don’t know. Safer. And maybe he’s right.

Or maybe he just wants to protect you any way he knows how.

He looks up and finds you. Frowns in the kind of way that has your soul sinking down to the cold, hardwood floor below as he strides over to you.

He takes your hands. Pulls you into his chest and traps you against his heart. Buries his lips into the crown of your head and whispers, “I love you,” for what feels like the hundredth time today.

You smile sadly. “I love you, too. But you’re really starting to scare me, Har. I just…I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

He leans back and captures your cheeks in his palms. Presses his love into your skin as he sucks in a sharp breath and murmurs, “Do you trust me?”

Your answer is instantaneous. “Yes.”

He seems relieved. He seems gutted. “And do you trust that I would never knowingly put you in danger? That I would do anything to ensure your safety?”

You swallow thickly. “Of course.”

He exhales shakily before dipping down to press his forehead to yours. “Do you trust that I love you? More than anything in the fucking world?”

There’s an odd feeling blooming in your chest yet you feel strangely calm. “Yes,” you tell him, nuzzling into his touch. “Always.”

He keeps his eyes closed. Doesn’t let you go as struggles through his next sentence. “Then I need you to do something for me, mama.”

“Anything.”

His features twist, as if it wounds him to hear you say it. “I need you to go sit down on that couch.”

Your lashes flutter as you slip your fingers around his wrists. 

“I need you to sit down, and I need you to wait,” he continues, in a tone so distraught, it makes your throat feel dry. “And I need you to trust that whatever happens next…is because I love you.”

Your breath hitches.

“I need you to trust that this is the only way.” His grip becomes tighter. “I need you…to trust me.”

Despite the countless warnings currently going off in your head, you nod quickly. “I do. I trust you, Har. I promise.”

The muscles in his jaw constrict, teeth scraping together as he stumbles over a wounded inhale. Then, he surges forward and presses his lips to yours. Over and over and over he kisses you. Mumbling, “I love you, sweet girl. More than anything in the whole fucking world. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His anguish is evident. Body tense beneath your touch and chest heaving with grief. He’s moments away from allowing the tears to fall from his eyes, and it hurts you to see him in so much suffering. 

He kisses you until he has to rip himself away. Tearing himself out of your arms before turning on his heel to disappear into the next room, without so much as a glance back.

And you know it kills him to do it.

You look toward the living room, eyeing the couch warily while taking a deep breath. You do trust him. More than anything.

So, you sit. Take a seat on the center cushion and pull your knees to your chest in wait.

Minutes go by. Then an hour. Harry never returns. The entire apartment is silent. The sun is beginning to set behind the mountains he’s hidden you in, leaving you to wonder in the darkness.

And then…a sound. The first sound in forever. The murmuring of hushed voices and the shimmying of a lock.

The front door opens. Three figures creep into the room, dressed in all black. It’s an instant wave of déjà vu, reminding you of only a few days ago when you were taken the first time.

You want to hide. Want to scream in protest. Want to call out to the man you love and have him protect you.

But he knows they’re here.

And he wants them to take you.

Maybe you don’t know why. Maybe you should be wildly confused and insanely terrified.

But you’re not. You trust him. And as the three shadows find you on the couch, you exhale a deep breath, and allow yourself to be approached.

You play up your terror. Figuring it’s better to give them a little fight so they don’t suspect your compliance.

You gasp and you whimper, and you attempt to squirm away as they crowd you. But only one man kneels to the floor in front of your feet, pressing a large, glove-covered palm to your mouth.

You suck in a shaky pant as his eyes find yours through the mask he wears to hide his face.

And those eyes.

You’d know those eyes anywhere. As soft and reassuring as the touch against your lips. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t call you by that familiar nickname or attempt to comfort you.

But you know him.

You aren’t sure why he’s here. Aren’t sure why he’s with them, but Harry must know. And if he’s allowing him to take you…it must be for a reason.

Things work quicker from there. They bind your hands before one of them throws you over their shoulder. They take you from your place of safety and toss you into a van. They don’t speak to you, they don’t look at you, they don’t even sit near you.

Everything is cold and dark. Far too quiet and somewhat unnerving. You drive for what feels like hours before the car finally stops and you’re removed from your prison.

You’re brought into a different warehouse this time. Smaller. Fuller. There are guards crawling in every corner of the room. Guns, grenades, and various weapons litter the walls and tables. It smells like cigars and bad decisions.

And just before you can allow yourself to doubt Harry’s intentions, you’re brought into a large office.

And sat in front of the one man Harry fears the most.

Callahan Matthews. 

 You’ve seen his face enough times to recognize it now. The way it leers at you. The way it smiles behind the cigar placed between his strangely white teeth. The way he gestures for you get comfortable as the office door shuts firmly.

“Well, well, well,” he begins in a sadistic croon, leaning back in his seat to study you. “How nice to finally meet you.”

You feel your blood run cold as you stare back, offering nothing more than an unamused frown.

Matthews glances toward the guard that brought you in. “Was she any trouble?”

“Not at all,” the man replies, the familiar voice sending chills down your spine as he slips off his mask to reveal his face.

Asher.

“She never is,” he adds, the corner of his mouth curling up in a cruel display of agreement. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

 Your fingers grip the armrests beside you, chest heaving as you work to remind yourself of why you’re here.

Your confusion and betrayal makes both men grin. “And Styles?” Matthews asks. “Where is he?”

“He was at the apartment,” Asher tells him, and you feel your head begin to pound. “We left him be, just like you asked.”

“Good.” Matthews crosses his arms over his chest. “You think he’ll come for her?”

“I know he will. He’ll give you anything you want to keep her pretty little head on her pretty little neck.”

The larger man laughs, pulling the cigar from his mouth. “And isn’t that just a shame? A man with so much power brought to his knees by something so pathetic.”

“Incredibly so,” Asher agrees, allowing his focus to drift back down to you. “Don’t you think?”

You toss him a bitter glare. “Bite me.”

Asher hums. “Haven’t I already?” he murmurs, leaning down and forcing you to rear back. His smug condescension more than evident. “Unless you want to beg me to do it again?”

Matthews smirks. “Perhaps if he’d spent more time questioning the men he allowed into his home—into his girlfriend…he’d have found his supposed mole.”

“Harry trusts too easily,” Asher declares, finally straightening up and allowing you to breathe. “Always has. It makes him incredibly weak.”

“And incompetent.” Matthews rakes his gaze over your tense figure. “Can’t imagine what she sees in him.”

“She sees what he wants her to see,” Asher says. “If he tells her he loves her, she believes it. If he tells her she’s safe, she believes it. If he tells her she loves him…she’ll believe it. All he has to do is convince her that she’s being saved, and she’ll do anything he wants.”

It’s the lowest of blows. Coming from the man who watched your relationship bloom from the very beginning. Who was there through every fight, every miscommunication, every moment of realization. 

He knows the two of you better than anybody else does.

And if this is truly how he feels…

The office door slams open. Four men wrestle through the frame, pulling a struggling man in their grasp.

Harry.

You see him out of your peripheral. See the blood around his cheeks, the bruises already darkening in color, and the ripped fabric on his chest. 

You feel sick. Distraught beyond measure and when his eyes find yours, tears begin slipping down your cheeks.

He’s shoved onto his knees as Matthews stands from behind his desk. Asher remains to the side, watching as a gun is pressed into the temple of his friend’s head.

He says nothing. Shows no remorse or acknowledgement of such cruelty. 

His indifference is infuriating.

“Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” Matthews begins as one of the guards weaves their fingers through Harry’s hair and yanks his head back. “But I am a little disappointed.”

Harry remains quiet. Breathing heavily between gritted teeth as he stares daggers through the man approaching. 

“I was hoping for a little more of a fight,” the man admits. “Perhaps even a reason to respect you before I kill you. But I see you lose your edge where she’s concerned.”

Your nails scrape down the chair. Desperately wanting to run to him. To throw your body in front of his and shield him from the weapon you can already see Asher slipping from his belt.

“It’s a shame she has to watch the great Harry Styles die in such a trivial way,” he tsks, hand outstretching for the gun Asher is offering to him. “But I suppose that’s what you get…for thinking you were strong enough to save her.”

The sound of a bullet ripping through the air reaches you before the realization does.

The weapon has been fired. A body is hitting the floor and you’re ready to scream as a smattering of blood streaks across your cheek.

With a wounded, heavy, and unmendable heart, you find the man you love. Needing to see him one last time.

But Harry is still kneeling on the floor. Exactly the way he was before, now covered in a few extra drops of blood.

That aren’t his.

You turn and look for the answer. 

You find it with Asher.

The gun is raised and pointed toward the large man responsible for so much pain and destruction. You see the bullet through his skull as his lifeless body splays across the ground. A pool of blood collecting around his head.

Smoke wafts from the barrel as Asher stares calmly and stoically before he turns his attention and his weapon toward the other four in the room.

“You touch her…or you touch him,” he begins in a threatening murmur, eyebrow raised and ready for any defiance, “and I will make sure there’s enough room in the ground for your bodies, too.”

A moment of silence dances between the walls.

And then, for the second time in twenty-four hours, you’re forced to watch a sea of bullets fly through the air.

You aren’t sure who fires first. Aren’t sure where the danger lies. But you are sure of the way you lunge yourself at Harry’s body to pull him out of harm’s way.

His arms wrap around your torso as you both roll into the corner, just behind the desk. The sound of more gunshots echoes in from the rest of the warehouse as you make the connection that Harry’s men have arrived.

Your ears are ringing. Your chest is pounding. So much violence and strife is happening all around you. And you can do nothing but bury your face in Harry’s chest and will it to be over.

And through all the chaos, you hear him whisper, “I’m so fucking sorry. I had to. I had to let them take you, I’m so fucking sorry. Never let them take you again. I love you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

You aren’t sure when it finally stops. At least in this room. Aren’t sure when the ricocheting of bullets comes to an end. But you do eventually feel Harry lift up to survey the damage and make sure the coast is clear.

The resonating terror is pounding inside your head, but you do your best to follow him out from behind the table. Clutching onto his hand as he leads you into the main part of the office where you find an array of dead bodies and blood dispersed across the walls and floor. 

And just when you feel the first rush of relief in what feels like weeks…you find one more body in the corner of the room.

With a bullet hole right through his chest.

Asher.

Wow, now that's two parts where we end with his name said all dramatically, it's almost like he's the main character??? OOPS??? 🙃 I LOVE YOU ALL, THANK YOU FOR READING AND WAITING AND BEING SO NICE TO ME😭💞

Next Part:

~ Home

Previous Part:

~ Lost

~ Full Mine Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist (If you ever need or want to be taken off, or simply excluded from certain fics like this one, please let me know!! 💞) : @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @acesofspadess @stylesfever @narry-heart @virginvirgo @pagesfalling @creativelyeva @char112244 @snwells @armystay89 @oh-my-hecky-padalecki

[beescake]

yea i very much agree with ur take on sollux in his relation to older technology, u get it

please id love if youd share some more of ur analysis on his character (as well as ur art bc that shit is 👌👌👌)

either way, thanks for feeding my brain worms

im glad it resonated!! :') always happy to explore his character, he contains multitudes!!!

i think i may be out of sollux analysis for now, in the sense where i don't have anything new to add that hasn't already been covered in these posts? (please add if there's more...)

why i like sollux (lackadaisicallexicon, 2014)

comprehensive sollux status guide (syblatortue, 2016)

bioware machine (lime-bloods, 2016)

fridgestuck (LaureledEevees, 2017)

mary sue (3d-gla22e2, 2019)

favorite sollux trait (3d-gla22e2, 2020)

doom-bound static (gendertrickster, 2023)

however i will say there's another thing i really like abt him:

his Range!

he has a v flexible face.. even with his neutral expression, you cant help but read a tinge of melancholy/pensiveness to it.

he deters people from getting too comfortable with him by acting crude, but no matter how unapproachable he looks you can't help but wonder if he's ok. seems like he's never content with himself.

just like karkat, anger gives him purpose = something to care about & react to. without it he can appear aimless/uncertain.

it's especially interesting when you compare him to aradia, who despite having endured a lot of shit, ends up enjoying the freedom of expanding her worldview, riding the unpredictable tide of the narrative and observing the changes. sollux... doesn't.

he doesn't like watching major things progress in a way he can't predict. the lack of certainty actually overwhelms him.

and it's pretty clear why; imagine the only reassurance you get after unknowingly killing ur gf is that "it needed to happen". the only way to appease that sort of emotional turmoil is by intellectualizing those events as inevitable and out of your control.

(hs, A6I5)

when you’re just a tool for the author, trying to sit out is just feeble self-preservation until you’re needed again. if you’re not called on stage to help/assist in some way, it feels like your presence spells doom (either you or someone else will get hurt). so you avoid Events as best you can.

[coffeesleep-ooc]

DNNNH but LiuShen

Recently I’ve been watching Dungeon no Naka no Hito and my brain decided ro just spam me with sv thoughts.

(beware spoilers for the anime btw!)

For ppl that hasn’t seen it, it’s an adventurer who tried to find her father in a dungeon only to end up being employed there by the administrator! She lives a lot of new experiences with this new job, like understanding a bit of how the dungeon works, that some monsters ate intelligent, why some monsters drop gems, the relationship between the dungeon and the outside world etc etc…and there’s even some hints of a potential relationship between the cute admin and the protagonist!

So i was thinking her ‘must be strong’ cold no friends personality - even though she is loyal to a fault and still tries her best to find her only family and better her fighting strength - would fit LQG quite well! And administrator-san who is apparently op as heck but happy and sweet and messy like nobody else fits SY!SQQ quite well!

So imagine:

LQG is initially wary bc he (she? him? she??? idk if i should make them girls, it would be cute either wayyyy, girls have their own charm but they work ao well as giya in denial too…) didn’t come here for this, and this pretty person leading him who knows where could always be a very elaborate illusion or trap of the dungeon. But then he actually fights him and its a whole thing that doesn’t let him sleep at night. It was that spectacular…and later on he becomes the only human companion to the administrator of the dungeon, they have other people and beings in there, but still it appears tha SQQ is quite lonely. Regardless, LQG lost and has to fulfill his end of their deal, so he works: he does stuff like move supplies, refill the dungeon’s chests, train in the shadows, and anything and everything SQQ can think of.

LQG doesn’t understand how SQQ can work with so many things around. SQQ is still dying of shame bc his new friend employee saw the surveillance room before he tidied everything up.

He also admires SQQ’s sense of duty and passion. He likes to see him smile and pretend that he isn’t tearfully hoping Liu Qingge won’t throw away the very unusable stuff he has accumulated, like the 100 holes umbrella (‘it will have an use’, he says, ‘it converts water in other random things of the same size of the hole’, he says. ‘Isn’t that cool???’ He also says). LQG likes to watch him pat the fax slime (mo idea where a word like fax came from, but the thing is useful at least) after it spits out documents, or excitedly play with low level monsters in the first floor.

He also likes to see WQW (the resident dwarf blacksmith) scold SQQ for delaying the patrols and forgetting to organize the administrator's room. It’s…entertaining to see his face contort trying not to pout.

LQG likes working in the dungeons with SQQ, with WQW and everyone else.

And SQQ? Well, SQQ is always there for LQG’s progress as a warrior now. He watches him growl and frown when he doesn’t understand something (most of the things related to monsters, magic and the dungeon itself), watches his eyes light up when there’s battle or training, watches him go into pensive modes when there’s something new he just learnt.

SQQ definitely doesn’t listen in secret as LQG tries to imitate the language of one monster they interviewed earlier that day. He does not struggle to silence his giggles when LQG unknowingly says something vulgar.

SQQ doesn’t smile when he watches LQG struggling but doing his best to accept whatever the dungeon throws at him. He is not looking at LQG barely managing to contain his excitement when talking of weapons with WQW and feeling fond. He is not…

Who is he kidding? SQQ is happy he has a…coworker now. He is happy he has a companion. Since the previous administrator left he has been… craving human contact maybe. Just maybe.

*

There is another scene in particular that i think would be extremely funny with these two. When they sit down to eat, imagine SQQ asking LQG why he (or she?) doesn’t eat anything aside from the basic bread and meat that he gets in the kitchen rations, and he says his big sister (almost parental figure) taught him that messing with cooking could kill him if he didn’t do it right.

then proceeds to tell SQQ of the time he tried to put salt in his soup, only to make it a disgusting mess that couldn’t be eaten and would surely kill him if he tried while SQQ (who also has mo idea of cooking) listens with horror

This is someone else’s cue to enter and say:

“You are really strong but don’t know anything of the world, do you? You are not supposed to throw in a huge rock of salt but grind it and use a little bit of the sand that rests.”

SQQ & LQG: Oh…

And then comes chef extraordinaire LBH to try and teach these two about cooking, stopping LQG feom making the ingredients paste, stopping SQQ from tasting the peeling of the onions, amongst other difficult things that make him end up in the floor looking at the ceiling with a lost gaze that speaks of the horrors

he does find top grade ingredients that make him salivate and put puppy eyes at SQQ

LQG has his world changed after one Hap-i mean…one Binghe meal!

*

Or alternatively! Shen Qingqiu has to go renew his contract with the new ruler of the nation and be able to be a self-ruling dungeon-town. He thinks this is too much work. So he asks LQG ro disguise himself as the actual dungeon admin and fight the king in his place! What does hw mean he’s not strong enough yet? Ofc he is! Believe this poor overworked administrator Liu-dada! He won’t let you be in danger anyways! (LQG is unimpressed)

there’s a problem tho, the king wants to win no matter what, so when the fight goes ro LQG’s side he secretly orders his strongest bodyguard to subdue the seemingly soft and weak young master that accompanies the “master of the dungeon” so he can make LQG surrender of his own volition. However, when he turns, the strongest man in the whole country is unconscious himself while SQQ rapidly stands up to cough awkwardly (yes, his eyes didn’t deceivw him, this young master was poking at his bodyguard and playing with his unconscious form). Lets say that the young king ends up fighting an angry LQG while SQQ tries to calm them both down.

when they finally renew the contract tho, SQQ asks if there’s any questions and the king says:

“i-if i may be so bold to say…you fought beautifully, I- this one is called Luo Binghe, could i ask for your name?”

SQQ: o.o

LQG: … ò.ó

SQQ: S…L…! I-I!!! MY NAME IS MU QINGFANG GOODBYE

SQQ was still breathing heavily after the transportation light dimmed inside the admin room.

“You said you were the dungeon’s slime.”

“S-shut up!”

“Wei Qingwei is going to yell at you.”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” (Insert very manly whines here)

LQG feels…annoyed. He doesn’t want SQQ to go away with some king that has no manners. He wants SQQ to stay with him for…for a long time. Mmm, he must be catching something to feel this bad, maybe he shouldn’t have pushed himself so far in training the day before.

The king tried to dins info on this MQF to invite him to dinner, he is still sighing hopefully, sadly that “MQF” has no idea he is losing an interesting meal. LQG finds out and is angry for a whole week for no reason, he wants to go fight the king asap! SQQ is confused.

*

Was also thinking about where SQH would fit in here bc i love cumplane way too much too, and that made me think of Qijiu as well, so this another idea came to the braincell.

L: “Wait, so your shizun is still alive?”

“yeah…the dungeon was his passion and everything, but he found his childhood sweetheart and eloped. I mean, I’m glad he didn’t have just the dungeon you know? But then, Qinghua also eloped! That b-p-person!”

LQG fondly ignored the softly said: “stupid pair of assholes leaving me here to manage their responsibilities!” He already knew that SQQ said that to hide his real feelings.

“and Qinghua was…?”

“oh,he was shizun’s other disciple, but his magic was less combat oriented i guess? So shizun made me his successor…An ice monster kidnapped Qinghua after shizun was gone for two years.”

“An ice monster did what?!”

“Willingly, he was willingly kidnapped to do paperwork and have his children.”

LQG was speechless.

SQQ snorted.

“Im just kidding, he went to become an advisor.”

*

MQF should be a slime.

Ik how it sounds but hear me out too. There’s this cool system in DNNNH (or maybe it should be DNH? Idk) where slimes are monsters of the dungeon that are just there and never attack you, but behind the scenes there’s a gigantic slime that is the “mother”, and the admin periodically cuts bits of the giant slime to produce smaller copies that act like lil cleaners of the place (they dissolve stuff) and qhen they lose most of their magic and become rlly tiny and get to join the mother again.

so, was thinking that MQF should be the head cleaner alime version! So he sends lil copies of himself to dissolve stuff and clean!!! But he sleeps a lot or eats ravenously things that fontain magic power to replwniah his energy so he has lass interaction with LQG and SQQ!

QQQ could be one of the dungeon bosses in a grumpy violet cat form maybe. Other peak lords could also be nom-human staff.

there’s human connections tho! Like the guild’s directors and adventurers that try hard to pass each floor… and the one cooking episode with soup…and fried veggies…

…now im also hungry

*

I theorize that the protag’s father accidentally fell into the demon’s world. So i imagine a big sister LMY happily writing the equivalent of bl after falling into that world lsndmsjsj.

her (or his? Gender bent thoughts attack again) works are so famous that they reach othwr worlds too!

and LQG finds one, he thinks ‘this is…somehow familiar?’ but he doesn’t know why!!!

SQQ finds the book and misunderstands tho. Rip.

“To think he would have this kind of tastes…well, one needs to have a hobby no?”

SQQ read da book, tears da book apart - metaphorically -. New hobby unlocked too!

*

I also think that the king could come to the doors of the dungeon after finding nothing ofthe mysterious MQF and oofer food to the beautiful and shy MQF.

LQG would be raging, SQQ running for his life and the rest of them wondering why the human king wants ro court a regular slime. Though he will certainly manage with food.

*

I may or may not add more to this if i get any ideas…

[lottiecrabie]

hello sweet lottie, I’ve just reread cyosa and I am back on my hands and knees begging for the alternate cuddle ending before you inevitably leave us (still can’t think about that without wanting to die btw xx). as a cuddle truther I must say there are not many days I go without thinking about what may have been hahaha. lots of love 4eva and eva ily

if i could directly send u this and Never give the shower truthers any resolution I would

you lay on the bed, still sweaty and panting, covers and limbs crisscrossing all together. your head rests on his arm, clutching his hand as though holding onto the buoyancy of him, as though you’d be drowning without. the room smells of sex. a grin teases your lips, too proud and fucked-out to be disgusted yet.

‘thank you,’ you speak, quiet and comfortable in the heat of the room. bone-deep happiness curls inside of you. you want to stick to him and the bed and never leave this moment.

matty presses the back of your hand with his thumb. ‘you’re welcome.’ you want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. ‘thank you for trusting me.’

‘of course,’ you say easily. ‘though, it’s not really a compliment on me. you did all the work; i just let myself trust a completely dependable person.’ matty hums, musing.

after a moment of silence, your eyes dropping with exhaustion, he finally asks, ‘so why did you choose me?’

you readjust in his arm, the pinpricks of discomfort on your skin. reality, and the immensity of the ignored, presses your chest. ‘i mean, as we’ve said, i trust you. and—‘ you bite your lip, wondering how much you want to share, how much there even is to say. ‘you’re a good person. a good friend. you never make fun of me for all my pro-con lists or my neuroses. i knew— i don’t know.’ he’s quiet, pensive, and it all feels too much. you force out a laugh, joking, ‘plus, you know, there were all these rumors on campus that you’re a sex god or whatever.’

matty laughs. ‘so am i?’

‘you don’t need me to answer that.’

‘oh, come on. i deserve a little compliment for that performance.’ you slap his belly, shaking your head, but he just laughs harder. ‘so that was all?’ he asks again. you wonder what he’s searching for.

you sigh. bite your lip. ‘well, i guess i found you pretty too, if we are being honest.’

‘glad to hear it.’

‘don’t let it get to your head.’

‘too late.’ you can hear the smirk. you tsk. ‘you know, you’re a very quick study,’ matty declares to the room. you flush, ego and pride curling pleasantly up your spine. your smile widens in earnest ways you’d bother to hide any other times.

‘you’ve a very good teacher,’ you praise back, tilting up to look at him. he still gazes up at the ceiling, hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks red and glistening. god, he’s so pretty. you bite your lip. ‘we’re very good at this,’ you try, dipping a toe in the terrifying.

‘yeah.’ he says, quiet, thoughtful. ‘too good. i think we’ll wake up to many complaints from your neighbors.’

‘oh, yeah. you’re about to have the most watched walk-of-shame ever.’

‘everyone trying to catch a glimpse at the talent,’ matty tsks, faux-mournful. you roll your eyes, vaguely slapping his stomach again. ‘y’know, it might be wise to avoid it altogether.’ again, his eyes stubbornly face the ceiling, but you can feel how his breath hitches and holds under your hand. your grin curls in your cheek.

‘right,’ you nod. ‘wait a few days. give them time to forget.’

‘exactly.’ his thumb rubs the back of your hand. from nerves or from the desperate need to feel you, you’re not sure. ‘and, while we’re here, we might want to check a few other items off your list. just to maximize our time.’

‘smart,’ you laugh. ‘two birds, one stone, and all of that.’

‘of course, i don’t want you to think i’m only using you for things related to your bed. i’m very open to having dinner and any other activities to pass the time as well.’

you can’t take it anymore. you flutter your eyelashes at him, teasing, ‘matty, is there something you want to ask me?’

finally, he looks down and locks eyes with yours. something gets relieved at the sight of you. his smile grows, his hand tightening in yours. ‘do you want to go on a date with me?’ your heart rushes, a flutter of feelings in the depth of your belly.

‘yes,’ you say, grin shining on your cheeks. he can’t hold back the joy either; his head dips down, catching your lips. you push against him to tease, ‘kissing me before our first date? what’s next, you think i’ll put out, too?’

‘oh, i’d never.’

[dickgraysonsptsd]

(hey this is Barks 👋 this is my main)

Thought it would be fun to ask what your fav Nightwing adventures are :) they don't have to be 'good', just the ones you vibe with!

HI BARKS i love your art sooo much btw. thank you for saying they don't have to be "good" because what i would say while trying to look like i have good taste and what i would say for my actual faves/the ones that stick in my head the most is. different.

i'm keeping these specifically to dick-as-nightwing stories, so no robin or dickbats stuff! and i tried to go for self-contained single issues or short arcs where possible. and tried to minimize my nw '96 picks because otherwise this would genuinely all be nw '96 (my beloved). OKAY YAY LETS GO

🚨🚨LONG POST WARNING🚨🚨

batman: year three

i usually go for robin annual #4 (juvie) for my personal dick backstory rather than the one presented here, but there's so much to love about this arc and so much that sets up alpod and eventually nw '96!! bruce as a character defined by and constructed upon his grief (over his parents) and dick coming to try to intervene in a time of their mutual grief (over jason) that overlaps with an event related to DICK'S grief (over HIS parents) is such a great layered story!!

showcase '93 #11-12

just a fun little nightwing/robin team-up circa azbats era, written with tim as the narrator. we get a lot of tim fanboying over dick and an aside in #12 where dick is clearly rattled by how he left the titans (in the aftermath of his breakup with kory) + feeling adrift as nightwing (yum!). and this panel has really stuck with me:

dick won't treat the robins like kids in the sense of talking down to them or babying them, because he knows what that feels like (bad! like your grown-up doesn't trust you! like you aren't capable enough!) but he also knows, as the grown-up himself now, that they do have to be kids. they have to have childhoods. and they have to acknowledge their limitations and their capabilities as children, but without being treated like kids for it.. urghh it's so good!! it's so like him!! it's so consistent with how he interacts with damian in dickbats era!!

there's also this bit of classic Dick Grayson Blaming Himself For Anyone Dying Ever And Craving Atonement For His Sins:

it's a very straightforward little story, but there's a lot of great characterization and tim+dick relationship stuff packed into it!

nightwing (1996) annual #1

dick goes undercover as the new groom of a suspected black widow! this issue reveals that BRUCE TRAINED HIM BY ASPHYXIATING HIM ON DOZENS OF TOXINS SO HE COULD "PROPERLY DIAGNOSE THE SYMPTOMS OF DISTINCT FORMS OF ASPHYXIATION" which is so kinky it makes me ill (positive):

it also has a scene where dick takes the suspect's son to the circus and they bond over both having dead dads, and later there's a moment after dick reveals to his "wife" that he was just there to investigate the murders when he seriously considers staying with her and the kid and like... give this man a baby NOWWWW!!!!!!

nightwing/huntress #1-4

this is such a classic devin grayson "everything in dick's life is ultimately about his relationship with bruce" storyline (she's right.) (don't check to see how much of this list is by devin grayson btw!!!) and i really like the art in it! i think huntress fans generally don't like this story so i'll reassess after i read more huntress :pensive: but for now i enjoyed it a lot--devin grayson's voice for dick is my favorite!

nightwing (1996) #86

dick gets shot in the arm, becomes manicwing, and alfred + babs force him to take time off to heal against his will (and deal with him climbing up the walls when forced to slow down). i love the entirety of the tarantula and blockbuster arc but this issue is a stand-out to me for being weirdly funny, involving multiple relationships in dick's life, and letting you see what happens when he CAN'T work, which reinforces why nightwing is so essential to him (which then plays into why he and babs break up soon after). this issue does a lot for this arc imo!

also featuring dick's burgeoning obsession with america's most wanted, which will flourish in outsiders (2003) when he goes full autistic hyperfixation and literally calls john walsh to guest star

titans (1999) #10-12

slade comes to the titans for help rescuing addie from the remnants of the hive organization. i love to see dick acting as team leader and i LOVE when there's pushback and conflict involved and i LOOOVE so much of the titans' history (and therefore dick's history) coming into play!! and most of all i love dick being relentlessly, devastatingly heroic at all costs:

yeah he ties himself to a falling bomb in an effort to disarm it in midair knowing that even if he succeeds he'll probably die. and he does it. successfully. madman.

batman: gotham knights #8-11

there is so much to screencap in this arc, it's insane. the iconic "complicated... sticky and hot..." scene, dick saying bruce can't be dead because dick would know if he were (which connects forward to bruce's "death" arc in such a painful way... he WASN'T dead!!! and you DIDN'T know!!! SO WHAT DOES THAT MEAN DICK, HUH??? DOES IT MEAN ANYTHING?? IS YOUR SOULBOND REAL OR IMAGINED?? IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH HIM REAL OR IMAGINED?????), dick reciting the oath to amnesiac bruce, dick flinging himself off a building, tim and dick eating popcorn while they watch strange and batman fight, the buildup to murderer/fugitive... it's soooo good!!!

batman: gotham knights #14

JPV: Are the women safe? Dick, sarcastically: No. I let them get shot.

this is the dick writes a letter to bruce issue (you know the one), which would land it here anyway, but it's ALSO the dick has to work with jpv and is a huge cunt about it because he remains deeply jealous of jpv for somehow earning bruce's approval in a way dick didn't issue. god bless! we love him at his most petty and uptight!

battle for the cowl (2009) #1-3

people hate this event so much and for what!! this is a great comic for dick and his relationships with bruce's legacy and the other robin boys. and it has what i lowkey think is the most beautiful single page of nightwing art:

and then uhh yeah the entirety of nw '96. the whole thing.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

Would it be too cheeky to ask for a sneak peak of the Jamex fic you mentioned working on? (Totally okay if you don't want to share of course, I'm just so so excited about it 💝)

omg you’re so sweet, thank you so much for your enthusiasm! 🥹💖 milex is obviously my all time favourite arctic monkeys related ship and always will be, but it's been really fun to play with different characters and a different dynamic while writing this little oneshot 🥰

i don't usually share fics before they're done, but you know what, this one has been sitting on the backburner FOREVER so maybe a little glimpse of the outside world is just what it needs to give me the push to finally finish it and get it posted over on ao3! (please don't judge too harshly, it's still very much in rough form and hasn't undergone any final edits 😅) hope you enjoy! 💕

They’re the wrong side of drunk and the hotel room is too hot, stuffy and stale with windows that won’t open. Jamie had discarded his jacket the moment they’d stumbled in; he can see it lying crumpled on the garishly patterned carpet beside Alex’s brown suede loafers, but he’s still too warm. Sweat is dampening the cotton under his arms, a slow, relentless heat prickling uneasily down his spine and making his head swim with more than just inebriation. Across the dimly room, the open mini-bar is a lit-up rectangle – and when Jamie rolls across the duvet, making another clumsy attempt to wrestle the TV remote from Alex’s delicate-wristed grasp, he can still taste the lemon twist in the back of his throat. Alex lifts the remote out of reach with the same, infuriating effortlessness he lifts lyrics or melodies out of nothingness. He’s lying on his back and staring upside-down at the TV, wavy dark hair haloed around him on the rumpled sheets. It’s the longest he’s ever grown it, curling softly just past his shoulders and providing endless fidgeting opportunities for his ever-restless fingers. Jamie still isn’t used to it, the way it makes Alex look almost like someone else in certain lights. Dreamier, more withdrawn. Effeminate, almost. Lethal. And yet under it all still just as pensive and sardonic as he’s always been, just as prone to slow-spoken quick wit. Endless overlapping shades that Jamie has watched him cycle through already tonight, dancing detachedly under blood-red strobe lights with eyes so wide and so dark it had seemed as though they held the entirety of the night in their depths. Jamie can’t see them now, only the soft shadow of Alex’s lashes against his cheekbones. He’s close enough that Jamie can smell the familiar muskiness of his skin, the lingering perfume of hotel shampoo. He smells of fresh sweat too, the way he does when the stage-lights are too bright to see beyond and he’s gazing up at Jamie from his knees, guitar slung to the side and mouth slightly parted as though he’s uttered a challenge Jamie couldn’t hear over the crowd. The t-shirt he’s wearing is same one he’d worn onstage only a couple nights ago, black with an indie band logo – only it’s rucked up now, exposing the sharp line of his hipbone and contrastingly soft skin of his belly. He looks unguarded, completely at ease. Not like Jamie is used to seeing him these days, where he seems perpetually torn between shining a light on himself and retreating into the shadows. A moth caught in the blinds. He knows indecision has always played a starring role in the way Alex relates with the world, as though he’s never quite been able to make up his mind about just how much of himself to share with it. Jamie has watched him keep lyrics in his head until the last possible moment so he can alter them even when they’re halfway through recording, retrace his steps in conversations as if trying to scuff snow over the footprints he’s left in his wake – and yet sing his unspoken desires to a room full of strangers, laugh in such a way that his heart seems like a door anyone could walk straight through. Since they recorded out in the desert last year, all the contrary sides of his psyche seem to have grown louder, as if warring with each other for dominance as he emerges into something new. Glimmers of coy provocation and sullen reserve underlined in bold; deep shadows and brilliant highlights. Jamie feels as though he’s spent half the tour unsure of when to slide his sunglasses on or when to reach for the light-switch.

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 13

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn

cw ; none

notes ; april fools prank where i actually post a new chapter!!! (i actually just speedran finishing this one bc i couldn’t sleep. it’s 2:30 am :3)

anyway, more of these pining idiots (france edition)

previous | next | masterlist

“…fontaine?”

at this point, you’ve forgotten why you were even crying. your heart is still hammering in your ears from childe’s words towards you— recalling his exact wording almost makes you want to sob again, but your head is already thrumming with ache too much for that. childe explains further his reasons for wanting to go to fontaine but you can’t bring yourself to focus, still replaying what happened previously in your mind.

“i’ve been having these strange dreams and mood swings… i think they’re related to the abyss.”

now that gets your attention. the mere mention of the abyss seems to create a flash of everything in your mind, from the day he disappeared to the day he came back, to when you saw foul legacy for the first time, to when he told you about the abyss— it hits you so abruptly that you physically flinch.

“w-wait what..? why?” you ask meekly, pit forming in your stomach at what this could possibly entail.

“well… you remember the sword master i told you about, right? the one that taught me all i know— skirk was her name. at one point while i was learning under her, i asked her why she took me in at all.. and her answer was extremely cryptic. she something along the lines of ‘because i awakened it’ and that i was ‘connected’ to it.”

“…’it’?”

“hah, she never told me what it was, that enigmatic lady.” childe tries to laugh it off and lighten the sober mood, but you can still gauge that it’s really a vexing matter to him.

“but i’ve got a hunch— i think it’s a whale.”

the vivid image of his whale attack blinds you momentarily, like you can still feel the chilling breeze of its waving water anatomy as it launched upward and slammed down on the floors of the golden house. no wonder childe used it while in his foul legacy form.

“a whale… is that why it’s one of your moves?”

“perhaps, that was never my intention though. my hunch isn’t due to that attack specifically either— it’s more about what i see in my dreams. within them, i find myself in the deepest depths of the sea, not a trace of anything except seawater, and then… there it is, a colossally big whale.”

“and- and the mood swings, how do you feel?”

“i don’t know— lately there’s just these moments where my mood completely flips around and i just feel… bad, like there’s something pulling at my throat. and then the next second it goes away.”

almost as if childe’s own description affects you, as a pit forms in your stomach and a clawed grip pulls at the back of your throat. besides the glaring bad news of anything abyss related, you have a feeling that… something might genuinely go wrong. like this is a bad idea.

“a-and you’re sure you want to go to fontaine to investigate that?”

“yep, positive.”

all of this feels entirely off and you’re not willing to take any chances anymore. you’re not losing this idiot to the abyss again, even if it means jumping down there to pull him back up yourself.

“then i’ll come with you.”

the way childe’s face entirely lights up at that makes it seem as though it’s all he’s ever wanted to hear in his life. for a moment you even think you spot a reflection of the inazuman street lamps in his irises, making him seem utterly starry-eyed. as he’s about to exclaim something about how glad he is, he pauses pensively for a moment and hesitates.

“wait— we’d have to go through sumeru again… are you sure you’re okay with that?”

you nod with full certainty. “i’ll be okay, because this time i’ll be with you.”

the two of you simultaneously turn away from each other discreetly the rest of the way to the hotel, as both try to suppress the grins that creep onto your faces and the heat that rises to your cheeks.

—

the trip to fontaine is arduous and tiring.

by the time you’re on land again, you and childe bee-line for your new hotel. after a long night’s sleep, you finally get to take in the breathtaking architecture, the unimaginable technological advancements and the extravagant lifestyles of the hydro nation. it’s almost overwhelming how much there is to see. childe, simultaneously, furthers his investigation in how to battle the champion duelists— spars with some of them even. and the more he does, the more you’re confident he’s signing up to get his ass kicked if he’s looking to go for tougher champions.

today, you’re whiskered away and into a fancy café in an impromptu invitation by the knave before you can even think of choosing where to go next. once lead into a private conversation room in the café, you’re met by the sight of the knave herself and… three teenagers? childe doesn’t seem to be as taken aback by their presence as you are, perhaps he’s known of them prior to the meeting— either way he doesn’t even spare the three a glance, being far too busy trying to contain the tension in his posture upon seeing arlecchino.

you don’t blame him for that either, as the fourth harbinger is someone you’ve only heard poorly of. she was never much present in zapolyarny palace, in fact you can only recall hearing of her staying in snezhnaya at all for the fair lady’s funeral. other than that, it’s only snarls and shuddered comments from childe saying that he does not like her entirely.

alas, all conflict represents a failure in diplomacy. and she doesn’t seem like someone fun to fight.

“childe… and— sargeant y/n, is it? be very welcome to fontaine, i’m glad to see you’ve accepted my invitation for this chat. be assured this meeting is solely meant for cordial conversation, so, please, relax.”

the knave gestures for you both to sit on the loveseat facing hers— assorted sweets, steaming tea atop a table between them and a collected smile on her face. her eyes seem to hold more than just… cordiality in them, in fact her gaze has a predatory hint to it. you feel so utterly scrutinized under her stare that you almost forget the three teenagers still standing at a corner of the room.

“as you might’ve noticed, i’ve brought three of my children from the house of the hearth— lyney, lynette and freminet. i’ve brought them here in the spirit of… first contact, they’ve never met one of my fellow harbingers before.”

oh that’s right, the house of the hearth. for a moment you feel bad for those three kids, having to stand nearly unregarded at the corner like actual children at an awkward family gathering, merely because the orphanage that took them in happened to be associated with the fatui. you wonder if they’re well treated in the house— rather you hope they are, being under the wing of someone you’ve only heard be described as psychopathic.

arlecchino and childe engage in small talk, she asks about his recent comings and goings, family, work and such while he responds with cautious answers. you can tell childe is as on guard as he can be, before someone who is unpredictable even to him. meanwhile you only stare boredly into your teacup, tracing its intricate painted patterns with your fingers.

your eyes trail over to the three kids almost involuntarily and you see that they haven’t moved an inch since you’ve arrived, merely watching carefully with unreadable expressions. well, at least the tallest one of them does, you think you’ve seen his face in flamboyantly decorated posters around the city, perhaps for a spectacle in true fontainian fashion. same goes for the girl, who seems to be a cat hybrid, bears an even more unamused expression than yourself and she seems to be much more entertained in watching her own tail sway back and forth lazily. finally, the other boy is crouched down over a rounded device as he tinkers with it with a screwdriver in his hand, you can’t discern exactly what it is though.

finally, you notice that besides what you, childe and arlecchino have nibbled on, the rest of the food on the coffee table remains untouched. you don’t know what it is, but a small voice in your head tells you to walk over to them.

a few silent steps, unacknowledged by the two still chatting, and you’re standing in front of the three teens. their shoulders immediately tense at your looming stature and it’s then that you’re reminded that you’re fatui— much more fatui than any of these orphans will ever be.

“hey, uh, aren’t you guys hungry?” you whisper awkwardly.

the taller boy seems to be taken aback by the question and his previously guarded expression melts into relieved amusement.

“ah— don’t worry about us, sargeant, we’ve eaten.” he chuckles politely.

you nod, feeling a tinge of embarrassment creep at your fingertips at how simple and foolish your question seemed. your eyes scatter as you search for something else to bring up in conversation.

“o-oh um… this may seem silly to ask but— are you two part of any show? i think i’ve seen these posters on the streets with two people a lot like you.”

“why yes, i am known as the great magician lyney and my sister lynette is my assistant.” lyney presents proudly, giving you a humorous bow— a complete 180 of his demeanor before, while lynette remains stoic and merely nods to you.

you’re intrigued by the reveal. you’ve seen street ‘magicians’ both in snezhnaya and liyue, mere entertainers fooling the naked eye for petty change, but to be titled a great magician in a nation as grandiose as fontaine, it must say something about lyney.

“magician, huh? i’ll be sure to catch one of your shows sometime.” you grin.

the other boy, who through your supernatural investigative skills you determine is named freminet, remains unbothered and undistracted from his activity. you quietly crouch down to his level and watch with intrigue as he works on his device, either unaware of your presence or uncaring of it.

“hi,” you whisper in a gentle tone, grabbing the boy’s attention as he raises his head to show so, even if he doesn’t fully face you. “freminet, right? can i ask what is it that you’re working on?”

“a-ah uhm… i-it’s nothing too intricate, just fixing up my diving helmet.” freminet fidgets with the edge of his helmet— still not once making eye contact with you, rather his eyes scatter back and forth toward the ground, much in the same way you were before.

“woah, a diving helmet? i would’ve never been able to guess that’s what it was. it’s so cool looking… can you see well in it?” you gasp with wonder.

as soon as you ask, it’s once again as if the teen’s entire mood shifts, his posture becomes more relaxed and his eye light up as they finally meet your own. freminet visibly attempts to hold himself back from getting too excited.

“yes! i-i can’t see very well with the visor but… it’s the best i can get for a helmet meant to sustain such high levels of water pressure!”

“oh sweet— i’ve heard that fontaine’s waters have so much to explore… how deep can you go with it?”

“i’d say about thirty five meters. the maximum safe depth for humans is sixty, though.”

“that’s already so far! what do you usually encou-“

“y/n? we should get going.”

childe calls out faintly as he stands by the door, fond smile on his face. you say goodbye to the three, who return it parting smiles, even lynette flashes you the most microscopic grin though you didn’t directly speak to her. scurrying to formally say goodbye to arlecchino, you join childe outside the café. in such a hurry, you don’t even catch the intrigued stare of the knave towards you.

as the two of you return to touring the streets of the city, you notice childe chuckle and grin to himself as he looks away aimlessly, any of his attempts to hide it fail completely.

“what’s gotten you so giggly?” you ask amusedly.

childe has always reddened easily, perhaps it’s a trait of his redheadedness or a trait of his shy nature as a kid— just like then, his ears immediately give away his embarrassment and he can’t hope to evade explanation.

“ah well, it’s just…” he trails off, hand coming up to scratch his nape sheepishly. “i find rather amusing how good you are with kids.”

the answer surprises you and your step halts momentarily.

“w-what do you mean?”

“oh c’mon, y/n… look at how you were talking to those kids. they were so hostile and serious before and then when i looked again, there you were chatting with them and making them feel comfortable. i was surprised anyone could even be that comfortable in a room with that lunatic…” childe grimaces briefly.

“and it’s not the first time this happens. my siblings all adore you, especially teucer and tonia. she always asks about you in our letters.”

as if karmic, heat rises to your own cheeks— you’d say it’s due to the vulnerability that childe brings out with his words, but the back of your head focuses the mere fact that childe paid attention to that at all to the point where he’d smile at the thought and summons pesky butterflies to your stomach.

you’ve found that lately, most times you think about childe those butterflies are there again. you’re not an idiot, you’ve read fairy tale books, but now was the least appropriate time to indulge any further— your best friend has heard callings from the abyss again and it’s affected his well-being, get your head in the fucking game, y/n.

“s-sure but you know that’s not always been the case! don’t you remember when tonia was born? she always cried whenever i was around…” you retaliate in an attempt to dismiss your embarrassment.

childe opens his mouth to reply but his attention is caught by something else. following his gaze you spot a gathering of people and it seems to be rather more confrontational than merely social. looking further, you recognize one of the men as a representative of conferie of cabriere, a shady organization with even unclearer relations to the northland bank branch of fontaine city. while you haven’t bothered to visit the branch, childe has passingly spoken of his findings there about said organization.

you also spot an all too familiar head of blonde hair— the traveler and paimon. before you can ask anything, childe steps briskly ahead, though he does not disturb the conversation just yet and watches from the sideline.

“…that you won’t go running off by the end of this month? i want fifty percent. today. no— seventy percent.” you hear part of what the man says.

“huh?! you…” the woman in front of him exclaims incredulously.

“hey, hold on! before you go trying to collect payments, why don’t you settle your own debts first?” intervenes childe in a taunting tone.

“if confrerie of cabriere wants to poach clients from northland bank, that’s fine, but i’m afraid you still owe the bank a hefty sum of mora. so why don’t we work things out between us first before you get back to your little conversation here?”

the man visibly cowers slightly, chuckling nervously.

“ah, you’re from northland bank? but we said we’ll pay you everything we owe next month. why are you hounding me now?”

in the midst of that, paimon waves from where she and the traveler stand and it catches childe’s attention. he immediately saunters over to them with delighted surprise in his face, as if completely brushing his prior interaction off, and you take that as your que to join him.

“oh, traveler! paimon! didn’t think i’d run into you here in fontaine. what are the chances?”

“we’re surprised to see you too! what are you doing here in fontaine? didn’t want to stay in snezhnaya?”

this time you answer. “ah, we were actually in inazuma before this for a little… leisurely trip.”

at that, the traveler eyes you suspiciously and it’s very clear that both of you catch onto her meaning, as childe chuckles nervously and you fidget with your fingertips. as discreetly as you can, you shake your head at the traveler, who drops her glare with slight disappointment.

“haha! yeah, long story short, we’ve been in fontaine for some time now. and honestly— things here have been pretty mundane. but it seems that fate has brought our paths together today!”

childe throws you a delighted look as his chest puffs up proudly. his demeanor has completely changed from its mellower nature from before, like spotting a conflict to participate in has lightened his mood exponentially— painfully in-character for him. he shows to be as excited as a little kid on their birthday, in such a manner that it almost takes away the weight of the fact that he’s excited to beat the shit out of someone. you won’t anote that verbally though, you know very well he’s been craving a fight ever since you landed in fontainian grounds.

“not only will i have more good friends here now, but ones who always seem to find trouble. either way you look at it, it seems things are going to get a lot more interesting now.”

dear tsaritsa, you know him so well.

paimon chuckles nervously. “pretty sure we’d want to avoid anything you’d find interesting… besides, our trip here has gone pretty well so far, right traveler?”

the traveler shrugs. “i don’t mind a little excitement every once in a while.”

you almost reprimand her for encouraging childe’s tendencies, but instead the sound of someone clearing their throat is heard behind you.

“ahem, uh… hey you, northland bank boy. aren’t ya forgettin’ somethin’?”

“don’t interrupt— it’s not often we’re all reunited like this. why don’t you wait for me over there for a while?”

“hah, you kiddin’?! aren’t ya the one lookin’ for us? you really expect us to sit and twiddle our thumbs while you catch up with your friends?! listen to me, boy. if you want your mora, fine— why don’t you come and take it?”

oh well. rest in peace whoever this asshole was.

“hey! i said not to interrupt. oh! by the way, traveler, y/n i forgot to tell you this one too… the last time i took tonia and teucer ice fishing, teucer said—“

“HEY! that’s way over the line! alright boys, let’s see who has to pay up now!”

“ugh, can you at least let me finish one sentence? fine, though the bank told me not to get rough with our clients…”

you’re not exactly worried about the outcome of this fight, so you just continue the topic childe was interrupted from.

“you still take them ice fishing?” you ask him fondly, warm smile on your face.

childe is rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms as prep, but he still turns his head to throw you a playful wink. “‘course i do. i’ll tell you all about it after i take care of these guys.”

“alright, want me to hold your earring?” you ask teasingly.

“hah hah..” childe feigns a laugh, rather very obviously fake than convincing.

you may fake it all you want in front of other people, but there was no point in lying to yourself and saying you didn’t feel your heart stutter at that wink, it makes you like a silly teenager. the traveler and paimon almost instinctively expect you to try and hold childe back from getting himself into trouble— but when you don’t move an inch to stop him, perhaps too distracted thinking about how heavily your heart strums against your chest, they both give you a judgemental glare.

“what happened to your common sense?” paimon deadpans and you can’t bring yourself to respond.

as expected, childe single-handedly takes down the confrerie’s gaggle of goons without even breaking a sweat. soon enough, only the leader remains standing, already panting heavily and stumbling on his steps.

“what’s your deal brat..? how are you so strong if you’re just a staffer from snezhnaya’s northland bank?! …wait, don’t tell me you’re a—“

“ohoh, now you notice— s’ a little late, don’t you think? just make sure you understand that you don’t mess with northland bank, got it?”

to finish off, childe summons his dual elemental blades… or rather he tries to.

the water swirls into the silhouette of the blades, but when it means to solidify in shape— the water vanishes. you frown in bewilderment almost immediately, did he just change his mind? no, you look towards childe’s expression and see that he’s just as taken aback as you, looking down to the hydro vision at his waist that sits inactive. his opponent takes the distraction as an opportunity to strike, but much to his dismay it takes childe only a punch to knock him out instead.

seeing that all of the men have been taken down definitively, you rush over to childe’s side— you instinctively give him a once over to check for injuries or anything off. the traveler and paimon join you soon after.

“huh, that was weird…” he mutters.

“yeah… safe to say that wasn’t intentional. you okay?”

“what happened?” adds the traveler.

“i’m not… sure. it’s as if i lost control of my hydro powers when i needed them. maybe there’s something wrong with my vision?”

“strange. how could that happen? first time paimon’s ever heard of someone losing control of their vision.”

childe shakes his head dismissively and sighs. “nevermind, it doesn’t matter. if i wanna stay sharp, i shouldn’t be relying too much on my vision anyway. besides, i always have my delusion in case i need it.”

you throw him a glare. “hey, we know better than anyone that a delusion isn’t the remedy for a vision.”

“so what’re you guys actually doing in fontaine? and don’t say it’s work for northland bank…” paimon asks, in hope of changing the subject.

“well… i guess it’s because i’ve been having these bad moods lately.”

“huh? what kinda reason is that? wait, since when do you feel down about anything?”

“haha… i dunno, maybe i still have a lot to learn about myself. but recently, there seems to be some sort of restless power stirring inside of me— and i don’t know why but every now and then, i feel like i’m a in terrible mood.”

at a realization, that familiar anxious feeling returns to your chest, claws at it. it was only just recently that you felt free from it, yet your mind replays the moment where childe’s vision failed him against your will and causes that old weight on shoulders to return.

“what if… that’s why your vision did that? because of ‘it’?” you suggest meekly and childe nods thoughtfully in consideration of the possibility.

“‘it?’” paimon questions.

childe explains his story with the abyss and his swordmaster, almost verbatim to the way he told you. perhaps partially due to deja vu, you can’t bring yourself to listen intently— your mind is far too addled with fleeting and overwhelming whispers of what could happen to childe after this new development. you instinctively start to fidget with your fingers anxiously, as your eyes stare off into nothing while you’re deep in thought. your time for relaxation was dismantled so fast… like the worried thoughts were stalking you from a distance like patient predators— waiting to pounce and overtake all of your neural functions.

there’s a light tap on your shoulder.

coming to, you realize that the traveler and paimon are no longer standing in front of you and your eyes scatter to find them already taking off into the streets, waving goodbye absentmindedly. secondly, you turn to see childe looking down at you with a somber air in his eyes.

“y/n? seems like you spaced out a bit there… you alright?”

you scoff, though the scoff feels more demeaning at yourself than childe. “your powers are malfunctioning and you’re worried about me?”

he laughs. “yeah well… guess i picked that up from someone. listen— it’s fine, maybe it was just a random hiccup, we don’t know anything yet. i was going to tell you that i’ve got to go keep my appointment with the champion duelist but… speaking of my vision, here.”

a palm opens up in front of you, sapphire-esk gem neatly sitting on it.

“…you’re giving me your vision? why?” you frown.

“heh, i know i just said it could’ve been a hiccup but… it’s still not reliable, i’d hate for it to get in the way of my duel.”

as if childe senses your wholehearted reluctancy, he holds up both of your hands, puts his vision in them and closes them beneath his own.

“besides, there’s nobody in this world i’d trust more to keep it safe for me.”

he holds both of your hands there for a moment, a moment in which you realize how warm his hands are and how cold yours are. it’d be easy to say it’s due to his gloves— but he’s always been like this. you still recall how ajax would complain about your ‘subzero temperature hands’ whenever you tried to tickle him. and the irony is even funnier, for you to have received a vision that summons powers of ice and for childe to have received a vision with control over the waters… essentially the warmer version of your powers. perhaps it’s a coincidence, or perhaps a silly little play put on by the gods.

with all the time you’ve had to ponder over all of this, you realize that the two of you are still holding hands— not a falter or pull from either of you. as you’d been looking down aimlessly once again, when you look up to face childe, your gaze is already met by his. like he’d been looking at you the entire time.

at that, your arms start to tremble, seemingly causing childe to realize the reality of the situation himself. he brings a gloved hand up to cover his cheeks, pretending as if he’s scratching something on his face.

finally, he mumbles something about wishing him luck in his duel and takes off briskly.

his vision feels heavier in your hands now that his aren’t there to hold it with you.

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

[theconfusedacorn]

Alright, FINE

I've made a tf2 OC (who is 100% a shameless self insert. Shut up).

This is Engi(neer) 2 (or, as Scout calls her: Hobo), the resident Canadian. She's around 22, SLIGHTLY taller than Scout, and doesn't like talking about her past.

She is SUPPOSEDLY Engineer's neice, though according to Medic, they share NO blood relation.

After being kicked out of university because she was quote: "failing miserably." (at least thats what she says is the reason), she was recruited at request of Engineer.

She's a filthy mongrel of a woman, often getting so lost in her work that she forgets to shower or eat for weeks, not uncommonly working until she starves herself and wakes up at respawn. Medic has absolutely HOUNDED her for abusing the respawn system, and more importantly, HER BODY in such a way. She doesn't see the issue, but he has INSISTED on setting curfews and meal times for her, which Engineer (and the rest of the mercs) are quite strict on enforcing. She's pissy about it, but doesn't have much of a choice.

Ms. Pauling was a little pensive about a new merc being added to the team, but her tune changed once she met her. Ms. Pauling hangs around Engi 2 whenever she can, much to Scout's annoyance. Engi 2 is DECIDEDLY not straight, but she is UTTERLY OBLIVIOUS, and doesn't read Pauling's subtle flirting as as flirting.

Fun fact:

Despite not being trans, she did have Medic preform what was effectively top surgery the moment she was recruited. Truthfully, she was just tired of the back pain and wearing bras, so Medic was more than happy to chop em' right off at her request. She was OVERJOYED.

Much like her "uncle," she has an affinity for severing limbs and replacing them with robotic ones, except she does this whilst out on the battlefield.

Doing this will ALWAYS cause her to bleed out within a couple of minutes, a little longer if she can get Medic to tag team with her, but can give her a RANGE of boosted abilities from strength, speed, defense, more gun power, and just about everything else.

Note:

These alterations aren't permanent, as after death, respawning replaces the severed limbs, leaving little more than the occasional scar. Truly a WONDER of modern science!

Relationships:

Engineer: Practically family. Father/daughter vibes. They play music together sometimes (her on violin, him on guitar). Love building stuff together.

Medic: Close friends. Medic is constantly trying to fix her jacked health and force her to take care of herself. The results have been mixed.

Heavy: Friends. They make sandwiches together sometimes; it's one of the only things Engi 2 eats, and doing it with someone else makes it easier for her to remember.

Demoman: Friends. They drink together sometimes and love discussing ways to improve Demo's explosives. They also have deeper conversations, but they usually don't remember those.

Pyro: Friends (?). Pyro is odd, but in a good way? They like fire, and so does she, so she supposes they have that in common.

Sniper: Friendly. She thinks he's cool. They have a mutual distaste for social situations. Don't talk much aside from the occasional "good job out there".

Soldier: Neutral. She doesn't really interact with him and, frankly, avoids him so that she doesn't get dragged into one of his workout regiments.

Spy: Dislike. She respects his abilities, but it pisses her off that he is continually digging through her past. She's not the sharing type and has, more than once, punched him for bringing up things she never told him. She never wins these fights, but that doesn't stop her from trying.

Scout: Dislike (?). She doesn't really have an issue with HIM, but he DEFINITELY has an issue with HER. She's not sure why, maybe because she somewhat rudely turned him down early on (she had thought he was joking), or maybe something else, but most of their interactions are untamed yelling. She honestly thinks it fun, up until a point at least. Scout can get pretty mean.

ALRIGHT, THERE

That's everything about Engi 2 for now, but there will PROBABLY be more

Anywho, thanks for sticking with me! :D

[the-mountain-flower]

The Exiled and The Outcast

Chapter Eleven: And The Dinner Here Is Never Second Best~

Falst placed another book in the “X” pile, having finished skimming through it. He picked up the next one, and only took a glance at the cover before immediately placing it on top of the previous one.

“That was quick.” Dainix joked amicably, one of Falst’s books open in front of him.

“I’m a fast reader.” Falst quipped back, a smile on his face. “That one’s a Life spellcarving textbook, it doesn’t have anything fire-related unless you count burn treatment.”

Dainix glanced at the other books on the desk. “You’re really into spellcarving, aren’t you?”

“Eh, not that much,” Falst looked away, the smile falling. “I just… had reason to learn some, that’s all.”

Seeming to take the hint,  Dainix turned back back to his own reading.

Falst picked up the last book in the pile and started skimming through it.

It wasn’t until several minutes later, that the awkward silence was broken.

Falst looked over in confusion, and maybe a bit of concern. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dainix responded, collecting himself. “Just a… mistranslation, I think. Ainoru did not get nasty with the Jandarra the Clever. He killed them.”

“Oh! Oh, that makes so much more sense.”

“Right?! Jandarra’s other stories make it clear they weren't interested in that kind of thing. I don’t think there’s anywhere in the Rauan Desert where they tell this version.” He gestured to the book in his hands.

“How did that even happen?”

“I have no idea, but I get the feeling this isn’t written directly from the source.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah.” Dainix sighed, and shook his head. “I kind of expected something like this, but still.”

“You expected to read that a legendary hero fucked an assassin?”

That got a chuckle out of Dainix. “Not specifically. I just meant that I didn’t expect much of  whatever I find that I know about to be… well, we’re a bit more isolated from everywhere else than we are with each other, mostly thanks to environmental differences. I’m not surprised that what this place does have isn’t that accurate.”

“But, you’re still searching.”

“It’s the only thing I can do, unless I give up. And, I like to think there’s at least a chance of me figuring out, of returning home someday.”

Was he saying that part to Falst, or to himself?

Falst picked up the books from his secret spot to go put them back, mildly disappointed that none of them had given Dainix anything to work with. But he supposed that was the risk of looking so far abroad for something so obscure.

Falst picked up another book on his way back to the desk, but when he came back Dainix wasn’t there, presumably off looking for something else that might tell him something useful.

Falst plopped himself down on the chair he’d claimed, but didn’t open his own book just quite yet. His pensive gaze landed on the candle he’d been using last night. The wick was black and curled, the flame long extinguished. A few drops of wax had cooled down before reaching the bottom, frozen in time halfway down. It had no reason to still be there, but it was, because it just hadn’t been removed.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know why I’m here, either.”

“Are you talking to the candle?”

Falst grimaced. How much of that had Dainix heard?

“Of course not.” Falst responded with faux nonchalance. “Candles burn down. I was talking to the metal thingy that’s holding it.”

“Ah, my mistake.” Dainix’s smile had no business being warmer than any flame that candle could’ve made. “Is it a good conversationalist?”

Falst laughed. “Totally. Just make sure the clock over there doesn’t think you’re talking to it. It’s very self-absorbed.”

Falst’s heard gave an unexpected flutter when he made Dainix laugh again.

This was probably the first time Falst didn’t bother to hide while waiting for Dainix to prepare the meal. There was just no reason for it at this point.

Before trying Dainix’s food, Falst would definitely have been suspicious of the idea of spicy stuff with fruit of all things. He still wasn’t quite sure how Dainix made it work without diminishing the sweetness, but he sure wasn’t going to complain. For being unfamiliar with most of the ingredients, Dainix was very adept at creating something incredible from his supply, and Falst had to wonder what he was capable of in an actual kitchen. It was mesmerizing, how he kept his gaze so steadily on the food he was working with, keeping his hands busy; but his shoulders looked so relaxed, and there wasn’t a moment where his expression wasn’t graced with a gentle smile.

Falst was so lost in watching Dainix’s cooking, that he almost didn’t notice him putting more of the fruit in half of the food- the doclionana he’d called it- than in the other. He didn’t miss that when Dainix handed half of the dinner to Falst, it was the ones with more fruit.

“Here you go. Careful, it’s still hot.”

Falst almost laughed at the warning, coming from someone who was just holding the food he was cooking directly over the fire with his bare hands.

The doclionana was delicious, and once again Dainix had managed to make it so that it was simultaneously spicy and sweet in a way that didn’t cancel each other out or clash. How much different was it from what Dainix made for himself?

Was it possible for Dainix to have noticed Falst’s preference for sweetness?

He couldn’t have. There was no way he was paying that much attention to him. For as much as Falst paid attention to Dainix, he thought there was no reason for it to go the other way around.

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

Plot twist: Dainix's cooking is so good that the furniture comes to life and starts singing about it ;P

I was completely overthinking the food part way more than I had to. just to end up using a made-up word that means nothing irl and hand-waving it as "it's fiction" for the sake of saving me from myself lol (this chapter was already difficult for me)

Remember to drink water, eat food, take your meds (if applicable), and get enough sleep. Love you all, and have a great [insert time here]! <3

[hxhhasmysoul]

Just found this in twitter, so cool :

"Sukuna about Yuji: “Our souls lived in the same body. I know that this kid, no matter how many times his soul brakes, he'll always come back. He wields an invincible soul” #JJKSpoilers #JJK248"

Thoughts (as SukuIta shipper & non shipper glasses)?

I don't know if my shipper opinion differs much from the non shipper one.

I've been talking about how unique Yuuji's soul is for a long time now. And the story has always acknowledged it. The concept of the soul, what it is, what it can do, how it relates to jujutsu, is one of the recurring issues heavily discussed in universe. All major antagonists mention it. Those who understand the shape of their soul like Mahito or Sukuna are extremely powerful. Sukuna's soul is stronger than Mahito's so he isn't affected by Mahito's touch, he tells Mahito off for trying to touch is soul and easily hurts Mahito when the curse displeases him.

However Sukuna is stuck in Yuuji. In normal circumstances he can't take over, and if Yuuji stayed protected, unharmed and ignorant to the horrors of the world, aka if his soul didn't get damaged physically or emotionally, and he would've been fed the fingers gradually, he would've been able to keep Sukuna as a prisoner for ever.

In the fanbook, Gege said, that if Yuuji consumed a weaker cursed object than Sukuna's fingers, he'd've likely completely absorbed it. This both shows how potent his soul is and how strong is Sukuna's that he survives a prison like that intact. It's curious whether Yuuji would've started to absorb him too in this scenario where he would've lived a relatively peaceful life just consuming the fingers from time to time.

And what Sukuna says here hints that maybe he would've succumbed. Yuuji's soul is extremely strong. Now, on the outside, Sukuna can try and destroy Yuuji. But if he were still stuck inside? Stuck indefinitely with no prospect of getting out?

Yuuji impresses Sukuna, probably has for a while now but Sukuna did everything not to admit that. But the frustration that is Yuuji to him has bean peeking through. The insults, the condescension, the very poorly performed fake indifference? Being stuck in Yuuji he learned of power, of strength that he likely hadn't considered before. Hadn't truly encountered or seen up close. And he'd been testing the boundaries of Yuuji's strength from the beginning by constantly bullying him. Unsuccessfully.

When Sukuna ponders Higuruma's death and as a result his thoughts stray to Yuuji, it's no accident that he is reminded of Jougo.

It's when we see Sukuna be affected by someone with goals, with ideals. He's been long enough in Yuuji to start to see them as valuable even though he doesn't understand that yet, he doesn't get why he talked with Jougo during the curse's death.

He even genuinely asks Yuuji about this. In his fights he's Usually toothy grins and condescending smirks, in this fight he's also mostly that. But here he stops and asks. He looks pensive, curious.

In chapter 248, in his ruminations on Yuuji, he finally puts it together. And takes it personally, he actually starts caring about something even if that something is killing Yuuji. Yuuji interests him on a personal level, and no one else has.

This next part is very subjective, because it's honestly about how you personally read the panels, and they are small and not very detailed. And the way I see them may be coloured by my shipper bias.

But I think he's shown fondness of Yuuji in their fight after he took over Megumi's body.

To me his face here shows that he's satisfied with Yuuji's answer to his question. Because of how his brows and eyes are drawn, his face feels soft, like this is a smile, not a smirk.

Again the line of his brows is soft. He says it's hilarious but here he doesn't look amused to me, more pleased. So this line and the next one feel like excuses. Like he doesn't want Yuuji to die because he hasn't figured Yuuji out yet, and Sukuna is a huge nerd, he likes to know.