#not going to make the attempt to tag everyone

[reidswrld]

me & you together song.

❛ i’ve been in love with her for ages, and i can’t seem to get it right. ❜

spencer reid x reader.

summary: you’ve always assumed spencer reid’s love language was acts of service. flowers left at your desk. notes written only to you. every tuesday, he gave you your favorite bagel from downtown. you knew he was like this with the rest of the team, too. you didn’t sweat it. you were focused on your job, and your job only. but when multiple instances occur over the course of a case, it’s hard to ignore both of your feelings for each other.

tags: grumpy fem!character x sunshine!spencer reid, friends to lovers, everyone knows but them, the bau literally bets when they’ll get together, no use of y/n, afab character, found family if you squint hard enough, spencer’s obsessed with her but won’t admit it to the public (the public is morgan), based on me & you together song by the 1975 btw, i wrote this while eating a doritos loco taco

word count: 2k

notes: i asked my best friends to give me a character and a trope. happy first post!

When you first landed the job as an agent at the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, you first told yourself not to get too attached. This was a job, after all. A career. A high risk one, that could end in fatalities and wounds that might never heal, cuts that will always bleed for the rest of eternity. Once you made it clear to yourself that you were to be civil with your coworkers —close enough to be friendly, but not enough to go out for drinks on Saturday nights— and most important of all, do your job, and do it damn well, you poured yourself a glass of wine and watched the rest of the season of the sitcom you’ve been meaning to finish.

However, with all of the ups and downs your job gave you, it could not have allowed for you to expect the boisterous chaos that were your coworkers. They welcomed you in not only with open arms, but open minds. They respected your boundaries, your ideas, everything about you. Your attempt at remaining just civil became useless after months, but looking back, how could you have tried any longer? Penelope gave you a big kiss on the cheek every week, exclaiming that she loved your outfits and needed to go shopping with you right that minute. Morgan ruffled your hair whenever he brought you coffee (despite your incessant dismay that now you needed to brush it again). Hotch, though not a fan of public displays, would murmur a reassuring, you’re doing well every time he returned a file back to you. And then there was Reid.

Spencer Reid.

Well, what was there to say about him?

Over time, you’ve assumed that his love language must be acts of service. He brought you a bagel every week, sometimes more, from your favorite bagel shop downtown. Every Tuesday, a poppy seed bagel with extra plain cream cheese, extra toasted, cut in half so you could eat the middle dollop of cream cheese first. He made you mugs of tea whenever it grew past five pm because you told him that you had trouble falling asleep once months ago. Sometimes, small bouquets of wild grown flowers were left on your desk. At first, you thought it was Penelope being extra kind to you, or even Morgan playing a small joke on you. Both denied, but still giggled as you walked away. Whatever that meant. Behind your back, they secretly slipped each other five dollar bills.

You were sure he did the same for the rest of his coworkers, too. You’ve seen him refill coffee pots whenever Emily mentioned starting a new brew, and work extra hard on his reports in his free time to make sure Hotch or JJ didn’t stay too late. You were on the same page, anyway. Friends. Civil. It didn’t matter.

You huffed as you walked into the BAU, which was deemed more of a half jog, half marathon sprint. You hadn’t bothered to check the weather before leaving, and on the walk from the subway station to the office, it had started downpouring. The sudden drops of cold from the sky had caused you to drop your half empty cup of coffee, and you had forgotten to grab the breakfast you made yourself the night before in the fridge. Not even Harry Styles’ album blaring in your ears could have stopped you from turning the morning around. You grumbled simple good morning’s to everyone as you shook off your coat. Expecting to see your desk surrounded with papers that you were too tired to file in their intended drawers yesterday, you instead found a clean one; the papers were stashed in their designated places (in alphabetical order), the pens were compiled in the pouch you bought at Daiso years ago and cherished, even the trash under your desk was taken out. The only thing left to be seen on the wooden desk was a small brown bag that smelled of heaven and happiness and a folded piece of paper. You reached inside to find your usual poppy seed bagel the same as it always was. To make your Tuesday better. For you, always, the note read. You didn’t need to decipher whose scribbles those belonged to. You forgot it was Tuesday.

“Where’s my bagel, lover boy?” Morgan’s voice boomed as the man sat on top of your desk, snatching the bag with a grin. Spencer only swiftly passed by the desk with ease, choosing to make eye contact with the carpet.

“Good morning, Dr. Reid. Happy Tuesday.” Spencer’s eyes divert to yours quickly. He only nods, responding with the same greeting. Happy Tuesday, honey.

Morgan’s laugh carried throughout the room, swinging his legs as he spoke. “You two make me sick, that’s for sure. Can I have some of your bagel?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You furrowed your brow in annoyance, which only made Morgan smile widely.

“Do you need to get your glasses checked again? You know, there’s an optometrist across the street—”

As you started to speak, Hotch walked from his office, announcing a new case and to meet in the room immediately. You got up swiftly, grabbing your bagel from Morgan’s hands with a muttered asshole falling from your lips. It only made Morgan cackle loudly. You remind yourself to write a psych evaluation on Morgan after the case is over with.

On the first day of the case, you realized it was going to be a more difficult one than usual. You didn’t panic. You never do. The second day, you worked harder than ever only to see little to no result. You continued not to sleep. It was like clockwork. Work, coffee, repeat. After three days, the case was far from settled. In fact, it seemed to only be getting worse with no ending in sight. Everyone was continuing to work in hopes that they would be home for the weekend. The fourth day, though, seemed to be the worst. The killer was getting more spontaneous with their kills, and the team seemed to keep showing up minutes after the kill had occurred. You were running on little to no sleep and were getting more frustrated with each move the killer made in silence. Near the end of the day, as you stared aimlessly at the wall in front of you, hoping it would make some sort of answer appear in front of your eyes, Hotch put a hand on your shoulder, You jumped slightly, trance be gone, when he told you to get back to the hotel immediately.

Immediately, you persisted. “I’m fine. I’ve almost got something. I’m sure of something.”

“I’m not asking you.”

“Hotch—”

“I’m ordering you, not only as your boss, but mostly as your friend. Your dark circles are getting concerning.” You tried to budge once more, but as Hotch gave one of his stern glares, you knew you were done with work for the day. “I’ll get someone to drive you back. Wait here.”

Within seconds, Spencer appeared, replacing the previous figure of Hotch. Gently tapping your shoulder, he signaled for you to get up. With a flick of a wrist and a soft grin, he spun around a set of keys around his fingers. “Hotch is letting me drive.”

You smiled. “Don’t want Morgan to ‘vibe it?’”

“His definition of ‘vibing it’ is just turning on the sirens when he doesn’t want to stop at a red light.” You walked side by side to the car. Your shoulders brushed ever so slightly due to Spencer’s hands in his pockets, but you didn’t mind. You welcomed the warmth.

“Your definition is turning the volume up to 13 and calling it loud.”

“I would like to be able to hear when I’m old, thank you very much. Any decibel over eighty and poof. Hearing. Out the window.”

“I really don’t think playing Queen at any volume above 13 will kill you, Spence.”

“You never know, honey.” Spencer opened the door for you, ushering you in before closing the door and getting in on the driver’s side. He pulled a cassette tape from his bag and pushed it in the radio; it started to softly play Queen while Spencer messed with the volume, setting it at 13 before driving away. It made a soft smile appear on your lips as your head leaned against the cool glass. Between the constant, soothing movement of the car or the way Spencer’s lips mouthed the lyrics of Good Old Fashioned Boy, it was hard to tell when the lines blurred and sleep drifted you away. The only thing you recognized before falling asleep were the unmistakable words that left Spencer’s mouth.

“Good night, honey. Love you.”

You woke up with a start the next morning. You had no idea how you got back into your hotel room, or how you were wearing your favorite sports shirt that you find comfort in sleeping in all of these years, though your mind directed each question back to the same person, of course. Your mind wandered to the night before; it was the most relaxed you had been all week, even if it was just the simple act of driving with Spencer. You had done it before in past cases —even driven him back to his hotel at times— but this time felt different. Maybe it was the words that left his mouth.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.” Spencer suddenly walked in, holding bags in his arms. He set them down on the table, pulling out various assortments of breakfast foods and handing them to you. “No bagel shops around here, but I did find some good pancakes if you want to eat now.”

“Spence.” You suddenly sat up straight, as if a revelation hit you.

“What? No pancakes? It came with hashbrowns, too.”

“Spencer.” You emphasized, getting him to look at you.

“Yeah?”

“Why do you do all of this for me?”

“What?” His head cocked to the side, not understanding.

“Why do you… I mean… you go out of your way to do things for me. Unnecessary things. I need to know why.”

“Unnecessary…?”

“You… you leave me flowers that are like, hand picked from a garden or the forest, or something not from the city. You clean my desk for me when I’ve left it too messy. You make me my favorite tea when I’m at the office too late. You write me notes that are alluding but you won’t say what. I mean, Spence, you get me my favorite bagel every Tuesday. Why?”

His face suddenly turned serious as he sat next to you on the bed. “You want to know why?” He repeated.

“I know you do these things for the rest of our team, but I just, I just don’t get it.”

“Because I’m in love with you.” Spencer stared at you. “I’ve been in love with you. I think I’ll always be at least a little in love with you, if I’m being honest. I thought you’d catch on by now.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, honey. I thought I was pretty obvious.”

“So you meant what you said last night, then?” You said softly.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Really. I would’ve said it better if I had known you were awake.”

“But I did.” Your face grew closer to his. “And I’m not upset about it. Because I’m in love with you, too.”

Just as your lips began to brush, Spencer began to smile. “You know what day it is, honey? It’s our day.”

You smiled, too. “Happy Tuesday.”

You both tried to be subtle about it for the rest of the case. Weeks had passed by without the team knowing, but one slip up of a kiss on the cheek from Spencer on a Tuesday morning had led to an entire office full of chaos (and a meeting on workplace romance and consent from Hotch). You two didn’t mind, though. It was bound to happen. Until Penelope turned to Morgan and yelled at him to cough up the fifty dollars he owed her, of course.

Happy Tuesday.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Evil Plan

This trope is the reason "villains act, heroes react"; the villain needs to be doing something evil or the hero has no evil to thwart.

Some popular examples of Evil Plans:

Take Over the World: This is the most popular villainous scheme of all. The scale of conquest can vary depending on the setting and (or) the villain—some warlords are content to settle with conquering a city, a kingdom or nation, while Science Fiction or Fantasy overlords will go for nothing less than galactic, universal or even multidimensional domination.

The Evils of Free Will: A popular means to this end: by robbing everyone of their free will, they will have no choice but to serve their rightful ruler.

Assimilation Plot: Let's turn everyone into a single entity, whether they wish it or not.

Earth-Shattering Kaboom: Why take over the world when you can blow it up? Like Take Over the World, the scale of destruction also varies depending on the setting — some villains are content with merely destroying a city or kingdom (particularly if they feel the city or kingdom has somehow wronged them — i.e., revenge), while Omnicidal Maniacs may well wish nothing less than to destroy the entire universe or multiverse.

Kill All Humans. Related tropes: Feeling Oppressed by Their Existence: A character wants to get rid of a particular person or group of people just for existing. Absolute Xenophobe: Wants to destroy all other sentient life (human or otherwise). Omnicidal Maniac: Wants to destroy absolutely all life, sentient or not. Final Solution: The intentional extermination of a species/demographic is the answer to fix a perceived issue. Humanity's Wake: The outcome of this trope should the opposing species succeed in eradicating us.

In Their Own Image: Not happy with the world the way it is? Try tearing it down, and building it back up as something even greater.

The End of the World as We Know It: Not so much destroying the world or humanity as really screwing up civilization; though the former two may be involved in the bargain.

A God Am I: Forcing everyone to acknowledge their godhood (actual godlike powers optional).

Godhood Seeker: Make your character an actual deity.

Immortality Seeker: Pursue the quest for eternal life, no matter what foul deeds are needed to make it happen.

A Plot in Deed: Steal the deed to a plot of land and you'll own it, so why not steal the deed to somewhere good?

MacGuffin: Steal an ancient artifact with untold powers. This is usually done in the pursuit of one of the other Evil Plans.

Sealed Evil in a Can: Release the source of all Evil from its prison. This rarely goes well for the villain attempting it.

Revenge: You know that guy that wronged you in the past? It doesn't matter how petty or misplaced your grievance is, it's payback time. Time to kill him, or make his life a living hell.

Get-Rich-Quick Scheme: If you're already rich, get richer. Any scheme is fair game in the pursuit of the profit margin, be it theft, blackmail, or auctioning the world off to hungry demons. Unfortunately, this lust for wealth falls prey to poor planning.

Utopia Justifies the Means: You know how people keep hurting themselves and each other? Make them stop, by whatever means are necessary. No ill will required! Just like in Take Over the World, The Evils of Free Will often gets put into play here.

Dystopia Justifies the Means: People hurting each other? That's exactly what your society needs. Use all the means at your disposal to create a nightmarish dystopia where the forces of evil run rampant and people live in constant terror and corruption, just the way the villains like it.

Poke the Poodle: Their idea of evil is harmless behavior like cheating at Solitaire, jaywalking on an empty road, chewing gum in Singapore, pulling the "do not remove" tag off of your mattress, hiding your toothpaste, drinking the milk directly from the carton...

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Protector

Player 001 x reader [FLUFF]

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

You sat eating your food on your bed, you hadn’t made any friends or acquaintances yet after the first game. You noticed other people having and forming little groups and you were alone. You thought about your home, your dummy apartment in Seoul, how you had been alone there, no one to talk to except your cat, Milo. You were a Korean American, born and raised in Seoul by your mother after your father died in the Army, he was the best thing you ever had. He taught you English and A Mexican customs in case you ever made it to America. You didn’t. You remembered to leave Milo with the neighbor under the pretense of going on a trip.

“Señorita, excuse me” the purple haired guy approached you with his little side kick.

“Please leave me alone” you asked politely. “I’d like to eat my food”

“Nah, you’re in the ‘Thanos World’” he said making gestures with his hands.

“And what? You’re so cool no one can eat in your presence? Leave me” you say quietly eating another spoonful.

“How can you eat at a time like this?” Player 124 asked. “After all those bodies I saw, took my appetite. Yet, here you are, eating away.”

“Yes, because I am hungry”

“What are you? Fat?” Thanos poked you. “Come on little piggy, let us see how fat you are since you can’t stop eating.” He pulled at your jacket.

“I asked you to leave me alone” you repeated calmly. You attempted to retreat further into you bed before Player 124 ripped your food out of your hands.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“Not until you show us how fat you” Thanos laughed. He grabbed your jacket and pulled it off, moving to the middle of the room. “Come get it little piggy” he taunted as you got out of your bed. Before you could grab it, Thanos threw your jacket onto the floor.

“Ugh! You asshole” you bent to grab it before Thanos pushed you down.

“I said ‘not until you show us how fat you”

“I’m not fat!” You exclaim. The altercation drawing the attention of everyone, no one moving to help. He got on top of you pulling your shirt off your head.

“Wow, guess you do need to eat more” he laughed loudly. “Look at those ribs” he said as he poked them, making you squirm.

“Hey!” A man shouted. “Didn’t your father ever teach you how to treat a woman? Or are you a bastard?”

“Mind your business old man” Thanos waved him off.

“It’s mealtime, and you’re doing this in front of your elders. Aren’t you embarrassed of yourself?” He neared closer as Player 124 smooshed your food into your face.

“Eat it, eat it, you obviously need the food. Scrawny bitch” your eyes watered from embarrassment. You felt the weight of Thanos get lifted off of you as Young il pushed him.

“ Come on, old man” he rolled his eyes before attempting to fight Young il back, you pushed yourself up and backwards, not minding the fact that you were only in a sports bra. You let yourself get close to the edge the beds before you stood. Too afraid to grab your jacket as food fell off your face. You watched as Player 001 beat both of those men before grabbing your clothes off the floor.

“Here you go” he looked at you with a small smile. You grabbed your shirt and pulled it over yourself shamefully.

“Thank you…”

“Young il” he said as you grabbed your jacket from his outreached hand.

“Thank you Young il” you pulled your jacket on. Distress written all over your face.

“Here come with me, you can have some of my food, since yours is… dripping off of you” he gave a slight chuckle, trying to bring light to your face. You gave a half smile and followed him to his group.

“Gentlemen, this is…”

“annyeong haseyo” you bowed “my name is (y/n) (l/n)”

“annyeong haseyo” said another man. “ I’m Jung bae, and this is Gi-hun” he pointed towards Player 456.

“I’m Dae Ho” he greets.

“Here (y/n), have my rice” Young il says as you sit down.

“You can have my egg” Jung Bae said.

“Take my sausage” Dae ho says dropping it into your tin.

“You can have my milk, i only drink chocolate, i hate plain.” Gi hun hands his carton to you. You smile gratefully as you begin eating.

“Thank you all so much” you say between bites. Young il smiles down at you before looking at Thanos.

As bed time neared Young il approached you. you were standing by your bed between his and another players.

“I don’t feel very comfortable with that Thanos guy prowling around you. I’d like to invite you to sleep with me. So I can keep an eye out for you.”

“Oh you don’t have to, I’ll be okay” you say. “I dont want to inconvenience you”

“It’s no inconvenience at all, I don’t sleep very much” Young il smiles. He gets into his bed, propping his head up on one arm. Patting the empty spot beside him, you reluctantly crawl into his bed. He watched over you as you drifted off, moving softly as to not wake you, he turned Gi hun. “Gi hun?”

“Yeah?

“Thank you for being kind to her” he says. Gi hun nodded. Young il was determined to get you out of this place alive. He didn’t know what it was but he felt a serious need to protect you, to care for you. To keep you alive, dedicating himself as your sole protector. He knew nothing would happen to him, a quick word to the guards and you were protected by the same immunity. He thought about how cute your babies would be. Your big eyes and perfect lips.

His mind flashed to the state of your body. You were so thin he was able to see your ribs and how your collar bone was almost to the point of being visible through your skin. He felt bad, not knowing your past and why you were in that condition. He was going to fix you. He swore it. Planting a gentle kiss to your forehead. You stirred, his eyes widened, hoping he didn’t wake you. You turned into his chest and threw your arm around him, pulling him closer to you. You made a light hum as he wrapped his arm around you, curling his body around yours protectively.

Timeskip: The morning.

You awoke, you turned your head to see Young il snoring softly. You attempted to get up, his arms tighten around you before his eyes opened slowly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you” you say.

“It’s okay. I just thought something was wrong. Instinct i guess” his arms stayed unmoving.

“I’m going to get up”

“Just a few more minutes, the guards haven’t even come in yet” he pleads, giving you puppy eyes.

“Okay, that’s fair” you cuddled back into him, awaiting the PA to announce wake up time. You smiled. “Hey, Young il?”

“Yes?” He spoke.

“I’ve never been held like this before” you voice bashfully.

“Well, I’m glad i get to be the first.” He smiles.

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 33 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: As the Valyrian houses gather for the anticipated dinner party, King Viserys has an unexpected announcement to share. Word Count: 6070 CHAPTER WARNINGS: We're still talking about menstrual blood. I also only proof read this once, cause ya girl is getting lazy. So apologies for types/grammatical errors, and odd sentencing/wording.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: This is another one of those chapters I'm not particularly happy about. I think my problem is that I absolutely LOATH writing scenes where there are more than four people. Because there are just too many moving parts and I feel like I need to acknowledge everyone's existence. It's tiring. Anyway, I hope this reads better than I feel like it does.

The Small Council Chamber was at its fullest for the first time in years. Though there was a single marble left unclaimed in the centre of the table, a white and grey granite sphere that would belong to the Master of Ships. Alas, with Lord Corlys occupied near a decade in the Step Stones, and now incapacitated to near death, the subject of anointing a new master of ships was broached several times in the past, and that day was no different. 

“Word has it that the Cannibal has moved all the way north west, settling in the mountains around Iroman’s Bay. Dalton Greyjoy told me himself that the Ironmen have begun preparing ships with scorpions, and arming themselves with harpoons, ready to take down the beast,” Larys leaned back in his chair, eyes casting over the nearly full table before landing on the King. “He said that he is willing to take down the nuisance at your pleasure, your Grace, and all he asks is for a seat on this Council and a bride with a generous dowry.”

“Of course he did,” Lord Bartimos rolled his eyes.

“Your Grace, we do need a Master of Ships,” the Lord Hand reminded, and everyone’s eyes strayed to the lone marble in the hexagon. “Lord Dalton is an exceptional sailor and captain, and has one of the largest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms, next to the Redwyne’s.”

“Yes, but might I remind you of his reputation,” Daemon shot Otto a look. “He’s done far worse than I, and yet you kept me farther away from this Council.” 

“Daemon, please,” Viserys lifted his hand, already tired. “We are not going to bring up the past today…” He turned to look at Barty, who appeared to agree with Daemon, predictably. With a sigh, Viserys lifted his arms, “Tell Lord Dalton I will think on it. Until then, there are many others that we must consider.” 

“Like who, your Grace?” Lord Wylde raised an eyebrow. 

“Lord Manderly, for example, or Ser Cedric Redwyne, Lord Corwyn’s most accomplished son,” The King answered swiftly. “Not to mention, Lord Clement and Arthor Celtigar, Bartimos’ sons. Clement has possessed the seas since his youth, and knows Lord Corlys personally.”

At the mention of his sons, Barty’s chest swelled, “It would be a great honour, my King. My boys would make you proud, should you have them.”

Rhaenyra glanced at the Hand of the King; he appeared as if he was holding on by a thread. His mouth opened to say something, but instead he clamped it shut after sharing a look with his daughter beside him.

Having a Celtigar on the Small Council again would impede Otto’s ambitions. With Bartimos back, Rhaenyra could tell that the Hand was becoming more irate and impatient, making his motives clearer with every desperate attempt at salvaging Hightower power. His plan was thwarted when Viserys’ health improved; he was no longer addled with Milk of the Poppy and strained with pain, making it easier for Otto to manipulate by the power of suggestion and urgency. Ever since Lyonel Strong had stepped down as Hand and was tragically killed in the Harrenhall fire, Otto’s re-admittance into the position was merely due to the lack of better prospects. At that point, Viserys’ relationship with Bartimos was strained, otherwise the Claw Isle lord would have taken Lyonel’s place. 

However, now they are friends again, it was only a matter of time before Viserys realized he could replace Otto with him. The man’s presence in the Small Council while not having a title to belong there was enough of an implication. It would only take a few pushes until Otto finally snaps, forcing the King to do so. Ultimately, that would be a win for Rhaenyra, ensuring that there is no more Green influence whispering in her father’s ear.

Rhaenyra swiveled her eyes to Alicent for a moment, before moving her gaze onto her hands folded on her lap. She and the Queen have been cordial since Visenya’s funeral, though they have yet to share any true moment of reconciliation. At most there were glances of pity, sadness, longing, mutually understanding that they both wished to bury the axe. It was just a matter of who was going to lower their weapon and make the first wave of the white flag. After her conversation with Jacaerys the night prior, it would appear that she would be one to do that. 

Otto was wrapping up the final details of the Tourney, after making suggestions for possible low-born men to be knighted and even chosen to be a Kingsguard. Then he asked if there was anything else that needed to be brought up before they departed, and Rhaenyra felt a sense of deja vu. 

“Yes, there is, as a matter of fact,” she stood up slowly as everyone remained seated. “Several years ago, I stood in this Council Chamber with what I believed was a wise and honourable offer… I said it then, that we are one house, but we have since been divided all these years.” Her eyes roamed the table, noting everyone's expressions one by one. Daemon looked expectant, Otto looked too controlled, Alicent appeared conflicted, and her father’s pleasant smile of encouragement filled her with hope. The first and last time this was mentioned in this room, Alicent barred more mental strength than he. 

“His Grace wishes this to be a season of peacemaking, which I heartily agree… As does my son, Jacaerys, who was the one to bring this up to me.” Bartimos tilted his head towards Daemon, his brow furrowed.

 Rhaenyra turned to address him first, “Lord Bartimos, your daughter is simply lovely. You know well that I adored her when we both resided in the Red Keep, as I did her mother… A union between our families would have been ideal, yes, but I made a promise to my son that I would give him the liberty to choose, as my father gave me when I was his age.” 

The Lord of Claw Isle seemed to deflate in his seat, his eyes seemed to age as he blinked defeatedly, “My Princess, I would like to apologize for any insult my daughter has—”

Rhaenyra smiled and lifted her hand up to stop him, “Apologies are not necessary. There was no insult to be had… On the contrary, Jacaerys and Valeana got along well enough, but nothing beyond cordial companionship. Instead, your daughter has inspired my son…” Rhaenyra trailed off and looked back to Alicent. “He has approached me to inquire about the possibility of taking Princess Helaena’s hand in marriage. As it happens… He has already discussed it with her privately.” 

Alicent straightened in her seat, her mouth hung open with the incapability of articulating a response. Her eyes casting over to her father did not go amiss, and neither did Daemon’s look towards Bartimos. 

“Helaena has not mentioned this,” Alicent stated, her tone betraying her need to disbelieve her ears. 

“It appears to be a new development,” Rhaenyra folded her arms in front of herself diplomatically. “Though Jace has said he wished to court her quietly and without stress to ease Helaena’s mind.” 

“Well now,” The King finally spoke, his smile widening. “I did not wish to say it… But this was something I always wished had happened all those years ago.”

“But your Grace, we have already discussed betrothing Aegon with–” Otto was promptly cut off by Viserys.

“It was discussed and I made the decision of it not being discussed further,” Viserys looked at Otto, his purple eyes wide with the unquestionable authority of a King. “Helaena is too soft for Aegon. You of all people understand his appetites, as you spend most of your day containing the deplorable truths he hides in Flea Bottom. I know he loves his sister, but it does not go beyond that… And I believe everyone in this very room could all agree… He does not wish to marry Helaena, as much as she does not wish to be married to him.” 

The Lord Hand visibly sunk into his chair, his hands lifting in a feeble attempt to convey surrender. “Aegon is your first born son, your Grace. If there were anyone to marry first, it would be him. He is well past the age.” 

“I’m aware, Lord Otto,” The King smiled ironically. “Though as you are all aware by now, Aegon is in a very unique situation. And if the whispers have any merit,” His eyes flickered over to Larys, “It’s the same situation as my other son.” 

The King fell quiet, looking down at his four fingers as they drummed the marble sitting in its nest in front of him. Then he moved his eyes onto his friend, Barty, who sat at his right. Bartimos stared back, his jaw taught as they silently communicated the obvious. 

“I am inclined to allow the chips to fall where they may,” Viserys finally says, lacing his eight fingers in front of himself. “For my daughter, Helaena, however, I wish the world for her… And what better world can I give her than one where she is to be a future queen of the Realm, to be married to a honourable, compassionate, and strapping man like my grandson? Alicent, my dear, do you not agree?”

The question was a challenge, to gouge a reaction out of his wife. If Alicent did not agree, she would voice it. But something kept her lips buttoned, and she looked wide eyed between her husband, her father, and her former friend. If only Rhaenyra could read her mind, to know what she knew, to feel what she felt. Instead, the Princess waited with baited breath. 

Alicent slowly stood up from the table, her fingers anchoring her body on the table as she did. Her eyes found Rhaenyra above everyone else’s, effectively avoiding the imploring eye of her father. With a swift movement, she grabbed her goblet, and raised it to the Princess. 

“I agree,” her answer fills the room, stirring emotions. “It is time we repair the rift between our families, and make our house whole again.” 

When Valeana woke up that morning, it was earlier than she typically would find herself in. Shyla was missing from her bed, which only reminded her of her dream. A wave of nausea hit her; it felt like guilt, it felt like loss. It was so much simpler then, to choose both and have them willing. But it was not reality, as much as she curled back into her pillows, hoping to fall back into that dream that ended so unsatisfyingly. 

There was a distinctive squish between her thighs when she moved, and she internally groaned and threw her head back. She must have bled through her rag during the night. Carefully she moved her body over to inspect the sheets underneath her, finding it clear, thank the gods. Then, Valeana quickly strapped on Lady Footlyn so she could clean herself at the washing basin in the corner. A meticulously humiliating process she had to do every single morning the last few days; every moon for the last 8 years. Only 40 more to go. 

Though when she pulled up the damp cloth, she didn’t find what she expected. Her moon’s blood was over, what remained was slick, translucent, with a pinkish hue (likely remnants of her blood). Cringing at herself, she resumed her cleaning, ensuring that her thighs were thoroughly dry. At least she didn’t need to plug herself with cotton anymore. 

Over breakfast, it was collectively decided that Shyla should no longer suffer another night trying to sleep next to Valeana. Apparently, she had snored so loud and stuttery, Shyla had to check to make sure she was breathing several times.

“You sounded like you were a street cat being mounted by a direwolf, Val,” Shyla rubbed the corners of her eyes. An apt description, considering what she was dreaming that night. Unfortunately, there was a lack of Cregan. Perhaps another night. 

Floris was violently reluctant in giving up her single bedroom, but it was put to rest when Shyla expertly handled it. 

“It’s alright, Floris. The settee is kind of comfortable… I guess I can stay there for, what…two more moons? My neck won’t hurt forever.”

So, it was decided. Floris’ single room would be Valeana’s. The transition between rooms was a series of glares and muttered remarks as trunks of clothing were moved from one room to the other. When it was all settled, Val collapsed on the larger bed with a sigh. Floris’ former bedchamber was smaller, situated just above the one Valeana shared with Shyla. Stairs lead to it, a circular room in the spired tower above their family’s wing of the Holdfast. There was a larger tower on the opposite end, where her parents’ were. Unlike her former accommodations, this one’s balcony was considerably smaller, just enough for a lounging chair and a tea table.

Aemond would have a harder time climbing up there. 

Val lolled her head towards the inconspicuous bookcase, now empty of Floris’ belongings. Almost forgot about that. She lifted herself up on her elbows and looked around the room, now truly taking in how blissfully removed it was from the rest of the apartment.

A smile crept on her face, slow and devious, just as her hand moved up the hem of her skirt. 

The highly anticipated, but even more dreaded gathering of the Valyrian houses would take place that evening for supper. Valeana had spent the entire day making Queen Alicent’s dragon dress with Rosy in the private confines of her new bedquarters to kill the day. While her maid could not talk, she was actively listening as Valeana imparted ideas for her own gown for the Creature Ball. In the end, she decided to be a white lioness, a homage to her mother.

By the time it was time for her to get dressed for supper, the Queen’s dress was practically finished. All that was left was a final fitting to ensure everything was in place, which they had plenty of time for. The Creature Ball would not happen for another moon, at least, some weeks after the Tourney and the Victor’s celebration in the pavilions was over.

There was, however, a formal dress code for the evening. Everyone must wear the colours of their house, which meant that the Celtigars will be garbed in whites and reds, including Floris. 

“Why was she even invited,” Valeana ranted to Rosy as the girl helped her pull the solid vermillion dress over her head. “She’s not a Celtigar, she’s not Valyrian.”

And yet Floris wore Celtigar colours, a red bodice with matching tiered layer, an ivory skirt underneath and trumpet sleeves. A ridiculously extravagant dress that expressed something that she clearly is not. All that was missing were crabs embellishments, like Shyla’s. 

Her younger sister’s dress was mostly white, save for the inside of the corset in the front, and the stripe of red on the hemline of her skirt, sleeves, and square neckline. Her mother wore a solid red dress, much like Valeana’s, but hers had far more bedazzlement with pearls and polished quartz, which matched her statement necklace. 

Valeana had a fair amount of vermillion and ivory coloured dresses, enough to fill two trunks over had she brought her entire wardrobe with her to King’s Landing. Though there was one in particular that was her favourite, one that she had only worn once at her coming out ball on her 18th name day two years ago. It was a bit romantic, perhaps a little much the evening, but the King did request his guests to wear formal attire. And Valeana was feeling particularly romantic that evening. 

The skirt was slimmer than her usual gowns, but still held a petticoat underneath to keep shape. Though unadorned with embroidery, it was flowy and delicate. What made the dress her favourite work was the sleeves and the neckline. The sleeves were trumpet shaped, though entirely made out of vermillion dyed veil-type lace that exposed her arms from shoulder to wrist. The dress itself was designed around this fabric, so the lace was the focal point. The bodice had a lace corset in the front, and the neckline was sweetheart shaped, bordered by more lace that framed the tops of her bosom, clavicle, and over her shoulders with a patterned fringe. 

Rosy plaited her hair intricately, though its loose appearance made it appear effortless to anyone who didn’t look too close. Four smaller braids beginning from her scalp met in a knot at the back of her head, and the rest of her hair was pulled into two thick messy braids. 

Valeana stood after strapping on Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, then shook her hips around, making the dress swish around her legs. Looking up at Rosy, she asked, “How do I look?”

The mute girl communicated with her hands, a language that Val slowly learned over time. Her fingers made a crown on her hand, and then she covered her left eye before pointing at her heart. 

Prince Aemond will love it. 

Valeana smirked bashfully, “And what about Prince Aegon?”

Rosy stared at her with a tilt of her head as she considered the question. Then she motioned with her fingers around her chest, and made a squeezing motion. 

He will enjoy that part.

Valeana threw her head back in a laugh, then turned around to go find her shoe for her right foot. Her eyes glanced at the bookcase, the one that hid the hidden passageway, and she couldn’t help but involuntarily swallow at the mere possibilities this room offered. 

The dinner was being hosted in the Holdfast’s private ballroom, designed for family-only events and intimate parties. The Celtigars are the first to arrive, Bartimos leading the charge in his ivory doublet, trimmed in red, marching red grabs on his shoulders. Ursula behind, then Clement in a dark red doublet, and Arthor wearing similar. The girls filtered in right after, Floris, Valeana, Shyla. 

There were two tables positioned in a T shape, but separated by a platform. The smallest table sat horizontally on the platform with larger chairs. Two in the middle that faced the hall itself were the tallest, and the most ornate, a visual indication that it belonged to the King and Queen. The longest table was placed vertically below the platform some distance away; it had a total of fourteen chairs.

“I suppose that is where us kids sit,” Arthor comments as he moves around his family to take a gander around the ball. 

There was a band in the corner, playing lightly to create a background ambiance. Drapes were pinned to the ceiling, red, black, white, aquamarine; the colours of the Valyrian houses. Valeana noted green was distinctively vacant in the decor, as were the Hightower banners. On poles that flanked the fringes of the ball room, the sigils of House Targaryen, House Velaryon and House Celtigar stood proudly one after the other. At the very end of the ballroom, beyond the modest dance floor, was a statue of a dragon with three hands, candles were placed on its pedestal, illuminating it from below. 

Valeana stared at it for a moment, examining each head closely, particularly the one in the center that faced the room, eyes trained forward. 

The dragon must have three heads, a voice echoed in the back of her mind.

Not long after their arrival, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon strode in with their litany of children, save for the younger ones, Viserys and Aegon, who likely were put to bed by then. After the obligatory formal greeting, the growing crowd began to mingle. Clement went to crowd Daemon, and Jacaerys slowly made his way towards Valeana, who lingered around the statue. 

“The milkweed plant worked,” Jace said cheekily, his hands behind his back. 

Val grinned at him, “I told you. Did you talk to your mother about it?”

He nodded, “I did. She told me she had wished for it years ago, but was thwarted by Alicent. I’m guessing the Queen wished Aegon and Helaena to be wedded, but that was not going to come to pass…”

She hummed in understanding, “And what does Helaena think of it?”

“She has told me she cares for me, but she does have reservations about being Queen. I assured her that if she wishes it, she will be Queen in title only, and that she does not need to be obligated in affairs of the court. I only wish for her to be contented, and not forced into a loveless marriage where she is not appreciated.” 

Valeana smiled softly and placed a hand on his bicep, “You’re a sweet man, Jace. She is very lucky to have you.”

He looked down, suddenly overcome with bashfulness. Jace nodded his thanks, and then lifted his gaze up at her, “You look very pretty, by the way. That colour suits you.” 

She pursed her lips sheepishly, “Thank you, my Prince.” 

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind about us? Aegon the Conqueror had two wives—”

“Don’t push it.” 

Upon entering the ballroom, Aemond’s eye immediately found her, like a moth to the moon. The vibrant red of her dress contrasted greatly against the canvas of grey stone and wooden floors, like an orange-red rose growing on a vine along the face of the castle. He barely registered the formal greetings towards the King, he was too busy examining the narrow space between his Valeana and Jacaerys. He locked eyes with his nephew, and the insufferable bastard smirked at him before turning to her and saying something. 

Aegon appeared at his side, just in time for Jace to walk away from her, “Does he believe he still has a chance with her?”

Aemond could only grumble in response as Jace strode by them. “Uncles,” he greeted with a short nod of his head, and a faint smirk at the end of his lips. Aemond’s body prickled; he was so worried about Aegon, he had forgotten about Jace. He did not seem to appear a threat anymore, with Valeana very obviously showing disinterest in the forced courtship, but that was contradicted by their show of friendliness. 

Did she grow close to him during that day in the Godswood? He didn’t ask how the ride had gone when he was on her balcony, he was too consumed with the need to be with her, he had pushed it out of his mind completely. 

His father and mother moved to their centered seats at the table on the platform, which signaled everyone to do the same. Without being instructed, it appeared that everyone knew where they were to be seated. The elder generation took their place at the King’s table; Bartimos on Viserys’ right, and Otto on Alicent’s left. Rhaenys sat across from him, Daemon across Alicent, Rhaenyra across her father, and finally, Ursula sat across from her husband. 

At the longer table, it was a bit more chaotic as people scrambled to claim seats next to people they wished to be rooted next to, and actively avoided those they didn’t. Aegon and Aemond shared a look before they practically scrambled towards the approaching Valeana, who was about to take a seat next to her brother. Aegon, though, rested his hand on the small of her back, and guided her to the other end of the table. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Lady Valeana?” He smiled against her ear as he pulled out a chair near the end of the table. After he tucked her in, Aegon settled into the seat on her right, next to Helaena. Aemond took the seat on Valeana’s left, the very end of the table. 

Even though everyone in the room presently was aware on some capacity of his affection for Valeana, Aemond still had to keep the appearance that he wasn’t. He hadn’t the opportunity to end things with Maris, and the servants and guards that milled the room were just as responsible for the whispers as the ladies of court were. The last thing he needed was for Borros Baratheon to learn about his dishonourable snubbing of his daughter through a maidservant. 

Aemond was about to place his hand discreetly on Valeana’s knee underneath the table, but he looked up to realize he was sitting directly across from Lucerys, who watched him with oppressive entertained scrutiny. Valeana must have sensed the tension, because she turned to him with concern etched in her features. No words were said, but her hand reached under the table and squeezed his thigh comfortingly. The corner of his lip twitched at the contact. 

The long table was quiet as everyone settled, only the sound of music and the shuffling of servants were heard. Even the King’s table was subdued with its chatter, reduced to murmured compliments. The tension hung in the air like the wrought iron candelabras that were suspended from the ceiling with thick chains. The weight of Vaemond’s sudden and brutal execution was still a fresh memory, but there was also something else amongst the adults that appeared to keep their shoulders squared. Particularly the Lord Hand, who’s eyes were darker than usual. Aegon caught his eye before their grandsire moved it onto Aemond. A silent reprimand, though neither prince knew what they were being scolded for. 

The first course was gradually spread along the tables; smaller fare such as mutton stew, fresh bread and soft butter, cured sausages and spiced olives. Grilled vegetables and various sliced cheeses, accompanied by jams from different fruits; fig, grape, strawberries. Salt water oysters were piled high on a bed of salt, next to it were steamed mussels in a red sauce. 

“Let us pray before we begin,” Queen Alicent said loudly enough for all in the room to hear. Her piousness is not shared with most in the room, but none seemed to protest, save for the slight exasperation found on Daemon’s features. Everyone collectively bowed their heads and wove their fingers on their laps, everyone except for the Blacks, who only folded their hands. 

Aemond respected tradition, even if it was from his mother’s side. He and his siblings may have been raised to worship the faith of the Seven, but They held very little value in their life. Aemond, too philosophical, too agnostic, would say that Their existence is both plausible and impossible. If the Father was just, the man sitting in front of him would have paid for the sin of slicing Aemond’s eye clear from his head. If the Mother was merciful, the woman sitting next to him would have both of her legs. Life was not fair, the gods less so, but out of respect for deities that he may one day face, he bowed his head and prayed when he was supposed to.

Aegon, on the other hand, was different. He believed in the Seven, sure, but also believed they didn’t love him; that they turned their backs on him the day he was born, and decided that he was their mistake that they were trying to forget. It should have been Baelon that survived, not him. Baelon would’ve been the heir his father always wanted. 

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love,” Alicent led the prayer. “May the Smith mend bonds that have been broken for far too long. May the Maiden shower us with love and light during this Royal Conclave. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

There was a notable shift to the atmosphere that could be tasted on the tip of everyone’s tongue at the mention of Vaemond. Lucerys’s mouth pinched and his eyes roamed the table before resting them on his lap; his step-sister beside him blinked rapidly, as if she was trying to keep a stoic face; Rhaenyra stared vacantly at a spot on the table, her nostrils flaring; Daemon rolled his eyes to the back of his head; Valeana gave a barely audible sigh through her nose, the creases between her brows deepening. 

Before people could tuck into their meals, the King pushed himself up, his weight held up by his cane; ivory and ironwood, a dragon nesting on the top. Everyone looked up at him expectedly and he looked at all their faces with a smile so contented, so peaceful, it was enough to forget that all other individuals in that room hated the other for one reason or another. 

“This is an occasion of multiple celebrations, it seems,” his mouth widened as his teeth peaked from behind his lips. “Tonight is the first night in generations that the three great Valyrian houses are united under one room. The Targaryens, the Velaryons, and the Celtigars all survived the Doom of Old Valyria.”

Aemond’s eye drifted over all the faces here present. There wasn’t a single true Velaryon by name present; the only two that held blood of a Velaryon were Targaryens by name. No, the Velaryons were nearly a dead line. Vaemond’s sons were the last true Velaryons, but they were not here. They were no older than Aemond’s nephews, Viserys and Aegon the younger, and by now they would be learning that their father was dead. That half his head rolled around like a flipped coin on the flagstone floors of the Throne Room, less than a minute after he shouted ‘bastards’ at the top of his lungs.

“And we sit here today, as one house: The House of Valyria. Proud, ancient, and forged in fire and blood, in salt and sea,” Everyone raises their goblets in murmured agreement. “It truly gladdens me to be part of this historical moment. Our families will now no longer be divided, but blended. My grandsons, Jace and Luke are set to be married.” 

Aemond felt his blood drain from his body instantly. His brow furrowed, his heart ached in a pang of betrayal. His brother felt no different; they both turned to the woman seated between them. Valeana hadn’t seemed to notice this, as she was looking at Jace with a slight smirk upon her lips, and that made it all the worse.

The implication of their father’s speech was thick in the air, and hard to ignore. Both Princes exchanged glances of disbelief, and yet the way Valeana and Jaceaerys were speaking with each other when they first entered… What the hell was going on? Was… did Valeana…? No, no, surely not…

Aemond’s fingers were visibly trembling under the table, his eye prickling, and his ribs felt like they were going to crack under the pressure of his rapidly beating heart. Aegon was less conserved than he; his mouth twisted as if he was trying to swallow down bile. He lifted his hands and placed them on the edge of the table, ready to push his chair away and leave the room. 

But then the King continued. 

“Luke will marry his cousin, Rhaena, and together they will one day become Lord and Lady of the Tides. And as for my eldest grandson, Jacaerys, my daughter’s heir… Well, he has asked for the hand of the purest soul in this room. It fills my old heart with immense joy to announce the betrothal between Prince Jacaerys and my little butterfly, my daughter, Princess Helaena, the future King and Queen of Westeros. I wish them a lifetime of happiness, peace, and prosperity.” 

“Here, here,” someone had said through the sounds of clapping. 

Aegon had made a brief screeching noise with his chair in his failed attempt to leave. He instead spun to Helaena sitting next to him, who held a sheepish, shy smile, lavender eyes avoiding everyone in the room, other than Jacaerys who was watching her with fondness. 

“Helaena and–” He began, but cut himself off, turning back to Valeana. “Were you aware of this?”

Val leaned back into her chair, her fingers laced innocently in front of her, “I kind of had a hand in it.” 

Aegon practically sunk in his chair, his hands raking into his scalp. The adrenaline seeped out of his pores and landed on the floor. He lulled his head to look at his sister, and then back at Valeana, “I do not know if I feel better.”

Valeana raised her eyebrows, “Did you think he was referring to me?” 

He leaned into her, his voice a whisper, only loud enough for her ears, “Darling, I was very nearly going to kidnap you right here and now.” 

Aemond physically felt like he nearly avoided a landslide; visually, he remained impassive, if not a bit bothered around his one expressive eye and flared nostrils. Still his shoulders relaxed once the relief washed over him like a cool breeze on a humid day, which softened the blow of the knowledge that Jacaerys was marrying his fucking sister. A development that he realized was his second least favourable probability, right next to Jace marrying Valeana. 

No, he thought as he glanced at Aegon, leaning into her space like she was the only source of heat in the middle of winter. The third least.

Facade be damned, he could not sit silently by while his brother was allowed to publicly stake his claim on his woman, like she was some newly discovered, unoccupied patch of land. Aemond leaned back in his seat haughtily, and without a word spoken, he reached under the table and scooped up Valeana’s left hand that sat idly on her thigh. Ignorant to his intentions, she instinctively wove her small fingers in between his large ones, likely believing for a split second that he simply wanted to convey relief in the shadows. However, he had no intention of keeping it in the dark any longer, not now when the stakes were growing too high. 

It was a simple gesture, but one that conveyed a very large statement. Aemond pulled their conjoint hands above the table and laid it between them, his thumb moving rhythmically over the back of her palm. Those closest to them had their attention ripped away from their plates and conversations to stare. He could feel her hand tense in his, and he watched her in his peripheral as she turned to him, mouth ajar, eyes wide. 

Aemond tilted his head in her direction, eye lifting to meet her marbleized peridots, blinking up at him in shock. His smile coiled at her reaction.

“Ao jurnegon gevie isse bona grēza, ñuha jorrāelagon (You look beautiful in that dress, my love),” his voice was velvet on bare skin, soft, sensual, erotic. “Absolutely stunning.”  

On her otherside, Aegon leans forward into the table to openly glare at his brother. His jaw rotates as he grinds the back of his teeth; the only visual proof of him trying to contain himself. In the end, he huffed an ironic laugh, and then smirked at his brother’s brazenous. 

Aegon moved his chair closer to Valeana, the legs roughly screeching against the floor hollowly. With his side now flushed against hers, he draped his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to give her a peck on the corner of her mouth. 

“How lucky am I to have the most gorgeous creature on earth at my side,” his tone was saccharine and sanguine, his eyes were predatory and possessive. 

Valeana could do nothing but remain trapped between them, not knowing where to rest her eyes. When she found the most neutral point, it was Lucerys and Rhaena who sat across from them. The latter looked partially mortified, partially intrigued, and the former seemed like he was about to combust from amusement. 

On the other end of the ballroom, on the platform, seated at the end of the shorter table, Otto Hightower watched the whole thing from his perch. His chest swelled with a sigh of exhaustion and growing impatience. He was getting too old for this shit. 

“Seven bleeding Hells,” he muttered, loud enough to garner the attention of his daughter beside him. 

“What is it?” Alicent asked in a low tone, her brow creased in concern. 

Otto turned to her slowly, “Your fucking sons.” 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR SNEAK PEEK Slowly he turned around, his one eye peeking over at Luke over the bridge of his nose. His nephew was laughing; eyes squinting in a mischievous glint as he stared at Aemond, and then back at the roasted pig…  And then onto Valeana, who was unaware of it all.  Suddenly the table jostled, the bang of Aemond’s fist on the table immediately halted everyone’s chatter and movement, bringing their collective attention to his side of  the table.  Fisting his cup, Aemond ascended from his seat and extended his arm, his eye trained on his nephew in front of him. “Final tribute...”

Notes: F I N A L T R I B U TE Get ready for a whole chapter dedicated to fucking speeches XD Because by god... I'm never...I'm never gonna watch that episode again, I've seen it too many times to write this chapter and the FemAegon oneshot.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[theorphicangel]

angel’s 3k 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

we hit 3k!!!! ahhhhh thank you so so so much for reading and supporting my works, whether you've only read one of my works or you've read multiple it really means a lot to me and I hope to write more and more in the future. I really love writing and this blog is my utmost passion!! I really love everyone who's made it a better place for me and most importantly every single writer I have read who has inspired me in each and every way!! thank you for your support <3

sappy time over but here's ten whole fics that i have planned in celebration for the next month or two.

(spoiler: fics are named after song lyrics and the song titles are in each synopsis, I hope you can spot them! <3)

if you would like to added to the taglist for one or multiple works let me know and I can tag you!!

" you can be careless with me "

sukuna x fem!reader | nsfw & angst synopsis: you know sukuna doesn't do relationships, let alone fall in love , but you convince him that he doesn't have to be perfect. you allow him the precious chance to be careless with you. word count: tba

" you don't love him if you're thinking of me "

toji x fem!reader | nsfw synopsis: you're still hung up on your ex. in an attempt to move on you jump into a new relationship...sooner or later it doesn't work out and you find yourself back in toji's arms. after confessing your relationships woes he tells you to repeat after him the words you've known all along... word count: tba

" but when I'm older, i'll be moving onward "

childhood best friend! suguru x gn!reader | fluff & angst synopsis: it's been a while since you've seen suguru. a whole year in fact. whilst being away at university you hope he's still the suguru you still remember. only one way to find out when he texts you...'meet me at our spot'. word count: tba

" hold me, console me and then i'll leave without a trace "

suguru x gn!reader | angst synopsis: suguru seems different. heavy under eye bags, a little more quiet than usual, his clothes a little looser, distracted and lost in his thoughts; disconnected from the world as a whole. seems no one noticed...but you. word count: tba

"a bird in a cage, thought you were made for me....(don't hate you) but I can't save you"

gojo x gn!reader | angst synopsis: the talk. you both know what needs to happen but neither of you want to make the final decision. if it does happen you can't help but notice how blue the world seems without him. word count: tba

"my boy, come take my hand"

toji x gn!reader | fluff synopsis: toji hasn't always been perfect, it's his imperfection that's made him flawed since birth; you let him know it's okay for him to be imperfect for you. word count: tba

"instead I'm gonna love you like you were new"

suguru x gn!reader - fluff synopsis: suguru doesn't know what good deed he's committed in his previous life to deserve you but that's okay, because if there's one thing you know... it's that he would give the world to you anyways. word count: tba

"think twice 'cause you got a long way to go"

gojo x gn!reader | fluff synopsis: you meet a cocky man at the club, he thinks he has you wrapped around his finger but you remind him... he's got a long way to go before ending up with you. word count: tba

"what are you willing to do?"

suguru x fem!reader | fluff, suggestive synopsis: you're hurt and the only remedy is for suguru to kiss it better. (doctor's orders.) word count: tba

"all mine"

gojo x gn!reader | fluff synopsis: perhaps you need the reminder that in satoru's eyes, there's no one else but you. word count: tba

[starberry-cupcake]

hello!! I'm back!!! *sitcom studio cheer sound*

previously, in nona del 9:

this happened

this is the general tag for all the recaps

last recap I said Something was happening and it has!! we have a puppy now!!! her name is Dana (after Scully)!! this is her!!!

DAY TWO (one of the things mentioned is that honesty's job goes terribly wrong and I feel so bad because I forgot to point it out in my recap, even if it was something that looked sus af to begin with and I was concerned when I read about it)

CHAPTER 7 (second house skull, after pyrrha probably)

nona wakes up abruptly

someone told me in the last recaps that the bible chapters are when nona is sleeping, which I hadn't put together at all and I don't know if I should have or if I missed something important

in any case, nona starts telling camilla what she dreamt, which is not what was in the bible chapter, so idk what's going on with that

maybe the bible thing is what harrow is seeing and the dreams are what an amnesiac gideon is seeing????

we don't know yet

she's describing being with the "other person" who is touching her hands but they're not hers

"I'm touching my own hands but they aren't mine"

which is another one on the tally for the "this is gideon in harrow's body" theory

they're surrounded by red eyes in the darkness and she's very hungry

and they're holding hands

that's the dream

she was startled awake because camilla threw a sponge at her

nona freaked the hell out about that

remember when harrow was woken up by og!gideon trying to murder her in cold blood every morning? those were simpler times

also, nona is about to put on the tshirt from the cover which took me 25 years and @lady-harrowhark pointing it out to notice it was a burger

camilla asks her about the hands and nona says she didn't like them

and that she doesn't like having hands????

she's a bit infuriating sometimes ngl

I don't know what to do with this information

pyrrha talks about people becoming violent because shit is getting real

and she prepares some mush for them to eat at breakfast

she's also worried about camilla's soul (and life) due to whatever it is they're doing on the sites

palmolive, I swear to whatever god of your choosing

(that isn't dr reverend emperor john asshat)

if something happens to camilla on your watch

I'm gonna chase your nerdy ass all the way to your river loft and back

when they start talking about nona wanting a "six months alive" gift, pyrrha tells camilla how depressing and non-gift-giving the ninth house is

which she visited when anastasia got settled

nice to know things in the ninth never ever changed

they did have a gift, though

the gift of ortus's poetry

nona wants differently colored hair ties, to not push too far into pyrrha's limited budget

we'll see if we make it to the birthday, there's a countdown going on

when nona gets to school, honesty has a punch in the eye and she has to help him with it until teacher angel comes in

teacher angel is still looking very sus, with clothes in disarray and also the same ones from the previous day

hot sauce also comes in afterwards, which makes me think she might have been following teacher angel

she's on the case

hot sauce gets very upset asking honesty who punched him in the face

everyone's very upset and tense, except for kevin who's eating peacefully

we love kevin

so, honesty tells the story and starts from the worst place imaginable to explain something that happened with accuracy

which is the end

but that's fine, because the tension of the story is in the middle, so we get the narrative effect

we appreciate that

he's got a podcast in another life

honesty was about to go to the tunnel job but, turns out, it wasn't a tunnel job

it was actually a mad max job

and they get cocky and do more than they were planning to, which is never a good idea

so, by the third attempt, the guy who's been doing the dropping-in maneuver gets very spooked by what he finds in there

which is a lot of people with white eyes who look directly at him when he shows up

which prompts militia trucks to pull them over

so honesty runs the fuck out of there and gets smashed into a pole

depiction of honesty, ruby and born in the morning after the incident, had they been together:

honesty gets saved and cared for by some homeless folk

after his face got smashed into the pole

and he clarifies they were trying to steal from a convoy

which he would have said no to had he known the job before being taken to do it

he asks hot sauce to protect him

which hot sauce agrees to, but I think this is too much work for one hot sauce alone, especially if she's keeping an eye on everything else

nona offers her help, but is rejected, on account of being dumb

I wonder if nona will somewhat reveal her powers of healing protecting these kids at some point

OH, ALSO

teacher angel sus person mentioned not being technically a doctor but getting a crash course in triage

which, continues to be sus behavior

is teacher angel helping with the fights? with war? with secret confrontations?

we'll have to wait and see!!

THAT'S IT FOR NOW!! I haven't had a lot of time to read and recap and I'm currently falling asleep as we speak, so sorry for such a short one this time!!! ♥

[strang3lov3]

get to know your moots!

ty for the tag, @ace-turned-confused!

what's the origin of your blog title?: title or username? strang3lov3 is a depeche mode reference. from their song strangelove lol. but my current blog title says "i'll lay you badly, but i'll lay you gladly" and that's just a quote from roman roy that i like lol

OTP(s) + shipname: mmmmm. bob and linda from bob's burgers.

favorite color: light blue

favorite game: most jackbox games, overcooked, tlou, silent hill 2 remake, unpacking, stray,,,,uhhh what else what else. there's this board game called azul that i really love.

song stuck in your head: okay. party up by dmx but the lyrics are changed to "y'all gonna make me shrink my dink up in here up in here" my fuckin brother in law started singing that when my niece and i did some shrinky dinks on saturday night so. so that's what's marinating in this brain of mine. who up shrinkin they dink rn.

weirdest habit/trait?: i crack like, every fuckin' joint in my body all day long. everything, toes, ankles, knees, hips, fingers, thumbs, wrists, back. it's like a visceral need. i feel Not Right if i have not cracked myself.

hobbies: writing, (attempted) gaming, knitting, drawing, watercolor painting, and spending time with my kitty babies ♡

if you work, what's your profession?: i'm a student! gonna be a high school history teacher one of these days.

if you could have any job you wish what would it be?: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i think i'd just like to not work, like ever.

something you're good at: i am like...concerningly good at hanging paintings and making things level with just my eyeballs.

something you're bad at: being uncomfortable and tolerating pain.

something you love: the lazy river

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: the hierarchy of power between cats in a household. the cat who sits at the highest point of the room sees himself as above everyone else and he will take offense at the notion of being groomed. he is the one who grooms others because he is Top Cat.

something you hate: loudness. being sweaty. tomatoes. avocados.

something you collect: tattoos lol. and perfumes! i don't have the largest collection but i really love getting new perfumes. my most recent purchase is hypnotic poison from dior and i looooove it so much it smells like root beer, which is my favorite pop.

something you forget: to take my birth controllllll. lol. i could never take the pill on time so i switched to the ring, and i'm often late to putting a new one in oopsie

what's your love language?: i'm down to clown with all of the love languages tbh. i am a biiiig mushy love slut deep down. real ones know

favorite movie/show: succession, tlou, bobs burgers, what we do in the shadows, it's always sunny.

favorite food: pad thai, paneer butter masala, and then any combination of carbs + cheese. cheese fries, mac and cheese, breadsticks and cheese, whatever. gimme.

favorite animal: cats and raccoons, which are just like, wilderness cats lol. they're troublesome and i love them.

what were you like as a child?: shy but attention seeking. i am a middle child lol

favorite subject at school?: history + art class.

least favorite subject?: chemistry and physics. those can get fucked

what's your best character trait?: my loving heart, my empathy, my endless patience for animals.

what's your worst character trait?: i kinda...kinda run hot sometimes. and i have a hard time with letting go of anger.

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be?: i'd make it just a liiiiiiittle warmer out. it's 6F, feels like -5.

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet?: mmm probably not what the question is asking, but i'd like to go back fuck, 8 years ago now and spend some more time talking to a loved one who passed. our last conversation was him telling me that i could call him at anytime and he'd pick me up from an iffy situation, no questions asked. i'd also like to go back in time and meet my parents and grandparents before they had children

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!) diner by cuntoid ♡ it's a comfort fic to me

npt @cum-a-calla @fridays13th @bitchesuntitled @guiltyasdave @littlepadika-main

@evolnoomym @prettybpdgirl @fawnjaw @angelsanarchy @amanitacowboy

FULL PRESSURE TAG THIS TAG IS THE EQUIVALENT OF ME SPRAYING YOU WITH A PRESSURE WASHER @beefrobeefcal ♡

[afterthegreatunknown]

A Headcanon Regarding the Violet’s Father Debate

Beatrice Baudelaire. A talented actress and performer whose charming ways wins anyone over, who has a high-standing rank due to being a Baudelaire, one of two oldest VFD Families. And with a great dislike for it, this defaults Beatrice getting more respect and recognition.

Such respect and recognition surely mean Violet Baudelaire’s father is also of equal standing.

And Bertrand B. is one of equal standing. While new to the organization, he became The Golden Boy™ of his generation. He is the volunteer who all the older volunteers of the previous generation think can do no wrong. He is the volunteer in Bertrand’s generation who is well-respected and generally like.

But Lemony Snicket is also of equal standing, and it’s not just because he’s born into an old VFD Family. A trouble-making volunteer, he can show how driven he is when it comes to goals, which is admirable to those of his generation. And his devotion to those he cares for makes him well-liked and generally respected.

Clearly, Beatrice having two lovers that are evenly match means almost everyone should spend time debating the biological identity of Violet Baudelaire’s father. They wouldn’t be doing so if Beatrice, Bertrand, and Lemony told everyone themselves to avoid the debate.

The thing is, the three don’t care. Beatrice, Bertrand, and Lemony, after a very discreet meeting, agree that biological shouldn’t matter to the identity of Violet’s father. They all agree that Bertrand is Violet’s father. Bertrand is the one who was there when Violet was born. Bertrand is the one who [will] raise Violet alongside Beatrice. Bertrand is the one who Beatrice pick to start a family with. And Lemony holds no ill-will towards Bertrand for being the one Beatrice picked, as well as holding no ill-ill towards Beatrice for picking the one who can be there to support her and her child.

With Beatrice, Bertrand, and Lemony having pick their positions, it’s time to know the others.

Team ‘Lemony is Violet’s Bio-Dad’:

Esme (Believes Lemony and Beatrice forgot to use protection. She also thinks it’s amusing and pathetic that Bertrand is raising someone else’s child.)

Kit (More often than not, Kit thinks Violet is Lemony’s child, because she wants Lemony to be around in the most unlikely ways. This led to fights with Jacques.)

Frank (Based off the timing of the breakup and when Beatrice and Bertrand went to the Island. He is convinced they know the truth and lying.)

Ernest (Follows Frank’s logic. However, he thinks Beatrice and Bertrand went to the Island without knowing, so they’re convince Violet isn’t Lemony’s daughter.)

R (Follows Frank’s logic. R also asked Lemony upright, being one the few he kept contact during this time period but got no answer.)

Gustav (Because of all the constant drama, he just picks a side on the fly in case they have to state their opinion on the matter.)

Olivia (Flat out asked Beatrice and Bertrand if Violet is Lemony’s kid, leading to the couple to say no. Olivia is convinced they’re lying to her.)

Ellington (She found copies of ASOUE at a few bookstores, and she draws her own conclusions without any influences what-so-ever.)

Team ‘Bertrand is Violet’s Bio-Dad’: 

Olaf (By ASOUE, he’s running under the logic ‘the couple that slayed together, have kids together.’ Before, Olaf was convinced Lemony is a prude who used protection)

Jacques (As much as he wants Violet to be Lemony’s child, Jacques can never find traces of Lemony in Violet’s face, which lead to many fights with Kit.)

Josephine (Is convinced Violet is a premature child. Due to eventually losing contact with Beatrice and Bertrand, she never got her answer for sure.)

Ike (Due to an ill-spoken rumor that relates to Gregor being Fiona’s biological father, Ike chooses to believe Bertrand isn’t raising someone else’s child.)

Widdershins (Believes the timing works better with Betrand as Violet’s father than Lemony. Might factor with Widdershins believing the false reports of Lemony.)

Miranda (She was after all, on the Island with Beatrice and Bertrand. She knows of Beatrice’s past with Lemony, but Miranda is certain Violet is Bertrand’s child.)

Ishmael (Arrived on the Island when Beatrice was in her Third Trimester, and therefore assumed Betrand is the father. He did briefly consider Lemony is Violet’s biological father after reading the in-universe ASOUE book, but reject it.)

Moxie (Random Headcanon Time! I think there’s several Editors: Awful Editor, Dreadful Editor, and Kind Editor. Moxie is the Kind Editor, after she and Lemony semi-got back in contact. After hearing everything of the topic from the horse’s mouth that is Lemony, Moxie is all, “Yeah, Bertrand is Violet’s father.”)

Team: ‘Wait, are you serious? This is an actual topic of debate?’ Also Known as: Team ‘Haven’t decided yet’: 

Fernald (He knew the topic exist because he once saw Kit and Jacques getting into an argument about it, but it’s TEE when Fernald realize it’s a serious topic because Olaf and Esme ask about his stance and panic answers, “Unsure.”).

The rest of the Acting Troupe (Olaf and Esme started to argue about it again post TVV but pre-THH. They asked Fernald if they should get involve. Fernald tells them not to worry over it for now and they roll with it.)

Hugo, Colette, Kevin (Olaf and Esme got into another argument in TPP but because they’re the only remaining ‘Troupe’ left they can’t ask anyone what the hell they’re talking about so they’re just confused.)

The rest of the Associates (Whenever Ellington shows up to visit Moxie, the two sometimes get into arguments about it. Everyone is quiet when it happens. While they know Moxie is in contact of sorts with Lemony, they have no idea how serious of a topic it is between the two women until they see the arguments themselves.)

Team ‘Bertrand is Violet’s Bio-Dad’…but only because they have no idea of the theory Lemony is Violet’s Bio-Dad:

All of the Unfortunate Generation (Why should they know?)

Dewey (He was hiding away from the world before Fiona was born. Him meeting Violet when Beatrice and Bertrand visiting him was a nice, sweet surprise, and the couple didn’t want to ask if he heard of the theory from his brothers to ruin said meeting. Ernest and Frank —and later on Kit and others who do visit Dewey— never told Dewey their opinion because they want Dewey to be happy for his friends getting together and having a daughter/eventual family.)

Monty (He was traveling when the Violet’s Father Debate was at its highest, and came back after Beatrice and Bertrand’s return, when Violet was almost one year old. No one told Monty their opinions/informed him of the theory Lemony is Violet’s Bio-Dad because they want Monty to be happy his friends got together and had a daughter/eventual family while away.)

Charles (Think Bertrand is Violet’s Bio-Dad because Kit told him via letter when she was [back to] thinking Bertrand is Violet’s Bio-Dad.)

Hector (Isolated at the Village of Fowl Devotee after Fiona was born, but before Violet was born. Thinks Bertrand is Violet’s Bio-Dad due to Ike and Josephine.)

Georgina (Began her isolation in Paltryville before Violet was born, so the last things she heard is “Lemony is dead” and “Beatrice and Bertrand went to the Island.” Upon hearing word Beatrice and Bertrand came back from the Island and they now have a baby, Georgina is convinced Bertrand took advantage of Beatrice’s grief)

Phil + Hal (Naturally assumes the Baudelaires share the same father; in Phil’s case being on the Crew of Two on the Queequeg has Widdershins never telling him about this debate, and in Hal’s case Kit didn’t think about telling him about the debate)

Theodora + Jerome (Also naturally assumes that the Baudelaires share the same father. Both knew Beatrice and Lemony were a thing. Jerome figured Beatrice only decided to raise a family after becoming serious with Bertrand. In Theodora’s case, she believed Beatrice got pregnant on the Island, and it went from there.)

Half of the Original Schism Generation (Ex: Monty’s Sister, Adeline. Follows Theodora’s logical because it makes the most sense.)

Team ‘Can You All Shut the Ever-Loving F*CK UP’: 

Sally (Hearing the debate so much got to where Sally wanted to hear nothing about Beatrice, Bertrand, and Lemony for weeks. It got so bad, she once stopped talking to Gustav and other associates’ mid-way in conversations whenever it’s brought up.)

Larry + Haruki (Would have picked a side if people kept it as a minor thing but it got too large of a matter at hand, and two collectively went, “Fuck you we pick none!”)

Raymond ‘Q’ Quagmire + Joan Quagmire + Joan’s Triplet Sisters’ Alex and Lindsey (Raymond and Joan made cards that says if anyone brings up the topic in any of their presence, they have to pay a $1000 dollar fine. Alex and Lindsey made it a permanent ban topic by threatening everyone to change the fine to $10, 000 dollars)

Thursday (Miranda never told him the theory about Lemony being Violet’s Bio-Dad. He only knows about because Kit unnecessary told him the theory without him having a choice on the matter on day over a cup of Turkish coffee. Whenever Kit tries to bring it up again Thursday excuses himself from the table and hides out in the restroom/makes an excuse to cut their meeting short.)

TMWBBNH and TWWHBNB (Think the Baudelaires are small potatoes in the grand schemes of things. It’s not their concern and they are able to get Olaf and Esme to shut up about it before they even argue about it whenever around.)

Team Dead and Therefore Excluded:

Pretty much any dead character by the ASOUE Period, canonically or assumed otherwise (Ex: Gregor, the other half of the Original Schism Generation like Dashiell, N Caliban because I headcanon N is dead, and others not mentioned here.)

[moldygreenblue]

random ishmael headcanon back when he was a chemistry teacher (warning of a child’s death at beginning and abuse/corporal punishment at the end):

at the high school ishmael once taught chemistry at, there are six groups students are sorted into. these groups were not made or name by ishmael, but by the students themselves.

the first group is known as the favorites or teacher’s pets. they’re students who pass ishmael’s classes with flying colors. these students likes ishmael (or tolerate him), and ishmael likes them back. he talks of these students as the brightest and most intelligent of their generation. he calls them in class and is happy to hear them answer correctly, or gently tells them how they answer wrong. ishmael is proud to be their teacher, and will always do something for them, sometimes without even being ask.

[one such favorite student, d snicket, later known as d anwhistle, got ishmael to help her long after graduation. d got ishmael to help her and her husband into blackmailing vfd to return gregor back into their care after he and his younger sister helen recruitment gone wrong. helen, like lemony, was drop out of the car and fell. unlikely lemony, helen didn’t survive.]

the second group is known as the suck-ups. they’re students who also pass ishmael’s classes with flying colors too, and like (or tolerate) ishmael. however, ishmael doesn’t like them back. he talks of them as fine, hard working students, but nothing more (he won’t do anything for them). they’re students who speak out without permission to get praise, which annoys ishmael (and other students) very much. in short, they’re wannabes favorites/teacher’s pets, always jealous of those who do get ishmael’s good graces.

[one suck up, c baudelaire, wasn’t happy to learn his daughter beatrice earned ishmael’s ire. c got more upset at beatrice gaining ishmael’s ire when discovering how d’s eldest son gregor, got into ishmael’s good graces. history repeats itself in the strangest of ways.]

the third group is known as the lucky bunch. they’re students who pass ishmael’s classes with ease of usually the average grade or slightly above average grade. ishmael has some minor problems with them, but they’re good enough students to not complain about. he’ll also do something for them on their behalf if they ask very politely. these students tend to have issues with ishmael (mainly his strictness), they but keep these complaints only to those who are in the same group as them.

[one student, dorothea s. markson, later known as the woman with hair but no beard, got ishmael to give a good word to the v.f.d teacher running the mock trial program to allow her in after asking ishmael politely before school started. dorothea thinks the teacup she got for him helped.]

the fourth group is known as the troublemakers. it doesn’t matter if they have failing grades, average grades, or even pass with flying colors. these students dislike ishmael, and ishmael dislikes them back, though he says it through creative means sometimes disguise as praise. battle of wits and pranks will occur in class. if it doesn’t end in a stalemate (which it usually does), the student(s) gets sent to detention (seen as an escape) or gets sent to the principal (seen as a fate on par with death).

[e snicket is one of these troublemakers. e can’t figure out how could d like ishmael as a teacher, and ishmael can’t figure out how d and e are vastly different from another. e is one of the few to never get sent to the principal, for she plays it safe in her battles.]

the fifth group is known as the ignored ones. it too, doesn’t matter if they have failing grades, average grades, or even pass with flying colors. these students live to their name: ignore. ishmael never calls them in class, and the few interactions given are brief, like ‘hello’ or ‘goodbye’. ishamael has to think a bit of the student before giving an opinion on them if a fellow teacher ask for his thoughts. the students don’t mind being ignore. granted, it depends if ishmael can recall their names.

[s. theodora markson is one such ignored student. ishmael remembers her more than other ignored students though because her wild hair is even wilder than her sister’s hair, and the fact her first name has ishmael always thinking of one particular duke ellington song.]

the sixth and final group is known as ‘the favs’. these failing or almost failing students or slightly below average students dislike ishmael, but ishmael “likes” them. ishmael calls on them in class, praising them if they answer right, but humiliates them if they answer wrong. he worries over them, but rarely acts on it. ishmael is affectionate to them -sometimes giving them gentle pat on the back or ruffles their hair- as well as physically abusive to them -sometimes slapping across the face or canes their hands. in short, hell.

[this group has many non-vfd affiliated students here. one student was a quiet boy who loves nature and jazz. said student eventually grows up and joins an organization that was later falsely accused of a bombing suspected to be done by vfd themselves.]

[amiharana]

ok I was reading thru your tattoo/flower shop au and I had to share the brainrot.

I hc revali as indigenous (particularly great plains native american) and oh man, what if at some point he very hesitantly brings up with link that he wants to get facial tattoos or something similar that's significant to him but he's nervous?? And Link goes out of his way to learn traditional stick-n-poke techniques so he can be the one to give revali his tattoos?? And it's like super sweet and meaningful for them both and Link feels honored that revali trusts him enough to ask? (and also revali is scared shitless and Link has to stop several times so he doesnt mess up and hurt revali more than it typically would)

like what if though???

ahem (taps mic) Hello can anyone hear me. i haven't written a tumblr ask in ages i feel ancient

first of all, i'm glad to hear that you still think of my tattoo/flower shop au haha it's been way over a year now since i wrote it. i still very much appreciate everyone who drew art for it 🫶 i've had a few passing thoughts about writing it into an actual proper multi-chaptered fic but i've been busy wrestling with school, work, and my personal demons for the past year that it's been quite difficult to even think about writing anything. thank you to anyone who's still here; i appreciate you a lot 🤍

i love the hc of revali as indigenous and i think it really fits in with the presence of the rito people as we're introduced to in the games, but i won't touch on that too much since i'm not indigenous/well-versed in indigenous culture. you know what i Am well-versed in though? these gay ass mfs

i had to reread my own au post for this Lord it's been too long, i wrote back then that i thought of revali as someone who isn't too fond of tattoos and doesn't have a great pain tolerance for them, and i still believe in that LOL. mixing that in with a hc where revali is indigenous is quite interesting, because i would assume that tattoos are an important/frequently appearing aspect of the culture? revali's parents have also passed in this au and he's alone with no family running the shop, so perhaps revali was estranged from his indigenous culture while growing up/at some point and became interested in trying to connect with it as an adult. maybe he came across the topic of traditional tattoos and after researching about it, he became interested in getting one but again because of his low pain tolerance, he thought it probably may never happen. well...

during one of their shared lunch breaks perhaps at a new cafe that's opened up on tabantha street, revali absentmindedly mentions his family and the tattoos. link immediately looks up at him from his food, those lovely blue eyes searching his face curiously.

"traditional tattoos?" he says, cocking his head at revali. revali blinks. well, of course link would have interest in the topic since he was a fellow tattoo artist himself, but the way he was looking at revali was...

"well yes," revali continues. "i suppose i haven't really talked to you much about myself personally, have i? i'm an indigenous hyrulean and my blood is descended from the rito tribe, but i'm not well-versed in my own culture." he mumbles the last few words, looking down at his coffee. "my parents and i lived on reservation land until i was 5 and then we moved away to a bigger city for work. there weren't many other rito there and so i didn't grow up with a lot of other indigenous folk. i don't know much about my family or my culture because of it, and even after my parents passed, it's never come up until now." revali glances back at link, who is now watching him with rapt attention. he looks away again, his cheeks beginning to warm. "i thought it would be nice to connect with my culture by getting a traditional tattoo of the rito tribe, perhaps something small so i can handle it. though, i wouldn't be able to travel to the reservation to find a traditional tattooist because of the shop and neither do i know of any tattoo artists nearby that could do it..."

"i'll do it," link says suddenly. revali looks at him again and blinks. link's eyes are bright and wide, blazing with determination. he's still holding his sandwich in his hands.

"i-i couldn't ask that of you," revali says, heart skipping a beat. "you'd likely have to learn an entire new and unfamiliar technique, and—"

"i'll do it," link insists, placing the sandwich down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. his eyes are still trained on revali, just as insistent as his mouth is. revali swallows.

"use a napkin, please," he mutters, passing link one. the blond takes it and grins at him. "if it's something that you greatly desire to do... i will assist you in offering as much information as i can. i... appreciate it, link." i appreciate you, he thinks but the words get stuck in his throat. link's smile only grows.

thinking about link who researches rito tribal tattoos for a few weeks and reporting and discussing his findings with revali during their mon/wed lunch breaks. thinking about link who spends countless nights staying up compiling everything he finds into a document, the different types of tribal tattoos and their meanings, researching the materials and tools needed for traditional tattoos, sketching different tribal symbols endlessly for the perfect one for revali in between tattoo sessions with other clients, thinking about where on revali's body it would go, thinking about revali's warm skin under his hands... let's keep it PG link 🫡

the day finally arrives when link introduces the tattoo sketches to revali. link probably shows him a few ideas of a small rito symbol on his fingers, wrist, deltoid, ankle, and even ribs. HOWEVER. i really like the idea of the winged rito symbol across the back of revali's shoulders to represent his wings in canon? so what if. link who sketched a drawing of revali's back muscles with the winged rito symbol and he doesn't mean to show it to revali since it's a much bigger tattoo than revali wanted, but revali happens upon it anyway while scrolling through the sketches on link's ipad.

"what's this one?" revali says pointing at it.

link glances over at the screen and flushes. "oh, i didn't mean for you to see this one," he murmurs. he uses two fingers to zoom in on the image slightly. "i just had an idea for this particular symbol, so i sketched it out because i thought it'd look nice. i know you wanted a smaller one, so we can just focus on the first sketches—"

"it's beautiful," revali cuts him off, voice soft and still looking at the winged sketch. "how much do back tattoos hurt?" and link is jaw dropped, staring at him with hearts in his eyes LMFAOOOOOOOO

thinking about link who actually reaches out to a traditional tattooist from revali's tribe and asks if he can mentor link so he can learn their technique??? maybe link and revali who end up traveling to the reservation together so revali can visit and link can learn directly from the tattooist??? revalink road trip and sharing a bed trope??? link would probably only take a week tops to learn the technique since he's like a prodigal artist and the tattooist is impressed. also revali getting to spend time with and learn more about his culture from others from the tribe who live there 🥺

if revali does get the winged rito symbol tattoo on his back, he probably wouldn't get it as a solid color, maybe link would incorporate more tribal lineart into it like the totk zonai imagery? i've never gotten a tattoo so i don't know if back tattoos or the style of solid color tattoos would hurt, but regardless, link would make revali as comfortable as he can throughout all the sessions 🥺🥺🥺

originally when i read this ask and you mentioned facial tattoos, i thought about link gently holding revali's jaw between his pointer finger and thumb to readjust the positioning of his face in the midst of tattooing him, and revali sucking in a breath at the contact WAHHHH but with the direction i took with this post, i also thought about link laying a flat palm between revali's shoulder muscles, feeling the warmth of his skin and tracing his shoulder blades with a featherlight touch and revali getting flustered but muttering, "are you going to keep me in suspense?"

link traces a line down revali's spine. "are you sure you want to get this tattoo?" he murmurs. "we can still do the smaller ones instead if you want. i know how you feel about it, with your pain tolerance and all."

revali snorts, trying to mask his nervousness. "i've already made up my mind. it's a beautiful piece that you put a lot of thought into and i'm not backing out now. besides..." revali's voice lowers into a mumble. "i wouldn't have gone through with it if it was anyone else. i trust you."

link's cheeks pinked in the sweet way they do when revali catches him off-guard, but he can't take it back. he doesn't want to take it back, because it's true; revali trusts link for this with everything he has.

hhh . AHHHH . i just think. yeagh.

[deiaiko]

#19.3 Unravel

It had been some time since Agni felt this nervous. Not even talking with Jinsung Ha recently had made him feel like this. He fiddled with the mask on his hand as he waited for Grace to come back. He had thought hard on how to deliver the news, but he knew that no matter how he phrased it, Grace would be upset. Velt nuzzled under his palm and Agni gave her a few pats, before deciding that she would be better inside her bowl in his lighthouse, just in case the shinsu acted up around Grace after he received the news.

Grace came back wearing the comfiest shirt and shorts Agni knew Grace liked to wear on lazy days. He joined him on the floor, and they ate dinner together. Agni always finished last, so while waiting for him to finish his meal, Grace told him about his day with Bam. Grace was intrigued by how much his way of thinking had changed, and how glad he was to be able to be by Bam's side when he was having a bad day. It reminded Agni of the hidden floor, when Grace faced his sworn enemy.

They left the used bowls on the coffee table and went to brush their teeth. Afterwards, they turned off the light and went upstairs to sit on their bed. Grace's curious gaze never left him, and Agni curled his feet nervously.

Grace was the one who broke the silence. "So…what is it?"

Agni's breath hitched. This was the part he dreaded most. "I talked with the crocodile earlier. Did you know that he could manipulate stone already?"

"Huh." Grace needed a few seconds to let the information sink in. "Didn't Rak learn it on the Hell train? How does he know it?"

"Turns out our crocodile also traveled back to the past like us. He found the young crocodile and taught him."

"What?!" Grace gasped, wide eyed. "That means our Rak is–!!"

"He's dead." Agni quickly snuffed out that hope. They had been in delusion for long enough; it was time that they faced the bitter truth. "He suffered a fatal injury from the explosion. He couldn't have lasted long without proper help." Agni omitted the actual cause for Rak's death, but still kept his words true. "I'm sorry."

"…Oh." Grace looked lost, just like Agni was. His lips parted a little, but they closed before any sound escaped.

Agni gently squeezed Grace's hand, encouraging and comforting as he let the silence stretch on, giving Grace some time to process the information.

"Agni…" Grace whispered, "do you think Hatz and Isu…?"

Agni bit his lip and avoided his gaze, as the nightmare of that day replayed in his mind. He witnessed Hatz get his arm ripped off when trying to protect him. He could still recall the clang of a sword hitting the floor, and Hatz's suppressed scream that gnawed deep at his guilt. He witnessed Isu get beheaded after being taken hostage, the memory of warm blood painting them both still vivid like it happened yesterday. 

Agni refused to acknowledge their possible deaths, because it felt like a nightmare that one day he could hopefully wake up from. He avoided the topic when Grace brought it up, so he wouldn't have to say it aloud and make it real. He had been so hard on himself, because he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he had failed Grace and everyone else involved.

Agni knew this had to change if he wanted to live better, now that they had gotten a second chance. So he swallowed down the lump in his throat that had built up over the years and asked mostly to himself; "What are the odds of their survival?"

"There's always a chance–"

"Grace." Agni looked him straight in the eye. "They were already severely injured before the explosion hit."

Grace fell silent and went still.

Agni felt a pang of guilt upon witnessing Grace's reaction. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap." Agni fiddled with his hands. He realized that he didn't know how much Grace knew of what happened. "My scar…do you know how I got it?"

"I…was told it was from the family heads' battle." Grace looked thoughtful. Agni knew he was trying to be careful with his words. "A stray attack?"

"It could have been worse." The memory of the scorching heat on his skin felt like it had only happened yesterday. He passed out right when he was about to heal Isu, and only found out later that he also lost sweetfish at that time. The days he spent recovering from the burn, to withstand the excruciating pain every second he was conscious, and finally coming to terms that it'd be a permanent scar, was one of the turning points that had changed him forever. Were Grace not there to care for him, he might have ended up destroying himself even more.

Agni hadn't realized he had his left hand clawing on his cheek until Grace pried his hand off and frowned, "You're doing it again."

"Maybe I should wear the mask…" Agni muttered to himself. After all, Grace gave it to him less so he could hide the scar but more to prevent him from unconsciously hurting himself. The only time he could safely take it off was when Grace was around.

Agni bit his lip nervously when Grace didn't reply. He no longer had the courage to look Grace in the eye that spoke so much concern, so he leaned close and rested his head on Grace's chest. "Rak, Isu, Hatz and Hwaryun were trying to get me out of that damned place. But we were caught while escaping, and…it was a bloodbath. I was…too occupied to react to the incoming heat. Rak shielded us from the explosion. And when I woke up…"

"They weren’t with you," Grace finished it for him after Agni trailed off a moment too long.

Agni nodded dazedly, "I've been telling myself that they're still alive, after a blow that could kill rankers. But…who am I kidding? I was lucky enough to survive with just this little–" Agni vaguely pointed to himself– "inconvenience."

Agni felt a hand gripping his arm, and he pulled away to see Grace looking at him with a pained expression. His eyes were glossy and his lips were pulled into a thin line. Trusting his instinct, Agni reached out to gently trace and cup Grace's cheek with his free hand.

"I'm sorry," Agni muttered. "I'm sorry, for not telling you sooner."

Agni silently witnessed tears that streamed down on his love's face. It was a bitter sight that Agni wished he'd never have to see again, that he had tried to avoid for so long by not telling him. He pulled Grace in and held him close to his chest, as if Agni was trying to gather his own crumbled heart back together.

Grace mumbled their late best friends' names as he held onto him tighter, shaking from each breath he took between sniffles.

Agni felt his own eyes sting with unshed tears. He remembered the years he spent climbing the tower together with his old team. Despite their banter being his source of headaches, Agni knew he too had come to acknowledge them as his cherished friends. Only when they were gone did Agni realize how much he'd miss having them around. Seeing the younger them didn't exactly close the gaping hole in his heart, but at least the emptiness was more filled.

Agni squeezed Grace tighter. "We have their younger selves with us now. We will protect them better this time."

Grace only nodded and sank further into his embrace. And Agni planted kisses on his hair, relishing the thought that after everything he had gone through, Grace was still a constant in his life. As long as he had him, everything would be okay.

When Grace started shaking again, Agni caressed his hair and hummed a comfort song they had known by heart. Still, it didn't make falling asleep any easier for Agni, especially not after admitting that his nightmare was very much real. However, as he had been through grief…this, too, would pass.

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[cryptvokeeper]

I dare not speak it in the tag because I value my energy but no one has the correct opinions about nosferatu 2024 except for me

[normalestenstars]

I’m gonna try so hard to manifest a valk 50/50 this round

good luck!! though part of me thinks it'd be funny if shu won this round too... the normalest not normal character ever

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i found this lore entry recently and have not stopped thinking about it since. it is HYSTERICALLY funny to me that fandaniel's villain origin story was just being a fuckin boomer

One of few great minds in a land that had seen the slow, yet steady numbing of its people's intelligence, Amon long lamented the sorry state of Allag , concentrating his early scientific efforts on developing medicines to increase mental capacity . He soon realized that it was not knowledge that the Allagans lacked. If anything, they had too much. What his people lacked was a leader. With a renewed sense of focus, Amon shifted his studies to the field of vivimancy, and soon was conducting experiments on his own flesh in order to attain his final goal - the resurrection of Xande the First.

— Encylopaedia Eorzea Volume I, p. 25

[synnthamonsugar]

Hello, Eris Morn Fan... I want to play a game.

The rules are simple: You have 6 hours to write a fanfic, draw fanart, construct a lore essay, meta post, or other piece of Eris-centric speculative or creative content. However, in the course of creating this ... you must exclude The Drifter from her narrative. Platonic or romantic. As a co-starring character, or referential callback.

Not even a "trust" will be permitted.

Should you fail, Seth Dickinson will write into the next Collector's Edition booklet a scene where Eris comes out as lesbian and/or some combination of aro/ace, instantly collapsing both the D2 team's and fandom's interest in her as a beloved piece of M/F ship-bait and romantic prize for the funnyguy of the moment, the only two things women in this fandom (like most fandoms) are allowed to be.

Work quickly... time is running out.

[bonefall]

So what do your leaders do all day? In the cannon clans it seems like they just sit around at camp all day and let the deputies do all of the work. Until the plot needs them anyway.

Leaders are given 9 lives for a very important purpose; they are supposed to live as their Clanmates do, understand them, and guide them as shining examples of what a warrior should be.

A leader who's inaccessible is considered a failure. Clans can't do anything about this until ASC and it's rare to begin with, but their clan WILL get upset about it.

Patrolling, sparring, hunting, and even cooking are all things a leader should be doing. Is it still very high-pressure? Yes. Ultimate authority rests on them.

So what's a deputy for?

Busywork. Day-to-day decisions that would prevent a leader from actually engaging with clan life. Setting up patrols, gathering news, settling small disputes, etc.

You could consider them a very authoritative secretary. If a Clan is being TOTALLY run by its deputy, that's a problem. If a Clan is BARELY being run by its deputy, that is also a problem.

So, expect to see cats like Firestar just around more often. It's not shocking to see him return from patrol or a little walk, carrying a mouse or two.