#{: OOC :} A blade's Sheath.

[lucentborn]

-:{ LUCENTBORN }: Indi. Selective Rp blog for Eironn from AFK ARENA / AFK Journey Headcannon Heavy. Lightly Canon Divergent. Written by : Pow / Yuma (23) Current Activity : Low Current Verses : Main ; Faerie Court with @tealbeats ; tba

-{: Summery / About :}

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[reversebladeinheritor]

Y’all now why I’m back here on my bullshit

And if you don’t...

[lovesick-desires]

ASCENDANCY

YANDERE!AMBESSA MEDARDA X ROYALTY!READER — CHAPTER ONE

⇢ NEXT CHAPTER (COMING SOON)

ABSTRACT: As the monarch of a small country in Runeterra, your country is subject to an attack by Noxus. The deal that The Noxus General, Ambessa, proposes to save your kingdom is one you never could have suspected... CONTENT WARNINGS: dark themes, yandere behavior, war, mass death, violence, murder, death, sensual touching, mentions of corpses, dubious marriage, coercion, intimidation TAGS: gender neutral reader, probably ooc Ambessa (first time writing her), this is mostly an intro chapter (N)SFW?: slightly NSFW WORD COUNT: 1.5k+ AMBESSA’S YANDERE ARCHETYPE: possessive, sadistic

Unnecessary bloodshed.

That's all this really was.

You gazed out from the balcony of your castle, your battle armor dented and smeared with the essences of war: blood, sweat, and dirt. Your skin was bruised, lacerated, and covered in grime. You fought your hardest to protect your people, yet you failed. You realized that as you stared out at the kingdom you fought so hard for littered with the corpses of your people, all slaughtered like cattle.

"I have failed you." You whispered softly to the bodies below, knowing they will never hear your words. Your fingers grasped the ledge of the railing, feeling the legacy of your people die in your heart. You gazed upon your kingdom's flag, now seeming withered with faded colors.

You knew what was waiting for you, but the failure you felt seemed worse than any death that could take you from this planet. The crushing feeling of annihilation your people faced by the Noxian forces. Noxus was notorious for their prodigious armed forces: why did you think you could take them on when they threatened your people? It was foolish, really; it was just a whimsical pipedream that pulverized your kingdom.

At least, you knew some of your people were safe: the ones you got to evacuate in the midst of chaos. That put your mind at ease, even just a little bit.

You looked down at the corpses once more: men, women, and others all slaughtered for little purpose. But, as you gripped the hilt of your sword, you knew you couldn't go down without fighting like hell. These people gave everything for what once was a powerful kingdom, and you knew you would too.

"...And I will not fail you again."

You swiftly exited the balcony, hearing the combat downstairs in the main hall. They were definitely trying to get to you, and you were going to raise hell. Pulling your sword from its sheath, you race downstairs, your heart pounding in your ears and saliva pooling in your mouth. Adrenaline ran through you as you joined your other soldiers, putting the visor down of your helmet that displayed the family badge, one you wore with honor.

You fought like hell, helping your men fight against the Noxian forces. You had taken down a couple Noxians yet they kept coming. You were outnumbered and outpowered by a significant degree. Nonetheless, you kept fighting, straining your exhausted body beyond its limits.

An axe blade attached to a chain flew across your vision, knocking the visor of your helmet clean off. The now desecrated metal fell to the ground with a loud clinking noise before it skidded across the cold, bloodstained tile floor. Your hand flew up to feel the now lacerated bridge of your nose, the sanguine blood dribbling down your armored fingers.

"Interesting..." A velvety, yet commanding voice declared as the Noxus soldiers stood at attention, their weapons at their sides. Your gaze flickered over to the origin of the voice only to see Ambessa Medarda, the Noxus General striding towards you. "A monarch who actually fights and doesn't hide like a coward." She continued, causing you to instinctively take a step back with how close she was getting. You held your sword tightly as her muscular form drew near, cornering you against a pillar of the main hall as she loomed over you.

Your gaze flickered around to see that you were the only one left standing, your soldiers fallen at the feet of the Noxian fleet.

It was all up to you now.

With a loud cry, you swung your sword down at the Noxian warlord, refusing to go down without a fight. You could see an inkling of a smirk dance across Ambessa's lips as she blocked your swing with her armored forearm, the sheer impact sending a jolt of vibration through every atom in your arms. You tried to retract your blade but Ambessa struck a solid blow to your gut, making you crumble and drop your weapon. The steel clattering against the cold tile floor elicited a scoff from Ambessa.

As you looked up at the intricate, painted ceiling of your castle, you realized if you didn't get up here, it would be over. Just like that, you'd be wiped from this Earth like nothing more than a speck of dirt. Gathering the remaining strength you had left, you swiped your armored foot under hers, knocking her to the ground with a resounding grunt. The warlord's umber eyes flared wide as you snatched your sword from the floor, plunging its tip downward toward her with deadly intent.

A loud clank followed by a shattering noise assaulted your eardrums as you felt knocked back to the floor, your sword now shattered into a plethora of pieces that surround you. Through your blurred vision and ringing ears, you could see Ambessa rewrapping her arm in the ribbon of runes that decorated it, as those must have protected her from the blow.

"Impressive, little one." Ambessa proclaimed with a slight tease in her tone.

As you tried to get up, Ambessa became to approach you once again, her footsteps swaggering yet intimidating. The clanking of her armors rang in your ears, feeling like it was piercing your eardrums. Her footsteps stopped right before you as she dropped the metal mits that held her chain axes, letting them crash to the ground.

"I have fought many foes: older than you, stronger than you, wiser than you... Better than you." Ambessa declared, her searing gaze meeting your subconscious one. "Yet, you got me under your feet. Not many have ever been able to accomplish such a feat." The matriarch of war continued before placing a strong hand on your jaw, pulling it up. She seemed to be trying to get a better look at you as your vision slowly focused, the vertigo fazing away as your face was mere inches from her. The matriarch of war's lips curled into a crooked smile with a glint in her eyes that was indiscernible yet seemingly troublesome.

"I have a proposal for you, young one. One that can save your kingdom from utter obliteration." The warlord proposed, offering her calloused hand to you. You snapped out of your confusion as your gaze met hers.

"What... proposal?" You spoke cautiously yet not taking her hand. To this, Ambessa's smile pulled a little more at the corners of her lips.

"Marry me and your kingdom will be safe and protected from my forces." Her words drove horror in your heart like a spear. You could see the bloodlust behind her smile, the glint of conquest in her eyes. This was no proposal: it was a leash in the shape of a ring. You were wrong: there was a fate worse than death.

You swallowed hard, trying to mask the tremble in your hands. Around you, the main hall fell silent, holding its breath. One wrong word and your people would burn.

"How can I trust you? You and your forces have invaded and massacred my soldiers." You proclaimed, shakily going to stand as pain radiated down your left leg, making you wince as your legs tremble.

She stepped closer, her heels echoing on the marble flooring like the ticking of a clock. Her guards didn’t move. They didn’t need to. Power clung to her like a second layer of armor.

"You misunderstand me," she said softly, almost kindly. "Trust is not required: only obedience. I offer you mercy. Refuse, and your kingdom will be reduced to ash and screams."

A drop of sweat rolled down your temple. Your heart pounded like a war drum. Streaks of blood and dead bodies littered the floors. You were out of time and out of soldiers.

"Make your choice, monarch," Ambessa rasped, nodding to her hand. "Will you die a martyr and let your people burn or live to see your people thrive with the help of my forces?" She continued, her gaze glinting with conquest and the raging fire of countless wars.

Your gaze shifted to her outstretched hand. You didn't want all your people to die because you didn't want to take on the burden. You thought of all the children who laughed in the schoolyard, you thought of all the lovely couples strolling about with some now permanently separated by a wall of death, and you thought of them all perishing just because you wanted to be brave. You'd take death over this in an instant if your people weren't involved, and Ambessa probably knew that. You heard horror stories of how relentless she was: conquest after conquest, she raged on like an unrelenting storm.

With a shaky hand, you clasp the warlords in order give her a firm yet reluctant handshake, sealing your fate in her bloody, calloused hand.

Your people needed a hero, and you weren't going to fail them again.

"As long as my people stay safe, I will agree to your terms." You relented, trying to fill your voice with authority. Ambessa smirked softly before firmly grasping your hand back, shaking it firmly.

"Wise choice, little one."

SONG OF THE FIC: THE WOLF — SIAMES

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[m-musings]

Hi! I just found your blog and love your Overwatch content! I was wondering if I could request something?

The Overwatch boys specifically genji,reaper and ramattra with a s/o who gets injured while working on a mission or something? As how they react/what their actions are..

If you don’t like this please feel free to ignore!

I hope you have a nice day!

-💜✨

Headcanons: Genji, Reaper & Ramattra with Injured! S/O

A/N: protective overwatch boys are my shit!!!!!

Word Count:925 Warnings/ Other Notes: mentions of various injuries, ooc reaper and rammatra, terrible google translate japanese.

Genji:

The first time you got injured haunts Genji's mind rather often.

It was after a fierce battle with Null Sector forces, during which You and Genji had been separated.

As he slashed at every enemy in sight, he could see you getting pushed further and further away.

He tried to make his way to you but you warned him otherwise.

"(Y/n), hold on!"

"I'll be fine! Just go, I'll find you later!"

With a simple nod of his head, he watch as you disappeared from sight.

Once he had won the fight a few minutes later, he sheathed his sword and rushed off to try and find you.

After searching for a while, he finally saw you, lying immobile on the ground surrounded by piles of rubble and deactivated Null Troopers.

With a quiet gasp coming from his lips, Genji dashed over to help you.

Falling to his knees as he approached, he gingerly lifted your battered body into his lap.

"No, no, no! (Y/n), please wake up!" The ninja called fearfully as he tried to gently shake you awake.

When he received no response from you, he called Tracer to have her bring the ship as fast as she could.

Once Lena arrived, she helped him get you on board and fly you to Watchpoint Gibraltar, where Mercy was waiting to bring you to the medical bay.

As she worked to heal your injuries, Genji sat outside of the room, sharpening his blade in attempt to distract himself from your condition.

When he got the all clear to go in and see you, he sighed in relief as he saw you, a bit groggy but awake and alive.

"Thank god, I thought I'd never see you again."

"Heh, it'll take more than a basic beatdown to get rid of me. Plus, you saved me in the end, that helped."

You chuckle as you try to sit up, but when you groan in pain, Genji shushes you and urges you to lay back down.

"Rest for now, shin'ainaru koibito. I'll be right here when you awake."

Your tired eyes flutter closed in response as you mutter out an answer.

"Alright... thank you, Gen. I love you..."

"Watashi mo itoshite iru yo."

Reaper:

When you get hurt, Gabriel's vision goes red.

He's immediately shadow stepping over to where you lie injured and slaughtering all those who dared to try and harm you.

Once they've all fallen, he's picking you up and taking you back to the Talon transport.

After setting you down in the ships exam room, Gabe quietly growls to himself before going to finish the mission with the other operatives.

As soon as it's over and a medic has stabilized your vitals, he's stomping into the room, angry at himself that he let you get hit.

With his mask in hand, he tries to ignore all the machines hooked up to you as he silently watches over you.

Pacing around the other side of the room, his usually harsh glare softens as he sees you stir.

Reaper strides over to you, carefully placing a cold hand on your cheek as your eyes slowly open.

"Gabe?... Where... what- what happened?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle. You were pretty worse for the wear, though."

As he thinks back to you collapsed on the floor, Gabriel's brows furrow slightly.

"I'm sorry I didn't get there sooner, (Y/n)."

You whisper out a calming shush as you shakily place your hand upon his arm.

"Hey, you got there in the end. That's what matters. You saved me..."

As you place a kiss upon his palm, he blesses you with a rare but soft and genuine smile.

"Yeah, well, you're the only one I can tolerate around here. I'd go crazy if I didn't have you with me anymore."

Ramattra:

• Never in his life did Ramattra think he would care about the wellbeing of a human, but here he is.

• He's in his nemesis form, fighting fiercely while decimating anyone in his way.

• With you passed out in his arms covered in cuts and bruises, he defends you from any incoming blows as he rushes away.

• After his current attack on a city had gone awry, he was forced to pull his army out when he saw the condition you were in.

• While barking out orders to his troops, he glances down at you to analyze your condition with his scanners.

• Once Ramattra confirms that you're still alive, he runs even faster back to his airship in order to get you the treatment that you need.

• When the two of you return to Null Sector headquarters, he's immediately taking you to your shared room to let you recuperate.

• He busies himself with various tasks, impatiently waiting for the first sign of consciousness from you.

• Later that night, he is pulled from his work when he hears a small groan escape your lips.

• Ramattra instantly rushes over to you as your eye begin to peel open, causing you to glance in his direction.

• "Ram... it hurts."

• "I know, pet, I know... You were hurt in the fight. But you're here now and safe with me. That's what's important."

• He carefully grabs your hand before placing his faceplate on the back of it in an affectionate gesture.

• You sigh gratefully as you let his hand go to place your arms around his neck, making him lean into your warmth.

• "Thank you, Ramattra... Don't know what I'd do without you."

• "I couldn't bear it either, my darling (Y/n). You are forever in my heart and mind."

[desigal-26]

Hey dear! could i get an imagine/oneshot, angst, rough nsfw(if you write nsfw, otherwise just angst) Daemon x poc fem reader (Martell or dornish or essosi reader) inspired by "shikayat"(gangubai songs) Maybe they have a relationship but they have to break up because the reader was promised to someone else, but with happy ending please?

So, I love writing Martell Reader x Daemon. Hence, the reader is Martell again 😅.

Also, I am sorry. I did try to write the smut but I somehow couldn’t. So, it ends before the real smut could happen.

Complaints

Daemon Targaryen x Martell!Reader

In her absence, her complaints rang loud—ones he could not bear.

She was a maiden, begging him to request her hand in marriage—but he never gathered the courage, until it was too late.

Warnings: ANGST, OOC!Daemon (I guess), Mentions of Arranged Marriage, Hightower Slander, My bad writing. Inform me if there is anything else.

Word Count: 4.4K (MY BIGGEST EVER)

Kisiki yaad mein

Shamein guzarne ke liye

Kaleja chahiye khud ko

Maarne ke liye

Flea Bottom never slept—or so the realm whispered in hushed tones—and for once, the rumors spoke true. Beneath the shadowed sprawl of King’s Landing, where cobbled alleys twisted like serpents and the stench of life clung to every stone, the heart of the slums pulsed ceaselessly with riotous vigor. As dusk surrendered to darkness, the district bloomed anew with flickering torchlight and the bawdy chorus of the night’s temptations. Taverns spilled golden glow and drunken laughter onto the muddy streets, brothels opened their silk-draped arms to the willing and the weary, and the boundaries between lowborn and lord blurred amid cheap ale and silken skin.

Men of every station—ragged sellswords and silken courtiers, fishmongers and hedge knights—mingled under the same roofs, seeking the same fleeting comforts. A coin here bought a drink, a kiss, a moment of forgetting. A coin there bought silence, pleasure, or the illusion of love. Exotic beauties from the ports of Lys and Volantis, perfumed and painted, promised escape in every breathless moan and beckoning glance.

Once, Daemon Targaryen had lived for these nights. He had thrived in the raw pulse of Flea Bottom’s underbelly, laughing with cutthroats over spilled wine, sword-fighting in the alleyways for sport or pride, and indulging himself with women as fierce and untamed as wildfire. The brothel mistress knew him well—always saving the rarest flower for the Rogue Prince, an exotic jewel from Essos with eyes like molten gold or skin like polished obsidian. He had once claimed the night like it was his to rule.

But not anymore.

Not since her.

Now, Daemon sat in the darkest corner of the tavern, tucked behind rotting beams and smoke-stained walls, where no torchlight dared linger. A threadbare hood was drawn low over his head, the deep cowl casting shadows across the sharp planes of his face, hiding the unmistakable Valyrian silver of his hair and the unmistakable grief in his eyes. His once-proud shoulders slumped with the weight of memory, and his gloved hand curled tightly around a mug of lukewarm ale—his only companion in the midnight hours. He drank not for pleasure, but for numbness, each gulp as desperate as a babe clinging to its mother’s breast, trying to drown the taste of sorrow that clung to his tongue like ash.

His mind, thick with haze and wine, wandered where he dared not go when sober. To her. To the scent of her skin and the sound of her laugh, low and secret like a promise meant only for him. He remembered her touch in the darkness, the way she had fit against him like a blade in its sheath—his alone, fierce and soft and utterly his. Now, that warmth was gone, and the night held only ghosts.

He was no longer Daemon the Rogue Prince here. He was a shadow drinking in silence. A man lost to love, cloaked in memory, hiding from a world that no longer made sense without her.

Suna hai ke unko

Shikayat bahut hai

Toh phir unko humse

Mohabbat bahut hai

The memory of earlier that day haunted him still, etched into his mind like a fresh brand on flesh. It played over and over, unbidden, beneath the haze of ale and grief that wrapped around him like a funeral shroud.

He had heard the sound before he saw her—the delicate chime of anklets against stone, a sound he had come to associate with joy, with stolen moments and secret smiles beneath the blood-red leaves of the ancient weirwood tree. It was their place. Hidden, quiet, forgotten by the Red Keep and all its watching eyes. The place where she would come to him with windswept hair and sun-warmed skin, where her lips would part in laughter meant only for him.

So he had turned, expecting her. Hoping.

But it wasn’t his Dornish Rose who stood before him.

Instead, it was her shadow—her lady-in-waiting. Stern-faced and steely-eyed, with her arms crossed over her chest and her expression carved from stone. A woman who had never once tried to hide her disdain for him, who saw Daemon Targaryen not as a prince, but as a threat. A flame too wild to be tamed. Too dangerous for the cherished daughter of Sunspear.

He didn’t bother to hide his irritation. “Where is she?” he snapped, the words edged with anger and the faintest flicker of dread. It wasn’t like her to send someone in her place.

The woman did not flinch. Her composure, as ever, was unshakable—no fear, no courtesy, just cold efficiency.

“The Princess has sent me to deliver a message,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as if reading from a ledger.

Daemon’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Instead, he tilted his head and waited—though every passing second scraped at his nerves like a blade drawn too slow.

“She is to be wed,” the lady continued, her words striking like falling axes. “To Ormund Hightower. By the consent of Prince Qoren, Lord Hightower, and His Grace, King Viserys. The match is finalized.”

He stared at her, as if the sheer weight of his disbelief might force her to take the words back.

“She asked me to deliver her grief,” the woman added, a small twist of disdain curling the corner of her mouth. “And her fury. She says you never listened. Not to her warnings, not to her pleas. She begged you to stop pushing, to be patient. But you are who you are.”

His breath was shallow, unsteady. It felt as though the world had tilted beneath him, as though the earth itself rejected the news. His Rose—his wild, radiant Rose—married off to a Hightower? To one of them?

It couldn’t be. It shouldn’t be. Her brother couldn’t possibly be so blind. So reckless. So cruel.

The Hightowers were vipers cloaked in robes, smug with their piety and poison. They were nothing but polished rot. And now she would be chained to one, her fire smothered by their cold, grey stone.

For a moment, he said nothing. He simply stared at the woman who bore the news of his ruin.

Then, softly, he asked, “Does she love me?”

It was foolish to ask, perhaps. But in that moment, he needed to hear it—needed to know. Even if it was too late. Even if it changed nothing. He needed truth to anchor him amidst the wreckage.

The lady-in-waiting’s brow arched. Her disdain deepened into contempt.

“The Princess holds many complaints against you—” she began.

“—Which means she loves me,” Daemon cut in, a bitter smile ghosting across his lips. Because only those who love us enough to dream expect better of us. Only those who care are wounded by our failings.

And Daemon had failed her. Repeatedly. Spectacularly.

But she had loved him. Of that, he was suddenly, painfully certain.

And now, she was lost.

Not to death. But to duty.

And that was somehow worse.

Suna hai ke nafrat

Woh karte hain humse

Hume unki nafrat se

Raahat bahut hai

“She hates you,” the lady-in-waiting snapped, her voice sharp as a blade drawn in judgment. Her hands folded tightly in front of her, knuckles white, the lines of her posture rigid with restrained fury. Her eyes, warm in hue but burning with cold disdain, pinned him where he stood.

Daemon only chuckled. A low, bitter sound that lacked any trace of amusement. He shook his head slowly, the weight of her words settling into his chest like an old friend returned with a dagger. His violet eyes, once alight with mischief and arrogance, drifted away from her—past the red stone walls, past the realm and its petty games, toward something distant. Something lost. Perhaps a memory. One of those golden afternoons where time seemed to bend for them—where laughter tangled with whispers beneath weirwood branches, and the world, for a fleeting moment, had belonged only to them.

He exhaled slowly.

“Then,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “may the gods of Valyria bless her—and me. For hate exists only where love once dared to live.”

There was no jest in his tone. No defiance. Only the raw, aching truth of a man realizing that the fire she once burned for him hadn’t died—it had turned. Transformed into something jagged and cruel, forged by disappointment and disillusionment.

His gaze lifted to the sky, clear and indifferent above the castle walls. The same sky under which they had loved. And now, under which she would wed another.

He turned his eyes back to the Dornish woman before him. She looked ready to spit fire—jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in her neck strained, eyes aflame with a hatred to match the one she claimed her lady bore.

But Daemon didn’t care for her rage. Not anymore.

He dismissed her with a flick of his wrist, the gesture careless, hollow. As though shooing away the last echo of a dream he could no longer hold on to.

And then he turned, his cloak catching the wind behind him as he walked away. But each step was slower than the last—as though the very ground conspired to drag him back into the memory, into the place where she still smiled for him.

The words clung to him like chains. Not the ones she had sent, but the ones he had not spoken. The promises he’d never made. The battles he hadn’t fought. He, who had defied kings and spat in the face of death, had been silent when it mattered most. And now it was done.

His shoulders, broad and once proud, sagged beneath the weight of realization. Each breath scraped against his ribs like a dull knife. His heart, fierce and wild like his dragon, now coiled in on itself—dragged down into the pit of his stomach where sorrow festered.

She was gone. Not because he couldn’t have fought for her.

But because he didn’t.

Wo ilzaam jitne bhi

Chahe laga le

Wafadaar hain

Bewafa hum nahi hain

“Don’t look so disappointed, my prince,” came her voice behind him, steeped in mockery and venom. The words slithered through the silence, cruelly deliberate, aimed at the hollow where his heart once beat with reckless fire.

But Daemon did not turn. He couldn’t. Not for pride, but for fear.

Fear of what might show in his eyes if he dared meet hers—the cracks forming behind his mask, the silent shattering of his heart beneath the weight of her absence. He kept his face turned away, locked in place like a statue mourning in shadow, not trusting himself to conceal the glint of unshed tears or the ruin scrawled across his expression.

“You can go back to your ways again,” the woman added, her voice cold with satisfaction—as if this, this heartbreak, this abandonment, somehow justified her hatred for him.

The words struck like a whip, lashing through him without mercy. His ways. The whoring, the drinking, the chaos he once wrapped around himself like armor. The same indulgences that had earned him the derisive title whispered across the realm: The Prince of Flea Bottom. A man of appetites, they said. A man who burned through lovers like kindling and drank like he meant to drown himself.

But how could he explain—how could he make anyone understand—that he hadn’t touched another since her?

That she had ruined him for anyone else, without ever baring herself fully to him—without shedding more than the cloak of formality she wore at court, and the carefully measured decorum of a Dornish princess sworn to duty.

She hadn’t needed to touch him for his world to shift.

And now, that world had collapsed.

They would never know the man he had been in those stolen hours. The prince who abandoned swords and schemes for a quiet patch of sun-dappled grass beneath a weirwood tree. The man who waited not for war or command, but for the hush of her voice as she spoke of faraway dreams and childhood memories of Dornish summers, her lap cradling his head like it was the only place he belonged.

They would only remember the version of him they wanted to remember: the careless lover, the exiled husband, the royal disgrace. The world expected him to return to his ruin, to drown his sorrow in the arms of women whose names he wouldn’t remember, in cups of wine he’d never taste. They expected him to fall back into infamy, to become once more the reckless shadow of a prince that haunted the alleys of Flea Bottom.

But he couldn’t. Not now. Not ever.

Because fidelity, to him, had never been a vow spoken aloud.

It had been the silence between their meetings. The ache in his chest when she was gone. The breath he held every time she approached. The life he would have given for one more day with her.

And now that life meant nothing.

Humein unki yaadon ki

Daulat bahut hai

A sudden cheer erupted around him, breaking through the fog of memory like a blade through silk. Daemon blinked, pulled reluctantly back into the present by the raucous laughter of drunk men and the clatter of overturned mugs.

A tavern girl squealed with delight, perched precariously on the shoulders of a large, swaying brute whose grin was missing more teeth than it kept. Another man—flushed, staggering—pressed a sloppy kiss to the hand of a passing server, who giggled and twisted away, used to such displays.

None of it amused him.

But it was that second man, the one clinging to a fleeting touch, that struck a chord deep within Daemon. Not because of the scene itself—but because it was a mirror, warped and distant, of something he once had. Something now lost to memory.

And memories were all he had left of her.

The feel of her hand in his—small, warm, soft in a way that disarmed him. The gentle drag of her fingers through his long silver hair, an absent, loving touch that made him forget he was a prince, a warrior, a Targaryen. Her scent, always citrusy with something deeper beneath—something uniquely her, that clung strongest behind her ears, where she was most sensitive. He remembered how she’d flinch ever so slightly when he kissed her there, and then melt into him like silk against flame.

He remembered her hair tangled in his calloused fingers—those same fingers that had known only the hilt of a sword and the cold of steel for most of his life. She had softened them. Softened him.

The vision of her sitting beneath the weirwood tree, nose buried in some tome, lips parted just enough to show her quiet absorption. Her cheeks flushed with the sun—or with the heat of his compliments, the ones he tossed at her carelessly, but always watched for the way they made her eyes shy away and her mouth twitch into a half-smile.

It was all gone. No more than smoke rising from a fire long dead.

Because he hadn’t chosen her.

Not when it mattered.

And that truth, that bitter, cruel truth, had wrapped around his heart like a noose.

He had the time. He’d had every opportunity to go to his brother, to go to Prince Qoren, and speak with the same fire he so often wielded in battle. To claim her, not in secret, but in light. She had asked for it—not once, not twice, but again and again. Not with demands, but in soft, plaintive whispers as she lay curled in his arms beneath the bleeding leaves of the weirwood tree.

“Why don’t you ask Qoren for my hand in marriage?” she had murmured once, voice barely louder than the wind. Her lips against his throat, her breath warm, her body fitting so easily against his. A plea disguised as playfulness. A question laced with longing.

He remembered how he had deflected it, again. As he always did.

He had kissed her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder—anywhere to silence her words before they could settle into the space between them. He had thought it was enough. That she would wait, as she always had.

But even fire grows cold when left untended.

He had seen it, then—truly seen—in her eyes during that final meeting. That flicker of pain, quickly hidden beneath her usual smile. That quiet defeat. She had known the betrothal was coming. And she had given him one last chance.

A chance he had wasted with arrogance. With hesitation. With silence.

And now?

Now she was gone.

Not dead. But lost all the same. Not to war, or to distance.

But to the one thing he couldn’t fight—consequence.

Suna hai ke unko

Shikayat bahut hai

Eight pints of ale later, he stumbled out of the tavern, the night air biting at his flushed cheeks. The laughter and music behind him faded into a dull hum, a distant echo of a world he no longer felt tethered to. Women called to him, reaching with wine-slicked fingers and practiced pouts, but he brushed past them all with barely a glance. Their perfume made his stomach turn.

His mind, despite the alcohol, was clearer than it had been in weeks. Every gear turned with purpose now, slick with desperation and fury. The haze of indecision had lifted, replaced by something jagged and sharp.

He would not let her go.

Not without a fight.

His steps were uneven, but his will was iron. He made for the Red Keep, bypassing the main gates where the guards would surely notice the slump of his shoulders and the wild gleam in his eyes—and report it to either Otto Hightower or Viserys, both of whom would try to leash him with words, titles, or threats.

No.

Daemon Targaryen took the path only ghosts and rebels knew—slipping into Maegor’s Fort through the secret tunnels carved into the stone centuries ago. He moved like a shadow, one born from old fire and new regret, the cold stone walls guiding him to the wing he knew too well. Her wing.

The Hightowers—so pious, so proud—would never take a bride who wasn’t untouched. Not them. Not the keepers of their precious Seven. And that, Daemon thought darkly, could be the thing that shattered this cruel betrothal.

He reached her chambers with little resistance. No guards at the door. No maids bustling about. Just silence. Thick and grieving.

He pushed the door open soundlessly, heart thudding louder than his steps.

And then he saw her.

Curled on the bed like a wounded bird, knees drawn tightly to her chest, the fine silk of her nightgown wrinkled and clinging to her in the candlelight. Her hair, usually a glossy curtain of Dornish pride, was a tangle of grief around her face. Dried tear tracks marred her flushed cheeks, and her lashes were matted with salt and sleep. She looked so small. So breakable.

Daemon felt his heart crack at the sight.

Cautiously, he stepped forward, his hand trembling as he reached out to brush a lock of hair from her brow. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips—so alive, so real—and yet he still feared she might vanish if he touched her too roughly.

He let his fingers slide through her hair, slowly, reverently, and her body stirred under his touch. A soft sound—a whimper, half-formed—escaped her lips. Her brows twitched, lashes fluttering like the wings of a moth struggling to rise.

Then her eyes opened.

And for a moment, neither of them breathed.

She blinked at him, her limbs slowly uncurling from their tight knot. Disbelief etched across her face as her gaze roamed over him. Her lips parted in a small gasp, voice lost to the lump forming in her throat.

“Daemon?” she whispered, almost inaudibly. As if saying his name aloud might break the fragile illusion her mind had conjured in its sorrow.

He didn’t speak. He couldn’t—not yet. He only looked at her with an expression that hadn’t been seen on the Rogue Prince in years: raw, exposed, pleading.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the words they hadn’t said, all the chances he hadn’t taken.

And now, he was here—because it wasn’t too late. Not yet.

Her breath caught as she sat up fully, the silk sheets falling from her shoulders as she stared at him, still unsure if he was real. But the scent of ale clinging to his cloak, the disheveled state of his hair, and the storm in his violet eyes confirmed it—Daemon Targaryen stood before her, not a dream, not a memory.

And yet, there was no joy in her expression. Only the tremble of betrayal barely contained beneath her pride.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, voice thin, still hoarse from crying.

“I know,” he replied quietly, stepping closer, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across his face. “But I had to see you.”

Her gaze hardened. “You had months to see me. To speak to my brother. To speak to your brother. To fight for me. And now—now you come?”

He flinched. Not visibly, not in a way any courtier would detect, but she saw it. She always saw everything.

“I was a fool,” he said, the words gravelly with regret. “Too arrogant. Too sure you’d always be there. I thought…” He paused, exhaling a sharp breath. “I thought they’d never dare take you from me.”

Her lip quivered, just for a moment. “Well, they did. And you let them.”

Silence settled between them like snowfall—cold, soft, and deadly. She looked away then, staring toward the canopy, her throat working as if to swallow down more tears.

“You knew they were arranging a match,” she said, quieter now. “I told you what my brother was planning. I begged you, Daemon.”

“I know,” he murmured, stepping closer again, now only an arm’s length away. “And I ignored you. I thought… I thought your heart was mine.”

“It was,” she snapped, turning to face him again. “It still is, damn you.”

The words stunned them both into stillness.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and he watched her war with herself—between the love she hadn’t stopped feeling, and the pain he’d caused by doing nothing when action was needed most.

“I would’ve defied them all,” she whispered. “For you. I would’ve walked into the Throne Room and declared myself yours, if you had only asked.”

His hand reached for hers before he could stop himself, but she recoiled just slightly—enough to break his heart again.

“Why now, Daemon?” she asked, voice shaking. “Why tonight? Is it guilt? Possessiveness? Or did it finally dawn on you that I wasn’t just a dalliance?”

“No,” he said, jaw clenched, voice dangerously low. “It’s because I finally realized what it meant to lose you. And I can’t let that happen.”

She laughed bitterly through her tears. “It’s already happened. The betrothal is sealed. The Hightowers—”

“They haven’t taken your maidenhead yet,” he interrupted darkly. “And they never will.”

Her breath hitched. “Daemon…”

“Let me fix this,” he said, stepping forward again. “Let me undo the mistake I made by doing nothing. I’ll go to Qoren. To Viserys. To the gods themselves if I have to. I’ll tear down the Hightowers brick by brick if that’s what it takes.”

She stared at him, searching his face for any sign that this was another one of his whims—another reckless scheme forged in emotion and doused in wine. But all she saw was him.

The man she loved.

The man who had broken her heart.

The man who, despite it all, still held it.

Her mind raced and so did her heart—but they sprinted in opposite directions. Duty screamed of consequences, of names soiled and honour lost, of alliances shattered and realms plunged into chaos. But love—love whispered in the voice of a silver-haired prince who had come for her at last.

The war inside her raged silently, visible only in the flicker of her eyes as they darted away from Daemon’s and settled on the fire. The flames mocked her—wild, untamed, and far too much like the man before her.

Then, something shifted. A thread in her resolve snapped—not with violence, but with quiet inevitability.

Her gaze returned to him.

Daemon, who stood like a condemned man before a silent god, waiting to see if salvation would come in a whisper or a sword. He watched her not with the hunger of a rogue, but the reverence of a penitent, every breath held between worship and fear.

And then—wordlessly, mercilessly—she moved.

Her arms wrapped around his neck with a desperation only love betrayed can summon. Her lips crashed into his, fierce and unrelenting, the taste of salt still lingering from her earlier tears. He gasped into the kiss, surprise parting his lips just enough for her to take more. The moan that escaped his chest was guttural, unfiltered.

She straddled him, her silk-clad thighs bracketing his hips as if she’d done it a thousand times before. One hand tangled in his silver hair, the other slid down his chest, fingers pressing over the leather of his doublet before venturing south, igniting every nerve she passed like wildfire through dry grass.

Her hips rolled with purpose—teasing, taunting—and he groaned against her mouth, his hands flying to her waist as if by instinct, gripping her as though she might vanish again.

But she didn’t vanish.

She claimed.

And Daemon—Daemon, who had spent so long commanding, conquering, claiming—yielded.

He kissed her back with a hunger born not of lust, but of longing long denied. His hands slid beneath her nightgown, rough palms reverent as they mapped her body with an awe he rarely showed even in war. Every curve, every scar, every sacred line was memorized, worshipped.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes, his voice gravel-soft. “Are you sure?”

A flicker of something vulnerable passed through her gaze—fear, maybe. But beneath it, stronger and steadier, was resolve.

“I love you,” she whispered. “Even if the world hates me for it.”

His breath hitched, and in that moment, something in him broke—not from pain, but from sheer overwhelming relief. His forehead touched hers, his thumb brushing her cheek, his voice raw.

“Then let them all burn.”

[agaypanic]

former theater kid as well !! maybe a story about regina with a gf in theater club ?

My Little Star (Regina George X Theater Kid!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Your girlfriend comes to see you in your last high school show.

A/N: depending on which regina you’re envisioning with this, au where everyone has smartphones. post!mean girls regina bc then i wont feel too bad if she seems too ooc. ive been thinking a lot about romeo and juliet lately so the play is romeo and juliet teehee

***

If you had told your younger self that at the end of your senior year, you’d be the leading star in your final show and be dating Regina George, she would’ve thought you were insane.

Yet here you were, getting ready for the opening night of Romeo and Juliet while your girlfriend spam-texted you words of encouragement.

Regina <3

You’re gonna do so good, I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU!!!

I was gonna keep it a surprise until after the show, but I got your favorite 

*Sent 1 Attachment*

Unlocking your phone to respond, you were greeted with a picture of Regina sitting in the auditorium holding a large bouquet of your favorite flowers. She had a great big smile on her face, her eyes squinting from it. 

Your breath hitched. You knew Regina loved you, but the picture radiated her feelings of pride for you. It made you want to run out and smother her in affection.

Instead, you texted her back.

You

OMG you’re literally the sweetest Regina!!

I’ll be looking for you in the audience lol

Regina <3

I’m sitting in the very center, so hopefully I’m easy to spot

Especially with this giant ass bouquet

You laughed at the message and soon got a tap on your shoulder from one of your friends, telling you places were in five minutes.

You

I have to go, we’re gonna start soon

But I’ll be looking for you :)) 

You waited until you saw a response from Regina before putting your phone in your bag.

Regina <3

YOU’RE GONNA DO AMAZING

BREAK A LEG <3333

DON’T ACTUALLY BREAK A LEG THO

THAT’D BE BAD

I LOVE YOU!!!

Laughing at her stream of messages, you put your phone away and rushed out to your place. As much as you revel in the fact that you had a leading role, you were already waiting for the show to be over so you could see Regina.

***

If you had to choose one, the death scene was probably your favorite. It was dramatic, which was always fun, and you got to stab yourself with a retractable blade.

“What’s here? A cup, closed in my true love’s hand?” You took the empty cup out of Romeo’s, whose real name was Jared, stiff hand, inspecting it. “Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end: O churl! Drunk all, and left no friendly drop to help me after?” You dropped the cup in distress, wondering what to do. Then your eyes fell on Jared’s lips, and you had a revelation. “I will kiss thy lips; Haply some poison yet doth hang on them, to make die with a restorative.”

You held his face gently in your hands and leaned down to kiss him. Every time you went through a kiss scene with Jared, you pretended it was Regina you were kissing. The passion seemed more authentic that way.

You pulled away, staring down at Jared.

“Thy lips are warm.” You said brokenheartedly. You were just barely too late. If only he had waited a while longer to drink the poison so you’d be awake to stop him.

“Lead, boy: which way?” You heard from offstage. 

“Yea, noise?” You looked toward the direction of the noise’s source in a panic. “Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger!”

You grabbed Romeo’s dagger and raised it to the audience. And that’s when you caught a glimpse of Regina. Despite the room being dark and her being far away, you could feel her excitement as she watched. You had to stop yourself from smiling.

“This is thy sheath,” You say before shoving the dagger into your heart. You gasp a little and look up. To the audience, you could’ve been looking up to the heavens in your last moments. But you were doing your best to stare into Regina’s eyes that were fixated on you. “There rust, and let me die.”

With that, you fell on top of Jared’s body, doing your best not to crush him as you ‘died.’

The scene continued from there, and you did your best not to move. Your back was killing you from the long show, but eventually, it ended. When you came out for bows, you heard a particularly loud cheer, and you didn’t have to guess who it was. It made you smile even more, so much that your cheeks started getting sore.

When the bows were over, and the cast and crew were finding their friends and family in the audience, you ran to Regina. It was a bit difficult weaving through the crowd, especially in your costume, but eventually, you reached the blonde, who had her arms opened wide and ready to catch you.

“You were amazing!” Regina all but shouted in your ear as she hugged you, squeezing you tightly. “Absolutely showstopping. One day, you’ll be a famous actress.”

“You think too highly of me, Regina.” You said with a giggle, and you were sure that your reddening cheeks were showing through your heavy stage makeup.

You grabbed your girlfriend’s face and kissed her. It was a million times better than pretending you were kissing her instead of Jared when you were on stage. Regina’s hands dropped to your hips, pulling you close against her. When you let out a little moan, you knew you should pull away before you felt like you couldn’t turn back.

“These are for you,” Regina said before biting her slightly swollen lip, giving you the giant bouquet she had gotten for you. One thing about Regina was that she was never cheap.

“I love them.” You smiled, giving her a few pecks.

“Anything for you, my little star.” The nickname made you giddy, made you feel like you were the only ones in this gigantic room. “Now how about you go change, we get some food, and then you sleep over at my house?”

“That sounds perfect.” You kissed Regina again; it was like you were addicted to her lips. “I should go now. If I kiss you anymore, I’ll probably never leave.”

“I definitely wouldn’t complain,” Regina smirked, but agreed that you should go change. She turned you around by the shoulders and gave you a quick pat on the butt to send you on your way, laughing at the way you squealed in surprise.

[libraryofgage]

Harlequin Prince (3)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One | Two | Three (you're here!) 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One | Two Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two | Three Leverage Crew One

So that Suicide Squad Isekai anime huh (it's great, I love it actually)

Anyway, I'll be playing fast and loose with Batman canon so all the batkids can be around at the same time have fun with that cuz I did (also forgive me if anyone is a little too OOC; i'm here for a good time not a long time), and the little flashback bit will continue in the next parts as Steve meets more batkids ^_^

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't UwU

----

Harley drops him off at Wayne Manor just after ten in the morning. She tugs a window open, carries him inside, kisses him on the forehead, and promises to pick him up in a week before climbing back out. Steve watches her until she's past the gate, clutching a Green Lantern plush his mother insisted he carry around because it'll annoy his Uncle Bruce.

Steve glances down at the plush, wishing his mother didn't have to go off on a mission when she'd just gotten out of Arkham two months ago. His wishes won't actually change anything, though, so he might as well make the best of his week with Uncle Bruce.

He turns on his heel, taking in the plain bedroom that will probably become his for the next few days. He holds the Green Lantern plush close and marches to the door, stepping out into the hall and choosing a random direction to walk in.

According to his mother, Wayne Manor can have anywhere between two and ten people staying in it at one time. She told him that Dick would be the most welcoming, if not the most confused, the girls would be the most fun, and Damien would be the most guarded, likely to consider him a threat for his entire stay.

It's just his luck that the first person he runs into is Damien. The other boy drops from the ceiling, blade of his sword glinting in the light as it comes to a stop just against Steve's neck. Steve freezes, glancing down at the sharp edge as Damien says, "Think very carefully before answering. Who are you, and what are you doing in my home?"

Steve looks away from the sword, tilting his head slightly as he shrugs. "I'm Steve. I'm staying here for a week," he says.

Damien's eyes narrow, and he takes a step closer, adjusting his arms so the katana doesn't move. "Says who? Does Father know you're here? Are you a spy sent by my mother?"

"Says my mom. Maybe. No," Steve replies.

A few more seconds pass before Damien hums. "Who's your mother?"

"Harley."

"Quinn?"

"Is there another?"

Slowly, Damien lowers the sword. "I suppose Quinn is somewhat reformed. How old are you?" he asks.

"Almost six."

"So, you're five," Damien says, nodding once. He sheathes his sword, apparently deciding Steve is no threat to him. "That makes me older than you, so you have to do what I say. Consider me your big brother for the week."

"Are you gonna make me hurt myself?"

"No."

"Mom said you wouldn't like me."

"Father said I should try being more trusting and welcoming. You are small and untrained, like a puppy. I could dismember you before you hurt me, which makes you ideal for practicing," Damien explains. He's quiet for a few seconds before getting a slight smirk. "Besides, it will greatly annoy my brothers if you obviously prefer me over them."

"I'm great at pretending as long as we can do fun stuff, too."

"Then we have a deal. You will act like I'm your favorite, and I will make sure you have fun."

Steve considers this, decides Damien is well on his way to actually being Steve's favorite, and steps closer. "Mom said Alfred makes the best cookies. Can we have some?"

"Yes," Damien says, "If you're hungry, then it's my responsibility to feed you as your big brother."

He offers his hand, seeming unsure when Steve takes it, like he isn't used to this kind of contact. Still, he doesn't pull away; he just hesitantly squeezes Steve's hand before leading him down the hall.

----

Not two days ago, Steve was telling himself he'd never set foot in Hawkins High School. Now, after getting the run down on the Upside Down (and holy shit did this place suddenly get a thousand times more interesting), Steve decides he'll just have to brave the brick walls to get Eddie out.

He leans forward on his motorcycle, arms resting on the handlebars as he looks up at the building. There's an American flag waving in the wind, faded paint on the outside, and security so lax it'd be suspicious in Gotham. Steve briefly considers leaving his helmet on, but he settles for placing it on the seat once he's off the motorcycle.

Walking into the school is easy. He doesn't even get stopped by the receptionist at the front desk. She just waves him in without looking up from her book. So, yeah, getting in is easy; figuring out where Eddie is might be a little harder.

He wanders the halls and stops the first student he sees, a girl with short brown hair carrying an unwieldy instrument case in her arms. Steve places his hands on the case and gently pushes down, flashing a grin when he can finally see her face. "Uh, can I help you?" she asks, her tone implying she very much does not want to help him.

"Yeah, I'm looking for someone," Steve says.

Her nose wrinkles slightly in disgust. "Listen, dingus, if this is some kind of pick-up line dare, save it," she says, rolling her eyes. She takes a step back and Steve follows.

"Nope, definitely not," he says, "You're not my type, sorry."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, unless you're not a girl...," he says, voice trailing off and eyebrow raising as he watches her understand his meaning.

She blinks, her shoulders rising some. She glances around, confirms the hallway is still empty, and relaxes. "Word of advice," she says, "don't just say that shit where anyone can hear. People aren't exactly nice about it around here."

Steve flashes a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I can take care of myself, but thanks. Anyway, still looking for someone."

"Oh, right, uh, what's their name?"

"Eddie Munson. Know him?"

She blinks again, her eyebrows shooting up in slight disbelief. "Yeah, I know him. Whatcha need him for? He doesn't usually sell until after school."

Oh. Steve hums softly, filing away that tidbit of information for later. "Not here to buy. I'm here to take him somewhere fun," he says.

A few seconds pass in which the girl looks at Steve, drops her gaze to the instrument case between them, and then glances around the empty hall. "Well, shit, man, I wanna go somewhere fun, too."

Steve considers her for a moment, trying to figure out the logistics of fitting her and Eddie on his bike. Well, he can just have her sit on the handlebars or something. "Okay, but the instrument won't fit," he tells her.

The grin he gets in return tells him that won't be a problem. "Name's Robin, by the way."

This has to be fate, right?

"Steve. Nice to meetcha, Robin."

Robin's grin gets even wider, and Steve knows they'll be great friends.

---

"Eddie usually sits in a corner," Robin says, standing at the edge of the cafeteria with Steve. It's teeming with life, and Steve hears snippets of conversations that blur into one dull roar that settles over the space. It reminds him of bars in Gotham even more than the actual bars he's visited here in Hawkins.

He can't see into the corners from here, but that doesn't bother him. "Wait here," he says, flashing a grin at Robin before walking to a mostly empty table. He climbs onto it, reaches into one of his jacket's inner pockets, and pulls out an air horn.

Steve waits long enough to see Robin cover her ears before raising the horn in the air and pressing down. It blares through the room, drowning out conversations and forcing people at the surrounding tables to cover their ears. A few more seconds pass before Steve lets up on the horn, grinning widely at the sea of eyes turned towards him.

"I'm looking for Eddie Munson," he says, twirling the air horn in the palm of his hand.

Instead of a verbal answer, he watches as the eyes turn from him to a corner across the room. A few people even duck close to their tables to clear Steve's line of sight, allowing him to see a confused Eddie sitting with his friends.

Steve grins, pockets the air horn, and starts making his way across the cafeteria. He walks on tables, jumps between them, and narrowly avoids stepping on more than one tray along the way. By the time he reaches Eddie's table, most of the students have gone back to their lunches and conversations.

"How's it going, Eds?" Steve asks, crouching in front of Eddie with a grin. He glances at the other boys by him, notes the identical Hellfire Club shirts, and nods in acknowledgement.

"Better now," Eddie says, his startled blink telling Steve he definitely didn't mean to say that out loud.

Steve somehow grins wider. "Wanna make like a banana and split? I've got somewhere fun in mind," he says, popping up from his crouch before hopping off the table and into the narrow space between Eddie's chair and his friend's.

"Dude, really?" one of his friends asks. "We have a session today."

Eddie looks torn at that realization, halfway standing and stuck like that. "That we do, Gare-bear," he says, defeat bringing his shoulders down.

"In that case, consider this a kidnapping," Steve tells them, grabbing Eddie's hand and pulling him up. He wraps his arm around Eddie's shoulders, winks at his friends, and promises, "I'll have him home before six, though."

Eddie's friends exchange glances, and Steve graciously pretends not to notice the puppy dog eyes Eddie aims at them. After a few seconds, one of them stands up, towering over Steve and outweighing him by a good bit. He clears his throat, glances at the other two, and tries to sound intimidating as he says, "Make it five thirty, and no funny business."

Steve nods and offers a mocking two-finger salute. "Yes, sir," he replies, flashing a grin before taking Eddie's bag from his seat and dragging him to where Robin is waiting.

"So, where are you kidnapping me to?" Eddie asks, managing to stick close to Steve despite having to weave through chairs and tables.

"Nothing special, really. Just an abandoned laboratory in the middle of the woods that has a gateway to another dimension filled with faceless monsters. Oh, and Robin's coming, too. Don't worry, though, I won't let you get hurt. "

He glances over to meet Eddie's wide eyes, something warm curling behind his ribs when Eddie finally smiles and whispers under his breath, "Fucking metal."

-----

Tag List (definitely still room, so let me know if you'd like to be tagged!):

@nectandra, @y4r3luv, @just-a-tiny-void, @dotdot-wierdlife

@midwestharpy, @twilitdragoneye, @disrespectedgoatman

@lawrencebshoggoth,

And now, a meme:

[donquixotehomura]

Valentine's Day with One Piece Boys

Master List

W.C:3295    so uhhhhh my hand slipped oops... I took some assumptions here and I changed some things that are common about these characters in Fanfic writing, my brain couldn’t come up with a lot for Law I’m sorry about that, Crocodile and Doffy can be read as pre or post becoming Warlords, some might be OOC but IDK I wrote this in about a day lol (my eyes fingers and back hurt I need to correct my posture lol) sorry if I didn't write for your favorites, have fun and lemme know what you think I love feed back It took two and a half fucking hours to put the gifs in, cause the line thingy where you add stuff only showed at the very bottom so I had to keep editing and dragging shit around, I'm sure I'm doing something wrong, also I had to look up all the gifs here even tho I have tons cause for some reason "something goofed" .... end my suffering also I wrote this on word and then brought it here so if formatting gets weird that's why, even tho I spent hours on making sure everything is good shout out to my inspo who also encouraged me to write it @cinnbar-bun

 

Dracule Mihawk, Roronoa Zoro, Portgas D. Ace, Donquixote Doflamingo, Eustass "Captain" Kid, Charlotte Katakuri, Massacre Soldier Killer, Sir Crocodile, Trafalgar Law.

Dracule Mihawk:

Mihawk and Y/N prefer intimate celebrations for Valentine's Day. They often opt for a quiet evening together at their secluded castle, away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. 

Despite their stoic exteriors, Mihawk and Y/N are surprisingly sentimental when it comes to expressing their feelings. They exchange handwritten letters on Valentine's Day, pouring their hearts out on paper in a way that words spoken aloud cannot convey. 

Instead of extravagant gestures, Mihawk and Y/N prefer to exchange gifts that hold sentimental value. Mihawk might gift Y/N a rare book on something she likes, while Y/N might give Mihawk a custom-made piece of simple jewelry like a small bracelet she personally crafted for him. 

On Valentine's Day, Mihawk surprises Y/N by offering to cook dinner together. Despite her lack of culinary skills, Y/N appreciates the bonding activity and enjoys spending quality time with him in the kitchen, even if it results in a few culinary mishaps. 

After dinner, Mihawk and Y/N venture out into the castle's courtyard to stargaze. They lie side by side on a blanket, Y/N pointing out constellations and sharing stories about their significance, reveling in the peaceful solitude of the night, Mihawk just listens to her with a small fond smile. 

Throughout the day, Mihawk and Y/N take time to reflect on their journey together, reminiscing about cherished memories and shared experiences that have strengthened their bond over the years. 

As a romantic gesture, Mihawk and Y/N share a midnight dance in the castle's grand ballroom. Lit only by candlelight, they move together in a graceful waltz, lost in the magic of the moment and the timeless beauty of their love.    Going To Sleep Cuddling: Mihawk and Y/N will go to sleep in the end of the day holding each other, Y/N would curl up into his arms, burying her face into his chest while he wraps his arms around her his hand going into her hair to play with the soft strands.  

As Valentine's Day draws to a close, Mihawk and Y/N exchange a few hushed words as they cuddle, reaffirming their commitment to each other and the promise of a future filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures together. 

Roronoa Zoro:

Despite his tough exterior, Zoro secretly spends weeks planning the perfect Valentine's Day surprise for Y/N. He meticulously selects a secluded spot on the island they're docked on, where they can enjoy each other's company away from the hustle and bustle of the crew. 

Y/N, appreciative of Zoro's efforts, prepares a special gift for him on Valentine's Day. Knowing his love for swords, she surprises him with a beautifully crafted sheath for one of his blades, personalized with intricate designs that reflect their shared journey together. 

Zoro and Y/N spend Valentine's Day evening taking a leisurely stroll along the shores of the island. With the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the moonlight casting a soft glow, they share quiet moments of intimacy, lost in each other's company. 

During their stroll, Zoro and Y/N encounter a group of wild creatures roaming the island. With their swords drawn, they effortlessly dispatch the beasts, their synchronized movements a testament to their unwavering bond as swordsmen and lovers. 

As the night progresses, Zoro and Y/N build a campfire on the beach, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows around them. They share stories of their past adventures and dreams for the future, their laughter mingling with the sound of the ocean. 

Under the starlit sky, Zoro finally opens up to Y/N, expressing his gratitude for her presence in his life. He admits that he's not good at expressing his feelings, but Y/N's unwavering support and love have changed him for the better. 

Moved by Zoro's vulnerability, Y/N wraps her arms around him, offering him comfort and reassurance. She assures him that their love is enough, and she wouldn't have their Valentine's Day any other way. 

As the night comes to an end, Zoro and Y/N make a promise to each other to continue facing life's challenges together, hand in hand. They vow to cherish every moment and celebrate their love not just on Valentine's Day, but every day. 

As they watch the sun rise on the horizon, Zoro leans in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N's lips, sealing their promise with a silent vow of devotion. In that moment, amidst the beauty of the dawn, they find solace in the certainty of their love for each other. 

As they return to the ship, hand in hand, Zoro and Y/N share a knowing smile, their hearts full of love and gratitude for each other. Though their Valentine's Day was unconventional and filled with unexpected adventures, it was a testament to the strength of their bond and the depth of their love. 

Portgas D. Ace:

Y/N wakes up early on Valentine's Day to prepare a special breakfast for Ace. She arranges heart-shaped pancakes and fruit on a tray, leaving a note with a playful message for him to wake up to.  Ace spends weeks leading up to Valentine's Day working on a handmade gift for Y/N. He creates a personalized necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a flame, symbolizing their fiery love and passion. 

Y/N organizes a scavenger hunt around the Moby Dick for Ace. Each clue leads him to a different part of the ship, where he discovers small gifts and love notes hidden by Y/N. 

Ace surprises Y/N with a romantic beach picnic at a secluded cove. They enjoy a delicious meal together as they watch the sunset, the sound of the waves providing a serene backdrop to their intimate celebration. 

As the night falls, Ace and Y/N gather with their friends for a bonfire on the beach. They roast marshmallows, share stories, and cuddle close under a blanket, basking in the warmth of their love and the crackling fire. 

Y/N sets up a telescope on the deck of the Moby Dick, and she and Ace spend the evening stargazing together. They point out constellations, make wishes on shooting stars, and share dreams for their future, Y/N certainly tries to find constellations that match Ace’s freckles.  Ace surprises Y/N with a makeshift dance floor on the deck of the ship. He puts on her favorite song, and they dance together under the moonlight, lost in each other's arms. 

Y/N leaves little love notes for Ace to find throughout the day. Each note expresses her affection and gratitude for having him in her life, reminding him of the depth of her love. 

Ace and Y/N spend the afternoon cooking a special Valentine's Day dinner together in the kitchen. They laugh, tease each other, and steal kisses amidst the preparation, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. (Marco is on standby with a fire extinguisher) 

As the day comes to a close, Ace and Y/N exchange heartfelt declarations of love. They express their gratitude for each other, promising to cherish and support one another for all the days to come, both of them yelling it at the top of their lungs of the railing of the ship and the crew is so done with them lol 

Donquixote Doflamingo:

Doflamingo, despite his intimidating persona, secretly enjoys the sentimentality of Valentine's Day. He's known for surprising Y/N with extravagant gifts, ranging from rare treasures he's acquired during their travels to personalized items he's commissioned just for her. Y/N, in turn, cherishes each gift as a symbol of Doflamingo's affection, even if she's not one for material possessions.  On Valentine's Day, Doflamingo arranges a private, candlelit dinner on the deck of their ship or a secluded spot on the island they're currently exploring. He spares no expense in ensuring the evening is perfect, with gourmet cuisine prepared by their crew's skilled chefs. Y/N appreciates the effort he puts into creating these intimate moments and enjoys the opportunity to spend quality time together away from the chaos of pirate life. 

Instead of focusing solely on lavish gifts and grand gestures, Doflamingo and Y/N often reminisce about their shared adventures and memorable moments throughout the years. They spend Valentine's Day reflecting on the challenges they've overcome together, the laughter they've shared, the tears they’ve shed and the unbreakable bond that has formed between them. 

Despite their often intense and tumultuous journey as pirates, Doflamingo and Y/N also value quiet moments of affection. They may spend Valentine's Day simply enjoying each other's company, whether it's lounging on the deck, stargazing, or taking a leisurely stroll on the beach hand in hand. It's in these peaceful moments that they feel most connected. 

Doflamingo and Y/N have a deep understanding of each other, and Valentine's Day serves as a reminder of the unspoken bond they share. They may not always verbalize their feelings, but their actions speak volumes. Whether it's a knowing glance, a comforting touch, or a gentle smile exchanged between them, they both know that their love is unwavering.

Eustass "Captain" Kid:

Despite her tough exterior, Y/N secretly enjoys the romantic gestures she receives on Valentine's Day. Kid, though he may not admit it openly, takes great pleasure in surprising Y/N with small gifts and tokens of affection, leaving them anonymously for her to find.  Kid's idea of a Valentine's Day gift may not be traditional, but it's always heartfelt. He might present Y/N with a custom-made weapon, intricately designed and tailored to her unique fighting style, or a rare treasure he stumbled upon during their travels, symbolizing the adventures they've shared together. 

Y/N, with her artistic flair, expresses her love for Kid through her creations. She might spend weeks crafting a personalized piece of jewelry for him, incorporating elements of his Jolly Roger or symbols that hold significance to their relationship, showcasing her devotion in a tangible form. 

Amidst the chaos of their pirate life, Y/N and Kid cherish the quiet moments they steal away together on Valentine's Day. They might escape to a secluded spot-on deck, watching the stars and sharing stories, finding solace in each other's company amidst the vastness of the sea. 

For Y/N and Kid, Valentine's Day is not just about romantic gestures, but also about embarking on new adventures together. They might set sail to explore uncharted islands, face formidable foes, or discover hidden treasures, strengthening their bond through shared experiences and thrilling escapades. 

Despite their differences, Y/N and Kid's relationship is built on mutual respect and understanding. They may not always see eye to eye, but they know how to support and uplift each other, especially on Valentine's Day, when they take the time to appreciate the unique qualities that make their bond so special. 

Y/N and Kid's Valentine's Day celebrations may not be conventional, but they're uniquely theirs. They might indulge in a feast of their favorite foods, engage in friendly competitions and challenges, or simply enjoy each other's presence, knowing that their love transcends traditional expectations. 

As they spend Valentine's Day together, Y/N and Kid exchange promises for the future. They may vow to stand by each other through thick and thin, to continue exploring the world and facing its challenges together, and to cherish the love they share, knowing that their bond is unbreakable.

Charlotte Katakuri:

Despite their tough exteriors, Y/N and Katakuri secretly enjoy showering each other with romantic gestures on Valentine's Day. Y/N surprises Katakuri with handcrafted doughnuts with many flavours, each one meticulously made with love and care. In return, Katakuri presents Y/N with a beautifully crafted box of her favorite sweets, a testament to his thoughtfulness and affection. On Valentine's evening, Y/N and Katakuri escape the chaos of Totto Land for a private dinner date on a secluded beach. They indulge in a feast of their favorite dishes, sharing laughter and intimate conversation under the twinkling stars. As the night deepens, they dance together in the moonlight, their hearts beating in perfect harmony. 

In the days leading up to Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri exchange heartfelt love letters, expressing their deepest emotions and gratitude for each other. Y/N's letters are filled with poetic prose and declarations of undying love, while Katakuri's letters are eloquent and sincere, revealing the depths of his affection for Y/N. 

As a special Valentine's Day surprise, Katakuri whisks Y/N away on a romantic getaway to a secluded island paradise. They spend their days exploring pristine beaches, indulging in couples' massages, and savoring gourmet meals prepared by a private chef. It's a blissful escape from their duties and responsibilities, allowing them to focus solely on each other. 

On Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri reminisce about their favorite moments together, flipping through photo albums filled with snapshots of their adventures. They laugh at candid shots of themselves and smile fondly at pictures of special milestones they've shared. It's a heartwarming reminder of the bond they've built and the memories they've created together, a few of them are pictures taken by Y/N of Katakuri throughout the day, in some of them his scarf is hiding a smile or a blush a reason as to why she took the picture (yes she walks around with a Visual Den Den Mushi.. At least that’s what I think the picture taking ones are called)    Y/N has been joining Katakuri during his Meriendas for years now and same as rumors spread about him meditating and talking to gods of battle during them rumors spread about her as well (I read a fic about this before where Y/N was considered his oracle and it’s an amazing one I’m trying to find it again) what they don’t know is that these two are being very sappy idiots, cuddling sharing kisses and laughs and stealing each other's sweets, especially on this day, the others just think that they’re doing some sort of ritual about devotion to Gods of Battle only lol. 

As the night falls on Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri retreat to a secluded hilltop, where they lay beneath a blanket of stars, hand in hand. They share stories of their hopes and dreams, tracing constellations with their fingers and basking in the quiet beauty of the   night sky. It's a moment of perfect serenity, a reminder of the infinite possibilities that lie ahead for their love.

Massacre Soldier Killer:

Despite their tough exteriors, Killer and Y/N secretly enjoy surprising each other with small romantic gestures on Valentine's Day. Y/N might leave a heartfelt note tucked into Killer's pocket, while Killer might craft a makeshift bouquet of flowers from materials he finds on their travels. Valentine's Day is a rare opportunity for Killer and Y/N to spend some quality time together away from the chaos of pirate life. They might steal away to a secluded spot on the ship or find a quiet beach where they can enjoy each other's company without interruptions. 

Killer and Y/N reminisce about their favorite moments together, cherishing the memories they've created during their time as partners in crime. They might exchange stories about their most memorable adventures or laugh about the mishaps they've encountered along the way. 

Despite their limited resources as pirates, Killer and Y/N find creative ways to exchange gifts on Valentine's Day. Y/N might fashion a piece of jewelry from shells she finds on the beach, while Killer might carve a wooden trinket with his expert craftsmanship. 

Killer surprises Y/N with a romantic candlelit dinner, showcasing his culinary skills with a delicious meal cooked from scratch. Y/N, in turn, appreciates the effort and thoughtfulness behind the gesture, and they enjoy a quiet evening together under the stars. While they may not always express their emotions openly, Killer and Y/N show their love and affection for each other in subtle ways. A gentle touch, a lingering glance, or a reassuring smile speaks volumes in the language of their relationship. 

Valentine's Day serves as a reminder of the unbreakable bond between Killer and Y/N. They reaffirm their commitment to each other, promising to stand by each other's side through thick and thin, no matter what challenges may come their way. 

As they bask in the warmth of each other's love on Valentine's Day, Killer and Y/N discuss their hopes and dreams for the future. They envision a life together filled with adventure, laughter, and unwavering support, knowing that as long as they have each other, anything is possible. 

Overall, Valentine's Day is a special occasion for Killer and Y/N to celebrate their love and appreciation for each other, strengthening the bond that binds them together as partners in both love and piracy.

Sir Crocodile:

Crocodile and Y/N aren't ones for grand gestures, so their Valentine's Day celebration tends to be understated. They prefer spending quality time together rather than getting caught up in the commercial aspects of the holiday.  Crocodile surprises Y/N by preparing a simple but delicious meal for them to share. Despite his gruff exterior, Crocodile has a surprisingly deft hand in the kitchen, and Y/N is touched by the effort he puts into making the evening special. 

Instead of extravagant gifts, Crocodile and Y/N exchange meaningful tokens of their affection. Y/N gives Crocodile a handmade leather-bound journal, knowing how much he values knowledge and planning. In return, Crocodile presents Y/N with a rare seashell he found during one of their adventures, a symbol of their shared experiences. 

After dinner, Crocodile and Y/N enjoy a quiet evening together, lounging on the deck of their ship and gazing up at the stars. They talk about their hopes and dreams for the future, reveling in the simplicity of each other's company. 

Despite their tough exteriors, Crocodile and Y/N share a passion for Planning and Conquest. They spend the evening poring over maps and planning their next expedition, excited about the possibilities that lie ahead.  While they may not be overly demonstrative, Crocodile and Y/N show their love for each other in small, subtle ways. A gentle touch, a knowing glance, or a shared smile speaks volumes about the depth of their bond.   As the night draws to a close, Crocodile and Y/N express their gratitude for each other, acknowledging the strength and support they provide in each other's lives. They may not say "I love you" in so many words, but their actions speak louder than any declaration of affection ever could.

Trafalgar Law:

Y/N is bubbling with excitement as Valentine's Day approaches, eager to celebrate the occasion with Law despite his usual reservations about the holiday. She takes the lead in planning the day, organizing a romantic dinner aboard the Polar Tang complete with candles, rose petals, and Law's favorite dishes. Law, although initially hesitant about the festivities, appreciates Y/N's enthusiasm and decides to go along with her plans, wanting to make her happy. He surprises Y/N with small but meaningful gifts throughout the day, such as a locket containing a picture of the two of them together or a handwritten note expressing his love and gratitude. Y/N showers Law with affection, peppering him with kisses and hugs as they spend quality time together, enjoying each other's company in the privacy of their quarters. They share stories and reminisce about their favorite memories together, laughing and smiling as they bask in the warmth of their love. Law surprises Y/N with a heartfelt gesture, such as letting her cuddle with him instead of working or giving her a massage to help her relax and unwind. They exchange promises of love and commitment, reaffirming their bond and promising to stand by each other through thick and thin. As the day comes to a close, Law and Y/N cuddle up together under a blanket, content in each other's arms and grateful for the love they share. 

[starconchs]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄

pairing: childe/tartaglia x gn!reader summary: a case of mistaken identity leads to childe challenging you to a duel. (and it's totally not because he thinks you're hot). genre: strangers to crushes, pre-relationship, fluff, meet-cute(?), humor, tension (hopefully), love at first sight (on childe's behalf) notes: probably ooc but i have a thing for flirty childe, childe is an idiot, idk i think he'd be attracted to someone who could beat his ass, he's a masochist, very slight fontaine/v4.0 spoilers, reader is a champion duelist but everything is made up since we don't know much about them, fighting/sparring/canon typical violence, a bit of blood wc: ~2.4k

Soft pants leave your lips as you stand up straight, your hands slightly shaking from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

There's a sharp look in your eyes as you observe your opponent, your hand firmly wrapped around your sword's handle. The blade's tip rests underneath your opponent's chin, an irritated look on their face as you stare back fiercely. After a few moments, they sigh and lean back on their elbows, separating themselves from your blade and admitting defeat.

There's a beat of silence before slow, loud clapping fills the arena, and both you and your opponent turn to face the source of the noise. Your sword comes up instinctively, your eyes narrowed as you hold it up the newcomer.

His choice of clothing lets you know he's not a local, and you find yourself wondering how he got into the arena in the first place as he moves closer. You take the opportunity to study him, taking in his tall stature, handsome face, and messy, ginger hair.

"State your name and business," you say, your stance rigid yet casual, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice. You don't flinch as he approaches, merely raising an eyebrow when he comes to a stop right in front of you, his chest mere centimeters from your sword.

"That was quite the battle the two of you just had," he comments, ignoring your words as he shoots a quick glance at your opponent. You're met with deep blue eyes as he shifts his gaze to you, and you take note of the way he seems almost impressed when you don't look away. "You have a talent for fighting."

"Name and business," you repeat, face void of emotion as you stare him down. He huffs out a laugh, raising a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm Tartaglia," he says casually, his chest brushing the sharp blade of your sword with every breath he takes. He holds out his hand for you to shake, and you spare a quick glance at it before looking back up at his face. "You can call me Childe, but what should I call you?"

"That's your name, now what's your business?" you ask sharply, ignoring his question as you watch his eyes trail over your form. You click your tongue once in irritation, drawing his attention back to your face. He gives you a brazen smile, and you roll your eyes as you wait for him to answer.

"I'm here to spar with the Champion Duelist Clorinde," he proclaims, moving his hand to poke at your weapon. You lower it before he can touch it, remembering that Clorinde had in fact mentioned something about a challenger. You choose to ignore the small pout he sends you at the action, looking away from him and dismissing your previous opponent with a nod. You turn your back to Childe, as you follow after them, sheathing your sword as you do so.

"Should you really turn your back on your opponent?" you hear him ask, his tone playful as he follows after you.

"No, you shouldn't," you respond, coming to a stop near the edge of the arena. You bend down to pick up a canteen of water, quickly opening it before taking a sip. You can feel Childe's gaze on you, heavy as he watches every move you make, and you can't ignore the slight nervousness you feel. The silence lingers as you finish drinking and close your canteen, catching a glimpse of Childe's amused expression in the process. "But you're not my opponent."

Childe's face drops slightly at your words, and for the first time since he walked into the arena, his confident attitude is nowhere to be found.

"You mean," he begins, a puzzled look on his face as he tilts his head to the side. "You're not Clorinde?"

A surprised laugh escapes your lips at his question, and Childe freezes when he sees a smile spread across your face.

"No, I'm not," you finally say, shaking your head as you lean against the wall, one hand resting on the hilt of your sword.

"But your fighting style, it's basically perfect," Childe argues, his eyes drifting towards your weapon. "You're impressive, and I heard that Clorinde is the best of the best."

"She is," you confirm with a nod. "She's even better than I am. Unfortunately, she is also currently in a meeting, so she's probably running a few minutes late. You can wait for her here if you'd like."

"Wait, you're leaving?" Childe asks, a smirk appearing on his face when he sees the mild surprise on yours. "But we were getting along so well."

A hum is the only response he gets from you as you turn your back to him once more, lifting your hand in a lazy wave as you head towards the exit. He watches as you get further and further away, and he takes a few steps forward before speaking once more.

"How about we spar while I wait?"

His words cause you to falter, and you eventually come to a stop before throwing a glance back at him. He shifts awkwardly as you look him up and down, watching as you raise an eyebrow when you notice his lack of weapon.

"And what exactly do you plan on sparring with?" you ask, turning around to face him. The smile on Childe's face is visible even with the distance between the two of you, and he gestures towards the backup swords displayed along the back wall of the arena.

"One of those should be fine," he comments, giving you a sly look before stalking over to them. He studies the swords for a brief moment before picking up one of the steel estocs, earning a pensive look from you.

"Are you sure?" you ask, receiving a nod in return from the ginger. You place your canteen back on the floor.

"How cute of you to care about my well-being," Childe says, earning a scowl from you. "But it's not needed. I'll be fine with this."

You hesitate slightly before unsheathing your own sword, nodding stiffly and approaching the center of the arena once more. Your rigid posture is a stark contrast to Childe's casual stance, soft hums leaving his lips as he swings the estoc back and forth in an attempt to get used to its weight.

"Ready? If I win, I get to know your name," Childe says, earning another nod from you. His lips spread into a wide smile, and you're momentarily caught off guard by the fierceness shining in his eyes. "Give it your all, I won't be going easy on you."

There isn't any time to think before Childe springs into action, thrusting his sword forward in an attempt to catch you off guard. You block it without hesitation, swinging your arm up and then quickly slashing down in an attempt to strike him. He does a quick spin, gracefully dodging your attack before attempting to slash at your hand.

You breathe in sharply as you let your sword go, dropping your hand as you catch the hilt with the other. You immediately go on the offense, darting in close and swiping at his legs with the flat of your blade. A shocked noise leaves Childe's lips as he goes tumbling backwards, rolling out of the way when you go to pounce on top of him.

"So you're good with both hands?" he asks, barking out a laugh when you scowl at the innuendo.

"I am," you say anyways, bringing your sword up to block another strike. He leans in close, your swords crossed as he observes your face.

"You know, the heat of battle really suits you," he says, voice low as he leans in closer. You roll your eyes before shoving him back, chuckles leaving his lips as you do so. "See? Breathtaking."

"Shut up! Do you flirt with every opponent you come across?" you ask, taking the chance to kick at his chest. The action earns a laugh from him as he stumbles back a few steps, his sword coming up as you creep closer in a weak attempt to keep you at bay.

"Only the pretty ones who like to fight dirty," he teases, laughing once more as you lunge at him. You scoff loudly, shaking your head as you sidestep another attack.

"All of our duels are no holds barred," you explain, eyes narrowing as he backs away from you. His movements are confident, and you find yourself wondering what his next attack will be. "It will do you good to remember that. Especially when you fight Clorinde."

"Noted," he mutters, dropping low in an imitation of your earlier move. You jump over his blade, smirking to yourself as you land lightly. Your smirk drops however, when he immediately straightens up, swiping his right leg under both of yours and using his free arm to pull you down to the ground.

Your back hits the ground with a thud, and you huff softly as you feel the air leave your lungs. Childe is half-kneeling next to you, the tip of his sword digging into the dirt as he uses it for support. He looms over you, a satisfied smirk on his face as he leans in closer.

Blue eyes bore into you as Childe studies your face up close, and you find yourself struggling to keep your expression neutral at the intensity of his gaze. Your can't help the way your eyes trace the curve of his mouth, and you hurriedly look away when you see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

"You're strong," Childe says quietly, removing his arm and tilting your chin up. You manage to meet his gaze evenly, watching the surprise flit across his face when you smirk. The action has left him slightly unguarded, and you take the opportunity to act against him.

"You're right," you whisper back. "I am."

Childe reels back as you throw yourself at him, your hand shoving at his own at you push him down. His sword gets knocked out his hand in the scuffle, and you make sure to kick it far away from him before pinning him down. You're quick as you kneel atop of him, knees on either side of his torso as you press your free arm against his neck. You lean forward as you place your sword underneath his chin, digging into his skin in case he tries to get up.

There's a moment of silence as the two of you stare at each other, and you faintly register the movement of his arms as he brings his hands up to rest on the sides of your thighs.

"Interesting predicament I find myself in," he comments, but his expression lets you know that he's not entirely bothered by the situation.

"I win," you hiss, a victorious grin on your face. "I'll admit you were a worthy opponent."

"I dunno," he says back, a lopsided grin on his face as his thumbs brush against your thighs. He doesn't react to the way your blade digs into his flesh, and you pull your sword away slightly when you see tiny red droplets well up underneath the steel. "From my point of view, I feel like I'm definitely the one who won."

He catches you by surprise when he suddenly sits up, one hand now resting behind him to support his weight as the other remains on your leg. The ease he moves with has you wondering if he let you win, and the way he jostles you around in an attempt to get comfortable basically confirms your thought. By the time he settles down, you're left straddling his lap, your sword now hanging limply from your hand as the other rests against his chest in an attempt to steady yourself. There's a lazy grin on his face as his nose brushes against yours, and you lean back slightly to try and put more distance between the two of you.

"You're insufferable," you comment, looking away from him.

"Oh, I know," Childe murmurs, a sly smile on his face as he leans in slightly once more. You do your best to ignore him. "Can I get your name anyways?"

"Am I interrupting something?"

Clorinde's voice has you scrambling to your feet, and you find yourself sheathing your sword in an attempt to avoid her gaze.

"Clorinde," you greet, waving a hand towards the ginger. "This is Childe. He said you'd be sparring?"

She raises an eyebrow when you meet her gaze, eventually choosing to ignore the scene she walked into in favor of turning to face Childe.

"Apologies for my tardiness," she says, bowing her head slightly as she hold a hand out for Childe. He pulls himself to his feet before shaking her hand. "Lady Furina required my assistance with something."

"No apologies necessary," Childe insists, waving off her apologies with a laugh. "I had great company while I waited."

A curious glance from Clorinde is all it takes for your cheeks to heat up, and you simply wave before taking a few steps backwards.

"Well now that you're here, I'm going to go," you mutter, swiping your canteen from the spot you had left it.

"You're not going to stay and watch?" Childe asks, pouting when you shake your head. He watches as you head towards the entrance, sending a wave towards Clorinde before giving him a hesitant nod. "What about a good luck kiss?"

His words go ignored as you hurry out of the arena, and he only sighs and turns his attention back to Clorinde when he hears her unsheathe her sword.

"I trust you know the rules?" she asks, watching as he walks over to the abandoned estoc. She's met with a nod, and she hums lightly when she notices the way he keeps glancing at the exit.

"No holds barred, right?"

"Mhm," she confirms, taking a battle stance. Her face remains stoic as Childe gives her a wolfish smile, different from the ones he had given you. He blocks her first strike easily, and she gives an impressed nod at his quick reaction before immediately launching into a follow up attack. Childe finds himself completely focused on the fight, all signs of teasing and playfulness gone as he does his best to end the fight as quickly as possible.

After all, the faster he wins, the faster he can find you once again. (And perhaps even get to learn your name).

rbs are appreciated <3 ty for reading!!

[siasthoughts]

« ADRENALINE »

CONCEPT; YOU WERE A NEW, YOUNG HIRE IN THE ORGANIZATION, AND RYU WAS ASSIGNED AS YOUR TRAINER.

TOPICS/CONTENTS; AGE GAP IN MIND . ORAL . GAGGING . P IN V . PRAISING . FEM!READER . MAYBE OOC? . DRUNK S3X . WITH PLOT 😔

LISTEN... i know i'm way more into dom!reader but these type of men got me bringing out my switch side 😍

WORD COUNT; 1.7K (forgot to add 😭)

"so you're the new girl here?" a raspy voice calls out as the huge doors open, you nod, feeling intimidated by his presence. "alright, i'm ryu, no need to tell me your name, i already know." you could read the room and tell that he definitely does not want to be here, yet he takes steps toward you, running a hand through his white-streaked hair and tying it back. he takes out the sword from the sheath, the scraping metal echoing throughout the large room.

"come at me." he taunts, standing unguarded, and unbothered as he holds his sword lazily toward you. you frown at his flippant attitude, you take out your two daggers out of their own cases. you smile, thinking you can easily outdo this old man. you run with your full speed, making you seem like you flashed out of sight. you jump behind him, getting ready to stab atleast his shoulders only—

his sword meets your daggers, clanging loudly as his eyes meets yours, maintaining his nonchalant gaze. "you're fast, but so predictable." you jump back, making him face you. "and... how do you suggest i should change that?" you ask, gripping onto your daggers tightly, "don't think about your next move," he walks toward you as he rolls his shoulders, "just let your instincts drive you."

"what do you even me—" and before you could even finish your sentence, he's behind you with his arm wrapped firmly around your neck along with his sword softly grazing it—making you feel it's cold metal and sending shivers through your body. you feel his breath against your ear, mixed with yours. you gulp, bringing the thin skin of your neck slightly closer to his blade for a mere moment. "don't be so tense, it's not like i'd kill you." he whispers, "even if i wanted to, you know i couldn't."

he lets go of you, and you let out a heavy breath, leaving you breathless for a good minute. "remember, don't think." he says, going back to his original starting point, taking up his hand, and using his index and middle finger to signal you to come back too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

AFTER MULTIPLE FUTILE ATTEMPTS OF TRYING TO GET AS LITTLE AS A SCRATCH ON HIM, YOU SURRENDER.

"i... i give up!" you groan, completely breathless with your palms rested on your knees. he sighs, removing his hair tie, and letting his hair fall atop his shoulders. he walks toward one of the platforms near the stairs, and taking the quarter empty bottle, popping it open and bringing it to his mouth as his back leaned against the ledge. you wipe the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand as you walked toward him, hopping onto the ledge to sit and rest.

you peek at the bottle's label, not like you really had anything to know about alcohol, but you peeked at the label and just see the word 'rum,' "can i have some?" you ask, now looking at him. he doesn't answer until he finishes drinking, leaving half of the bottle, which is still an entire three gulps probably, "finish it if you want." he hands you the bottle without looking at you, you take it, and with only a few moments of hesitation, you drink it.

you feel it burn down your throat, though it was unexpectedly sweet, almost like caramel. you stop for a moment, staring at the label, making sure to remember it if you ever decide to buy alcohol. you don't notice, but he eyes you through the corner of his vision, observing your features and physicality. you down the remaining amount, since it was weirdly good. "thanks! i feel more... rejuvenated now." you place the bottle back down on the concrete with a clink.

you look down at him, observing him. wait, did he always look this good? his hair, rested nicely and complimented his face, or maybe it was just his aura and presence. you reach for his hair, playing with it, feeling its softness and how silky it is. he groans, keeping his arms crossed as your fingers got closer to his nape.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you don't know how you got to this point... with your hands trailing down ryu's wide back. wet sounds of your lips intertwining, along with your legs wrapped around his clothed body. you both stop the kiss, leaving only you breathless. he looks at you with the same unchanging expression, though you could feel a slight change in his demeanor. his skin was tinted with a slight pink, and desire burned in his eyes. "nobody's supposed to come back for at least another 30 minutes right?" you ask, trying to catch your breath.

he hums in response. you don't continue the conversation, since you hope that your actions will be enough to speak for themselves. your hands move to his chest, slithering down slowly to the hem of his pants and tugging at it lightly. he frowns, his eyes squinting for a brief moment along with a groan. you look down, seeing something strained against the once loose cloth, you try to keep your composure as you look back up at him. "seems like your body wants more too..."

"does it now?" he replies with an impatient tone. the alcohol ran through your veins, though ryu was almost completely sober—aside from his amazing alcohol tolerance, he barely drank from the bottle. "i want to see what type of person you are first in this type of situation..." you smiled, pushing him a bit to hop off the ledge. "do you want these lips first?" you ask, your index resting on top of your soft lips. his eyes follow, now looking at your lips then back at your eyes, "do whatever, as long as we get to the end of this..." he says somehow arrogantly, but you can see that he does want it, and more.

you let out a small, quick chuckle, getting on your knees as you untied the small cloth belt keeping his pants up, and slowly inching only the front down, making him groan and resting his onto hand on your head. you finally pull it down just enough to have his cock free, and his size casts a shadow upon your face, leaving you in awe. he looks down at you, seeing his dick almost outsizing the length of your face, he lets out a low laugh. you start to lick the body slowly, to the tip. from this specific angle, it looks even bigger.

you ignored it, as you slowly took him in, first the tip entered your mouth, earning you a husky moan from him. moving even further, he grips onto your hair and you hold onto his hips for stability as you finally take in his entire length. but you feel yourself gagging, "don't stop now." he muttered, you can tell he was aching for movement even though he didn't want to move to make you uncomfortable. you look up at him and continue.

you set a pace, starting off slow as you took it in out of your mouth, making him grit on his teeth. you hear whispers of profanity escape his lips as you started to pick up the speed, "that's it..." he chants, looking down at you as you take in his full size, and even though it hits the back of your throat and filling up your mouth, the pleasure definitely compensates for it. his moans and the lewd sounds of his progressively get louder, "oh god... i'm getting close. just- just like that..." he throws his head back, now using his hands to force your head onto his cock faster.

your throat struggles to keep up, making you gag audibly as he quickly gets faster. his hips tremble, "fuck, i'm cumming-!" he hisses, pulling out just at the right time to cum on your lips instead. you smile, looking up at him as you somehow succeeded to change his expression. his chest now rising and falling as he smiles down at you, "we're not done yet."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you now find yourself placed back on the ledge, with his body in between your legs, and his dick eagerly waiting at your entrance. his arms traps you in between them as he leans in, his mouth breathing against your ear, "are you ready?" he whispers as you feel his cock twitch against you, you hum in response. and he wastes no time, he positions himself against your pussy and slowly entering as a quiet groan leaves his lips and entering your ears like smooth butter.

you whine, feeling his cock filling you up. you never thought sex could feel this good—well you only ever had a few other experiences to compare it to—even then, this is heaven. he slowly starts to thrust in and out of you, and you secure yourself onto him by wrapping your legs back around him. his pace slowly starts to quicken, making you roll your head and eyes back, feeling it hit all your right spots. you feel a knot quickly form in your gut, and each thrust only made it tighter, and tighter.

"you're doing so well taking me." he praises, now holding your hips stable and your arms find comfort around his neck, as he pulls and pushes you toward him to match his rhythm—and this does not help your failing case. he's somehow hitting your insides even deeper now, making your throat and body emit the dirtiest noises. your voice echoes through the large room, along with the sloppy, wet noises of your skin slapping against eachother. "does it feel that good?" he smiles with a tinge of cockiness as he steadily keeps the pace.

he completely hugs you know, his arms engulfing as he moves his face onto the crook of your neck, "are you close?" he questions, quickly followed by your walls clenching around him, "i'll take that as a yes, so am i." he responds to himself as he leaves small, soft kisses on the tender skin of your neck. his grip on your body tightens as you hear his moans vibrating against your skin, "i'm so close... so close–" he mumbles when his speed peaks, you feel his fingers firmly pressing against your back.

you whimper, feeling your legs grow weaker, and feeling the knot inside you get closer to snapping. "fuck- i'm- i'm cumming-!" he takes one hand, taking himself out of you. you cry out, your legs trembling as you feel the knot finally snap along with his panting as you feel hot liquid spill onto your stomach.

and i, thank you. i finished this at 10 pm and speed read it and its not the best so... 😭

[starrailstories]

Hey! Could you write something about Blade having a keeper of time/ timekeeper s/o? ♥

first ask!!! let's hecking goooooooo

i wanted to write headcanons but then one thing led to another and it's a short story that i hope you enjoy

Blade x gn!Timekeeper!S/O — Seen in the shards

warnings: mentions of blade's depression and suicidal thoughts (canon-compliant), possibly ooc but i really really hope i wrote him well

Blade is destruction incarnate, the mara and rage and grief taking over him sporadically, like bile rising to the throat. He is an effective tool of the Hunters (ironic, isn't it? an abomination like him hardly can Hunt), and many would think that this is all he is, a bounty and a sin and a loosely held leash.

You know him differently, though. You know him in the moments of repose in-between the storm that he brings along, and in those moments, he feels like a large shard of time away from where he'd fit. It's always shards with him, glimpses of past mistakes, and battles, and memories, but mostly sorrow. You think of the ways time cracks as you struggle to keep it whole, revealing the uncomfortable truths you dare not mention to the IPC or the Intelligentsia Guild. It's kind of similar, like if you try just enough, you'll see the complete picture once again.

And he doesn't get you at first, because collecting broken shards and piecing them back is not what Blade does. Blade is all about burning bridges, throwing himself into battle headfirst, Blade does - not - get it when you show concern or worry, when you offer to share a meal, when you tend to a wound of his, when you try and protect him in battle, because he isn't supposed to be together, only apart, shatter and shatter and shatter in hopes that one day, he'll just lie there broken and dead and gone.

You care and that hurts, for some reason, hurts in a way that doesn't sate his urge to be hurt.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

"I almost pity you, Bladie. But envy you all the same," Kafka drops one day as they're sat in a boujee cafe on a planet that will experience a Stellaron catastrophe in about three system hours. She raises her cup of tea to her lips almost immediately, but he catches a hint of a smile.

"Pity, I understand, but I do not welcome it. However, what of the envy?"

Kafka set down her cup gently, in a manner that she would always do, and her smile faded.

"Soon, you would know the meaning of fear. You knew it once, but in a different lifetime. Now, you will know it again, and it will hurt in different ways. It's fascinating."

She spoke with a certainty, as if reciting a script. Possibly that was the case, and that was more sad than anything. Given a power to make anyone listen, but stuck saying words someone else wrote.

"So it will happen?"

"As much as anything said by Destiny's Slave will. There's a seed for fear in that, too. You will resent your wish and your fate, but it still will happen, even if you don't want it to happen anymore."

Right. Blade looks away, because he doesn't usually decipher the grand scheme of things. He was promised a death and a settling of the score, and he is content with that, content in the way a sword is content to rest in its sheath. Kafka reaches across the table to touch his forehead as if to impart a wisdom.

She'd point a gun to his head and he'd be just as apathetic.

"Listen. I am telling you this for your sake, after all."

There's no command behind the word, and Blade regrets this, because thinking he dislikes most of all.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fear is a foreign concept, but the more you reach out to him with your care, the more he starts to grasp it. He knows of your strength, he knows of your capabilities, he sees you constantly fixing time itself, reaching into the molten metal with hands exposed and heart bare, to stitch all together before the past pours into the present and the future into the past and a sea of fake stars replaces the cosmos you traverse (you told him once of a world inside an egg one time, where the sky is fake and the up is down and why does he remember these trivial things again).

But he also knows of his own strength, and how all that he touches goes awry, and that is scary — to see you reach out when he knows full well how your care might destroy you, how he might destroy you.

"You shouldn't be picking up the shards. They'd cut you," he says one time after another crack is restored and the anomaly of the Fragmentum shifts into a stable state. His sword drags on the ground, leaving a distinctly red trace. You know he isn't speaking about the timeline.

"Those are big words coming from someone carrying a sword made of shards," you smile like you always do and it hurts. Because it hurts to be cared for and treated like a person and where were you those centuries ago when dying still felt memorable and there was something besides the anger?

He wishes he fell into a timeline anomaly back then because that would mean even for a moment, being caught by you, and that is a scary thought.

"Blade?" he's zoning out. Bad. He is supposed to keep himself in check, because most people are capable of dying and he is a remarkably well-working death machine.

"I will say this more clearly: if you keep reaching out to me, you will die."

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You don't stop because... actually why. Blade still doesn't get it. Blade doesn't speak up anymore, a sword in its sheath, but he thinks sometimes. Thinking is still a horrible pastime activity. But he does wonder about what it would have felt like to have met you earlier, when there was some feeling left in him.

He wonders if you bandaging a wound of his would make him feel safe. He wonders if the snacks you buy on the planets you visit would make him feel sated. He wonders if after a long day, sleeping next to each other would make him feel truly content.

Dangerous thoughts, yet strangely warm, like candlelight.

You plop on the bed of a dingy hotel room you two are staying at. Blade cares little about the quality of the establishment, but he does care about security, and keeping on the down low is of the essence. He stores his sword next to his side of the bed, to draw if a fight occurs.

He doesn't sleep anyway, simply lies in a dreamless haze, so nothing would catch him off-guard.

"Room's tiny. Bed's hard as a rock, too," you make small talk, untying the laces of your boots.

"Mhm," Blade hums. He thinks that there were free rooms in the hotel. With two beds in each, no less. He doesn't bring this up because it's safer to stay close together and that's the only reason.

"And it's cold."

"Mhm," he hums again. He doesn't feel much in terms of warmth or coldness.

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he checks for emergency exit pathways and makes notes of useful items.

"Sometimes I wish there were no anomalies or Stellarons out there. Then we wouldn't have large bounties on our heads and we'd be able to afford all the good hotels."

"We wouldn't have met then. And this room is sufficient."

Blade says sufficient, but for the last while, he found sufficient lacking. He wanted good things, despite being undeserving, and it hurt, too, because he knew all too well what happened to the good things in his life.

He lies down next to you, six inches, seven hundred years and a universe apart.

"Would we? I'd still have found you, I feel like."

It feels weird to hear this. He remembers how you once got hurt because you tried to block a hit meant for him. It was a long time ago, before that could hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but now, guilt eats at him each time he notices the faint scar on your shoulder. He drifts his gaze left, and there it is, a reminder.

And he also sees that you're cold.

What comes next is a whim and Blade never acts on whims. But he turns on the bed and drags you into an embrace.

"You wouldn't have liked what you've found."

Because then he'd be a mara-struck abomination, immortal mess of ginkgo leaves and dripping bile and the same names roared so much that no one would hear what he says. He still is like that, just somewhat grounded.

"You always decide for me. But isn't it up to me to weigh my choices, Blade?"

No, he wants to say, it's not. He's been mortal and stupid before, and that was his mistake. For that, he must pay a price. He doesn't want you to be hurt that way because you, unlike him, don't deserve this.

But he says none of it, as you raise your hand and touch his cheek and it's warm and it hurts—

His voice breaks, in both anger and fear, "I don't want you fixing me. I know you want to pick up the shards and glue them together. But you will regret that wish."

He isn't Yingxing and he won't be Yingxing ever again. What was him died on the Xianzhou Luofu, and it died again and again and again until what was left couldn't recall the deaths any longer. Then, a mess of shards, an empty husk, he was Blade, and he couldn't ever go back.

You smile gently at him.

"I know. If you ever decide to piece the shards together, it should be your choice and not mine, and I have no deal interfering with that. But still, I want to see all of you, Blade. Broken or not."

It's scary because admitting that he wants you to see him too would mean accepting that it won't change a thing. The script is merciless and uncaring. Even if he allows himself to love you, he is already destined to die as part of the performance. It's scary because it changes everything. It's scary because it changes nothing.

He shifts on the bed, so that you're face to face.

"May I kiss you?"

You close the distance first, as you always do, and he, for the first time in seven hundred years, feels seen.

[lucentborn]

{: ABOUT ; EIRONN THE STORMSWORD ;; A Summery

' Did my parents abandon me, or was I Blessed, As legend has it? '

Born Found : Below the Lucent Tree Guardian : Grannie Dahnie Name : Eironn, Age : 30 Gender : Masc Height : 7'4 / 223.5cm Race : Wilder ; Elf ; Elk

“Eironn once roamed the world, seeking audiences with the sword saints of various tribes. In the end, he grasped the essence that was uniquely his own. ‘Upon the sword’s summit, resolute in hearts.’ With these feats, he emerged as the recognized herald of destiny among the Wilders in the enshrouded Dark Forest. His kindred held steadfast in the belief that his resolute spirit, virtuous essence, and dual blades would assuredly unfurl a fresh saga within the woods.”

Eironn is a swordsman by trade, and a very dedicated one at that. From a young age he pursued the path of the blade both out of genuine interest and due to legends spun long before his birth. Eironn had been found below the branches of the Wilder's most sacred tree, planted by their Goddess Misarte in a time long forgotten; it was said that a child born below its branches would be blessed by their goddess, marking them as the Sion of the Lucent Tree. However Eironn felt no blessing, no calling nor any divine hand. He felt no different from the Wilders around him and thus undeserving of such high status. This unwanted viewing and the responsibilities that came with it lent further fuel to a burning passion for perfecting his swordsmanship. However, the Dark Forest was not unlimited in masters to learn from and opponents to spar, sooner then he'd wished he found himself looking to the world beyond for teachers. Leaving the forest, friends and his title behind Eironn set out to meet these teachers; until years later when word of corruption taking root in his home prompted him to return. Angered by the mistreatment of those in need, Eironn assisted the great Magister Merlin in cleansing the forest of corruption as well as uprooting the corrupt Thorned Sage Eomirr who leeched longevity from their sacred tree. Along this Journey Eironn has been forced to confront his relationship to his title, as well as choose how he wished to embrace, or discard it. With aid of allies he grew to trust and rely on, Eironn has chosen to serve as a defender to the Wilders, yet still seek to better his craft for the sake of that task. Should the Dark Forest come under threat, he will be there. Until then; the world has many teachers, all of which he is eager to meet.

" Many among the Wilders would wonder at Eironn’s almost preternatural affinity for the sword. They thought that it must be a divine gift, or perhaps even a curse. To see him train, going through the different stances and thrusts and parries like a ballet of flowing water, was to witness something very close to perfection. It was difficult sometimes to tell where his arms ended and the blades began. Indeed, there were times when it would appear the weapons were controlling the movement, simply pulling the body they were attached to along with them. The Wilders who say he has a divine gift haven’t seen the unending practice drills or the sheer effort and dedication that go into Eironn’s art. They simply see a lucky individual, aloof and unrelatable. "

[reversebladeinheritor]

The link for your rules doesn't work.

...How have I not noticed that typo in my description this entire time?

Thanks for pointing it out, should be fixed now!

[the-traveling-poet]

We hit 300 followers?! Thanks y’all 🫶🏼🤎 In celebration, here’s another Soft!Levi drabble cause OOC Levi can be a fresh breath of air :)

An image popped into my head the other night about Levi being so (secretly) smitten with you that he’d do literally anything for you and to help you, including keeping you warm on winter-time expeditions, and I just lost it I hAd to write.

“Whose bright idea was this anyways? Venturing past the walls while the weather is in the negatives.”

“It was Commander Erwin’s, sir.”

“Well then he isn’t too bright, now is he.”

Eld shrugged his shoulders once his Captain turned his back, shooting a look over to Gunther with a silent plea for something to say for the man to feel less bitter.

Gunther only pursed his lips and shook his head, unable and unsure how to help the poor man console their grumpy Captain.

He’d never been one to complain about the weather, that much they knew for certain. He never made a comment if it were too hot or too cold outside. Rather, he’d just dress accordingly and scoff at Hange for whining and cursing at the sky.

But today…Today was different.

Sure, the weather was a bit nippy. The wind had yet to cease its constant flow across the fields, and occasionally a speck or two of snow would float down from the heavens. It wasn’t the worst weather they had traveled through, by far.

But Levi was irritable. And when he was irritable, his squad had learned to tiptoe around him for fear of a quick lashing from his tongue.

While Oulo echoed their Captain’s complaints to a very unimpressed Petra some feet away, Eld and Gunther wondered amongst themselves as to why this could be.

They were only scouting the perimeter for titan activity, so that they could relay this information back to the Commander for the upcoming expedition that was soon to be held. So what could have set the raven off about this mundane, ordinary task?

The answer flew before their eyes and landed on the ground with a soft crunch as the frost clinging to blades of grass were squashed under foot.

The squad’s fifth Cadet, Y/N, was quick to sheath the handles of their gear back into their holsters and wrap their arms around their shoulders. Exhaling a breath that fogged the air, they shuddered.

“N-nothing on the east side,” they reported quietly to Captain.

Levi was quick to turn to them, assessing the shivering state they were in. The furrow in his brow and the downward tilt of his lips didn’t go unnoticed by the second command and his friend, who snickered to one another in realization.

Y/N was freezing out here. Of course their socially awkward Captain would be pissed about having his lovely Cadet uncomfortable.

Though their snickers soon died in their throats when, instead of responding to Y/N’s report, he shook off his Survey Corps jacket and cape and draped them over their shoulders.

“We’ll be heading back to Headquarters in no time. Till then…Just…S-stay by me, alright? Cant have you catching a cold.”

His muttered statement and pink tinted cheeks were enough to halt even Oulo in his rambling, who turned to Petra in confusion.

“It’s not that cold-“ he muttered in confusion, to which Petra quickly shushed him as she watched on in glee.

“T-thanks,” Y/N whispered, taking a step closer to Levi and huddling into their additional clothing.

“Don’t mention it. I-I run hot anyways.”

taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

[keonnissupersuperdupercool]

Hai here’s another UNFINISHED. fic.. I’m posting my UNFINISHED fics on tumblr bc there’s like no actual Phighting fanfics on tumblr :( anyway dis one is hypertana and hyper is with shuri bc he’s sick.. this is sorta a crack fic?? Idk but hello alfredo 🤤 also shuri doesn’t like hyper shuri is protective over katana :) ooc

(1381 word count)

…………………………………………………………………………….

Hyperlaser slowly opened his eyes to a blurry vision before him. He felt the soft silk sheets from beneath him try to pull him back into his slumber, but the sound of shuffling perked his interest. He yawned, sitting up before rubbing his eyes and grabbing his glasses from on top of the drawer next to him.

“Oh Hyperlaser, you are finally awake.” A low voice went through one ear and right out the other.

As Hyperlaser’s sight regained itself he looked around the room to see a familiar tall red figure walking towards him.

“Mmm… Tana’?..” He asked groggily, yawning a second time while stretching, loving the way the figure's voice just melted his insides.

He looked around more to only now notice that he was in fact in Katana’s bedroom, in Katana’s bed, and in a totally different outfit than he was in before. He was in a blue and black kimono that was too big for him in the sense that it wasn’t even covering his shoulders and the sleeves covered his hands.

“I hope you do not mind staying here with just Shuriken for a bit as he is sick. Slingshot and Vinestaff are going out to the cafe and I am going out to train.” Katana sheathed his blade into its holster, it being the only thing he ever needed in combat.

“Yeah, yeah.. sure. Just don’t be gone to longggG- yawn You know how much he hates me…” He looked over to Katana, who was right next to him waiting for something.

Hyperlaser reached up to bring Katana down for a quick -but still loving- kiss, his morning breath still very evident. Katana smiled, immediately returning the kiss, kissing him again and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Mmm… love you..” Hyperlaser mumbles, weakly smiling at the ronin.

“I love you too Hyperlaser. I must go now, Vinestaff said to not get anything on that kimono you're wearing.” Katana reluctantly let go, feeling a little bad to just leave his boyfriend right after he woke up, basically just leaving him in one of most vulnerable moments.

“Heh.. she knows I won't get anything on it… anywayss.. bye Tana’…” He waves at Katana as he puts on his mask and walks to the door of the bedroom.

“Goodbye Hyperlaser.” Katana waves back, opening and closing the door leaving the mercenary alone with his thoughts.

Hyperlaser sat there, staring down at the blanket currently covering his bottom half.

“Welp, might as well get up and like… cook or something.. would be good for Shuriken and I’ll leave some for the others when they get back, it’ll be a nice surprise.” Hyperlaser spoke to himself in a whisper, suddenly feeling the overwhelming need for coffee in his system.

He got up, only to yawn and stretch once more before wobbling down the stairs while holding onto the rail for dear life.

Once he had gotten down the steps his ears were blasted with the sounds of clanking silverware coming from the living room. He looked over slowly to see Shuriken playing a game on the console him and his sister owned.

“Ah.. Shuriken, do you mind turning the tv down?” Hyperlaser asked calmly as he started to walk over to the kitchen. Usually he wouldn’t mind the tv being so loud but where in inpherno did he find a game where they phight with silverware?

Shuriken groaned as he looked over, clearly annoyed. He didn’t say anything before he harshly took the remote, holding it with a very tight grip to the point where the tips of his fingers were white. Then he turned the volume down just to the point where you could still hear the clashing but just not as deafening as it was before.

“There. Happy?” Shuriken said with a piercing gaze and venom laced in his voice.

“Very, thank you.” Hyperlaser heard Shuriken slam the remote back on the couch, damn.. what was up with him today? ’Might just be the sickness’. Hyper thought.

Hyper decided to just ignore it for now, focusing on getting to work with preparation for the food. He opened the fridge to take a look at what ingredients were present while thinking of what he could make. Vinestaff mentioned him liking alfredo right? All the ingredients were here and Hyperlaser loves to make alfredo, he even has his own little recipe from over the years perfecting it to his liking.

He also turned on the coffee machine so that he could have his morning coffee and to get some energy while cooking- wait was it even morning?

“Shuriken, do you know what time it is?” The mercenary asked politely only to get a grumble and a short cough as a response.

“That’s okay I will look at the time after I’m done.” Hyperlaser sighs, deciding to just ignore him until he was done with the food.

And so he's off, pulling out all the needed ingredients and putting his expertise to the test.

.

.

(i rlly like alfredo don’t judge)

.

.

Hyperlaser was finally done with the meal, the air smelling of fresh, delicious alfredo ready to be consumed. Shuriken looked surprisingly very interested as he was already sitting at the island connected to the kitchen, sitting up and peeking his head as high as he could to get a good look.

The mercenary pulled the pan out of the oven and placed it on the small mat on the counter. He then went to grab two plates for Shuriken, placing them both near the pan so he could fill them. After he was done he placed one plate with a fork in front of Shuriken and another right beside it as he knew he would be hooked, instantly wanting more.

Shuriken was drooling. He was entranced by just the smell alone, wanting to taste it more than anything else in the entire inpherno. As soon as Hyperlaser placed the plate in front of him he picked up the fork, stuck it in, twirled it, and SHOVED it in his mouth.

His eyesight went foggy, his mind only focused on the creamy, cheesy taste in his mouth.

“Woah woah there champ- slow down you’re gonna-“

“Oh fuck me in the ass this is so good.”

…

“W-..what..?” Hyperlaser stared at Shuriken, shocked on why he would even say that.

“Mmmm…” Shuriken just kept shoving food into his mouth, ignoring the blue inphernal entirely.

Hyper watched as Shuriken just kept scarfing down his alfredo looking like he wasn’t even chewing. His hand was trembling on the mug of coffee he was holding as he carefully put it down on the counter, deciding to wash dishes instead.

He had to practically pry his head away from the awfully loud smacking noises as he walked over to all of the utilities he used when cooking to put them in the sink.

By the time he was done Shuriken had already finished both plates of pasta, relishing the last noodle like he would never see it again.

After he swallowed it he finally realized that Hyper was staring at him while holding back a laugh.

“Was it good?” Hyperlaser asked tauntingly, crossing his arms.

“N-no.. it was.. so bad I’m about to throw up!” Shuri quickly got up and ran to the bathroom with a hand on his mouth and stomach, pretending like he was about to throw up.

“Sure.. make sure to take your pills while you’re at it too!” Hyperlaser giggled.

He sighed looking over to the window in the living room, this is sure gonna be one long afternoon…

.

.

.

.

Katana huffed as he practiced his battle stance, preparing for anything and everything to come his way.

Other than how immensely sweaty he was, it was actually quite calm. The sound of the river flowing, the trees in the wind, and something shuffling through the bushes behind him… something is in the bushes behind him?

He immediately turned around scanning the area thoroughly, but he found nothing so he decided to take a closer look.

There was still a ruffling noise but as he got closer he could hear small squeaks coming from inside. His eyes widened as he realized a small animal could be trapped inside, he reached inside the bush

…………………………………………………………………………….

I think katana was supposed to find a hyperbaby bean…

[street-artists]

Heya! Welcome to the blog once known as "Ask-Julie-Kostenko" and its now "Street-Artists"!

This is still a Parody/Rp Blog but now featuring both

Julie Kostenko from the Legion.

Carmina Mora aka The Artist!

And Nea Karlsson

All the same rules are here or course. Don't be a bigot, they murder people they're not monsters.

I'm a 22yr old Transfem whose been rping for 8 or so years now surprisingly.

I've been playing dbd for almost a year now with Julie as my highest prestige (p100 NOW BAYBEEE).

And I will tag both OOC and NSFW stuff. Now, HC's for all characters are below here (because i don't want this to be too long and some NSFW stuff is there)

Julie Kostenko: Julie is a rather rowdy girl, she typically acts first thinks later. Being a bit of a sadistic bastard, during trials if she has the time she will taunt survivors about many things. And if shes even given the opportunity, will lick their blood out of fun

She does use the other legion members Knives and rarely masks. But I believe that they just share knives. Especially with Julie because she likes collecting them

Now of course. Julie is freaky, she will stab, choke, force the partner to lick her own blood or their own blood. And if shes able even use other killers for pleasure... like Doctor's sock for example!

Carmina Mora: Carmina has grown a bit too attached to the crows that seem to follow her around nowadays. Shes a bit too... co dependant on them at times too given her INCREDIBLY limited voice. And they help translate her thoughts into words

Given her past, Carmina is terrified of trying to protect any boys younger than her, given her brothers death. So if she even slightly sees a Younger guy as a sorta mini brother. She will act like a mother hen protecting her young

Alongside that. Any killers that wield any sort of Knife. Be it the Legion, Chucky, Myers, Amanda, Ghostie, etc etc. She will visibly freeze, and even start to get aggressive unless they sheath/put away the blade

In her down time of trying to relax outside of trials, she ever rarely leaves her "terf" of Eyrie of Crows. It gives her a sense of sanctuary despite the fear and anxiety she has, and will rarely if ever attack survivors outside of trials if they find their way to Eyrie of Crows

Alongside the Crows. She sorta sees The Entity as the mother she wished she had. Provided comfort (via the crows), a place she can call 'home'. And even gives her opportunities to try to still keep her title as "The Artist" by making gifts for the Entity, or other killers to keep to themselves or store away in their personal realms. And sometimes to survivors as well to give them some bit of hope

And i haven't made many NSFW hcs for her yet.... she likes women definitely tho