#i would never be able to keep my cover story straight

[thedeafprophet]

I relate to the Kolomon Republic because if I was a spy i would be just as bad at it

[just-a-jock]

Happy late Halloween. I hope you guys enjoy this Halloween special. Aaron miller is my favorite fitness influencer and always want to use him in story’s but always want to save him for something good. I ended up saying fuck it and writing the below. Let me know if you like it!

ROOMMATE CLONESTUME (Halloween Special)

You would think having a fitness influencer as a college roommate would be like winning the lottery. Being able to see pieces of eye candy almost every day, almost practically shirtless all the time, but it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. You see Aaron Miller was your typical douchebag straight jock bro behind the camera. Always calling me fag but always saying he’s just joking and I need to toughen up. Of course, you would never catch him like that on camera, always playing like the fun-loving jock goofball. Thankfully he’s leaving tonight to go to some stupid Halloween party at the frat house.

“Yo fag! How do I look” I hear his voice call from the living room

“Fucking hot right! All the chicks are gonna be all over me begging from some of this Miller cock” he said while smirking and flexing in front of the full-length mirror in the living room

“Yeah I’m sure they will Aaron” I reply while rolling my eyes and begging he would leave soon.

“You know some other frat across campus invited me to their Halloween but I already promised my bro I’m going to Alpha Omegas party. Feel free to accept my invite”

"I think I'm good, I got to finish my term paper but I guess thanks" I replied thinking it weird why he would think I would somehow fit in at a frat party

“Well, bro the invite is in my room and feel free to use last year's costume.. might be a bit big haha. Anyway gotta go before the good Pus gets taken” Aaron said taking one last pic for his IG story and heading out

“Thank god, I can finally work on my paper,” I said heading to my room. I walk by Aaron’s room and notice his door ever so slightly open. I ended up looking in and seeing a paper which I assumed was the invite lying on his messy bed next to what seemed to be the black Spiderman suit he wore last year for Halloween.

“Wow, did he really think I was gonna put that on” I say as I continue to walk further into the room the scent of stale gym clothes and musky axe cologne lingered in the air.

As I get closer to the bed I keep looking back and forth from the costume and the letter. I don’t know why but I ended up grabbing the costume something about it was calling me. The silky satin feeling of the spandex with the scent of stain sweat and beer, most likely from last year's party. “Maybe I should try it on” I whisper under my breath.

I start to undress myself in Aaron’s room until I’m standing in just my briefs. I look around feeling kinda risqué in his room half naked, but something felt right about putting this one. I slowly start to unzip the costume looking into the dark interior. As I started to put on the costume I could immediately tell it was quite a few sizes too big and especially since Aaron had worn it previously certain areas were stretched out more than usual. I slowly start to pull the costume up my body as I get halfway to putting it on something feels wrong

“No no why am I doing this I need to work on my paper” I say snapping out of the hazy confusion but as soon as I try to take off the suit I knew something was wrong

“What the fuck” The rest of the suit starts to climb up my slim body and sticking to any skin it touches. I tried to remove it, but the suit just snapped back almost like a second skin. “STOP” I scream as it continues to travel upwards my body covering all the way up until it reaches my neck. I soon hear the noise of a zipper closing and a cold feeling riding up my back. I immediately reached backwards trying to catch the self-moving zipper before it closed all the way, but I was too late as soon as I grabbed the zipper head I felt it disappear from my hand as the suit started to close up leaving no seam behind.

“What the fuck is this, how does this happen” I continue trying to take off the suit but it just gets tighter and tighter until a moment where I lose control. “What..” my body starts to move slowly by itself it feels like I lost control of anything the suit has encompassed. I start to move towards Aaron’s nightstand, grab the remote to his TV and turn it on. I was immediately blasted with the audio and imagined Aaron almost like he was starting off one of his annoying Instagram videos.

“What is going on PEEEOPLES! Or should I say fag” he said chuckling to himself at the uncreative nickname he has bestowed upon me.

“WHAT THE FUCK AARON WHAT IS THIS” I scream at the tv as my body stands still disobeying my mind.

“ you’re probably going “what the fuck Aaron?” or some shit like that but no bother bro, this is all recorded. No one to help you now haha. You see I was tired of having some fuck ass roommate that I couldn’t share anything with so I looked online and found this powder with some special powers. I sprinkled it on my old costume and all I had to do was wait for the next person to wear it. I knew you would be tempted. I mean who couldn’t” he says as he flexes his bicep.

“So anyways, I got invited to this banger party and said yes but some other frat also invited me to theirs and like fuck I couldn’t be in two places at once. So I thought and figure maybe you’ll like to go but couldn’t have some loser gay fag representing me so I decided you needed a small makeover. That special powder is gonna make you into me and you won’t even remember ever being your faggy little self. So hope you enjoy the party bro and remember the party is not complete till a girl gets bred.” And with that the TV shut off but before I could react something went over my head shutting my eyes

“Fuck fuck get this off of me” I say noticing that it was a mask probably to complete the stupid Spider-Man costume.

Soon the changes started to happen I felt the suit tighten but at the same time expand. It first started with my feet growing to a large size 14. The changes travelled upwards as my calfs and thighs started to expand giving me tree trunks for legs. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fit in any of my pants anymore. Soon I felt a pain in my stomach like I was kicked by a boxer

“UGH FUCK” I say as I fall on my knees. While I couldn’t see anything under the suit I knew abs started to form one by one leaving an impressive six-pack behind. As I looked down I started to see my chest push out. Creating a shelf right under my head. Two massive pecs now jutted out of my body and now I had to make an effort if I wanted to see any part of my body below my pecs.

The change travelled outwards as the suit forced me to do a double bicep pose typical of what I see Aaron do when he’s back from the gym. Soon my biceps and triceps started to expand like crazy. My muscles became sore as they grew to match his arms exactly.

Lastly, the feeling travelled up to my face and I felt the muscles crack inside my skull and the fat draining from my cheeks. I was screaming in agony until the pain suddenly left.

My body Finally fell down to the ground like a puppet dropped by its owner. I slowly get up and start to remove the mask and notice the zipper has reappeared. I zip the costume just until it hits my waist. My body was sweating from the changes and I needed to know what happened.

I knew Aaron had a mirror in his closet and ran to the door to open it. Nothing could have prepared me for what I was seeing…

An exact copy of him was standing right in the mirror.

“No no, this can’t be… I can’t be him” I say panicking not recognizing my own body in front of me. I tried to figure out what I could do to change back and started to run to my room, but as soon as I reached the door to exit, I came to a sudden halt.

I looked down which was difficult trying to see over these massive pecs and realised I still had the costume on. My eyes widened as my legs started to walk me back to his desk and force me to sit down. I tried to fight back but to no use. I was losing control… soon my arm started to move toward the computer and turning it on

“No wait, stop please” I scream at my unresponsive body but it continued to move on its own.

As the computer turns on a pre-loaded video comes along with it...

YOU ARE AARON MILLER

“NO NO STOP” I scream realizing it was hypnosis

Clips of Aaron flexing and pictures of his body invade the screen between phrases.

YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AARON

FLEX

JOCK

MUSCLE

My eyes started to become glued to the screen against my will. I tried to resist but I couldn’t. Soon I noticed my arms moving again. They move downwards and started to push the costume lower until *pop* my cock bounces out.

“No… please let me go,” I say as the arm reaches for my dick and starts to jack it off slowly at first.

JOCK

BRO

Soon the images changed. More of Aaron joking around with his friends, drinking, partying and working out. Videos of him fucking and breeding girls always started to appear. I knew some of them from school

BRO

DUDE

BREED

Soon the jacking off started to pick up speed as more and more of the hypnosis and reprogramming started to settle in. My brain was trying to fight a losing battle. I was able to gain a small amount of control to see my cock as I noticed it starting to expand. Slowly it lengthened from its original 5 inches hard …. 6…7….8 until I reached a mighty 9 inches. My hand started to lose grip as the girth also started to grow almost not allowing me to fully encompass the cock with one hand. Next, I felt my balls change they started to lower until they fell into a pouch inside the costume that no doubt used to be where the original Aaron had his. They grew larger as my moans started to overshadow the video. I felt a kick in the balls as I knew my old cum was being eaten by the new alpha cum Aaron produces

“Pls… uhhh… stop this” I say with the last residuals of will I had as my arm continued jacking my new cock until it reached near orgasm

“No….”

BREED

“Pls…”

JOCK

“I don’t”

YOU ARE

“Want thi….”

AARON MILLER

“FUUUUUUUCK”

I cum all over my body and my room as I snap out of the horny daze

“Fuck that was good. Now gotta get to that fucking party before someone takes all the good puss”

I get up from the desk and shuffle over to my closet to grab a used cum towel and wipe myself off.

I grab the costume from my waist and pull it all the way up zipping the costume as well. I smirk in the mirror knowing all the chicks are gonna want some of this Miller cock.

The original Aaron’s plan worked perfectly. He now had a complete copy of himself running around breeding and partying. He finally had someone he could share everything with, himself! Of course, people asked questions but he just said it was his twin brother.

[hederasgarden]

Okay you’ve mentioned several times about Scott’s breeding kink, so I just need to know how he’d react when he finally knocks his girl up. Or how he’d be with a pregnant reader, especially if they’re with Storm Par or Tyler’s crew and is out chasing storms all day

On Tuesdays my movie theatre does $6 movie tickets and with reading all your Scott and Tyler stories I’m thinking I need to go see Twisters again!

I love this ask so much!

This might surprise people who think I'm going to say he’ll become all mushy and sweet, but I think he’ll turn into an even bigger asshole. His worst qualities will come out during this time because there are so many variables he can’t control and deep down he's worried about you and the baby but probably not able to articulate it. This will manifest as him trying to exert even more control over the situation to manage his anxiety. Expect him to argue about you being out in the field with Storm Par, especially if it’s storm season. He'll have 100 different reasons why it's unsafe and won't relax until you're sitting safely in your office.

You’ve been with Scott long enough to understand how he operates, and you know his actions are driven by his desire to keep you and the baby safe and healthy. That doesn't make him less annoying though because as soon as he finds out you're pregnant, he’ll be reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting and diving deep into the latest research. Once he’s armed with all the facts, he’ll obsessively monitor what you’re eating and doing, quoting the book chapter and verse.

Those prenatal vitamins you picked up at CVS? He’ll throw them straight in the trash and tell you to take this fancy brand you’ve never heard of, claiming it’s verified by an independent lab and superior to your drugstore brand.

That cute little mobile you want to hang over the crib? Absolutely not — it’s a strangulation hazard. The old bassinet your aunt wants to give you? That’s going in the trash too because, from an engineering standpoint, it looks structurally unsound and is probably covered in lead paint.

He’ll be annoyingly confident about everything right up until the moment the baby is born. When the doctor hands him his son and he looks down at that tiny, scrunched-up face, all he feels is a wave of panic. How are the two of you supposed to take care of this fragile little thing? This is a person, not a problem to be solved and accounted for.

He’d never outwardly panic, but he knows you can see through him when you say his name softly and reach for his hand. 

"Look at me," you'd whisper, smiling at him — tired, sweaty, and beautiful after going through hell to bring his son into the world. You would look so at ease and happy that suddenly Scott would know everything would be okay because you’d be right beside him.

Together, you've got this.

Talk Shop Tuesday

[ewanmitchs]

⎯⎯ TEAR U APART [sneak peek] ┆ gif credit. ౨ৎ

༊*·˚ 𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒖𝒔’𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒍 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆, hello, lil loves. ♡! this is just a lil sneak peek of my new & first full oneshot on this blog − i hope y’all enjoy reading this lil snippet & i cannot wait to share the rest of it with u all. sending y’all sm love, xoxo. !!! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

꒰ p.s. ꒱ this oneshot that i’m writing is completely based on this song linked here − if u wanna listen to it to set the vibe (if u’re an american horror story girlie, you’ll get it) + if u wanna talk & gossip abt this lil sneak peek, pls feel free to msg me, my loves. ♡ྀི

IT’S ONLY JUST A CRUSH, IT’LL GO AWAY − that’s what aemond targaryen keeps telling himself as he brutally, without mercy, fucks into the whore underneath him, hearing her whiny, annoying little cries as he abuses her loose cunt by shoving his well-endowed cock in and out, in and out, in and out.

allison? allie? alys? what was her name?

aemond couldn’t remember, nor could he give less of a fuck.

it simply does not matter right now, not when aemond is balls deep inside of this random woman, using her cunt to chase his high as he pleases, imagining that it is you − always you.

aemond cannot think straight, not when all he can focus on right now is chasing his own release, thinking of your beautiful face as it flashes in his mind − your innocent doe eyes, your luscious hair, that little charm bracelet that you always wear that jingles every time you move, your gorgeous, feminine figure, your perky breasts which he can only imagine burying his face into to kiss and suckle on your little nipples, your soft, heavenly skin which always smells of vanilla and something floral and just utterly you.

and gods, he can just imagine your glossy, pouty lips wrapped around his cock, letting him fuck your throat until he’s shooting his load down your abused throat, raw from him making you deep throat him − and oh, fuck, he’s coming now.

with only three more ruthless thrusts, aemond releases a low, deep groan as he finally spurts his hot cum into the condom, feeling the woman beneath him moaning louder and louder as she rubs her clit in quick, tight little circles, her release hitting her just as his had.

aemond wishes that she would shut the fuck up, but he isn't worried − soon, she won't be able to utter another word.

nasty fucking whore, aemond thinks.

in the woman’s state of pure, delirious ecstasy, she doesn’t even notice when aemond slyly slips out the small, sharp pocketknife of his (that’s made out of valyrian steel) out of the back of his pants − too fucked out by aemond to truly notice anything, her mind too fuzzy with her orgasmic bliss.

and no, aemond doesn’t fully undress while fucking the random women that he picks up at a bar or wherever, he never has.

aemond doesn't want any of the whores women that he picks up and sleeps with, then violently kills them to see him completely bare, they don't deserve it − the only beautiful, doe-like eyes that are meant to see him naked and bare is you and only you.

with that being said, aemond forcefully (and painfully) covers her mouth with one of his massive, masculine hands, rough and calloused, watching with amusement as he slits her throat with a heavy-lidded eye, his one-eye crazed and dilated, filled with bloodlust − not just from his post orgasm, but from the crimson blood squirting from the dumb whore’s throat.

aemond smirks, leaning down, getting blood on himself, making his cock harden once again − before he is whispering darkly into her ear as she tries to clutch the deep slit on her throat, gasping desperately for breath, choking on her own blood.

aemond cannot help but release a little, breathless chuckle, watching as the life slowly fades away from her.

“you’re nothing but a nasty, little fucking whore,” he purrs into her ear, pressing his face into the deep slit on her throat, licking a stripe of the oozing blood, softly humming at the taste as he muffles the gurgling noises she makes with his hand once more − until eventually, she stops breathing.

truthfully, even while all of this mess is happening right before his eye, all aemond can think about is you, and the taste of the sharp, metallic taste of that whore’s blood, so tart and whorish − and fuck, aemond can only imagine what your sweet blood tastes like.

however, aemond isn’t too worried, he can be patient − besides, soon enough, he’ll get to taste your sweetness, and then, you’ll be his… forever.

∘ ∘ ∘ cont,

[astarion-approves]

astarion reacts to tav being betrayed by a loved one and tav getting injured during the betrayal?

Astarion x Gender Neutral Tav! - Fucking Randy Astarion first person POV - it's alright lol I can't even think of a summary for this...

Tags: More humor than angst, first person pov (Astarion), 500+ words, drabble, poor description of a fight, OOC Astarion

Summary: Honestly, I don't know what Tav saw in that human. A complete jackass, and one that would eventually get them killed.

Read here or on AO3

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

The battle started just as any other. Tav ahead of us, usually sticking their nose where it didn’t belong, insulting strangers without a second thought, or even just punching someone at random for the hell of it. It was one of the things that made me approve of them so quickly. Their… ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude. I admired it. Loved it, really. 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one. 

His name was Randy. Yes, Randy, if you can believe it. A human male who was tall and lanky, but not in an unattractive way— again, unfortunately for me. Somehow he had managed to woo Tav before we’d even met. The barbarian was a complete savage, encouraging Tav to make admittedly stupid decisions, drinking past his limit, and taking advantage of Tav’s kindness without them even realizing it. 

It came as no surprise when Tav spit straight into the face of someone trying to intimidate our group. Hell, I laughed in response. Watching someone wipe spit from their face in shock is never not funny. Disgusting, obviously, but hilarious nevertheless.

Shadowheart clicked her tongue and readied her weapon, Gale doing much the same but with a heavy sigh, Randy (fucking Randy, really? Seriously? Randy? RANDY?!) revealed his sword and steadied it in his hands, and my lovely self exposed my dangers— each of us ready to destroy those who stood before us. 

Tav grinned at their lover, laughing as Randy lunged forward and buried his sword into the spit covered face of the one that stood before them. A dagger would have been a better choice, but who am I to judge? Right? I was only a fucking magistrate. 

Fucker. 

Soon other’s flooded into the area, the quick murder drawing their attention to our group. Tav and Randy worked their way through the group, the rest of us picking off the rangers that tried to hide. 

A quick fight, as it usually was with our group… 

But then… something happened. 

A shot of fire, heading directly towards Tav and Randy— Shadowheart wasn’t fast enough to shield them and the pair were vulnerable against it. I heard Tav scream as Randy grabbed their shoulders and pushed them in front of himself. I could only watch as the fire flew towards them and exploded against Tav’s chest. They fell to the ground, landing on their side, no longer breathing. 

Gale cast a spell in the direction of the killer, but I wasn’t paying attention, I was running to Tav. 

They laid on the ground, their eyes open and staring into nothing, mouth hanging open as if they were still screaming from the blow. I dropped to my knees beside them, cradling their head in my lap, my hands tapping on their cheeks, words flying from my mouth but I didn’t even know what I was saying. 

“Leave them,” Randy said. “We need to keep moving.” 

I flung my dagger into his skull. 

Shadowheart began casting spells, anything they could do to bring Tav back—

But they still laid there. 

Luckily, all we had to do was carry them back to camp and Withers was able to bring them back from the dead. 

Randy we left behind. Because fuck Randy. 

And now, tonight, I’ll be making my first move on Tav. They’re still a little hurt from the betrayal, weeks later. And… they also tell us stories of their nightmares and the cool chill of death that lingers and haunts them— 

But they blush when they look at me, and that’s good enough for me. 

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 2

Holy shit, guys. I have never had such a response to a story before. Thank you guys so much.

Tag list of 50 has now been filled. Any other requests for tagging will be denied. I’m sorry.

Edit: Also if you saw the title as something else? No, no you didn’t. And any reblogs you see with anyone instead of anybody are a figment of your imagination. (*thuds head on laptop* I have the title right on here...in my file *wails*)

Part 1

*

The next morning Eddie got up for school excited for the first time. He had a mystery to solve and his name was Steven Harrington. Probably the third or whatever shit rich people got to with naming their kids. He rummaged through his closet looking for his favorite band tee. But he stopped when he found an old shoe box down at the bottom.

Eddie frowned and pulled it out. It was a bunch of pictures of Eddie when he first came to live with his uncle, Wayne. He looked at the shaved head and bruised face.

His dad had taken one look at Eddie that morning and decided his hair was too long. He had grabbed Eddie by the hair and dragged him into the bathroom and shaved his head. The bruises to the face were from Eddie trying to escape.

Eddie had suffered a concussion and it was then the state had taken notice. They had packed up his stuff while he was in the hospital in a big black garbage bag and told him he would be going home to his Uncle Wayne. In Indiana. So far from the life he knew. But it meant being safe from his dad and that was a plus in Eddie’s book.

It’s how he knew what Steve was going through. Maybe not exactly the same. But he knew concussions and knew they were a bad business.

He put the pictures back in the box and tucked it under his bed. Maybe he didn’t need to know why Steve was hurting. Maybe it was enough to understand. He pulled on his second favorite band tee and his jacket. He grabbed his bag and hurried out the door.

*

Eddie bit his lip. He didn’t have any classes with Steve today and wasn’t able to check up on him. He was tempted to break into the office and pull Steve’s schedule. But that would get him detention and he was still trying to keep his promise to his uncle.

How was he going to do this?

And then the answer literally dropped in his lap. A book was thrown at him by someone. He picked it up and looked at the cover. It was some old homework journal was about to throw it away when a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

Frowning he picked it up. By some miracle it was Steve’s schedule. He looked up to see if he could see who threw it at him. But it could have been anyone. A lot of people were avoiding his eye, but that could be for any number of reasons. They bought from him and now they can’t look him in the eye because he knows. They want to buy weed and don’t know how to broach it. They think he’s a freak. They have a crush on him. You know, the possibilities were endless.

But at least he knew things he didn’t before. Like holy hell, the kid did a lot of sports. He looked at baseball and swimming and basketball with his mind whirling around in his head. How did he keep all the rules straight?

Math third period Eddie knew. History was Steve’s first period. Which was probably how his messed up brain managed to spew that information at Eddie yesterday. Baseball was seventh. Basketball his eighth. Swimming was second. English fourth. Art was sixth. Art, huh? That was intriguing. Probably thought it was an easy elective. And chemistry was fifth. So it looked something like this.

Odd 1-History 3- Math 5- Chemistry lunch 7- Baseball

Even 2-Swimming 4-English 6-Art lunch 8-Basketball

Huh. Eddie never noticed, but Steve was always in his lunch period. That was certainly interesting. He wondered what Mrs Hall, the guidance counselor would do about all his sports now that he couldn’t play anymore. He supposed swimming was still fine, nothing to hit you in that. But baseball and basketball were definitely out.

Eddie chewed on his lip. The sports weren’t going to get Eddie closer to finding out what happened to Steve. They would close ranks so fast. At least Steve and him had lunch together so that would at least make it easier befriend the guy.

Art, though. He tapped his lip thoughtfully. He had art in his fifth period. He could doing some snooping there. After all art is where true expression lies. And if there was anything going on it would show in his art.

The start of a plan was forming in the back of his mind. Yeah. This could work.

*

At lunch, Eddie slid in next to Steve as soon as he sat down.

“What’s on the menu today, Harrington?” he asked grinning.

Steve looked up at him in shock again. “Um...applesauce and plain toast, with a can of ginger ale.”

Eddie winced. “Still feeling the nausea?”

Steve nodded. “I’m starting to wonder if it’s ever going away.”

“It’ll stick around for about a week,” Eddie said softly.

Steve frowned. “How would you know that?”

“How don’t you know that?” Eddie fired back. “This is your second concussion.”

“Didn’t go to the doctor either time,” Steve mumbled.

“You want to run that past me again, Harrington?” Eddie asked.

“Doctors mean having to call my parents,” Steve explained, “calling my parents means that they’ll have to come back from their trip, coming back from their trip means I get into trouble, getting into trouble is not good for a concussion, so I don’t.”

“Why would you get into trouble for having a concussion?” Eddie asked, furrowing his brow.

Steve started counting it out on his fingers. “Getting into a fight. Hanging out with black people and by extension, siding with said black person. Having to drop out of sports. Watching my grades plummet. Not speaking to Tommy and Carol. I can keep going if you’d like...”

Eddie shook his head. “Holy shit, dude. I didn’t think I’d see a shittier dad then my own, but yours and your mom take the cake.”

Steve looked down at his applesauce mournfully. “It’s not that bad. At least my dad doesn’t hit me like Tommy’s dad does.”

Eddie’s eyebrows went up. “Are all rich dads douchebags?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Look, I’ve got to eat my own lunch,” Eddie said slapping the table and standing up, “but if you need anything come find me.”

Steve nodded, but Eddie didn’t think he would take him up on it.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17 Part 18  Part 19  Part 20 Part 21

Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites

[sakxramxlkii]

GENSHIN BOYS FINDING YOUR DIARY ABOUT THEM - HEADCANONS

You often wrote about your crush in your diary. You didn't believe that he would reciprocate your feelings, so you often found comfort in writing about him in your diary.

On a particular instance however, he was hanging out in your room and you had got up to prepare some snacks for him. While you were away, he looked to your blanket and noticed a little pink book semi-covered by the blanket. Curious, he picked it up and read it.

CYNO

- Shocked and intrigued.

- Would probably only ever bring it up if you banter together and it subtly suggests this instance.

-pretends to not know you like him when you come back with the snacks

-dw though if you find out, he's nervous/panicked too, he just doesn't wanna show it pookie ;)

-has a really bad joke or pun when you both banter and you find out

"I'm sorry. I couldn't resist the opportunity to 'snoop' at you. You're simply too fine to just stay in the 'shadows' and 'hide away' like that."

ALHAITHAM

- intrigued too, but mainly calm. He'd already suspected that you liked him.

- he'll probably just keep reading when you come in and catch him.

- bro just reads like it's any ordinary book, silent and focused 😭. You better hope you didn't narrate a whole story/fanfic of you both, or a vivid dream depicted in detail because hell of lord, he's going to read through it like it's written by Shakespeare. 💀

- probably will just spend more time with you after that and wait till you directly confess to him. He doesn't know romance stuff ight 😞

"I know." He reads a book while he hardly gives you any eye contact. "You wrote it in a diary." The silence and awkwardness fills the air. Your face was flushing knowing he had read through it. Alhaitham doesn't really know how romantic gestures work, but his cheeks were slightly tinted. You decided to break the silence by asking him out. "Sure, but if you let me finish reading that diary of yours."

CHILDE

- intrigued like everyone else. Excited knowing you feel the same way.

- brings it up the moment you walk in with the snacks

-will poke fun and tease you at how 'cheesy' and red you are.

-he's not missing an opportunity to just tease and ask you out.

"My my! What do we have here?~ Seems like someone has a bit crush on this harbinger! So...how about a date in a fancy restaurant located at Fontaine? My treat of course~"

ZHONGLI

- Zhongli is a gentleman, he would never snoop. In this case, let's re-write it a little. He would be trying to put the book to a shelf to help you keep organized. He'd unknowingly read the book for the contents to place it to it's respective place until he slowly realizes what it was.

- Like Alhaitham, he suspected you liked him in the first place. He's been in this world for so long, so it wasn't hard to recognise. He was calm too, but a little shocked reading through your diary.

- he's a respective man! He would probably read one or two pages out of curiosity and stops there for your privacy. He'd then put it back to your shelf.

- honest. When you come back, he'd straight up tell you he saw it on accident and that he was sorry.

- avoids embarrassing/teasing you, SUCH A GENTLEMAN GAH...

- prolly would subtly confess that he likes you too but if you seem like you wanted it to be a secret, he drops it and pretends like he doesn't know until you are ready enough to confess.

"My apologies. I was trying to put your diary back to a shelf and had read the contents unknowingly. I read the contents because i wasn't sure which category to place it in." He then takes a sip of his tea you poured him a while ago. "Though...I do wish to admit that I feel as if I may be able to reciprocate those feelings of yours. If you would give me a chance, that is."

12am rn. I will edit more ltr but gnnnnn i'm tired

[lauraneedstochill]

I won’t fall for someone who can’t misbehave

summary: Aemond is betrothed to the sweetest girl in the Seven Kingdoms. She is smiley, soft and kind-hearted. Until she isn’t. (or, alternatively: “No one took your side when you were a kid. But I’m doing it now.”) pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader (her House is not specified) words: 9000 +

warnings: slow (!) burn, attempted harassment, Aemond is in pain 70% of the time (headache and all that) and has no clue how to act around someone he’s in love with. author's note: I’m working on 3 fics at the moment, and it’s taking forever to finish (yay for my poor time management skills!), so I whipped up something short(er). Rhaenyra is the queen here but I barely mention the blacks (not out of spite, I just thought it wouldn’t add anything to the story). also, I don’t think women would be allowed to misbehave like that... I don’t care ;)

Aemond knew of the preplanned betrothal even though everyone around him was ridiculously mysterious about the subject matter. He’s been made aware of the upcoming visit of some noble family, and the preparations were quite extensive. Then he overheard Baela telling Jace that the expected guests will bring their daughter. The middle one. It wasn’t very hard for Aemond to put two and two together. His wedding was long overdue, and Alicent was eager for him to make his choice. But he dreaded the mere thought of it.

Aemond’s never been very good at courting women, but mostly due to the lack of trying. He’s used to them looking at him with fear and suspicion as if he’s some kind of wild animal ready to attack at any minute. Getting sidelong glances did hurt him growing up, but with time Aemond learned to benefit from it, using his fearsome image as a shield. No one ever dared to try and break it to see what was underneath. But now he is faced with the inevitable change that’s approaching his life at the speed of a storm wave. To him, taking off the eyepatch won’t be nearly as excruciating as giving into the vulnerability of letting someone in, opening up to someone. He’s never been afraid of much but that? That was terrifying.

The anticipation made Aemond nervous. He knew he should probably ask around and try to gain any information about his soon-to-be wife, but it felt wrong. Not knowing felt even worse. No matter how good of a fighter he was, fighting the uncertainty seemed like a challenge. Aemond spent his nights tossing and turning, wrapped up in blankets as insomnia was clinging to his body. He tried to busy himself with training, but his usual easy victories brought him no satisfaction. He’s been winning for so long maybe it was time for him to lose. Except not to his training partners but to a stranger, who in time will get a permanent place in his life.

His rides with Vhagar, which usually brought him peace, now had the opposite effect. The old dragon acted annoyed and disgruntled for no reason, huffing and grumbling at every turn as if she could sense his own frustration. You can’t tame your emotions yet I’m supposed to listen to your commands? Silly boy. If Vhagar could speak, she would probably tell him that, Aemond thought. And he blamed himself even more.

Somewhere in the midst of it all, the headache came back. As usual, it started with a feeling of pounding heaviness in the back of his head, which then spread further: into his temples, forehead and down the hateful scar. Within a couple of days, the pain gets so bad, he has to grit his teeth to keep a straight face, and he's barely able to shove a few bits of food down his throat. But it’s a topic he never brings up, it’s a humiliating secret that’s just between him and his mother. When he lost his eye, for the first month the pain was close to unbearable. The maester kept telling him that it was caused by the healing of skin tissues and assured that the intolerable feeling would go away. It never did. His scar was something he learned to cover up, and the bright red stripe faded slightly with time, but the pain lingered. Aemond opted to think that it only contributed to him becoming more resilient, yet that argument didn’t withstand the test of time. The pain receded for some short periods, but then it would always come back, and he could never get used to that, no matter how hard he tried.

He can only hope it will get better by the time the guests arrive. But the gods seem deaf to his prayers, and the night before the event he doesn’t get a wink of sleep. He goes through his day in a daze, skipping the training session to hide in the library instead, although he can’t bring himself to focus and read more than a single page. When the time comes for him to walk into the dining hall, it’s the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to go. Festive ornaments, tables laden with the finest dishes, bright-colored clothing of everyone around him blend and blur into each other. He takes deep breaths and counts his steps, gathering all his strength to sit down and not wince at the movement.

All it takes is one look at him for Alicent to understand what’s going on.

“Aemond,” she approaches him, whispering. “What’s wrong? Is it the headache again?”

Aemond doesn’t want to admit it, but he lacks the energy to deny it either so he just nods. She gives him a regretful look, gently squeezing his shoulder.

“Should I call for the maester? Maybe he will be able to come up with something to ease the pain.”

“I don’t think we have time to fuss over me,” he declines with a pain-stained voice. “I was under the impression that we’re expecting someone to join us today.”

Alicent sighs. She knows better than to fight his stubbornness, but she hates how helpless it makes her feel. Aemond hates that feeling, too.

“Please don’t tell me you require motivation,” Aegon’s voice is loud as it is but right now it sounds deafening, and Aemond sharply exhales. His brother flops on a nearby chair, bringing his ignorant attitude with him.

“Undoubtedly you’ve interacted with women before,” he chuckles, completely unaware of Aemond’s suffering. “Try not to scare her with your creepy stare, and maybe she won’t run away.”

Alicent briefly closes her eyes in annoyance. She glances around, making sure not to attract any attention, and then grabs Aegon by the chin, forcing him to look at her.

“Enough with pestering, I need you to behave yourself,” her voice is tinged with irritation. “Just for one evening. Can you do that?”

Aegon’s body stiffens up, the smug look disappearing from his face.

“As you wish, mother,” he mutters, and she lets go of him. Alicent shoots another glance at Aemond before leaving. Aegon gives his brother a side-eye but says nothing.

Aemond is exhausted, anxiety bubbling in his chest, and he thinks he has a few more minutes to compose himself yet that time passes in the blink of an eye. Before he knows it, the guards at the door make the announcement, and he sees a group of unfamiliar faces. None of them are of his age, though, and for a moment that realization brings him some comfort. But then he notices a female figure in the distance as she’s approaching the entrance.

When she walks in, the music goes quiet, and Aemond hears people gasping. It seems like every man in the room has his gaze on her. And she certainly is a sight for sore eyes. She moves with a gracious pace, the silky fabric of her dress flowing downward with every step. It’s not too revealing, but it hugs her body in all the right places. Her hair is up, and he can see the waves of her collarbones peaking through. A half-smile is plastered on her face, but she doesn’t seem to be nervous. If he was to take a guess, he would've said she was tired. But she won’t let it show, keeping her head high and being seemingly unaware of the attention she got. Maybe she’s used to it just like he is, Aemond thinks. Although people usually glare at him for a completely different reason.

“Someone is about to get a piece of cake,” Aegon elbows him lightly, his voice low.

“Someone needs to shut up,” Aemond snarls, earning a laugh from his brother. That catches her attention, and her gaze lands on Aemond. When their eyes meet, her face softens, smile growing wider. He tries his best to force a wan smile in return, but his stomach turns in discomfort. He can already imagine how people will react: a stunning woman like her with a man like him, what a tragedy. That thought stings, his anxiety growing stronger. The headache gets worse, and he tightens his grip on a cup of wine that he hasn’t even tasted yet. Aemond can’t help but wonder if she knew she would have to marry him. If it does bother her as much as it bothers him.

The members of her family are greeted as guests, with no mention of a possible betrothal. Her name is the only one he catches — and then silently repeats it a few times. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, the sound of it breaking through his clouded mind. She’s seated next to him, as expected, and he notes that her dress compliments her eye color. Aemond is thinking of a way to start a conversation, but she beats him to it:

“You gave us such a warm welcome, but I must admit, I am surprised by the scale of it. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience?”

When her words reach his ears, the buzzing in his head stops, and Aemond turns to her, astonished by his own reaction. It’s not the naivety of her question, nor the friendly tone of it. It’s just her voice. Melodic and mellow, it feels soothing among the loud noises they’re surrounded with.

“I assure you, your family was simply welcomed with the respect you deserve,” he answers pensively. His throat is sore, but he can’t steel himself to take a sip of wine, afraid that it will make him sick. He wants her to speak again.

Aemond asks about her family, letting her lead the conversation. She is easy to talk to and she gives just the right amount of information before jumping to another topic. At any other time, he would’ve really enjoyed the flow of it, yet now he is growing weary. The headache is still there, but her voice does bring him some relief. That is until she abruptly stops.

“Are you feeling alright?” she sounds worried, and the same emotion is written on her face. Aemond tries to blink away his exhaustion. 

“I apologize if I’m not exactly the best at keeping you company. It’s been a long day,” he knows he should’ve come up with a better excuse. He feels like he can hardly function at this point.

She keeps her attention on him for a few more seconds. Then she moves her eyes to the other end of the table, where her family is seated. She makes eye contact with her father and gives him a big yawn. It’s obviously and comically fake but it works: her family finds an excuse to leave earlier. Aemond knows that now he also got a chance to escape soon after. He feels a pang of guilt knowing that he’s the reason their conversation was cut short, but she doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“We shall continue on the morrow when we are both well rested,” she smiles reassuringly at him before leaving.

Aemond seriously doubts that he’ll get any rest as his head feels like it’s gripped in an iron vise again. The next morning he drags himself out of bed later than usual, the pain now dull but present nonetheless. He sits with his face in his hands, breathing in and out, until he’s almost numb. The almost leaves a sour feeling in his mouth — or maybe it’s the nausea, he doesn’t know nor does he care. He’s been handling this for years, he can survive another day.

Aemond decides that since he is to be wed, he should make an effort for it to work. He thinks about his duty, his mother, about Y/N, who traveled all the way to King’s Landing for a man she’s never met before. Aemond thinks of everyone but himself because there’s only so much he can do without draining himself completely.

He missed the breakfast already but hopes to find Y/N within the perimeter of the castle and rushes out of the bedroom. He’s passing by Helaena’s chambers when he hears someone laughing. And it’s not his sister. Aemond debates if he can deal with kids right now, but chooses to give it a chance and quietly walks in. Helaena has embroidery in her hands but seems more focused on a sight in front of her, and he follows her gaze. Y/N is sitting on the floor with her back to the door, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are on either side of her, their cheeks plump and pink, tiny fingers grabbing her dress. She’s reading to them, and it’s a tale they’ve heard many times before, yet the kids are listening attentively, occasionally making noises of excitement. Aemond doesn’t need to speak gibberish to know that they are fascinated by the melody of her voice and the playful tone she uses to make the story more engaging. He leans on the door frame, his body relaxing at the sound. Jaehaera puts her head on Y/N’s shoulder and eagerly turns the page, making her laugh again.

“You are an impatient little thing,” Y/N giggles.

“That she is,” Helaena agrees, and when Y/N turns to her, she is surprised to see that Aemond joined them.

“Pardon me, I didn’t hear you coming in,” she stands up in a hurry, both kids are instantly glued to her. “Your sister was kind enough to keep me company.”

“I asked her to come by after breakfast, and they haven’t left her side ever since,” Helaena explains, sounding very pleased.

“Would you mind if I steal this new friend of yours?” Aemond asks while keeping his eye on Y/N, waiting for her reaction. Her face flushes but he sees no indication of discontent. Aemond grudgingly admits to himself that it brings him something akin to joy. But it fades, absorbed by his numbness.

“Make sure to be on time for dinner,” his sister nods, calling for the nanny to take the kids.

It takes a little bit of persuasion but eventually Jaehaerys and Jaehaera let Y/N go, and she follows Aemond out of the room. She mentions that Helaena wanted to show her the library, and Aemond agrees to take her there. Along the way, he strikes up a conversation in attempt to compensate for their last one. As she’s telling him about her morning, her voice seeps into his mind like honey, and Aemond tries to concentrate to take the right turns and not trip on the stairs.

When they walk into the library, she pauses, looking around in awe. This woman makes men turn around after her, yet she is so easily impressed by the simplest things, Aemond thinks. The prince wonders if she can ever be impressed by him.

“This is where you study?” she is admiring endless rows of shelves, and Aemond gives her an affirmative “hmm”.

“How many of these have you read?”

“Quiet a few,” he is modest as ever, and she shoots him a curious look.

“I wonder what are your preferred subjects.”

“History and philosophy,” he doesn’t mean to sound so terse, but whatever interactions with women he’s had before, that experience obviously didn't turn him into a lady’s man.

“Would you be so kind to share your favorite books with me?” when she glances at him, there is a sparkle in her eyes. It looks like she’s actually interested to know more, as if she does want to know him. His immediate response, however, is to distance himself, and he takes a step back.

“I am afraid there are not enough hours in the day to name them all,” Aemond opposes, hands clasped behind his back.

“Please, take pity on me, I need something to help me pass the time,” she presses the matter further but does so very gently. “Name just a couple.”

He gives into her pleading tone and reluctantly agrees but they don’t stop at just a couple. They end up spending the day roaming in the library, lost in the labyrinth of shelves and books. She’s never too pushy with her questions, she’s making small jokes, she doesn't take offense at his cold demeanor. Behind his mask of feigned indifference, Aemond feels like someone is hammering at his left temple, and the pain echoes through his whole body. But he doesn’t dare to leave her hanging for the second day in a row.

The prince is too preoccupied with his internal struggle to notice that she's growing worried about him again, and by the time they come back for dinner, her face expresses an alarming concern.

“I must apologize if I tired you out with my relentless chatting,” she says, almost whispering, when they are seated.

“You did not, no need to fret,” Aemond states. I must apologize that you are to marry a man who can’t curb the pain that’s spilling out of him, he thinks.

Food is tasteless in his mouth. She is sitting on his right, and Aemond’s body can’t adjust to the foreign feeling of someone being in his close proximity. He is so accustomed to being on his own, he doesn't know how to unlearn that.

Throughout the whole dinner, Aemond can feel his mother’s gaze on him. Later that evening, when a maid brings him a cup filled with the milk of the poppy, he decides against taking it. He regrets it the very next day.

When Aemond tries to lift his head off the pillow, he feels like his skull is full of rocks. They’re rolling from side to side as the pain rumbles, and for a few minutes he can't hear anything else around him. That’s why, when Aemond opens his eye, he’s startled at the sight of his mother standing in the doorway.

“I did knock but got no response,” she gives him a look that’s a mix of concern and suspicion. She suspects that he’s unwell again and it concerns her. He wishes she never knew of that burden of his.

Aemond moves up in his bed, clenching his jaw. He knows his mother well enough to realize she must’ve had a reason for this early visit. Alicent proves him right when she speaks.

“The queen went into labor a couple of hours ago.”

He absentmindedly hums, not knowing how to react. His mother continues, with a hint of hesitance.

“There will be a feast when the baby is born. We thought... Rhaenyra and I, we thought it would also make for an occasion to do the announcement. About your betrothal.”

Her words come as no surprise to Aemond. It is what’s expected of him, it’s about his duty and his responsibilities, but this time he doesn’t want to think of that. He wants to be left alone, to drown in the layers of blankets, to go back to his short-lived slumber.

“The day Y/N arrived, I asked the queen to postpone the announcement. To give you some time to get to know each other,” Alicent takes a few steps towards his bed. “It seems like you’re getting along quite well?”

“I could think of no better woman than her,” Aemond admits and it is true. What he doesn’t say is that he can also think of a dozen other men who would be more deserving of her, more than he is.

Alicent catches the discreet sadness in his words but doesn’t know what caused it. She eyes her son with undisguised empathy.

“Her father implied that she is content with the betrothal, too. I thought you’d be happy to know,” Alicent gives him a lax smile. “I shall let you go back to sleep,” she adds and leaves.

Aemond knows he’ll get no sleep now. He repeats the well-known routine of deep breaths with the minimum movements, scraping up the remains of his strength before leaving the room. He goes straight to Y/N’s chambers, wondering if his mother visited her, too, and how that visit went.

To his surprise, she is nowhere to be found. A maid informs him that she left the room a few hours ago. He can’t find her in the library and she isn’t in Helaena’s chambers, either. He searches for her in the courtyard and then goes back to roam through the corridors, peering into every room on his way. He’s lost in his thoughts until he hears Y/N calling his name. Aemond turns around — and there she is, at the other end of the hall.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she skips towards the prince, beaming. He could never imagine anyone being this happy at the sight of him. She stops when they are only a couple of meters apart, her smile glowing.

“We must’ve passed each other, because I’ve been looking for you, too,” he confesses. She seems very pleased with herself though he isn’t sure why.

“I think the weather calls for a walk,” she blithely suggests. “Would you like to accompany me?” — as the words leave her mouth, she reaches out a hand to him. For a moment Aemond is looking at her baffled, and then hesitantly takes her hand. Her skin is soft, fingers warm, and she intertwines them with his own. That gesture comes so naturally as if they’ve done it before, yet Aemond clearly hasn’t. The feeling of holding someone’s hand is unusual to him. But it seems enjoyable.

By the time they get to the garden, Aemond finds that her hand fits perfectly in his. He is blushing profusely. He also notices that his headache receded a little and he can’t help but think that she was the reason for that.

“Your mother came to me this morning,” she informs him as they are walking hand in hand. “I assume she talked to you, too?”

“She did,” Aemond confirms. “Am I right to guess we had the same conversation?”

“Well, mine was about uniting two great Houses,” she mimics a man’s voice, and Aemond grasps that Otto was there as well. “Your grandfather gave a very convincing speech.”

“He had a lot of practice while being the Hand of the King. Maybe he misses having an audience,” the prince chuckles and she laughs.

Aemond holds a pause and then adds. “Forgive me if I’m being too blunt but I wonder if the conversation was of unpleasant nature to you.”

“It was not,” she slows her steps. “I know what’s expected of me and I will perform my duty. But if I’m being honest...,” she turns to him, and the tenderness of her gaze tugs at his heart. “I am glad that it’s you,” Aemond feels a flare of an unknown emotion deep in his chest. “We’ll make a pretty good team. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Aemond lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks down at their hands and then back at her.

“It seems so,” he tells her, a slight smile in the corner of his lips. There is a moment of comfortable silence as they make a short stop in the shade of the trees.

“But I shall give you a warning,” she says with a mischievous grin. “My siblings take any celebration very seriously. Every single relative of ours will come to the wedding, and most of them won’t shy away from enjoying a cup of wine... Or two.”

“Can any of them outdrink Aegon?” he jokes, and she bursts into laughter.

Aemond gets carried away by their conversation once again, losing track of time. While she’s listing her relatives, adding innocuous remarks about each of them, the prince is enthralled by the warmth that radiates off her. Her presence alone calms the storm of his insecurities, lulling his fears to sleep. She does that so effortlessly, it’s almost intimidating. But there’s a certain thrill to it, too — the thrill of being close to her, sharing laughs and stories, and Aemond clings to that feeling.

He enjoys the moment while it lasts; until his headache predictably creeps up on him a few hours later. He can’t tell if she senses that something is wrong but she’s the one to suggest returning to the castle. Aemond gladly accepts it.

On the way back they are greeted by one of the guards who notifies them that the queen gave birth to a girl. She lightly squeezes Aemond’s hand.

“Tomorrow is a big day then,” — and the prince knows exactly what she means. The fragile bond that they only started to get the hang of will soon become public knowledge. It won’t be their secret anymore but rather an over-discussed gossip.

“There is still time for you to plan an escape,” Aemond jests half-heartedly.

She looks puzzled for a second, but then shakes her head.

“Only if you’re planning one. We are in this together, remember?” her thumb brushes over his. “It’s all about teamwork.”

Aemond savors the last fleeting minutes of their day. He barely touches the food at dinner, the pain in his head intensifying but he pushes through. When the time comes for them to part, he doesn’t want to. That feeling is alien to him and the prince is clueless about its nature. But he knows that with her any misery will be bearable.

When Aemond walks into his chambers, he notices a little jar on the bed table. It’s the one that the maester used to bring him the ointments in, and the prince sighs. The maester doesn’t grasp the extent of the problem but occasionally would suggest a thing or two to help with the pain. They’ve tried using cold packs, then the warm ones, tried massaging his temples, then drinking cinnamon tea, then adding some ginger that’s known as a remedy for reducing inflammation... Nothing has worked so far.

But he should make an effort.

Aemond barely glances inside the jar and tosses away a piece of paper with the instructions scribbled on it. The prince already knows it all too well: he applies a thick layer of whatever that concoction is on his scar, involuntarily wincing at the cooling sensation. It smells of herbs and feels oily but absorbs into the skin pretty fast.

For some reason, his mind goes back to his mother’s words — “I thought you'd be happy to know.” Aemond is unsure what happiness means. The happiest day of his life is forever chained with the worst one, smeared with blood and pain that he's been carrying through the years.

But now that he met Y/N, he questions if there’s more to life than what he's been through so far.

While he is laying in bed, Aemond wonders if can consider her his friend. If she will ever be more than just a friend to him.

And then, before he knows it, the prince is fast asleep. He wakes up feeling like a new man. At first, he mistakes that feeling for the remnants of his dreams that he was enveloped with at night. He shakes off his drowsiness and looks at the ceiling, catching a glint of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. That's when Aemond realizes that the pain is gone.

He sits up, bewildered, waiting for any sign of discomfort yet nothing happens. He waits for a couple of minutes — and then for up to thirty, but his head is clear and doesn’t ache at all. His eye shifts to the jar on the bed table, and Aemond makes a note to extend his gratitude to the maester later. Suddenly the upcoming festivities don't seem so torturous anymore.

He doesn’t get a chance to see her throughout the day as everyone is preparing for the feast. When Aemond walks into the hall of the Iron Throne, he takes in the decorated surroundings. Unlike the last time he was here, now he wants to remember every detail, knowing that this evening would be of great importance.

The room fills with people, but Aemond patiently waits for her alone. He spots her the second she steps in. Her dress is violet, the material bright and luminous, and it puts her into the spotlight yet again since she's the only one wearing that color. As soon as she takes her place at the table next to Aemond, her hand finds his. He's getting used to that way too fast. It’s hard not to.

The first round of toasts goes to honor Visenya, the newborn daughter of the Queen. Rhaenyra willingly tolerates the sweet talk, generous with her smiles and appreciation. At some point, when the timing seems right or maybe when her cheeks are already aching, she gives a nod to Alicent, and Aemond knows what it means. As she starts her speech, he ruefully releases Y/N’s hand.

But right when they are standing up, with everyone around cheering and staring, she lightly presses her body against his, and Aemond feels how tense her back is. That’s when it dawns on him that she’s well aware of the attention but she doesn’t really like it. Instinctively, he puts his fingers on her waist, his touch respectful and delicate. She breathes out and briefly rests the back of her head against his shoulder. For a moment it feels like it’s just the two of them.

That feeling doesn't go away.

Usually, he’s not the one to take part in dancing, but he does so for her. Aemond feels out of practice and he can’t tell if that's what makes his head spin or if he’s getting tipsy from the intimacy of their dance. Her moves are elegant, well-rehearsed, her body follows the rhythm of the music with ease. He doesn’t remember when was the last time that silly activity brought him so much elation. Did it ever?

Time flows by in a blur, and they eventually take a pause after going into a fit of giggles at the sight of Lord Velaryon trying to improvise a move and failing, only to amuse his loving wife. Y/N suggests going out for a while and Aemond is keen on following her but then his mother catches up to them, her hand and her gaze are on him in an instant, pulling him away.

“Aemond, you’ve been dancing,” she can’t hide her bewilderment, a timid smile on her face.

“Should I not? Seems like a suitable occasion,” Aemond chaffs with a tilt of his head.

“It is, indeed,” she doesn’t let him go just yet, and he discerns the hidden meaning of her words, the apprehension she fails to conceal. Aemond wants to grant her some respite, at least for the rest of the day, so he tells her with plain-spoken sincerity:

“I can assure you, this isn’t a cause for your distress.”

But then he quickly finds a cause for his when he doesn’t see Y/N around. He goes searching for her in the crowd, then leaves the room altogether, coming out into the hallway.

Aemond hears her before he sees her — and she isn’t alone. It takes no effort to recognize the second voice, which belongs to no other than Jason Lannister. As the prince rounds the corner, they come into sight, and Aemond has a very bad feeling.

He missed the start of their dialogue, and the look on her face is unreadable. She’s oblivious to Aemond’s presence and he decides to watch them. He tells himself that he’ll never allow her to get into trouble. There is something very tempting in having a chance to save her from anything; as if he feels the need to prove himself to her. He tries not to entertain that thought.

“... It’s not too late to change that, don’t you think,” Ser Lannister purrs, his tone sickly sweet but arrogant.

“It is. Which I have no regrets about, ser,” when she talks to him there's not a hint of friendliness in her voice.

“Your approach may be short-sighted. The proposition of mine wasn’t of a frivolous kind,” he’s circling her, the manner of his movement is borderline predatory.

“I believe you will soon find a lady to welcome your advances but I would very much prefer to drop this conversation,” she recapitulates.

Aemond tenses up, feeling like this is the moment for him to step in. Then he looks at her and realizes that something is off. Her face expression changes — but it’s not a look of fear. By the rising of her chest, he detects that her breathing sped up, eyes are shooting daggers at the man in front of her. She’s looking, for the lack of a better word, positively furious.

But Ser Lannister, apparently, is not very good at reading signs as he comes improperly close to her.

“I can be very persuasive,” his fingers fall on her back — and then go lower. “I think you should appreciate the attention while I’m this generous and...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. In about two seconds his face is suddenly slammed into the nearby wall, the hand he put on her is now twisted behind his back. Y/N uses her free hand to push right between his shoulder blades, pressing him into the stony surface.

To say that Aemond is shocked would be an understatement.

Right at this moment, she looks like a different person. This side of her he’s not acquainted with but it only adds to her appeal. The change is barely perceptible: she’s still maintaining her posture, keeping up the face of a woman who knows her worth. But Aemond catches a flaming spark of defiance that threatens to shutter her restraint. He can sense her anger from far away despite her doing her best to contain it.

“I do not know what kind of attention you are used to, but you’re forgetting your manners. Next time you dare lay your hand on me, I will not hesitate to break it,” her voice doesn’t lose its usual softness, but now has an added layer to it. It sounds sharper, bolder. It sounds like she’s not afraid of anything.

She lets Ser Lannister go, taking a few steps back and smoothing her dress. He is frozen at first, but then slowly turns to her.

“You didn’t... You did not just do that,” there’s a visible red mark on his cheek that will undoubtedly turn into a bruise.

“Did what, ser?” her tone is laced with coldness.

The man looks at her in disbelief, his face is a parade of emotions — from shock to annoyance to anger.

“You will not get away with this,” he scowls, nettled.

“You are telling me that you’re considering letting everyone know you were overpowered by a woman? Sounds hard to believe,” she seems unfazed.

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he roars:

“You, insidious wre—!”

This time Aemond is the one to interrupt the man. “I suggest you watch your tone when speaking to my betrothed.”

She flinches at his voice, turning to face him, and Aemond slackens his pace a little.

“Shouldn’t she watch hers? She’s talking to a lord,” Ser Lannister exclaims lamely, his arrogance instantly toned down a notch.

“And I see no wrongdoing on her part. Care to explain what got you into this situation?”

“It was a... a simple misunderstanding,” his excuse is so pathetic that it makes the prince sneer.

“And what was the matter in question?” Aemond comes closer to the man which makes ser Lannister evidently uncomfortable. He carefully contemplates his next move.

“I only wanted to extend my congratulations on her betrothal,” the man fakes a smile. “Mayhaps I expressed myself poorly.”

“You should opt to choose your words more wisely next time,” Aemond looks down on him. “Perhaps you are needed somewhere else?”

“I shall rejoin the celebration then,” ser Lannister eagerly agrees and bows out way too quickly.

Aemond can barely wait for the man to get out of sight before turning to her. Even though the prince witnessed the whole thing, he can’t stop himself from asking:

“Did he harm you?”

“He didn’t get a chance,” she mumbles, avoiding his gaze. She looks so embarrassed, he wants to offer her some comfort but isn’t sure how.

"Dare I say we’ve got enough interactions for one evening?" Aemond tries to lighten the mood yet she only offers him a half-hearted smile.

“I will escort you to your chambers,” the prince suggests, and before she can argue he adds, “I know you can stand up for yourself if needed. But I insist.”

She doesn’t move an inch.

“...You are not mad at me?” she’s looking at him with doe-eyed sincerity, clearly upset. Aemond is mad at himself.

“I am thinking about cutting his arm off,” he says under his breath, but she catches it.

“Aemond, there’s no need!” she gasps and he sees a glimpse of a smile on her lips.

“I will have to disagree,” he starts but then she grasps his elbow and Aemond’s hand — finally — clings to her again.

“I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me,” she confesses. 

“And I don’t want you to get hurt,” his fingers caress her arm through the lace material. Her cheeks heat up and Aemond finds it adorable.

“I think I... I was the one who did some damage,” she complains.

“You must imagine my surprise,” Aemond drawls, teasing.

“Oh, Gods,” a quiet groan leaves her mouth. “That was not very ladylike of me.”

She covers her face with the other hand, her grip on his arm loosening. Aemond dithers before gently brushing her palm away from her face.

“You did the right thing and you have nothing to be ashamed of,” he enunciates each word. “He only sets an example of unseemly behavior.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t too far off,” she remarks, her voice relenting.

“Hmm, you are certainly not to be truffled with,” he retorts, earning a faint laugh from her as they start walking, arm in arm.

“May I inquire how did you... master that very handy skill?” Aemond ventures to ask. That image of her — brave and unapologetic in her anger — will be forever engraved in his memory. Aemond is apprehensive about voicing his curiosity, uncertain of her reaction but when she answers:

“My father taught me that,” her tone is surprisingly impish.

“And how did you manage to talk him into it?”

“Talking didn’t help much, actually,” she grins. “And then I broke my brother’s nose and my father decided he should find a way to guide my enthusiasm.”

“How old were you?”

“Nine,” she looks so satisfied with herself, Aemond can’t hold back a small laugh.

She joins him and they fall into the comfort of each other’s company. But then her smile wilts.

“There was a time when I was the youngest child and my siblings... They weren’t very nice back then,” she blurts out. Aemond feels his heart sinking.

“What did they do?”

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad, honestly, they were only teasing. It’s just um,” she’s looking for the right words or maybe for an acceptable explanation, but there isn’t any. “It was very tiresome mostly. I could never understand the reason for them being mean.”

Aemond is yet to tell her the story of him losing his eye, and the memory pops back into his head in a flash. He knows exactly what she feels, his own sense of helplessness fresh in his memory. And it still stings the same, and Aemond loathes that.

While he revisits the past, unwillingly slowing his pace, she spots the change in his demeanor within seconds. She sees his facial features congealing, his fingers clenching, and she comes to the only conclusion she can make.

“Is it the headache?” her voice is suddenly quiet, and Aemond comes to an abrupt stop. The question catches him off guard, words stuck in his throat and his mouth agape. He doesn’t know how to react nor does he understand how could she possibly know that.

She is quick to clear up his confusion. “I noticed not long after we met and then your mother confirmed my suspicions. I am sorry that I didn’t ask you directly, I thought... I didn't want to sound intrusive,” she explains coyly.

“By asking about my health?” he finds his voice again. “I am to become your husband, you are free to ask such questions.”

“We’ve only known each other for about a day back then. Surely, you’re allowed to take more time than that to open up to someone,” she kindly points out.

A day. Up until now the only person who’s known about his pain was his mother, and for years no one else ever questioned his well-being. And it took her a day to notice that something was wrong.

“Did the ointment help?” she asks hopefully. For a second he thinks he heard her wrong but the shadow of concern on her face tells him otherwise.

“That was your doing?” he can’t hide his amazement, and it elicits a laugh from her, sonorous and dulcet. Aemond likes the sound of it, he really does.

“I’ve been fortunate to obtain the knowledge required,” she informs him.

“And what kind of witchcraft is it?”

“It is not,” she playfully elbows him. “It was something my grandsire taught me. He used to have an ache of a similar nature. No one could understand the cause of it, and it only got worse with age. But my grandmother refused to sit idly by and one day she found a way to ease his pain,” she has a dreamy expression on her face but it melts into a wistful one. He guesses that both of her grandparents passed away.

“After her death, he wouldn’t let anyone help him. It took me months to persuade him and eventually he let me on her secret,” her smile is bittersweet. “Then he died, and I never thought the recipe would come in handy ever again.”

Aemond hates seeing her wallow in sadness. He puts his palm on top of her hand in an attempt to offer some consolation. If there was a way to free her of that grief, to take at least some of it upon himself, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. But his touch is enough to bring back the cheerfulness in her voice.

“I should mention that your maester did help, too, although he was reluctant at first,” she reveals.

"And I presume that it also took some convincing?" Aemond thinks of the maester’s face that always looks like he is surrounded by imbeciles.

“I shamelessly boosted his ego,” she wrinkles her nose. “Told him there was no way anyone would ever be as skilled as he is, and that my attempt was merely a gesture of goodwill.”

“But it wasn’t just that,” Aemond cordially protests.

They already reached her chambers but he doesn’t want to let go of her hand. He wants to tell her that meeting her was like taking a breath of fresh air after being held underwater, like finding a source of light in the pitch darkness of the night or feeling the warmth in the dead of winter. Aemond wants her to know that she’s been a saving grace for him, but he’s somehow at a loss for words, his thoughts jumbling together.

“It was way more than that and I...,” never in his life had he gotten this tongue-tied and flustered. Yet she treats him with the same kindness and with no sign of prejudice, listening closely and keeping her eyes on him. Her gaze is disarming enough to make him say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I must admit, you exceeded my expectations,” Aemond breathes out.

It immediately feels like the worst, the dullest choice of words possible, and he wants to sink into the ground right this second. But then he sees her natural smile, genuine and bright, blossoming on her face again.

“I am glad to be of service, my prince,” she murmurs the last part, and his heart skips a bit.

He didn’t register the moment she came a bit closer, but she isn’t shying away from shortening the distance. There’s something enamoring about her trusting nature but that’s not what draws him in. For the first time, he experiences an unfamiliar feeling that tightens his chest, makes his breathing rapid. His gaze slips over her face, down from her radiant eyes to her smile, framed by the lips that look as soft as freshly bloomed flowers. The feeling melts into an urge — he only needs to take a step, to lean his head forward just a bit and...

Aemond inhales deeply. He thinks they are in no rush, he thinks it would’ve been disrespectful and naive. He’s mostly afraid to misread the situation, to scare her away.

But he wants to make his intentions clear. Aemond runs his thumb over her knuckles, brushing them one by one. And then he takes her hand to his lips, planting a kiss on it. He allows himself just this flicker of bravery before straightening up and releasing her hand. When he looks at her, her gaze is directed at him already. It feels like a particular question is hanging in the air; they let it dissolve for now.

“I shall bid you goodnight,” her eyes linger on him for a second before she turns away.

As Aemond watches her go, he is certain he wants them to be more than just friends. Lucerys’s name day comes in a about month, and by that time Aemond’s routine has changed drastically. It might look the same: he wakes up with the sun, flies with Vhagar, he trains regularly, he spends his free time reading — except now Y/N is a part of his every activity.

She’s never nosy or clingy; he is the one seeking her company at all times. She’s an early riser, too, and they are always the first ones at the breakfast table: he asks her about her dreams, they make plans, they poke fun at Aegon, who is perpetually sleepy, and she can effortlessly hold any other conversation with his family which only makes him ever so pleased.

She watches him train with genuine curiosity, she never looks away nor flinches, even when he gets too competitive and rough. Her attention is flattering — and it’s all on him, and it feels unusual at first, but becomes empowering and he bathes in it.

When he takes her to meet Vhagar, she is terribly nervous. Aemond jokes that meeting his old dragon will pose no challenge after she handled Ser Lannister. It gives her enough confidence to pat Vhagar’s snout as the beast observes her calmly. Aemond assures her that the dragon will never go against his wishes. What he wants to say is that Vhagar senses how he feels about her.

They spend evenings in the library, both absorbed in reading but always sitting close by, their arms and shoulders coming into contact more often than not. He sometimes can’t help but get distracted which leads to him forgetting about his book, instead secretly watching her, his glance full of adoration.

For a while, he’s oblivious to how inseparable they’ve become until Helaena tells him one day, while Y/N is playing with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera in his sister’s chambers. When Helaena mentions it ever so nonchalantly — “You two seem joined at the hip!”, it startles him. But that moment doesn’t turn into an awkward one — instead, Aemond realizes that he's not scared anymore.

“I will steal her away from time to time,” Helaena says, as cheery as ever.

“Bold of you to assume I will let you,” he chuckles, his gaze not leaving his betrothed.

“I think she’ll have the last word,” his sister retorts with a cunning smile.

Aemond doesn’t think twice before admitting. “She will never say no.”

“My point exactly.” The Queen plans a great hunt to celebrate her secondborn son, and a feast is being held in no time. Aemond detests those pompous events yet Y/N seems too enthusiastic about the idea, and he begrudgingly agrees to participate. He has no wish to burden her with his weighted resentment toward Luke but, as usual, she sees right through him. She asks him if he has any reservations about the upcoming celebration, and that’s when he decides to tell her. Aemond doesn’t want her to pity him nor does he want to upset her so he keeps the story brief: he claimed the dragon, his siblings didn’t like it, things escalated way too quickly and they haven’t been on good terms ever since. 

She heeds his every word, then bluntly asks. “Must you really go?”

He ponders before answering with a sigh. “It would be rude not to. I should pay my respect.”

“I wish he had the courtesy to do the same for you,” she frowns.

“It would be a little too late for an apology,” Aemond shrugs even though her caring tone moves him deeply.

“I still think you deserve one,” she says like it’s the most obvious, logical thing in the world. He wonders how obvious the reddening of his cheeks is.

“I do not wish to dwell in the past when so many great things lay ahead of me,” and he only means her. Having a future with her is his greatest blessing.

She bestows him with her softest smile. “I guess we should make the best out of the situation we are in. Maybe you will have some fun hunting.” Aemond doesn’t know what was her definition of fun, but his definitely doesn’t involve babysitting Aegon. Yet that’s what he ends up doing as they get separated from the group of hunters and his brother gets so drunk, he can barely stay in the saddle. He babbles and whines and Aemond is on the verge of praying for a miracle when the two of them finally stumble upon a boar. The younger prince catches the animal without a struggle.

“Oh, must be good to be a boar. Wild and free!” Aegon grumbles on their way back to the camp.

“I just slit his throat. I doubt you would want to switch places with him.”

“I didn’t say I want to switch places,” he shakes his head so vigorously, he almost falls down. Aemond moves his horse closer, grabbing Aegon by the shoulder to steady him.

“Although switching places with you sounds tempting,” he sneers.

“And why would you ever want that?” Aemond raised his brow questioningly.

“You got yourself a pretty wife-to-be,” Aegon chants and whistles.

“Are you asking for me to tie you to that boar? That can be arranged,” Aemond deadpans.

“ 'tis won’t be necessary,” Aegon's quick to object. “Whatever she sees in you, those qualities are not in my possession,” his frown turns into a grin and he winks at his brother.

Aemond lightly chuckles. “You’ll get no argument from me.” Leaving her is not an easy task for Aemond but coming back to her might be the second-best thing in the entire world. And the first one, obviously, is being with her.

When they return to the camp, he helps Aegon down, impatiently looking around, and as his eye lands on her, his breathing hitches.

She’s standing next to the hunting tent, surrounded by a group of ladies, Helaena by her side and they’re both laughing as his sister unsuccessfully tries to finish her sentence. Y/N has a violet in her hair, strands of it falling down her shoulders, her smile bright against the fading evening sun. She helps Helaena to articulate whatever she's talking about, the ladies around them cackling.

Aemond admires his betrothed from afar, savoring the moment.

It amuses him that her softness is a choice, that she chooses to be open-minded and kind, even though the world around her is armed to the teeth, and she does know how to fight back. And yet, that’s not what motivates her. Instead, she’s an image of benevolence and generosity, always understanding and forgiving, hence why people are so naturally drawn to her. And he is no exception.

Aemond gets distracted when a couple of servants approach him and he instructs them to take the boar’s carcass away.

“You had a successful hunt, dear prince,” when Aemond hears the question, he rolls his eye. Turning around, he sees Tyland Lannister with a smile so forged his face might crack in half.

“As usual,” Aemond answers indifferently. “Never took you for a hunter.”

“I cannot appreciate cruelty,” Lannister forces out. “And I am afraid I will not be able to negotiate my way out of a bear’s grip. So I am here merely to control my brother’s primal impulses.”

The mentioning of Jason makes Aemond cautious.

“Developing some self-control may be beneficial for him,” the prince mutters.

Tyland goes blanch white, taking the hint. “I was wondering if I should address the delicate issue of my brother’s sympathy toward your—”

“You should not,” Aemond cuts him off. “Would be better to address his manners but it’s the thing you must sort out amongst yourselves,” with that, he turns away to find Y/N again.

Except she isn’t there.

The ladies moved closer to the tent but she and Helaena are the only ones missing. It takes him a second to realize that the women look alarmed, glancing at the tent. Or rather inside of it.

Aemond all but runs there, going over the worst scenarios in his head. When he gets in and sees Y/N in the company of Ser Lannister, he thinks he’s never been angrier in his life. If Aemond was a dragon, the lord would’ve been burned to a pulp as of right now.

Jason keeps his distance and his face expresses nothing but regret yet it looks like it’s already too late as she is glaring at him with a sharp glint in her eyes. And in the next moment, she loses her temper.

“...What am I missing exactly?” she asks Jason, her voice unexpectedly loud, and it draws the attention of some nearby men. She doesn’t care.

“You’ve been eager to win me over, but I am yet to find a single reason why would any woman find your company endearing,” she takes a step toward the lord and he shrivels under the weight of her words.

“Is it the winery that your servants built for you? Is it your herd of fine horses? You talk so much about your stable, one may think your betrothed is to marry a stallion,” her smile is mirthless. Aemond hears a faint groan behind his back and recognizes Tyland’s scared tone.

“But what are your accomplishments?” the tent gets deadly quiet as she continues. “Do you consider your persevering courtship to be one of them? Or your harassing of my parents, my relatives and even my maids with your never-ending propositions, no matter how many times were they all rejected? Or mayhaps ambushing me in the hallway counts as an achievement for you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Aemond sees Helaena and Aegon, both looking stunned. Pretty much everyone around him has the same expression at the sight of Y/N. The prince, on the other hand, has never been more proud of anyone.

She looks at Jason as if she wants to bore a hole in him, her voice getting lower but harsher.

“You want to know what prince Aemond did? None of the above.”

Aemond feels his heart freeze at the mention of his name. She is yet to see him but when she speaks, it feels like she’s seen enough.

“The man I am about to marry has been nothing but kind, respectful and loving, fulfilling my every wish, granting me the comfort of his company and his loyalty. The man with the sharpest mind and the kindest heart — both of which you’re clearly lacking,” she casts Jason a disdainful glance. “So from where I am standing, it looks like I’m the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.”

When she feels a hand on her waist, she isn’t surprised and welcomes the touch with no hesitation, knowing full well who is standing beside her. She swiftly turns to Aemond, their eyes locking.

“I would like it if we left earlier, my prince.”

“As you wish,” Aemond wishes he could marry her right now.

Disregarding everyone’s attention, he leads her out and asks the coachman to fetch their carriage. When they are away from prying eyes, her confidence wavers a little. It only fuels Aemond’s ire.

“Give me just a second,” he can’t help himself.

Aemond goes back to the tent — and right to the Lannisters, one of them is already scolding the other. Tyland stops his lecturing when he notices Aemond, but the prince doesn’t let him make a sound.

“That was the second time your brother couldn’t hold his tongue,” Aemond ignores Jason and walks up close to the other man. “If you care about his well-being in the slightest, make sure there will be no third time.”

“Aemond, let us not make another scene. You must think how that will look like...”

Aemond stares Tyland dead in the eyes and promises:

“I will gut him like a boar. Imagine how that will look like.”

Without saying another word, the prince storms off.

Y/N already got into the carriage, fidgeting with the hem of the dress as she falls deep into her thoughts.

“Ser Lannister will not bother you anymore,” Aemond says, sitting next to her.

“I sure hope so,” she mumbles, looking down at the wrinkled fabric.

“Whatever he said, you should not let it get to you. I do appreciate the gesture,” way more than he cares to admit, “but there’s no need to go through the trouble of standing up for me,” Aemond barely finishes the sentence when she retorts:

“I will.”

She looks at him, her eyes burning with blazing certainty.

“No one took your side when you were a kid. But I’m doing it now,” she states as her palm covers his, the touch is as warming as her glance.

Aemond thinks he is the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. He runs out of luck so fast, he must’ve jinxed it. They are nearing the castle when the pain on the back of his head stings so unexpectedly, he winces, his eyebrows furrowing. She notices it immediately and insists he should take a rest when they arrive.

“Mayhaps you have some of the ointment left?” she wonders, leading him to his chambers. Aemond rarely allows people to coddle him but he accepts her care freely. He is also aware that the near-miraculous balm that she makes is long gone because he hasn't had a headache in a while.

When she finds out, she looks devastated.

“It must steep for a few hours, I can’t make it right away,” her enthusiasm brittles. She glances at him in a dither, mulling over something, while he lights the fireplace.

“There is another way that I know of,” she slowly suggests. “But you will need to lie down."

“Quite a vulnerable position you want to put me in,” Aemond lightheartedly jests but brings himself at her disposal with no second thoughts.

She sits on his bed right next to him, the bend of her hips an inch away from his arm.

“Close your eye,” she asks calmly and he obliges.

Aemond senses that she leans over him and he struggles not to hold his breath at the realization of how close she is. Then he feels the tips of her fingers on his face, the touch is so light and gentle, it makes him shiver. The pattern of her movements first contours his face, then goes up to his forehead, then slowly glides onto his temples. She massages them delicately in a circular motion.

“It was probably all the noise that caused this,” she presumes.

“Or maybe the fact that the man makes my blood boil,” Aemond says, although his anger is completely gone by now.

“He is pissed I didn't choose him,” she laughs quietly.

“Choose him?” her words peak his interest. “You had a choice in the matter?”

“My father said he would hate it if I marry someone I didn’t like,” her thumbs are following the lines of his cheekbones, then run under his chin, then all the way up to his hairline, right next to his ears.

“May I ask what was your decision process?” Aemond selects his words very carefully. What he really wants to ask is why would anyone pick him, out of all people.

“I’ve heard you claimed the biggest dragon in the world at the age of ten,” he can’t see her smile but he can hear it. “That was impressive enough.”

Aemond takes a peek at her through his lashes. “That can’t be the only thing you’ve heard.”

“I can distinguish valuable information from pointless rumors,” she notes imperturbably.

“I bet those rumors included the stories of me being the scariest man in the realm...”

Her fingers cover his mouth and he stumbles.

“I decided I would be the judge of that,” she says firmly.

“And what is your verdict?” he can't stop himself from asking, his pulse speeding up.

She doesn’t think for a second.

“All the people who were spreading those vile tales clearly have never met you. There isn’t a single bad thing I can think of when it comes to you.”

Aemond shouldn’t take it to heart but that’s precisely where it hits, her voice cracking his shield, her eyes telling him she will never regret knowing him, caring for him. He thinks this is what true happiness is — being with someone who will choose you every time.

Her fingers graze over the strip of his eyepatch and she pauses her movement. She isn’t breaking eye contact, waiting for his reaction, for his permission or refusal. Aemond gulps, helpless under her gaze, and doesn't stop her.

She picks up the leather strip slowly, as if she wants to give him a chance to change his mind. Aemond watches her, his body still, heart rate booming in his ears. She removes the eyepatch and looks straight at the sapphire that gleams brightly in the warm lighting. And then she smiles.

“What do you see?” he exhales.

“Nothing scary, that’s for sure,” her gaze doesn’t leave his face, her index finger tracing the scar, barely touching his skin.

“Nothing I don’t admire,” her voice is a little above a whisper.

“Nothing I wouldn’t love.”

His heart is beating so fast, it feels caged and ready to jump out at any second. Aemond forgets about the headache as if it never existed. In this state of bliss, he contemplates making a very emotional decision. But she makes one instead.

She lowers her face closer to his and all of a sudden he feels a touch so light, it’s almost like a petal brushes over his skin. It’s her lips. She kisses his face — his scar — moving tenderly from the high point of his cheek to the area under the sapphire and then right above what’s left of his eyelid.

When their eyes meet again, Aemond can only think of one thing.

He surges upward, his lips colliding with hers — she responds in an instant. His chest feels like it’s on fire as kissing her is the most overwhelming feeling in the world, but he doesn’t want to stop, ever. Her fingers gently slide down to his neck and Aemond uses his arm for support as he sits up without breaking the kiss. He then pulls her closer, one of his hands on her lower back and the other nestled under her jaw.

She softly sighs into his mouth — and it might be his new favorite sound. She tastes like berries, her lips getting more eager, fiery, addictive, and he is dizzy with joy and longing, trying to memorize each second. The pacing of the kiss grows heated and intoxicating as they melt into each other perfectly. They only part when both are out of air, their lips tingling, swollen and craving to continue.

“I must admit,” she tries to catch her breath, she can’t stop smiling, her hands caressing his face, “you exceeded my expectations.”

Aemond laughs, cheerful and carefree, his nose bumping into hers.

“It’s all about teamwork, as I’ve heard,” he plants a quick peck on the corner of her mouth — and on the other one. And then they are kissing again, desperately drawn to each other. He’s lost in the sound of her voice, in the feeling of her lips on his.

His love for her is all-consuming. Her love for him is healing.

Turns out, letting her in doesn’t make him lose. With her by his side, he always feels like a winner.

✧ the title is a quote from Hozier’s song ✧ I originally took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. I also can’t help but mention the extensive research that @adderess did, which only adds to that heartbreaking yet very realistic concept. ✧ I have a playlist for Aemond 🎵 I didn’t add any music in this fic BUT I’ve listened to “Mr Sandman” a lot, especially the instrumental version. 💕 my masterlist

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[holylulusworld]

Designed by pain (14)

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, post break-up, daddy Dean

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Designed by pain masterlist

Designed by pain (13)

“Fuck, get off,” you curse under your breath. Hours after you leave Mary’s house you try to get the engagement ring off your finger. It doesn’t move. Almost as if the golden band wants to mock you or force you to keep it on. “Get off!!”

“Y/N, is everything alright?” Dean calls from outside the bathroom at his place. He offered you his guestroom for the night. You were too tired and emotionally drained to find a hotel room. “Do you need anything? I can go and buy whatever you forgot.”

“It won’t get off!” You huff and slam your hands onto the sink. “It’s stuck. I can’t get it off.” Choking out a sob you stare at your reflection in the mirror. So many years of independence and peace down the drain because the cocky asshole outside the bathroom couldn’t stay away from you.

“What? Wait! I’m coming!” Dean exclaims before opening the door. He covers his eyes and stumbles inside the room. “What did you say? Do you need help? Is your toe stuck in the faucet?”

You half laugh, half snort. “What? Why do you think my toe got stuck in the faucet? I didn’t take a bath, and would never stick my toe inside the faucet.”

Dean nervously chuckles. He rubs the back of his neck as he finally looks at you. “Well, accidents happen, sweetheart. A faucet can be damn dangerous.”

You snicker. “Your toe got stuck in the faucet, right? How did you do it, Dean?” He pouts and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Well, at least your dick didn’t get stuck inside the faucet.” You grin from ear to ear. Teasing Dean is fun.

“Y/N!” He gapes at you. “I’m not some pervert putting his dick into the faucet!” Dean narrows his eyes to give you the stinky eye. “You know that my dick would never fit into a faucet.”

“You only didn’t put it inside because it would not fit,” you accuse, earning a huff. “I wasn’t talking about my toe, Dean.” You finally lift your hand to show him the ring. “It won’t get off.”

Dean hums. He steps closer to grab your hand to look at the ring. “Then, don’t take it off. It’s right where it belongs.”

You breathe his name and shake your head. “You know I can’t keep it. The ring never belonged to me, Dean. Whatever we had back then is long gone. We can’t just go back in time and make things right. I raised our son on my own and started a new life without you.”

Dean drops his gaze. He nods because there is no denying that he fucked things up. Even though Mary played a huge part in your breakup, it was his fault that he didn’t stay with you that day. Dean knows there is nothing he can do to make things up to you.

“Stay—” He murmurs, eyes searching yours. “Back then, I was a fool. I was selfish and scared of commitment. But I know now how it feels to live without you, and I’d rather have you and Michael in my life.” Dean raises his hand to stop you from replying. “Don’t answer right now. I know I have no right to beg you to stay, but I do.”

“Dean, I—” Your voice cracks. Right now, you’re not able to respond or even think straight. The past came crashing back into your life, and you cannot handle anything but focus on getting that damn ring off your finger.

He turns to leave the room but glances over his shoulder. “I’ll get some olive oil,” Dean says and points at your hand. “For the ring.”

You watch him leave, feeling bad for him. Dean broke your heart, but you know now, that it wasn’t all his fault. Maybe you should’ve stayed that night. If you hadn’t run away like an angry child, you could’ve talked things out and ruined Mary’s plans.

Dean darts his tongue out, focused on rubbing more olive oil into your skin. He gently massages your finger and tries to move the ring. “Almost there, sweetheart.”

You nod and watch him slowly slide the ring off your finger. It feels good that it’s gone, but at the same time, you feel a sadness you haven’t experienced in years. “Thank you.”

“I’ll put it away,” he says, sounding as sad as you feel. “In case you ever want it back.” Dean gives you a sad smile before walking out of the room. You sigh and grab one of the paper towels to clean your hand.

“Do you want to order takeout?” Dean calls from outside the room. “Michael is still at Sammy’s place, but we could eat together.”

“Sounds good,” you answer. “You can choose. You need to eat something after you refused to eat more of my mince pie.”

“That was not nice of you, Y/N. You know about my weakness for pie and ordered this monstrosity,” Dean huffs as he enters the living room. “A low blow.”

“It was payback for all the times I had to eat fatty burgers or pizza,” you shoot back. “You never invited me to a nice restaurant, Winchester.”

“Sweetheart, that’s a lie! What about the little Italian restaurant,” he bites back. “You almost inhaled their food.”

You purse your lips. Dean is not wrong. Their food was delicious. “I don’t know what you are talking about, Dean.”

He smirks. “How about I order takeout from them, and you can tell me again that I never invited you for dinner to a nice restaurant.”

“Your house is not a restaurant, Winchester,” you argue. “Do not cheat! Ordering takeout is not taking me out on a date.”

“Okay. Let’s go on a date right now,” he hastily says, smirking as you look at him with wide eyes.

“What? That’s not what I meant…I mean…” Stammering you look at Dean, unable to come up with an excuse. You said what you said and now it’s too late.

Part 15

Tags in reblog.

[onementally-unstabel-kid]

Safe place

(I have decided that I can no longer wait for the poll to end imma post it rn)

chan x gn reader

Ps: not proof read? There could be some mistakes pls let me know if I missed anything and the gender of the reader

+ idk if its weird yall I don't think I did it right😔😔

warning: alcohol, intoxication,idk the exact term but like the drink get drugged? Idk man English isn't my first language😪 comfort,best friends to lovers,fluff at the end, parties,alcohol consumption,could be triggering to some?

[Y/n] was excited for the party. They had been looking forward to it all week, wanting to let loose after the stress of exams. The invitation came from a classmate they didn’t know too well, but they figured it was a good opportunity to meet new people.

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Music pounded through the walls, and laughter filled the air. [Y/n] grabbed a drink, feeling a bit out of place but determined to have fun. They wandered through the crowd, chatting with a few people, but mostly sticking to the edges.

After a while, they started to feel strange. Their vision blurred, and their legs felt like they were made of lead. The room began to spin, and a wave of dizziness hit them hard. They clung to the wall, trying to steady themselves, but it was no use. Panic surged through them as they realized something was terribly wrong.

They remembered the drink they had and how they had left it unattended for just a moment. A cold dread filled them . They had heard stories about people getting drugged at parties but never thought they would have to experience it first hand.

[Y/n] knew they had to get out. They stumbled through the crowd, their mind foggy, barely able to keep their balance. Faces blurred around them, and voices seemed distant and distorted. They couldn’t think straight, but one thought kept pushing through the haze: Chan. They needed to find Chan.

Chan was their best friend, the one person they could always rely on. They had been inseparable since childhood, and he was always there when [y/n] needed him. [Y/n] didn’t know where else to go, but they knew they could trust him.

With trembling hands, they fumbled for their phone and managed to call him. Their words were slurred, and they struggled to explain what was happening, but Chan didn’t need to hear much. “I’m coming to get you. Stay where you are,” he said, his voice steady and calm, though they could hear the worry in it.

It felt like an eternity before Chan arrived, but when he did, it was like a lifeline. He found them1 leaning against a wall, barely conscious. Without a word, he wrapped his arm around them and guided them to his car.

[Y/n] didn’t remember much of the drive, only the sound of Chan’s voice reassuring them, telling them they were safe. When they finally reached his apartment, Chan carried his best friend inside and laid them on the couch, covering them with a blanket.

He sat beside them, holding their hand, his face filled with concern. “You’re safe now, [y/n]. I’m here,” he whispered.

As the drug slowly wore off, [y/n]’s thoughts became clearer, though the fear still lingered. They looked up at Chan, tears welling in their eyes. “I didn’t know where else to go,” they said, their voice trembling.

Chan squeezed their hand gently. “You came to the right place. I’ll always be here for you.”

In that moment, something shifted between them. [Y/n] had always known Chan cared about them, but tonight, they realized just how deep that care ran. And as they looked into his eyes, they saw something more than just friendship.

“Chan… I was so scared. And all I could think about was you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t come.”

He brushed a strand of hair from their face, his touch tender. “[y/n], I would do anything for you. You mean everything to me.”

Their heart skipped a beat at his words. “Chan, I… I think I’ve always felt something more for you, but I was too afraid to say anything.”

He smiled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. “I’ve felt the same way for a long time, [y/n]. I didn’t want to risk our friendship, but after tonight, I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Tears slipped down their cheeks, but this time they were tears of relief and happiness. “I’m so glad you feel the same way.”

Chan leaned in, their lips brushing a gentle kiss, and all the fear and anxiety of the night melted away. In his arms,[y/n] felt safe, loved, and finally at peace.

They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, knowing that no matter what happened, they would always have each other. And as the first light of dawn broke through the window, they knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful.

[captain-mj]

I love Hybrid Au's and was wondering if you could write one for Korangi? (You don't have to if you don't want to) also I love your writing, your story's are the reason I got so interested in reading fan fiction ❤❤

Shout out to my friends helping me pick the creatures to use <3

König watched Horangi with great interest. The man was... strange. There was an air around him. He was always curious of things he didn't understand.

König had watched him take items apart and put them back together over and over again until he got it right. It was something they shared. Though, where Horangi sought simply to understand, König wanted to know where hiding places were.

Fully shifted, he was just five inches and a half, huge for a wolf spider, yes, but still small and agile enough to tuck away into tiny places. Being a spider wasn't the most glamorous of the animals. He was perfect for infiltration and stealth, but only for short term missions.

Spiders didn't last long when people knew about them.

Horangi was assumed to be a tiger. Only assumed that, never explicitly stated. It was a mystery that bothered König. He didn't understand why he never put the rumors to rest by just coming out and saying it.

The two were paired up on a mission, again. König had used his connections as Colonel to get them paired together as often as he could without being suspicious.

Horangi looked up at him and he almost shivered. His eyes were dark. Inhumanly so. if Horangi ever admitted that he kept his eyes shifted all the time, he'd believe him.

König hummed. "How would you like to do this, Horangi?"

"Simple enough. We sneak in, find the information and leave. Kill whoever becomes a problem."

König nodded and they jumped off the boat, swimming under the water and into the base. He was rather fast himself but Horangi went straight past him, moving through the water so fluidly that König could barely see him. Horangi paused and turned around to watch him, treading water.

König caught up to him and smiled at him. Horangi continued on. They started to sneak through the place, with König occasionally shifting to let them through doors. They dispatched anyone that they came across with extreme prejudice.

Several of them were coming though and they'd undoubtedly blow their cover. Before Horangi could start looking for hiding places, König grabbed him and jumped up, ripping his gloves off with his teeth. His hands had small claws like a spiders so they were able to sink into the ceiling and keep him, and Horangi who was on his chest, face bright red, stuck there. They stayed quiet as the unsuspecting men passed underneath them.

Horangi glared at him. "Don't ever do something so undignified with me again." He hit his shoulder once König had gently sent him down.

"What? Don't like heights?"

"Not one bit." Horangi hissed at him before continuing on his journey.

König didn't understand the distain but he let it go, continuing onward.

Horangi was quick, like a cat. He had an amazing sense of smell and just as good eyesight, looking through the inky blackness of the night with a degree of accuracy that not even König could match.

Yes, it would make sense for him to be a cat.

But König didn't think that was right. It just felt... wrong.

They managed to get all of their items with an impressive body count of 42. König had done most of the killing but Horangi won coolest kill with a rather impressive knife trick that König found rather attractive honestly. He kept that part to himself, unsure on how... accepting Horangi would be of such ideas.

Now it was just a matter of escaping with enemy combatants. They slipped back under the water and tried to quickly make their way back.

Horangi was so fast. König could barely even focus on him.

The water was too dark and he could tell after a moment he had gotten turned around. Technically, he could go into a form of suspended animation to keep from needing oxygen, but it was too risky. In human form, he was a huge target. In spider form, there was no way of knowing where he'd end up. So he needed to stay awake and aware but he couldn't breath nor could he reasonably surface. Doing so would result in a very fast headshot wound.

Right as he gave up, deciding that resurfacing would have to be worth it, he noticed movement in the water.

A... shark? While not unreasonable, most sharks would have fled from here now with all the noise. König knew they were usually rather peaceful creatures, but he probably looked like an easy meal here. He tried to remember what you're supposed to do with a shark.

Just... move them right? Grab their nose and point them in a different direction?

He saw the dog tags first and paused.

Horangi?

Huh.... a shark... Somehow, that was more reasonable than a cat to him.

Horangi shifted back and bumped him against the rocks. König tried to make it clear that he needed to breath and right now if possible, but before he could, Horangi kissed him.

It was blissful. Everything König had been wanting since laying his eyes on him. His lips were cold but plush. Inviting. König's stubble rubbed against his skin as he tried to deepen it.

Horangi pushed air into his lungs and König's vision unblurred. Horangi's teeth cut his lips. His hand sank into his shoulder and yanked him forward.

Even with König's weight, Horangi got them back to the ship faster than König ever could.

He dropped him on deck and stopped to catch his breath. His mask had been torn and so had most of his clothing. Unlike König, who shrank and could easily just crawl back into his crumpled clothes before shifting back, Horangi had gotten rather big.

König sank down as the boatsmen started the ship. "Still got everything?"

"Yes. Flashdrive secure, sir."

König grabbed one of his spare neck gaiters and handed it to him. Horangi quickly put it on and sank down next to him. He checked the flash drive to make sure none of the water got into the packaging. Once he was satisfied, he put it away.

"Should I be expecting more kisses in the future?"

"Only if you drown again."

"I can't actually drown, though I appreciate the save nonetheless." König said softly, tilting his head back. "Knew you weren't a cat."

"Going to tell people on base?"

"No. If you don't wish for people to know, I won't tell them. Plus they'll start sending you on more underwater missions."

"And that would be a problem how?"

"I hate underwater missions."

Horangi only looked confused for another second before his eyes narrowed. He hit his shoulder rather hard and mumbled something in Korean.

König watched him for a moment, worried he had overstepped or maybe just showed too much of his hand, but Horangi slumped into him. "You're heavy. If you expect me to carry you, you're going to have to lose some weight."

"Little hard at my height, what if I promise you won't have to carry me again?"

"Deal. And maybe you'll take me out to dinner?"

"As a date or an apology?"

"Both. Scared me when you weren't right behind me."

[rosemarycovet]

In my room- billy loomis x reader

(billys pov)

“are you gonna let me in?

“hello?helllooo?”I heard tapping from my window knowing exactly who it was

I was trying not the drift off in class as stu rambled about some nonsense when 2:45 the bell went off

thank god I thought to my self I got up and quickly left the class room speed walking through the halls with my head held low

I didn’t bother acknowledging anyone

many people think i’m odd just because I keep to my self I only talk to stu and our ‘friend group’

which are other people I don’t consider worthy of my time

but I mostly walk alone

avoiding girls that gush over me and the pathetic boys at school trying to start small talk with me

as I walk out the school building I avoid the sunlight with my chalky tone

some may say i’m a gaslighter and manipulative which they aren’t wrong

with my ‘piercing eyes’

I get home I don’t say anything

like there’s anyone to greet ain’t no one there

my mother had abandoned me

and my father is barely ever home,I don’t care.I walk in and right up stairs to my room

I go straight to bed take a quick nap and just wait patiently until dark because that’s when the real show starts

———————

‘Tap tap tap’

———————

I hear from my window I smirk knowing exactly who it is

I see her

(y/n).my baby is what I like to call her

she’s as beautiful as ever as she gives me a sweet soft smile

she’s young and pretty

she comes to my room and we talk at night

she’s demonic and bloody in my eyes

but she holds me tight every night i’m in my bedroom with her i’m never alone

and I kiss her cold lips until morning comes then she’s gone and i’m off

but she only exists in the dark of my room

as me and my ‘friends’ are sitting at the fountain for lunch I sit next to stu as randy sits in the middle of stu and tatum and Sidney is next to tatum

god how much I hate Sidney she’s the reason my mom left me

yet she doesn’t even know

I kept catching her staring at me yet pretended as if I didn’t notice

I know she likes me it’s obvious

but my feelings are the opposite for her

I wish she would die

I wish I could kill her right now

I have planned to kill her with the rest of the group but making stu my partner

there’s so much of sidney I can’t stand same with the rest of them as they talk about meaningless stuff

and all I can think about is my love

I’d do anything for her

as me and her laid in my bed I do adore her as I said before I’d do anything for her and it’s always in my room that we’re the closes

I try to smile but i’m always frontin

but I do love her and at least that’s something.She doesn’t talk much but when she does it gets cold

usually we just lay there and we hold eachother

we’re lovers we don’t need others

certainly i’m all she needed and she is everything I need I don’t need anyone else but her

one night one of my mother’s cat that she also had abandoned had jumped up on the covers

and it scared my baby,cause she don’t like pets.

she had scrambled out of the room

It had made my blood boil that the cat had frighten my baby so I twisted it’s fucking head of its neck

“look baby it’s bloody it’s gone it’s doomed” I had cried out to her

“please come back to the room..don’t ignore me” I begged her

this was more than a sick love story

If she was ever to leave me or was left with out her I’d bring a gun shot to school

and I will for any reason if she wants me to

I hate it that she has to leave when the light comes on and if I had it my way the fucking sun would be gone

sometimes when we’re kissing I start shaking when she slips me that tongue it taste like bacon

she looks sad

uh-oh something wrong.my baby’s upset

“baby what’s wrong?” I asked her as I tuck a strain of her hair behind her ear

“billy one of the neighbors kid had spotted me sneaking in and now I can’t come back cause they know our secret”

unless I can make them keep it if I do she’ll still be able to come

the next day i’m in their backyard as I slipped my ghost face costume on with a shotgun and knife

cut the screen,I went and found the kid

blew a blow of spaghetti to the side of it’s head Then their daddy was next he ran down the hall as I chased after him he was quick to fall as I shredded his throat.

I gripped the knife and started stabbing the shit out of his wife

after Is was done with them I went back home a bloody mess still in my ghostface costume with a job well done

as I washed up in the sink and but the bloody costume in the washing machine waiting for baby to come

like I said I do anything for her

I waited and and hated for 3-4 hours to hear her tapping

then finally she arrived as always she had a soft smile on her face as I held a smirk

“baby I got rid of them you don’t have to worry”

she stared at me a bit surprised

“you got rid of them?..for me?”

“of course baby I’d do anything for you”

she smiled and ran up to me as I picked her up and took her in my room

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x fem!reader

during - part six

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

just when you think it couldn’t get any worse.

a/n: fair warning - this part is violent/dark as hell. we’re in the full blown apocalypse now, trying to survive. not much Joel in this part; we’re building reader’s survival story.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, canon-typical violence and injuries, death, explosions, blood, some general badassery.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters✨

Everything seems to blur together, after.

You patch yourself up, cover your shoulder in antiseptic and gauze, ignoring the way your mind whirls as you clean it. Would that…turn you? Make you like…whatever Dean had become? Were you sick already? How long would it—

You slap yourself. Hard. Hard enough that your teeth rattle a little, and you’re sure there’s a welt rising on your cheek. You’re in shock. The adrenaline has kicked in, but you need to let it take over. You need to listen to what Joel said. Take what you can and run.

Get the hell out of Boston.

Dean liked to camp, by some stroke of luck. There’s a backpack in the hall closet, a hunting knife tucked inside, along with a length of rope, a flashlight, a bunch of other camping supplies you’d never think to buy. You fill the bag with food, the first aid kit, some clothing.

After cleaning the blood from your arm as best you can, you wrap yourself in Joel’s flannel. You pull the polaroid out of the box you’ve kept in all this time, stuff it in the chest pocket. You put on whatever shoes have the best soles, grab the bat, and leave, without looking back.

Your car is not an option. As soon as you step out of your apartment, the power goes out, plunging the hall into darkness. Which means you won’t be able to get out of the underground lot. You pull the flashlight out, head for the stairwell, keep the bat hefted over your shoulder. Your hands shake on the grip, but you ignore it.

The city has been plunged into chaos. The lobby of your building is a disaster, shattered glass and debris scattered across the floor. The security guard lies in a heap beside his post, his throat torn out, blood pooled beneath his body. You bite back the urge to scream, the urge to vomit, the urge to turn tail and go straight back to your apartment and stay there until something else—

Planes zip past over head. Not regular planes; fighter jets. The army. You pick your way across the lobby, stowing your flashlight, and as you step through the remains of the door, an armoured truck speeds down the road in front of you, the sound of gunfire echoing up the street. 

Everywhere you look, there are people; some screaming, some shouting, some dead on the ground. Horror zips down your spine when you see more like Dean, sprinting down the road, lunging and jumping at people, pinning them to the ground, teeth tearing into flesh, blood pouring onto the sidewalks. Everywhere, people screaming, people dying, soldiers with guns.

Your breath seizes in your chest, turning your head left and right. Where do you go? Your heartbeat is in your ears, your blood thumping beneath your skin.

Glass crunches beneath your foot as you step onto the sidewalk, keeping your back pressed to the building as people sprint past. What do you do? Soldiers are stopping people, barking orders into walkies, and you watch in horror as right in front of you, a woman no older than you is thrown to the ground. “Please, no!” she shouts, grabbing at the soldier’s legs. “I cut myself on glass, I swear! Please!”

The soldier puts a bullet in her head, and your heart sinks into your toes. Your shoulder buzzes, the pain dulled slightly but a sudden reminder, a thick thump beneath your skin. Oh, god. Her blood seeps across the asphalt, inching towards the toes of your shoes, and before the soldier can turn to you, you bolt.

Every corner you turn is the same: bodies, bullets, fire. They’re mowing people down, more armoured trucks rolling down the city blocks. You just keep going, ignoring the glass and brick and blood that crunches beneath your feet as you do. You point yourself West, and you just keep walking.

Gunfire makes your spine prickle, and a bullet rings off the end of the bat, not two inches from your thigh. You bite back your shriek, sliding down the next alleyway you see. More people barrel down the sidewalk, more bullets rain, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries.

What the fuck are you gonna do?

Your shoulders shake against the bricks as you slide down to the ground, a dumpster blocking you from view of the street. You squeeze your eyes shut, cover your ears with your hands, try to drown out the screaming and the sound of bullets hitting bodies, hitting people.

Hitting those…things.

Your ribs shake with every breath you try to take. You’re hyperventilating, your limbs shaking harder with every passing second. What are you gonna do? Where are you gonna go? You can’t—

You don’t wait, you don’t stop, Joel’s voice nearly shouts in your head. You just keep going.

Slowly, you open your eyes. The bat sits on the pavement beside you. The metal is dented where the bullet pinged off, and there’s a splatter of dried blood on one side. From Dean, you realize. Overhead, helicopters whir through the city, fighter jets soaring higher. You can hear the screech of tires, cars colliding with each other, more screams, more glass shattering.

You dig in the backpack for the hunting knife, strap the holder to your belt as best you can. You curl your fingers around the handle of the baseball bat and get to your feet, creeping up slowly, peering over the top of the dumpster.

If you had waited just one more minute.

The man spots you as soon as your head lifts, and something akin to recognition sweeps through his dead features. His jaw looks unhinged, blood dripping from his hands, those same strange marks you’d seen on Dean webbing across his face. A high-pitched wail echoes through the alley, and when he lunges, whatever instincts have awakened within you take over, and you swing. You hit his shoulder on the first one, the same you had with Dean, but the second connects, harder than the first, a sickening crunch as it meets his skull. He topples over, and you don’t hesitate, lifting the bat above your head before bringing it down hard, the ring of metal sounding almost wet.

You wipe the blood on the man’s jacket. There’s a knife sticking out of his back pocket, and you grab it, shove it in the side pocket of your backpack. You tighten your grip on the bat, heading deeper into the alley, eyes darting through the dark, ready.

You just keep going.

+

It’s days, of hiding. The sun never seems to come up, the sky filled with smoke and ash that burns thickly in the back of your throat. The people never stop screaming, and it’s gotten to the point where you don’t remember the last time you slept. You’ve tried not to waste the food or the water in your bag, and hunger gnaws at your stomach, the adrenaline still flowing having taken over every part of your body. You’re still shaking, but it’s not quite as bad.

You just keep going. 

Every step you take brings the sound of crunching glass, and your shoes don’t last as long as you’d hoped. The rubber splits after a few days of sprinting down alleys, hiding in empty storefronts, sitting in the dark. You sleep in short spurts, a rare moment of silence, the bat held in your lap with an iron grip. You stay out of sight as much as possible, steering yourself towards the city limits. Helicopters whir overhead near constantly, searchlights sweeping the pavement. Part of you wonders what they’re looking for.

You hear more people get attacked. The screaming never stops, but your brain seems to tune it out. You stumble into a UPS store and find a roll of duct tape, a few pairs of scissors, one of those ugly brown jackets. You wrap your shoes with the tape; it’s not ideal, but it’ll work for now. It has to.

It’s a waiting game, you learn quickly. Wait for the quiet, but not too quiet. Wait for an opening, where those things are distracted enough that you won’t draw attention. Keep the bat level, don’t let it hit anything. Don’t make a sound. Get where you’re going quickly and stay fucking quiet.

You’re thankful, for the fact that this…whatever the fuck this is that’s happened to the world has kicked your survival instincts into high-gear. It feels like you blink, and it’s been a week, seven whole days since you killed your boyfriend with a damn baseball bat. Seven whole days since Joel called, wished you happy birthday, told you to get out of Boston.

I’ll find you, baby.

Most nights, you cry yourself to sleep. Silently, no sobs wracking your throat, just hot tears that come away black when you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand. Your mind is a blur; your family, Joel, their faces, their fates. Dean. The guilt, the fear; you were protecting yourself, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. You bury your face in the collar of Joel’s flannel, stare at the polaroid in your pocket until your vision blurs. You blockade yourself in cafe bathrooms, boutique change rooms, storage closets, whatever you can find. Whatever feels safe, not that anything truly does.

The army doesn’t let up, not that you expect them to. Not an hour goes by without the sound of gunfire, shouted orders, the crunch of debris under truck tires. You’ve been listening, as you move, eavesdropping on soldiers’ conversations. There’s talk of a wall, a gate around the city, to keep it contained, a quarantine zone. You hear whispers about guard towers, murmurs about the shopping mall becoming a shelter for uninfected people.

“Yeah,” one soldier comments, holding the biggest gun you’ve ever seen, “if any of them survive what’s coming.”

How fucking comforting.

You hear a few more talking about it, distances and weights that mean nothing to you, but when you hear blast radius, it starts to make sense. The dread sinks deep into your gut, your bag suddenly too heavy for your shoulders, the world slipping out from beneath your feet.

You have to get out.

Joel’s voice echoes in your ear. You tighten your grip on the bat. 

You just keep going.

There’s no warning, when they start the bombings. You’ve been on edge ever since you put two and two together, tiptoeing through the city, still keeping to the shadows. 

Your shoulder still throbs occasionally; you’ve changed the bandages a few times since the first, tried to keep it as clean as possible, but every time you feel it ache, all you can think of is that woman outside your apartment, pleading for her life, the echo of the bullet ringing through her skull. If they caught you, if they saw you were injured, that would be it, you know that. So you keep going, no matter what you hear, what you see.

And then, in the blink of an eye, the world is ending all over again.

The noise yanks you out of sleep, the bookstore you’d been sleeping in shaking as another explosion echoes through the city. The shelves start to shake, the few books that haven’t already been pulled from the shelves toppling to the floor. Outside, the sky is dark, and the air turns to flame before your eyes, building across the city starting to topple, fire crawling up the broken frames, bursting more windows, sending showers of glass shards to the ground below.

And the people…screaming.

The infected, howling.

Your heart is beating so hard you can feel it in your throat, scrambling to your feet as you rush towards the door. Before you can pull it open, another bomb drops, the door blasts inward, and you’re thrown off your feet, colliding hard with one of the shelves, falling to the floor beneath it. Your head hits the ground hard, pain radiating through your skull, and almost like an echo, you hear more of the shelves fall.

The last thing you see is one falling in front of the door, miraculously not torn from it’s hinge, pushing it shut, blocking out the world outside.

+

You dream about Joel.

Well, maybe a memory, more than a dream. The line seems to blur between.

Those two weeks, in the summer, the Fourth of July, every night spent wrapped in Joel’s arms, in his bed. You talked for hours, filling each other in on what you’d missed, what had happened since you left Austin. You only left his bed when you had to, when the sun had come up again and you knew Tommy would be back with Sarah, knew Joel had to go to work, knew you had to find a way to fill your day until he came home again.

He wouldn’t let you leave the circle of his arms, keeping your body pressed to his, a knee slotted between your own, bicep flexed beneath your head. His other hand roamed, starting at the base of your neck, trailing down your spine, all the way to the small of your back, the curve of your ass, before trailing back up again. You kissed him like you had on the day you left, until you weren’t sure where you ended and he began, until he was breathing your air, drinking it from your lungs.

The memory is fuzzy, faded around the edges, but it’s still him. It feels like it goes on for hours, the slow trek of his hands across your body, his mouth along every curve of your face, his body pressed into you so deeply you know you’ll never be the same.

It wasn’t, even when you left. Dean was great, he really was. He loved you, made you happy, made you laugh. You loved him, too. But he wasn’t Joel. No one ever would be. No one ever could.

“I love you,” you hear your own voice say, an echo in your head. Dream Joel smiles, pulls you close.

His mouth doesn’t move, but you hear his voice all the same.

I’ll find you, baby.

It feels less and less like a promise, more and more like a dream.

The dream fades, darkness taking over, and your head throbs. You slide slowly back into consciousness, your limbs screaming in protest, your throat thick with the sour taste of soot and ash and flame. The waking world is just as terrible as you’d left it, and you blink away the dust that’s settled along your lashes, cough so hard your chest sings with pain. You move slowly, not getting to your feet, just propping yourself against the bookshelf you’d been thrown into, resting your aching head against the wood. You’d collided with the shelves and brought them all down, but the main housing of the shelf is still intact, and you fit yourself inside it, grabbing the bat from where it had fallen and pulling it into your lap.

Fuck.

It’s dark outside, the sky inky and black, but still threaded with smoke, flutters of ash, flickers of fire. You wait, anxiety a tight ball in your stomach, for another bomb to fall, another explosion to rip through the city. As you wait, you take stock. Your arms are a mess of cuts and bruises, blood streaking your skin, a few pieces of splintered wood poking out from the sleeves of your flannel. You clean yourself up best you can, loathe to use more of your first aid supplies, but there’s a nasty cut on your forearm, and you know you can’t leave it unattended.

Slowly, you get to your feet, testing the weight on your legs, careful that your knees won’t give out beneath you. You leave your bag near the shelf, heft the bat over your shoulder, and head for the window.

The bookstore only has two small windows, either side of the door. The glass is long broken, leaving behind only the criss-crossed wires that once held it in place. The shelf that had fallen in front of the door creaks beneath your weight as you step up onto it to peer through the opening. 

You barely recognize the city. Everywhere you look, there’s just darkness. Piles of ash and charred remains, fractured cars and toppled streetlights. Twisted heaps of metal, cracked chunks of asphalt, some spots still smouldering, still burning. There are holes in the earth, pits in the ground where the bombs had hit.

And still, the screaming.

Not screaming, you realize after a moment, clutching the bat tighter. The howling. The inhuman shrieking of those…things.

The Infected.

Not knowing what else to do, you wait it out. You sift through some of the books, hoping for an atlas or map, something that could help you plot a path out of the city. If they haven’t put the gates up yet, like you hear the soldiers talking about. It’s hard to know how long you’ve been out for; minutes, hours, days.

You eat something, some kind of protein granola bar that sits like lead in your stomach, and sip your water sparingly. Your throat feels raw, no doubt from the amount of ash you’d inhaled laying there on the ground, but you know you can’t waste the water. The flannel’s been mostly shredded, the fabric torn all over your arms, a large tear across your chest, and you shrug out of it, blinking back the tears that form when you realize it’s unsalvageable. You stuff it into the bag all the same, and pull out the other, about to slip it around your shoulders, but opt for a hoodie you’d grabbed instead.

The polaroid is still intact, a little torn at one corner but the picture is still clear. Worry gnaws at your gut, and you slide it into one of the inner pockets of the bag, where it’ll hopefully be safe. You pull out the roll of duct tape, rewrap your shoes, toss back a few ibuprofen you find in the first aid kit.

You wait for the next morning, when more of the smoke has cleared, the sky not as dark, the screams quieted. Most of the fires have burned themselves out, leaving nothing but charred embers that crunch under your feet as you slip out of the bookstore. You don’t bother pulling the door shut behind you.

For a moment, everything is just…still.

You got lucky; there was a map book still on the shelves, all the pages still intact. It took a while, waiting for decent light, using a pencil you’d pilfered from behind the register, but you had a route, a plan. You had no idea how long it would take you. A car would definitely help, but the state of the streets of Boston didn’t exactly give you hope the roads outside the city would be any better.

Joel’s voice lingered in your mind: it’s everywhere. How many more of those things would you encounter on the road to Austin? Had they bombed other cities? Was this actually everywhere, worldwide? Did you really have a snowball’s chance in hell?

You tighten your grip on the bat, turn down the alley beside the bookstore. It didn’t matter. You have to get out of Boston, and you have to get to Joel. It’s that simple.

Right?

You get to the edge of the city, and every ounce of hope you had left disappears. Your heart hammers in your chest, the bat shaking in your grip, the pain in your shoulder thumping loudly with every step, even as you slow to a storm.

There’s a ten-foot fence around the perimeter of the city. Metal chain link stretching out as far as you can see in every direction, soldiers everywhere you look, tanks and trucks and gigantic guns manned atop guard towers. You can just barely make out the sign pinned to the metal: TEMPORARY BOUNDARY.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself; you have to get out of Boston.

PREV | NEXT

[angelgoeslewd]

Resonance.

🔮 summary: it’s hard to remember. (solomon x reader x simeon)

⚠️ warnings: longing.

🌟 this work is being REWRITTEN! check back for the completion check ✅ and a new story with extra content!

Mornings with Solomon almost always felt straight out of a storybook.

The chilled autumn air, looming thicken and heavy with a melancholic tone, greeted you as you stretched your arms, teasingly leaving a trail of goosebumps as your warmed skin left the sanctuary of your bed. Cocytus Hall froze in the Devildom winters, its thick walls and dark tones doing little to keep the cold air comfortable enough. Thankfully you weren’t alone. You never were, these days. You had him to warm you up.

The thought was nearly was enough to tempt you back into his sheets, to snuggle back into his sweet scent, but… something was missing. As you blinked sleep from your eyes, glancing around the Sorcerer’s room, you realized the man in question was already gone. Confused, you sat up, looking around for your bedmate. He was just as avoidant of the cold weather as you were; while he did occasionally let you sleep in during summer, it was very unlike him to do so in the winter.

You shielded your eyes from the glare of sunlight that shone directly on you, trying to make out objects in the room from the dust floating in the air. “Sol…?” you called, pursing your lips as no response formed. That’s when the smell hit you.

Sweeten spice. Warm, honey-rich, and bready. Oh, Devils in Hell, was he trying to cook again!?

The thin camisole you wore did little to protect from the cold air, though it greatly increase the amount of skin you got to press against your beloved Master in bed; you cursed the decision now, pulling the comforter off the bed and rushing down the hall to the kitchen.

“Sol, I swear, that better be coffee I smell-”

Your words stopped short as your eyes made contact with the one man you expected to find up to no good. Fingers interlaced, under his chin, Solomon sat at the small table in the kitchen, a cup of warm, amber tea in front of him, the steam billowing up and blooming into white whips as it hit the air.

“Good morning, my dear.” His eyes raked over your body, lighting up with excitement as he reached your translucent dress, barely covered by the blanket you clutched, but relaxed your grip at his wandering eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t already seen before…

“Ah… good morning, little lamb.”

In horror, your eyes shot over to the other man in your kitchen, the one you weren’t expecting, the one Solomon should’ve warned you about-

Simeon. Who stood at the stove with a apron on, a spatula in one hand; who met your own gaze with widened eyes of his own. His eyes flickered downwards every so often, but tried to maintain eye contact with you. By the way his cheeks darkened, you can tell he was failing.

“Solomon!” You squeaked, turning to him with a look of betrayal, your cold hands twitching — wanting to gather the heavy fabric as close to you as you could but you couldn’t. There was very little you could do here without directly making Simeon uncomfortable, and that’s not what you wanted. It wasn’t like you hated his attention on you, but what you, him, and Solomon had was from a different time, one that didn’t presently exist. Even so, you knew Simeon well enough, that if you tried to cover yourself, he’d blame himself for looking, for putting you in a position that you felt you had to do that. (When really, he should probably be blaming the man who most likely orchestrated this.) And the past affection you held for your former lover, even if he wasn’t the same one, still held you back.

The man who, currently, sipped his tea and shrugged with such blasé, that anyone who wasn’t in a 3 year long relationship with him would be able to tell that he was the mastermind behind this little plot that you could see right through. “Dove,” Solomon calls, setting down his cup with a slight clink!, motioning for you to come to him. “You haven’t met Simeon yet, have you?” You wanted to hit him. You wanted to absolutely smack him with all the force you could embarrassingly muster. He knows that the three of you-! “Come on now, he’s one of the newest exchange students. From the Celestial realm. I invited him over for… breakfast.” You didn’t miss his hesitation in that word. You didn’t miss how his lips twitched upwards as he tried to smiled reassuringly, twisting the action into a perverse grin, even if for only a second.

Your feet make a decision before your mind does, carrying you over to him with soft pit-pats before you can even register the movement. (This is how it’s always been, this is how you remember it — but this isn’t your Simeon. He isn’t your other part, currently.) Solomon grasps your waist and pulls you onto his lap as you approach, letting only him see your very unamused face as you finally give him an answer, “Yes. How very kind of you, Solomon. Very unfortunate that I didn’t know about it sooner.”

Ah… full name. He was in trouble then. You could practically see the drops of sweat forming on his forehead as he sheepishly answered — “Oh? Did I forget to mention that was today? I’m so sorry, Dove,” — though the act worked in seeming like he actually forgot. And that forsaken nickname-! That was-

“He calls you Dove?”

The both of you startled at the reminder of the other man in the room, forgetting who exactly you were locked in a silent, mind-reading argument about. But his soft, quiet voice was almost as loud as your own heartbeat, drawing out the longing you knew you both felt for him.

Simeon looked just as surprised, however, when both of your heads turned towards him, and his cheeks flushed before he quickly turned back to the stove, worrying over his pancakes to hide his embarrassment at the injection. “I, uhm, sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude, haha!”

“No, Simeon, it’s, it’s ok- ah!” You nearly tip over Solomon’s cup in your rush to stand, his hands meeting your own to steady the porcelain, before you continue getting up, with his help to heap the comforter over your arms like a shawl. “It’s just a, an old nickname he uses for me. It’s very dear to me.”

Simeon nods, still keeping his face down, towards the stove as you approach from behind. You feel like you’re cornering a scared bird, yet again, and try to keep your distance by stopping at the island.

“It’s… It’s cute…”

How you wished you could tell him that it’s his, it’s always been his, it belongs to him, just like you and Solomon, and both your hearts —

But when you looked back at your sorcerer, the same one who had his eyes locked on the back of the angel currently making you both pancakes…

When yours finally locked with his… and he sadly shook his head…

You both knew this longing would have to wait to be resolved, once more.

[duhragonball]

Chainsaw Man ch.1-4

Put the kids to bed, lock your doors, and grease your sprocket bearings, because July 31 was yesterday and that means it's

That's right, it's finally time to liveblog that popular manga series by Tatsuki Fujimoto, His and Her Circumstances. No, wait! I keep forgetting the name of this thing. Sorry. No, we're actually going to spend this month covering Chainsaw Man.

To be honest, I don't actually know a whole lot about this thing, except that it stars a man with chainsaws for his hands and face. And there's this spooky hot lady in it. That's... yeah, that's about it. Does his dick turn into a chainsaw too? Is the spooky hot lady underage? Well, I learned a long time ago that I'll never get a straight answer unless I read the thing for myself.

This was actually a recommendation from @rakruined way back in 2021. It's taken me this long to get to it, but suffice to say the internet buzz for this thing got my attention. I've seen cosplayers, discourse, reblogs of popular scenes, but none of it really makes much sense beyond "These are characters from a popular manga". So let's dive in and see if I can't form my own opinions.

I'm only planning to cover the first 97 chapters, because my understanding is that this was the first part of CSM and the second part is still ongoing. Also, I only set aside a month for this, and I doubt I can cover much more than a hundred manga chapters in that time. If this goes well, we might look into the rest of CSM in the future.

Now, before we get too deep in the weeds, I think we need to establish one thing up front. This is a completely new series for me, and I know nothing about this Tatsuki Fujimoto. It's all well and good to write a manga about chainsaws, but is he just doing this for a quick paycheck? Is he riding the wave of chainsaw hype? I guess what I'm asking is: Does he even like chainsaws? Or is he some phony?

Okay then. I think we can do business here.

So this story is about a sixteen-year-old boy named Denji, who is deep in debt. To pay it down, he sold one of his eyes, a testicle, and some other organs. He cuts trees for a living. Also he hunts devils, since there seems to be a lot of money to be made in that line of work. Unfortunately, it might still take a livetime to pay back what he owes, and he's stuck living in abject poverty until he does.

In one scene, Denji eats a cigarette for some spare cash, which he uses to buy enough bread to eat one slice a day. He's heard people put jam on their bread, but he can't even afford this.

Denji's only friend is a devil named Pochita. Shortly after Denji's father died and the Yakuza threatened to kill Denji unless he repaid a bunch of his dad's debt, Pochita wandered up to the gravesite. Denji resigned himself to debt, but noticed Pochita was injured, so he allowed Pochita to bite him, since human blood is supposed to help devil's regenerate their bodies. Denji called this a contract, where they would help each other survive. And with Pochita's help, Denji hired himself out to the Yakuza as a Devil Hunter to pay his debts.

But this not-so-cozy arrangement doesn't last. One night the gang takes Denji to some spooky lair to take down a devil, but they reveal it was a trap. The gang tried to make a deal with this devil for greater power, except this devil's power turns humans into zombie slaves, so it's not much of a bargain. Anyway, this devil sics his army on Denji and they chop him and Pochita to bits.

Huh. Well, it was pretty short, but the art was nice. I wonder if that lady was from some other series... Oh wait, we're not done.

At some point during their friendship, Denji told Pochita that if he ever died while Devil hunting, then he wanted Pochita to merge with his body. Or something like that. Denji only knows that devils can do that sort of thing, and Denji's proposing this because he thinks Pochita would be able to survive on his own more easily this way. So when the bad guys dump their remains in a dumpster, Pochita begins putting all their pieces together.

Denji wakes up to discover his wounds are healed. He even has his right eye back, and presumably that one testicle he sold. Also he's got pull cord sticking out of his chest, similar to the one Pochita had for a tail. In some sort of dream or hallucination, Pochita tells him that this is another contract between them. He'll be Denji's heart, and in return Denji will go on sharing his dreams with Pochita, because Pochita always enjoyed listening to Denji's dreams of a better life.

But the devil who killed Denji is still there, and he's pissed that Denji somehow survived. It occurs to him that the mobsters were just like him, even though they had a lot more money and power. They had aspirations for more, which led them to dealing with the devil who made them zombies.

But they clearly followed their ambitions to a bad end. Denji pulls the cord on his chest and turns into some sort of man-like creature with chainsaws coming out of him. A "chainsaw man", if you will. At first the devil thinks that means Denji is on his side, but Denji still considers himself a Devil Hunter, and killing all of these guys will wipe out his debt. I don't know if he means the payout for this caper will clear the debt, or if he thinks killing all these Yazuka-zombies will wipe the slate clean. Maybe both.

When the slaughter is finished, he changes back to normal, and is discovered by a different group of Devil Hunters. Led by Makima, these guys are with "Public Safety", so I assume they're a government agency, as opposed to civilian devil hunters like Denji.

Makima senses that Denji is somehow both human and devil, so she gives him a choice: Either she kills him as a devil, he can serve her organization as a human. She refers to him like a pet, which Denji seems to accept readily, because all he wants right now is food. She promises him bread with jam, and some other stuff, but honestly, she had him at "bread with jam."

True to her word, Makima takes Denji out for a meal, but before he can eat, a civilian shows up talking about a devil who abducted daughter. Makima doesn't want her noodles to get soggy, so she tells Denji to handle this alone.

Aren't noodles... supposed to be soggy? Like, the idea is to soak them in boiling water to make them soft. How much wetter can they get? I'm thinking of like chicken noodle soup here.

Anyway, Denji tries to object, since he's exhausted and starving, but Mikama insists. He's her dog now, and she has no use for dogs who don't follow orders. So he's got no choice.

It doesn't take long for Denji to find the girl and the devil, but the girl pleads for the devil's life, claiming they're friends, and her dad abuses her. Denji can sympathize, since he was friends with Pochita, after all. So for a little while he's conflicted, but he suggests that the three of them can run away together and escape from her father and Makima. But the whole thing is a setup. The devil was controlling the little girl with his powers and tries to ambus Denji. But he failed to consider one thing...

That thing is chainsaws. I believe it was Sun Tzu who wrote: "When setting a trap for your enemy, first make certain that he cannot turn himself into a monster with chainsaws for hands."

Denji succeeds in his mission, so Makima finally lets him eat. She even feeds him, since he's so worn out from the transformation. The noodles are soggy, but he doesn't care, because he's been living on bread this whole time. Also, he's got the hots for Makima, so working with her is a pretty cool arrangement.

Or it would be, except Makima takes him to their headquarters and assigns him to work with some dickhead named Aki Hayakawa.

It's around here that Makima's whole manipulation bit comes into focus. This isn't some one-sided infatuation here, where the girl has no idea how the boy feels about her. Makima is clearly aware of Denji's feelings and she's perfectly willing to use them to get what she wants out him. And she can get more out of him by constantly keeping herself just out of his reach. Oh, we're going to be working together all the time... well no we won't, you'll be spending most of your time working with my other subordinates.

It's a bait-and-switch that I find... Well, let's just say "surprisingly relatable". Denji's too young to know how this turns out, so he thinks if he goes through all the hoops he'll earn Makima's favor, except she has no interest in favoring him. He's just a curiosity, to be discarded when he's no longer compliant or useful.

When they're alone in an alley, Aki beats Denji up and tells him to quit. He can tell Denji's only in this because he's got the hots for Makima, and Denji admits it. Aki feels that Denji's not cut out for this work because his motives are too shallow. Only those with strong motivations and conviction can hack it in this business. But as Aki turns his back on Denji, he's forgotten one thing.

Knee to the groin.

Aki made a nice speech, but here's Denji's rebuttal: He actually got treated like a person today, which might seem shallow to some, but for Denji, it's a dream come true, and he'd go to any length to keep this new lifestyle going. Aki thought he could scare Denji out of this with a simple beating, but Denji got killed yesterday, so you're not gonna run him off with a few punches. Also, Denji's willing to fight dirty. I'm sure Aki has some kind of badass fighting style, but Denji's fighting style is to focus all attacks on the balls, and it seems to work well.

And this is why I'm not impressed with Aki as a character so far. He doesn't approve of Denji, and he's clearly intended to be a "rival" character, and he's very serious motivations for devil hunting, but so far he hasn't shown us anything that makes him worth having around. We've already seen people treat Denji like shit--hell, that's all anybody ever does in this comic. What makes Aki such hot shit?

Anyway, Makima wants Denji and Aki in the same squad. Aki's the leader of the squad, but Makima wants to pick a roster with a "unique experimental setup."

Their first mission together is to kill a fiend. This is just another devil, but one who has taken possession of a human corpse. Isn't that what Pochita did to Denji? Apparently not, Aki says, although how the hell would he know? I guess the difference is that Denji can switch back and forth between human and devil form, while fiends are stuck in this one form.

Anyway, Aki wants Denji to kill this fiend so he can see his devil powers in action, but Denji decides to decapitate him with an axe instead. Why? Denji says that his chainsaw powers are kind of painful, and he wanted to give this fiend a quick, merciful death.

Aki gets all pissy over this and warns Denji that he shouldn't waste any sympathy on devils. Aki also informs him that a devil killed his entire family in front of him, which is probably what got him so motivated to do this kind of work.

Aki leaves in disgust, and Denji reveals the real reason he held back: He wanted this guy's dirty magazines, and all that chainsaw-slingin' might have gotten blood all over the pages.

Denji reflects on his recent good fortune, and realizes that he still wants more, even though he's already succeeded beyond his wildest ambitions. What is his true goal? The other devil hunters and the police want to protect their families, and Aki wants revenge, and Makima wants... something, probably. What does Denji want?

He concludes the answer is to touch boobs. Now, I saw someone on Twitter the other day trying to paint Denji with the same "anime pervert" brush used for characters like Master Roshi. That misses the point. Denji is a teenage boy, an orphan living in a violent world, forced into indentured servitude to the Yakuza, and now forcibly recruited into Makima's group. Until now, the best he could hope for is some jam for his bread.

The joke with Roshi, tasteless as it may be, is that he's introduced as this "Invincible Old Master" who's advanced so far in the martial arts that he's above all worldly desires and concerns... except he's still a giant horndog like teenage boy. Denji is a teenage boy. It's not the same thing.

I should also point out that Denji, lonely and desperate as he is, recognizes that he can't just go up to Makima and ask to touch her boobs. That would be awkward, even if she likes him. That's something Master Roshi couldn't figure out for literal centuries. It's not the same thing at all.

What we're seeing here is Denji advancing up Maslow's Heirarchy of Needs. You know the one.

Usually this gets turned into a meme, where someone will color most of the diagram in and label it with something they like. But for Denji, he literally started at the bottom and he's working his way up. He achieved physiological safety when he met Pochita, who could help him kill devils and help him pay down his debts. He achieved safety when he merged with Pochita and Makima recruited him. Now that he's physically secure and has a meal in him, he's thinking about the next level: belonging and love.

I mean, he calls it "touching boobs", but come on. He's never been to school, his parents died when he was young, and he's been living hand to mouth for years. He doesn't know how to articulate any of this. That doesn't make him a bad person.

Anyway, Makima later introduces Denji to the next member of this squad, Power. She's a fiend, like the one Denji killed earlier, but she's part of this devil hunting group. Makima wants Denji and Power to work together as a team building exercise.

And Denji's fine with that, because Power has boobs, and he might find a way to touch them if he plays his cards right.

Overall, this is a promising start. I feel like I still haven't gotten to the true appeal of the characters yet, but I'm sure we'll get there.

[daringdaisy]

Rocky Rickaby? Nah more like Rocky Ricky

I had to make a short story for Spanish class near the end of the year. I decided to partner up with a friend, and she asked me about that cat I liked. I'm confused so I ask if she means Rocky. She says yes and that we should write a story based off him(I ended up writing most of it). Please enjoy this obnoxiously silly story that follows a bootleg Rocky

Once upon a time, there was a cat named Rocky, a violin playing traveler. Everywhere Rocky went, he tried to enlighten people with his beautiful melodies, but no one took him seriously. He was born to be a violinist, but was forced to be a cat.

One night, while he was sadly playing his violin on a bridge, he began to cry, and it fell into the river. Suddenly, a bubble formed and began to float towards Rocky. Surprised, he started to back away, but the bubble was coming straight towards him. Suddenly, the bubble burst into a thousand pieces and formed a beautiful queen (a female cat). However, this she wasn't just any queen, she had crystal-like fairy wings and a white ballgown that looked like it was made of silk daisy petals. She had divine golden fur covered in black and brown spots. She looked to Rocky and said,

"I will grant you three wishes."

Rocky was surprised that he had never heard such an offer. The fairy continued:

“But no wishing for more wishes, you cannot wish for more lives and you cannot change your physical form.”

Rocky nodded and contemplated for a few seconds. Finally, Rocky meowed and made his first wish. The fairy nodded and raised his wand.

"If you wish to speak, then speak you will."

A beam of flashes shot Rocky and he fell onto the cold, metal bridge.

"OW!"

Rocky's paw covered his mouth. He just said his first word. Before he could thank the fairy, she was nowhere to be seen. He runs to the bar and sneaks in through the open window. He walks up the stairs to the empty stage.

When he comes out on stage there is a mix of gasps and cheers. The sounds of glass bottles crashing against tables before an awkward silence fills the room. Rocky picked up his violin and began to play one of his original tunes. However, before he got very far, the bartender came up on stage and grabbed him by the back of his neck.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you can't play here?” the bartender questioned. What he didn't expect was to hear an enthusiastic, booming voice.

"Well, sir, if you would allow me to give you my rhythmic tunes for everyone’s entertainment tonight, I would change that feeble mind of yours," Rocky announced with a toothy grin.

The next thing he knows, he is thrown out the window and scurried under a cardboard box.

"Well, I'm not too surprised, but my heart is still full of disappointment," Rocky mutters, "I guess I'll have to try my luck again tomorrow." And with that, he slowly falls asleep.

A couple of nights later, Rocky returned to the bridge. He is enthusiastically reciting some poetry under the full moon with his new gift to a sweet melody from his violin.

“Old River! That seems far too austere a name for something made of mirth and rage. O-roiling red blood river vei…” "It's good to see you again, Rocky!" The fairy suddenly clapped her hands with joy.

“AH-” Rocky jumped, he was barely able to keep his balance on the railing. He takes a second to catch his breath before shakily responds, "Pleasure is all mi…"

The fairy interrupts abruptly and asks, "Have you thought about your second wish?"

Rocky announced confidently, "I wish I had some clothes."

“Can I do whatever I want?” The fairy questions

He shrugs, "I'm not particularly picky about this, but at least make it classy."

A glitter ball hit him and he was wearing a blue suit, an orange suit, a daisy in his breast pocket, and dress shoes. Before he could thank the fairy, she was gone.

Rocky runs to the bar once more and sneaks through the window again. He makes sure the waiter is out of sight and secretly goes on stage. The bar goes silent as they hear Rocky start playing. They don't laugh at him or wonder why he's there, they just listen. Rocky, pleasantly surprised, puts his heart and soul into his first real performance.

The final note is played and Rocky looks out at the crowd with a confident smile, despite his nervousness. The bar roars with cheers and applause, a first for Rocky. Rocky bows, soaking up the attention he's been craving for so long.

After that performance, he was allowed to live in the bar on the condition that he played his majestic music every night. Rocky enjoyed it at first, but quickly realized that he wouldn't be able to share his music with everyone if he just played at the bar only.

He decides to go to the old bridge to think about his next course of action. While he was deep in thought, the fairy sat next to him: "So, what is your last wish?" Rocky turns to her with a smile: “My last wish is to enlighten the whole world with my music!”