#💮💮

[cinematic-phosphenes]

THE GILDED AGE (2022-) + ART [6/∞]

🌸 Bertha Russell in S1E2 | Mrs Hugh Hammersley (1892) - John Singer Sargent 🌸 Madame Paul Poirson (1885) - John Singer Sargent | Marian Brook in S1E9 🌸 Maud Beaton in S2E2 | Before the Ball (c. 1870s) - Alfred Stevens

Dress inspo found by: @tomcraweley + @whartonists

[darlingofvalyria]

❝Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine. Dragons take.❞

[ Betrayal clouds your judgement, for when Jacaerys' indiscretion takes the form of a child, your anger lands in the palm of the Rogue Prince. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,412 ] | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Aunt!Reader | this set in an au inside of in hightower green. | this is able to be read as a oneshot.

contains— canon divergence to the second power - an au of an au - targcest, use of 'bastard', infidelity, profanity, revenge, violence, pureblood Valyrian bullshit - thinking about death as a revenge but no suicide/suicidal ideation- angst, smut - two wrongs apparently make a right - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - nsfw: rough sex, biting, degradation, breeding kink, smidge dacryphilia, creampie - no kinslayers, no kings, no betas.

a/n— special thanks to @ahristata and @hiraethrhapsody for kicking my pursuit of this thread!! i woke up (almost literally) to this line of inquiry, & though writing for daemon is difficult, i had a way, way too much fun with this one m'fraid. Ihad so much fun I started laughing at the absurdity. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You can't breathe.

You stand there, your daughters by your sides, no more than five or so name days, dutiful as ever, the princess of the realm— the heir's wife, blindsided. Betrayed. Lied to. And you can't show them your grief, your anger, your shock— you smile, not betrayed, not realised, stupid.

Your act of stupidity protects you, for you can just tell that others, sharp-eyed as they are owning of sharper tongues, calculate the similarities between your husband and the child he is cooing at, at the arms of the Warden of the North's sister.

His bastard fucking sister.

You can't blink away as the facts, the threads, make a beautiful web in front of you. The conclusion is unmistakable. Jacaerys' consistent travels to the North, despite the campaigning for his mother's seat had not required the frequent stretches of long travels. How Aemond had remarked that the bastard is doing twice as much work in doing so, "as he should," Aemond murmurs darkly. "He casts a disgusting shadow on the Iron Throne, 'tis the least he can do."

The insistent of personally greeting the delegates from the North, you thinking it is just his wondrously formed friendship with the Lord Stark, had you dressing up and bringing your girls with him. So that your daughters can meet their father's fucking friend, one that occupied his time when he could have been at home, tending to his duties, his heirs.

And the woman who follows after the Wolf, the bastard Snow, his beloved sister. Dyanna had told you beforehand, as Lord Stark adores his only sibling. Their parenthood is unmistakable, dark hair and sharp chins. A Northern Beauty.

And then you stop, as there is a babe in her arms, no more than two name days at least.

And you see Jacaerys in his gaze.

His beautiful, warm brown eyes in the child in her arms, and as he stands there, your Prince of the Realm, too close for comfort, too close for platonic friendship, a familiarity one cannot deny— and that fucking, sweet-edged, tender smile on his face...

The same one he wore when you had given birth to his daughters. Soiled sheets, bloodied babes— it didn't matter. He held them to his arms with the very same smile, thanking you for birthing his babes.

A gut punch, a sharp inhale, an anger that coils and burns and roars.

Your bastard of a husband had fucked another bastard, and made himself a bastard little fucking family.

Life can ever be so cruel as it is humorous.

Daemon could have laughed at the prediction you found yourself in.

He sits to the left of his wife, the Queen who— in enough of itself, the evidence of the turmoil the court is about to get under, amusingly is talking quick with her Lord Hand; Corlys and Rhaenyra had not stopped pointedly looking at her heir, words too fast but unmistakable what the topic is if their gestures, the knot between their eyebrows, and unmistakable sighs and determined noises.

He, on the other hand, is pointedly staring at you.

You, who tries so hard to piece together an armour of stupidity, an air of nonchalance. As if there is no anger in your visage at your husband's attention completely stolen by Wolf's little sister and her son... who looked completely like him. Dark colouring, the First Men blood thick in his nose, his hair, at the curled edges of his baby-cheeked giggles.

When standing so close, faces to each other, there can be no doubt a mirror.

Or the lovesick smile on the mother's face, watching the Prince of the Realm interact with her son.

Together, the trio of them don't hint as much as a bead of Targaryen blood. One is able to pretend they are nothing more than a small... brown haired family.

Daemon presses his lips, trying desperately not to laugh so loudly.

He admired the boy, truly. Rhaenyra loved each child from her bosom with equal fervor, and Daemon was prepared take him as purely one of his own... but after he broke the betrothal with his daughter (though Baela could give lesser of a shit, though mildly dissatisfied as she was to become Queen, and the girl held her duties between canines) to marry a Hightower cunt... he had distanced himself from the boy.

Daemon viewed it as a sign of weakness, for he knew you. You were just like your mother, prodding into softened parts of his family— that green whore with his brother, young as she had been, his good sister Aemma had not been cold in their memories before she had found herself weightily pregnant with new heirs, and then Jacaerys, new to womanly spells, new to cunt, and you had him making vows in the ways of the dragonlords.

Though he can surmise that much of your mother's movements had not entirely been her own... Daemon knew that calculative look you got in your eye. Blink and it's gone, but your gaze sharpens, your mouth curls in a winning, prideful little smirk.

You were Otto Hightower's granddaughter alright, and you had wanted the Heir's Heir.

But now, it seems like, once a vow broken, it didn't really matter if it was a betrothal or a marriage to Jacaerys.

It brings a sick pull of satisfaction in him, that tugs him to look at you. Every time.

You laugh, tither, still evermore the gem of the feast— a feast you organised with the Lord Hand for your husband's absolutely exceptional diplomatic achievements in the North, truly, Daemon is laughing in the sidelines as the jests and songs make themselves — but Daemon is overtly familiar with dragons. And anger. And you simply stink of it. The way your eye twitches, the occasional grind of your jaw to how your fingers dig crescent moons into your palm. He catches blood in one blink then smeared, then gone, in another.

Your hold onto your armour— the Darling of the Realm, curated so painfully by a young, sly girl moving about the cesspit they call a crown's court — is breaking in pieces and tatters at each hour the feast went on.

It snarls. Like a dragon locked in the pits, tugging at reins, wishing to burn cities.

Maybe you aren't just another Hightower cunt after all.

Not purely at least, he thinks in distaste, staring at the dark green of your gown.

It is a childish tantrum, more than anything, for what is your Hightower green will do now? A bastard has been made, worse, a son. And though Jacaerys himself has muddied blood, he is still a Targaryen. His mother is Queen, prepared to make him an Heir to the Iron Throne as he had been legitimised as Laenor's son. A Velaryon. He bears the name, the crest, and the support of its house.

What is stopping him from marrying the Snow Bastard, legitimising the boy as his own, surpassing your own daughters?

Targaryens marry siblings, they also marry multiple wives.

It is a thought that he can see it dancing in your head— raw, enticing rage and bloodlust that tightens his breeches.

It is an interesting thing.

The green is disgusting, but Daemon can appreciate a young, fertile, Valyrian beauty.

Something your mother had ingeniously provided you and your siblings with, reining in her muddied blood to produce unmistakable Valyrian children. And as a smart little tart, you understood what to do with it.

When Daemon first met you, you were just one of the Hightower spawns that his brother had made to further his line. His brother's daughters—apart from Rhaenyra — were quiet things as babes and children. Odd the two of you were, but not really hostile. When you were introduced to him, your fat babe of a twin brother was teary-eyed and clinging to you, a quiet child with round eyes, staring at him inquisitively, as if challenging.

Then and there, Daemon disliked you so.

Even as you grew, the little of what he could see as he paid no mind of Viserys' other children, you grew up a fine royal, a princess of every word and sung note. Mentions of your progressive fight for the small folk, your charitable heart, your sweet nature that even his brother had made a note once or twice—

He thought it had been Otto Hightower who put you up to such machinations. Wouldn't be below him.

The night you bedded Jacaerys Velaryon, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been you all along.

And now here you are, betrayed as you had betrayed his daughter, delicious in your righteous anger and ripe (two babes before the year ended, Jace is an inglorious fool) for the taking. And youthful still. Smooth, soft skin, pretty lips and bright-eyed.

All your scheming, going as far as throwing your grandsire to Oldtown, it is obvious no one has wrangled the clever, spoiled little brat out of you.

As he sips his wine, amused and pleasantly hungry, he muses he might do a job or two of being the strong arm to do so.

He snorts, eyes straying back to the little First Men family.

There it is again. The jest that keeps on giving.

It was pride, truly, that kept you for most of the feast. That kept your gritted teeth to yourself, ducking into corners whenever your anger burned at your eyelids, stubbornly brushing stray tears away.

All is not lost, you stubbornly thought. You just had to plot.

But when Jace had taken your daughters, your Daenera and Aemma, gently tugging them to his bastard whore and his actual bastard to meet— finding your eyes, at that very moment as Daenera's precious, pureblooded hand shyly took the hand of her bastard brother, a fool's tender fucking simpleton of a smile on your husband's face —

Something in your head had snapped. A clean break.

And your armour had fallen. Like limestone from a fortress. Caved in ruins at the pool of your feet. Dark, furious loathe unfurled in your chest. Unable to handle it anymore, you had taken your dress and got out of the feast, for you could feel the urge of unsheathing a sword and going on a bloodied massacre, crowns and titles be damned.

You may not have a dragon, but you have its bloodlust.

Just as you are rushing to your chambers, you stop and make a different turn, knowing that if your husband had caught wind of such an ugly expression on your face, he would try and find you, talk to you, and you don't have the patience to cater to him at the moment— you find what you know of is an empty chamber, reserved for guests at the Keep.

It is a simple room with all the usual accruements. Most of the fanfare, the sheets, are in storage.

You start with a candelabra.

Raise it high before you are violently smashing it against the dresser, shrieks and guttural screams out of your mouth as you tear through the room like a typhoon, cursing Jacaerys, the North, and bastards to the Seven Hells.

None will be the wiser, for you had built your network well. Your spiders will pivot guards and strangers from this area, ensuring you a reprieve where your anger and grief can unfurl and manifest.

So you lose yourself, a dragon untethered. You get so into your rage, quiet in your thoughts, that you don't hear an intruder entering until there is a low, amused laugh too close for comfort.

You whirl around, tear-stained and rage-filled, and though the Rogue Prince expects you to fall into stutters, your eyes slit and you grip— when had you picked up a tome? — the tome tighter to your chest, snarling, "Get out."

Instead of surprise, or even offense, Daemon laughs as if you are the most amusing thing to him all night. Jesters and whores alike.

"I shall not." He makes a noncommittal hum around the dark room. "I rather like it here. It seems this chamber holds a much better entertainment than anything beheld at the feast."

You let out a dark, incredulous laughter. "I have no time for your toying, uncle, get out!" You toss the tome with fervour, but he's a warrior and he anticipates your anger, sidestepping easily before he's back to casual prowling.

"I do not have time to play jester for your entertainment," you hiss, unable to stop the hateful tears from spilling, brushing them away harshly as you watch him watch you.

He raises an eyebrow. "I am not asking you to."

"Are you here then for my humiliation? Press a bitter wound while it's still bleeding, is that it? Is that what would make the glory of your night?"

He snorts. "What would make the glory of my night is a warm body and a tight cunt."

Your face scrunches. "You are disgusting."

He barks out a laugh. "Not as disgusting as your brother."

"Aegon is no longer—"

"— or as stupidly naive as your husband."

A sharp intake of breath before you're once more cracking in broken rage and ghastly pain.

"Of course you would notice, who would not, he looks so much like his fucking bastard."

"Watch yourself, girl," he barks. "You are still talking about the Queen's heir."

A beautiful guard dog, you think, you snort. You push past him, gasping into the crisp, cool air, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

"His already diluted blood makes this conversation entirely hilarious to me I'm afraid." You look down and wonder how fast you will fall. How messy would such a death be? How much care there is left in your wake? Will your husband even care, now that he has his heir? Borne out of true love no doubt, despite such bastardly blood— or is that what makes it thrilling for them?

Mangled bone, spread thin blood— if you die such a way, it should be pretty. You hope it haunts the Keep of so many before you.

But if you die now, you will be replaced so easily. So prettily.

And your daughters—who will care for them? Will Jacaerys even care, if his bastards soon no doubt fill your once home, your mother, your brothers— your daughters pushed aside to make way for fucking dogs.

There is no satisfaction in such a plan.

There are many others.

The Rogue Prince makes his presence known by standing close to your back, close enough that you can smell him, that his heat is your own, as he hums, peering below as you have.

"Have you been drinking, zaldrītsos little dragon?" he whispers, tangling his fingers through your hair, running a lone finger down your neck, up and down in a tantalising movement. You can't help it, it feels comforting, leaning close to it despite such a breathy huff out of your lips.

"Since when am I dragon, kepus uncle? Haven't you always likened us muddied blood, filthier than dragonseeds?"

"I see that I am wrong," he says, almost idle as if he isn't devouring you in his gaze. How you feel soft, pliant under one finger after weighted in wine and the ruins of your anger, how you're almost purring and sweet like this, your fire alive but consistent. "Aōha perzys burns jehikagrī. Nyke hae ziry. Your flames burn bright. I like it."

"Hm. You've had sons, don't you uncle?"

"I have," he replies, amused.

"And many a children." You reach for his chin, your thumb rubbing his bottom lip. He's old, sure, but men don't have the same bodily issues as women. You know he could reach your father's age and be able to produce five more brats.

But his shoulders are strong, spry only as a swordsman can be.

And he isn't like he's loyal to Nyra, turning fully to you with a hand caressing your side.

His hand comes for your neck, halting your movement as he tests a squeeze. There is only much hatred as there is lust. And his cock is winning over his mind, for when your free hand, watching him intently, reaches for the hardness straining against his breeches, giving it a stroke, his breath stutters into a groan whilst his hips push into your hand.

"Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine," he hums darkly. "Dragons take, or do you have too much of your Hightower cunt of a mother that you—"

You curl your hand over his cock until his breath hitches.

"I want a son. Surely you'd rather want for your true blood to sit on the Iron Throne? Your wife would remain Queen, her and her heir none the wiser. Any son of mine would be King regardless." Your voice is barely above whisper, stroking him as your squirm in his hold, his breath heavy by each promise, each tale you spin so tall. "Wouldn't you like that better? I am a Targaryen, as are you. Our blood would be pure."

"I have pureblooded sons, riñītsos little girl."

"But will they be king? With my husband as your wife's heir?" When his hold softens on your throat, you push yourself forward, pressing yourself against him. "Wouldn't you want your family's legacy, your legacy, unsullied with prettier blood?

"I want a son, uncle," you whimper, thickened with need and desire, willing him to bend and fold because men like Daemon are easy, because a loving marriage is one thing, a man who holds his house as his pride in another fist is another. "I want your seed to take root in me."

And it isn't like you're asking him to betray his Queen.

Daemon is surprisingly a soft lover, prone in a way to worshipping you even as you had gotten impatient and tried to get your way. His punishments are quick and precise, a hit on your thigh, a tighter squeeze in your throat, a firm bite in your breast enough to draw blood. He's soft but by choice, almost as if he is amusing you in each caress while one hand is holding you by your hair, fucking you down into the sheets.

His words aren't better, spun in hisses and spits, mocking laughter and groans.

"Do you want my seed, you little whore?"

"What would your husband say now, his pretty wife mewling for another? Or would he even care?"

"Your tears are pretty, if you want my seed, I think you need to be sobbing, hm?"

When he finally spills inside of you with nothing less of a broken, guttural roar, hips chasing the high, meeting your sensitivity once, twice, again— you are shattered in pieces and contradictions, floating and wide awake, pleasured and in pain.

He slaps your face gently after he's cleaned himself up, tucked his flaccid cock back in his breeches as he comes to your eye line. "Come to me again when you want my seed, hm? I shall prioritise your wants for the good of the realm but I dare say—"

He cocks his head with a smirk, feeling stirrings at the sight of your fucked out state, his seed spilling from your pretty hole that he can't help himself as he chases it with a finger, forcefully pushing it back in while your body trembles and twitches.

"— you may be with child soon enough, niece. I shall congratulate you and my son with the happy news."

Your eyes flutter close at the echoes of his disappearing footsteps.

Nine moons later, through a hearty, blood-soaked birth that rocked the keep with your wails of pure pain— much more painful than when your girls had come into the world — a baby boy is born of pure Valyrian colouring.

A fat babe who cried murder in his first seconds of life, and it is Caraxes who snarls and screeches into the high noon sky.

"I shall name him Daemon," you say to your husband beside you as you beheld the babe with a wondrous smile and a full heart.

"After your brother and my father," Jace says, smiling. "That is wonderful, my wife. He does look much like them."

Your smile curls, a finger rubbing your babe's fat cheek. "He does. And he will be strong swordsman." Your lashes flutter to Jace, poisoned vowels in each word that he blinks, startled. "Just like his father."

TAGGED @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody @watercolorskyy @fulla02 @menaosama @cookielovesbook-akie

[gorletis]

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ㅤฺฺ໋▒ൄ🚸᭔᭄ㅤฺฺ໋ׅ⡅｡ ‎🌺♪؞ؖ ̳̳̳̳̳̳̳̳̳ᩘᨯ𓂂𓏸

[sadenees]

Günaydın

[rozcdust]

…is the tokyo rev fandom still alive and should i revive ion speak to whores (i miss it 😭)

[eeuphor]

⠀⠀⠀⠀\|/⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀〽️⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠬⠼⠀⠀⠀⠀<⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀아기

⠀⠀⠀ ࣪ ⠀ ‌⃞‌ 🪽⠀⠀⠀ ⠀‘⠀⠀⠀ ⠀☆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀счастливый

𓈄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀]⠀⠀⠀🏳️⠀⠀⠀𐂯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀美⠀⠀丽⠀—⠀⠀的

[izuke-the-zombie]

🐵🐵💮I finished a little half part of the doodle here and I wanted to post it because😙 hey why not, now they have legs, yay!👍✨

🌸I just wanted to let you guys know I'm still alive and kicking and stuff it's just life is a little crazy now kittens and other things🐱🐈🐯

🌸I'll try to sketch or doodle or post some unfinished ones when I find the free time, most of them will probably be just silly little things.😋

🤩I love and appreciate you all "mwah😚💋💕✨!" stay safe out there and stay awesome👍😽💕✨ okay bye-bye 🤗🥰✌️✨💖

[b100dyygutz]

i want to destroy myself, every inch and trace that i ever left in this world, i want it all gone

[lovrnya]

ㅤ ◌ 𓈒   ׁ 🍰 𑁯  ֺ   ⑅ 

[cinematic-phosphenes]

A Roman Lady (1858) by Frederic Leighton

(x)

[opgosh]

Can't wait for MCC with Etho and Xisuma, we even got the skins! -💮

now we just gotta figure out who to watch

[iyunjin]

◯ 🐇 ゐ. ✿𝆬 ‎　 ..... 宮脇 咲良

( for @lonnaur ) <3

[sadenees]

🤗🤗🤗 iyi akşamlar ...

[ameyumez]

⟨🌄· » Kuyarei matching layouts!

❲ ♡/⇄ + credit if using! ❳

[eeuphor]

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀▌⠀⠀⠀ ⿴⠀⠀⠀(:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅: ꔫ :]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅)⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀@niray-web

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⍰⠀⠀⠀𐃙⠀⠀⠀поцелуи⠀⠀⠀〘⠀⠀⠀𐃑 ⠀⠀⠀✴️

⠀⠀⠀𖤛𓈒◌   ⠀⠀⠀🈚️⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀%#¥⠀⠀⠀🥊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀حساء

[roseeeya]

daddy’s kid

warnings :: none

genre :: parent-child fluff

including :: g. tomioka | k. rengoku | s. shinazugawa | g. himejima | s. kocho | o. iguro | m. kanroji | m. tokito | t. uzui

synopsis :: the hashiras meet giyuu's adopted 8 y/o kid who is very much a daddy's kid

pairings :: giyuu tomioka x child reader

prologue

giyuu tomioka is a very quiet man. he rarely says anything and prefers only to speak when absolutely necessary. being the water pillar, no matter how undeserving he feels of it, is his position.

one faithful night, he was given a mission. he did as told and followes his kasugai crow to the location wherein he was to slay the demon. he finds that he was too late and that the entire village was in ruins. in a quick response to the situation, he slays the demon and looks around to see the damage done.

checking every house, he finds everyone slaughtered. everyone but you. he tries to assess your condition. looking around, he sees three bodies. a male, a woman and a girl.

he comes to you and crouches. “uhm. who are they to you, kid?” he asks, an awkward aura filling the room. to you, it seemed he didn't know what to do with a child. you weren't surprised. your parents didn't either.

“m-my parents..the other girl is my older sister...” you mutter. he comes in a little closer, making you flinch. “it’s okay. i- uh- i won’t hurt you.” his voice sounded so calm. like the tranquil lakes of your home. or the serenity of the sky at night.

still shocked at the situation, he ponders what to do with you. with what you witnessed, and at your age too, you may just end up like him. labeled as insane. that was something that won’t go away easily. he didn’t want you to go through it. “what’s your name?” he asks you.

“i’m [name]…who are you, sir?”

“I’m giyuu tomioka. would you like to come with me, [name]?”

your eyes widen at his question. was he being serious? he wanted to take you in? in the spur of the moment, you nod. though you felt as if you wouldn’t regret the decision.

months later, you had grown accustomed to giyuu tomioka. his presence in your life has drastically changed you. granted, the trauma of what you saw was still there, but you were happy with him. you called him dad, and he didn’t get angry with it. you could hug him and he wouldn’t push you away.

you sat out in the gardens of his estate, watching the sky, as a familiar bird swoops in and drops a letter onto the man beside you. “what’s that, dad?” you ask.

opening the letter, you peer over to your side to get a glimpse (one which he gladly gave you privilege to do). it seems to have been a while since he received a letter, so naturally he was curious. he reads the contents and his eyebrows rise. it seems that master ubuyashiki has discovered of your presence and existence in his life and has invited him to bring you to his estate to meet his colleagues. he was of course, conflicted if he should expose you to their…antics. would you grow to hate him like they did him?

on the day you were set to meet the rest of the hashiras, you walk into the ubuyashiki estate gardens with your father. you hid in his haori, slightly nervous because you hadn’t had contact with much people other than the people in the tomioka estate, and of course, tomioka himself.

peeking out of his haori, he softly urges you to say hello to the people in front of you.

“h-hello. i’m [name] tomioka. it’s- it’s nice to meet you..”

gyomei himejima

my mans wouldn’t see obv

but he would be able to hear what’s going on and put the dots together himself

either that or whoever’s beside him will update him with what’s happening

when you approach him he melts

like if he was ice cream, he’d be an entire puddle of it

because omg

a child walked up to him and that’s just so cute HAJSHAJS

“it’s very nice to meet you, [name]. i'm gyomei himejima.”

would 100% give u piggybacks

and you love it bc upsies or u don’t if you hate heights and say sorry about it

that or it wouldn’t happen bc he would’ve asked before carrying

“you have a very cute child, tomioka. bless your souls.”

pretty much a 10/10 with him

because who wouldn’t love gyomei?

uzui tengen

would drop

guy would have his jaw on the ground

because the quiet, reserved and boring one of them that’s his words not mine has a child?!??!?

yes. yes he does.

would probably be a little awkward with you

like not shy awkward

it’s the kind where he wouldn’t know what to do with you

it’s as if you’re an object he needs to figure out bc let’s be fr his expertise is women not children

he does care for your safety bc well- you’re a person

well he does admire the deed giyuu did

“that’s a very flamboyant deed, tomioka! and your child is er- flamboyant as well!”

yk that meme where a man carries their child by the ankle upside down?

yea, that’s the vibe between you and him

he doesn’t know what to do, help the poor man

like actually get him some much needed help

rengoku kyojuro

he has a little brother

ofc the man is great with kids

he sees you come right out of tomioka’s haori and he was quite shocked

of all the hashiras he never expected giyuu with a child

though he finds it admirable and adorable

sweet bby

would definitely eat with you

and try out different foods with you

you love him because he’s fun

also because he isn’t mean to giyuu

unlike other people that we will get on with later

he’s probably gonna be a good babysitter

sometimes he’s a little loud but it doesn’t bother you that much

tries to be quiet around you if you’re sensitive to sound

100/10 great man

giyuu likes him so you were more open to being with him rather than obanai.

mitsuri kanroji

squeel

this woman will squeel

no shame in it because

well, there’s an adorable child. who happens to be giyuu tomioka’s child.

put the words adorable and child in one sentence and she will go berserk

would be good with you as well!

you’re slightly shy because of her revealing clothes

bc giyuu taught you to look away in situations like that (we love a respectful king)

so you just learned not to look

and now you’re shy

mainly about the fact that her clothes show her ‘forbidden things’ as you called it

she would definitely try out food with you with rengoku

omg you’d admire her hair a lot because you’ve never seen anything like it

she loves how you haven’t been tainted by the beauty standards

big sister energy and we love that

and ofc giyumitsu friendship?? so she’s like the cool aunt or sister or whatever

muichiro tokito

is pretty neutral with you at first.

and this is after he regains his memories

but then you approach him with a smile on your face

and he’s reminded if himself years ago

so innocent and carefree

which ends up with him having a somewhat soft spot for you

you see him as an older brother because giyuu practically treats the guy as his kid

was still aloof so he let you play with his katana once during a hashira meeting

was scolded by giyuu and shinobu afterwards

it never happened again.

you like his company because he’s quiet but still manages to be amiable with you

you think that his aloof personality kinda reminds you of giyuu

and it’s comforting

god he might attempt to carry you

keywords: might and attempt

he might if he wasn’t tired and if he actually wasn’t tired, he would attempt to atleast twice

until he gives up

just cuties being cuties

iguro obanai

see, i sometimes despise this man but love him at the same time

but i really think he’d berate you your dad

the man lives off of messing with your father

what on earth makes you think he wouldn’t give you the exact same treatment?

if anything, the only reason he’ll end up being nice to you is because of mitsuri

she likes you and he likes her so conclusion:

he has to try to like you.

that, and also partially because mitsuri got frantic when you cried because of his snake.

we all love kabarumaru but there’s never enough works where he just scares the living daylights off of the reader

in the end, he would probably refrain from saying bad things about you

you, not your dad. he still despises your dad.

can you see it? how much i loathe his actions towards giyuu? <3

you don’t like him either, don’t worry. he just-

he’s mean to your dad and you’re such a daddy’s girl so why wouldn’t you?

at this point i’m projecting so i’ll stop this here-

sanemi shinazugawa

omg he doesn’t like you at first

keyword: at first.

he obviously doesn’t like how you are in any relation to giyuu

but then you trip in front of him and you cry

and somehow, he helps you.

he doesn’t know why

he just did

so now you follow him around when you visit because

he helped you

and so with that, he learned to adapt to your presence

less mean to giyuu because he saw how you absolutely despise obanai

like he just doesn’t wanna upset you???

he will project onto you

by project, i mean he will at one point see you as one of his dead siblings

please get the man some help

please

omg would let you draw on his scars

because you think they’re pretty

oh and you were wary of him at first

bc you thought he was as mean as obanai

jokes on u, he just really misunderstands giyuu’s words lmao

shinobu kocho

normal smiling kind of impression

is soft with you

like less offhanded remarks when you are nearby

would treat your wound when you fell in front of sanemi

is probably awkward when you cry

because she can handle wounds but crying children?

not exactly her forte

that was kanae’e thing, not hers.

no matter how much she tried to imitate kanae

crying children is not her thing

you absolutely adore her hair

especially the pretty purple tips

and her voice puts you to sleep sometimes

ofc giyuu does the ‘sleep from calm voice’ thing better than she does

but it works so whatever

would scold tengen because she just knows

she knows of the vibe you and him radiate

(yk, the guardian carrying a child by the ankle.)

is protective of you because

well you’re a child.

you didn’t deserve to witness what you did