#Because I have been absent from this fandom for too long

[mokulule]

While I fail to focus after my night shift have a peek at another of my brain worms

Untitled, I am still waiting for that moment of divine inspiration. Ship: Dead on Main (Danny/Jason)  Fandom: DP x DC 

The only sounds in the Batcave were the bats chittering amongst themselves high above. Bruce rubbed his chin absently as he took in the information displayed on the large screens with narrowed eyes. Something wasn’t adding up. Somebody was lying.

No matter how many times he looked over the information, that was his conclusion. It nagged at him that he didn’t know what, if any, information he could use. He hated being so in the dark. 

A silent notification in the corner of his screen alerted him to a call from the Watchtower. He took it and Superman’s face appeared in a smaller rectangle on the center of the screen. Bruce kept outwardly placid but from behind the cowl nobody would see the way his gaze instantly zeroed in on the massive black eye Superman had acquired, and the general strain around his unhurt eye and mouth. He was worn out. 

“Phantom has been apprehended,” Superman said with a long sigh. It had clearly not been an easy fight. 

“I’ll be there,” Batman said and ended the call. Maybe they’d finally get some real answers. 

He stood and walked towards the zeta tube. Another call came in, this time on the comm in his cowl. 

“Hood,” he greeted.

“Hey, old man. I’m at the location. You were right it’s absolutely crawling with the white suits and their weaponry is not like anything I’ve seen before.”

Bruce felt like a hand squeezed his heart. Hood out of anyone knew his weapons, if he didn’t know them they weren’t on the market. He absolutely hated asking any of his kids to walk into an unknown situation. Unfortunately he didn’t have any other options. 

“Be careful, Hood.”

“Aww, is that worry I detect?”

“Just don’t take unnecessary risks,” Bruce cautioned.

“You wouldn’t have asked me if you didn’t think it was necessary, old man. Don’t worry, I’ll get you your intel.”

Bruce grunted. Jason was right. He wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think it was important. Didn’t mean he had to like it, nor the fact that Red Hood’s criminal reputation made him perfect for breaking into a government building; even if Hood was seen the Justice League kept plausible deniability. 

Everyone knew Red Hood was a wild card. 

“Check in regularly with Oracle.”

He could practically feel the way Jason rolled his eyes at him.

“Not my first rodeo, B.”

With that the connection cut off. Bruce couldn’t help the bad feeling he had about everything. 

He really hated this stage of an investigation. 

Two months ago the US government contacted the Justice League about a problem. Several bases of a government agency named the GIW had been hit by a malicious creature they called Phantom. The attacks had been gaining in severity and frequency and their measures had so far failed to stop it. 

Since then, a member of the Justice League had arrived too late to five such attacks. They’d stood no chance against Phantom, who’d then disappeared, living up to the name.

To their eyes Phantom was outwardly a humanoid, possibly a meta or alien. The GIW called him a ghost from a different dimension.

They had been at a loss of how exactly to contain such a powerful foe, who not only could go toe to toe with their heavy hitters like Superman, but also disappear by means unknown. This time they’d been prepared. They’d had various team configurations ready to go depending on who was available. 

Something that seemed to have paid off, but Bruce did not like that Clark was injured. Because if Clark was injured…

A zeta tube ride later and he met Superman on the Watchtower. Something that hadn’t been apparent on the call was the sling Superman’s left arm was in. Another visible injury added to the swollen eye. 

“Is everyone alright?” He had to ask.

“Nobody’s permanently hurt.” Clark hurried to assure as they started walking towards the interrogation room, but there was a but. Bruce kept his stare steady until Clark tiredly elaborated: “But nobody got out the fight unscathed. John won’t be walking for a while. J’onn is suffering from psychic backlash. Diana has some broken ribs and scrapes and you can see my own wounds. Everyone is tired, it was a long fight.”

Batman’s lips thinned. At least there had been no casualties. 

Almost as if reading his mind. Superman added quietly. 

“We got there while the base was still standing. Phantom made eye contact with me for a moment, before he unleashed this… sonic attack…” His face turned pained, as he looked for words that came halting. “It was a scream, I can’t describe it, it felt- it felt like I was dying. None of us could get close.”

Superman looked away.

“When it was over the base was gone, eradicated, like the others. There was just a large crater. Who knows how many people were still in there.”

Bruce set a hand on his friend’s shoulder. It was never easy to deal with casualties. 

“The one good thing about it was that the scream seemed to drain quite a bit of energy from him.” Clark barked a laugh, short and hysterical. Bruce knew Clark would have rather faced Phantom at full power if it meant more people had lived. 

“And still it was all we could do to subdue him. We barely won.”

They barely won. Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern and Martian Manhunter, and they barely won. The knowledge sat like a heavy ball in Bruce’s chest. 

Now, maybe they could get intel that wasn’t most reluctantly handed over by a government agency, that didn’t even want to reveal what their alphabet soup name was an abbreviation of. “We had to turn off the ‘Ghost Shield’ to get Phantom inside the base, so we at least know it works, even if for some reason it doesn’t protect the GIW bases,” Superman remarked.  

Bruce hnn’ed to show he’d heard. It was one more discrepancy among many.

Batman entered the observation room with Superman at his back. Wonder Woman was there and he quickly took in her unusually disheveled appearance, she looked tired and uncomfortable, shaken (but whole, safe). He nodded in greeting and she gave him a tight smile in return. He turned to the observation window and felt his breath stick in his throat.

Phantom was- 

The glitchy footage they’d managed to get on earlier encounters couldn’t have prepared him. Bruce felt his jaw clench. Phantom looked young. There was still a hint of baby fat stubbornly clinging to his cheeks. He was short and wiry like Tim but maybe a bit younger than Jason, technically an adult, but to Bruce he still looked painfully young. The overall glowing and the slowly seeping green wound at his hairline didn’t take away just how human he looked. 

Bruce looked at Phantom and saw a kid. Worse, supposedly a dead kid, a ghost, if the most basic of their intel was to be believed, which even that he wasn’t entirely sure of.

A weight was heavy on his shoulders. He had to remind himself that he had found evidence of Phantom throughout history and if a ghost was truly what he was, he was most likely a very old, very powerful spirit, for whom age didn’t matter. It would be a mistake to trust the youthful appearance. 

He was chained to the chair both by wide cuffs at his wrists and ankles so he could only move very little. The cuffs were the best they had when it came to meta power suppression cuffs with some added ghost specific sigils courtesy of Zatanna’s research. She would have liked Constantine to look them over too as that sort of thing was more his area of expertise, but he’d been off on one of his extra-dimensional missions since long before this started and they hadn’t been able to contact him. 

The cuffs kept Phantom here in any case and he didn’t look happy about it. His lips were a flat line and the thick black brows were drawn together over narrowed green eyes. His head was held high (stubbornness? Pride?), chin tilted in a way that showed off a bright green-purple line around his throat, which had it been red and on a human would have looked like rope burn-

Bruce looked to Diana and he suddenly understood part of her discomfort.

“He was about to use another sonic attack, I didn’t see any other way.” Her words were quiet, regretful, but she faced his gaze head on. Bruce nodded. She never would have used the lasso like that under normal circumstances. It was incredibly worrying how much it had taken to subdue him. 

For a moment the three of them just stood there in silence, watching Phantom watch the door.

It was finally time for answers. 

Bruce didn’t make any outward sign that he was about to move, but of course Clark caught on even before he’d moved, stepping aside letting Bruce take point. They went into the interrogation room, Diana staying back to observe and be ready with security measures, they didn’t know for sure would even work.

They entered the room and immediately sharp green eyes locked onto him. There was a quick glance towards Superman, but the eyes quickly focused back on Batman. There was a calculating sort of intelligence behind those eyes. 

That was one question immediately answered, but it was one he could have inferred. It was very hard to believe the claim that this “ghost” was non-sentient, when he specifically targeted the bases of a specific government agency and nothing else. Though of course they could have had something that attracted the ghost, but nobody could look at Phantom and think non sentient. 

Now the question was, why?

Bruce sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of the table from Phantom. Clark had a moment’s pause before he joined them. Bruce pulled out a tablet from underneath his cape and laid it carefully out on the table, turning it on. At this point most people in the room with the Batman would have started getting nervous, but evidently not Phantom. He was still just passively defiant, not to mention he hadn’t yet said a word.

“Phantom, is that your preferred manner of address?” Bruce decided to start out neutral. 

There was a glitter of amusement in green eyes and the barest uptick of his lips, but he remained silent. Bruce could do silence. 

The silence stretched between them until Clark broke it.

“Why do you destroy those bases?”

Phantom glanced to Clark and his earnest question, then back to Bruce, barely raising an eyebrow, like as if to say “really, this the best you can do?” Bruce resisted the urge to sigh. Clark was usually a better foil for him at interrogations, but then most people didn’t choose total silence.

Bruce decided to be frank with him.

“We are trying to understand your motivation. That’s all.” He studied Phantom’s face which had settled into a stony glare. “But first I’d just like to know if it’s alright to call you Phantom and what your pronouns are? We have been using he/him based on your appearance but you might have another preference?”

The glare softened a bit and for a moment Bruce actually thought he’d lured a response out of him, but Phantom just looked away. Incidentally drawing attention to the line at his throat. A sudden thought occurred to him.

“Are you so hurt, that you’re unable to speak?”

Phantom slowly looked back at him. He seemed to actually be contemplating giving some sort of answer.

That’s when his comm clicked on barely audible.

“The GIW has been in contact,” Diana informed him quietly over the comms. Phantom stiffened across from him, his gaze narrowing like a cat - so they could add enhanced hearing to his powers. “They are requesting we hand over Phantom.”

Bruce looked straight at Phantom as he spoke, “They have no jurisdiction in space. I presume you declined?”

“Of course.”

Phantom’s face turned unreadable for a moment. His gaze went from him, to Superman and the opaque glass that hid the observation room. Finally he huffed. 

“Phantom, he/him is fine.” His voice had an echoey quality to it. 

It seemed they were finally going somewhere. 

-

They were not going somewhere. 

Even hours later Phantom kept up his silence. They’d held several breaks. Phantom had been offered food and water but had declined nonverbally. 

They were going in circles, trying the same questions again and again. Prolonged silence didn’t help any either. 

If only J’onn was an option, but he was already suffering from psychic backlash from trying to go into Phantom’s mind during the fight. 

So far the only things Bruce could add to the certain facts were that Phantom was sentient, intelligent and didn’t like the GIW to the point that he would commit mass murder to take them down. 

And Bruce would just really like to know why? Because with the kinds of powers he’d shown off he could have easily killed the members of the Justice League sent to apprehend him. He seemed to have no qualms about killing, yet he’d stayed his hands?

Bruce had hoped that meant Phantom considered them at least somewhat neutral in this conflict. But apparently not neutral enough to talk to. 

Clark had tried and Diana had tried. Nothing helped. 

Bruce was considering his options, when the door opened. 

“B, I need to speak with you.” That was Tim, he looked pale. Something had happened. Bruce got up, Clark following. Bruce decidedly ignored the sudden curiosity from Phantom. They closed the door and walked down the hall. When Bruce felt they were far enough from Phantom he stopped.

“Red Robin, report.”

“We’ve lost contact with Hood.”

Bruce’s heart dropped cold into his stomach. No. It couldn’t be. 

“When?”

“Two hours ago is when he last checked in. He’s since missed several check-ins.” Tim’s hands tightened into fists at his sides. “Could be he’s just not in a position to respond, or they have scramblers in the base.”

It was likely, in fact very likely that was the case with how secretive the GIW were being, but two hours were a long time to miss check-ins. Clark’s hand landed on his shoulder which he only now realized how tense was, but no, now was not the time to relax or calm down. He shrugged Clark’s hand off and stalked back down the hall.

The GIW were mum about any details. There was only one person who could tell them what Jason was facing in that building.

He burst into the interrogation room and slammed his hands on the table. That got Phantom’s attention his eyes widening before narrowing and his lips splitting in a snarl that showed off fangs, but Bruce sneered right back.

“We lost contact with an agent sent to infiltrate a GIW-base, you will tell me what you know about them, or so help me I will make you wish you stayed in that dimension you came from.”

“Batman, please, maybe you should step out-“ Clark began good hand hovering shy of Bruce, but he was interrupted by the bark of laughter coming from Phantom.

And then he laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Bruce punched him. Clark pulled him back. 

Phantom slowly turned his head back to look at them, working his jaw. 

“There we have it after all. Your true colors: attacking a chained up captive.” He wiggled his fingers drawing attention to the wide thick cuffs dwarfing his wrists. His eyes held only cold judgment. “But don’t worry, Batman, your agent has nothing to fear from the GIW unless they are dead.”

Bruce couldn’t help the flinch and he felt Clark do the same. Something in the very air stilled then, making it hard to breathe. 

“You,” Phantom began standing up, right out of the restraints as if they weren’t there, “are going to explain to me what that reaction means…“ He carefully put his hands down on the table and leaned forward in a way that made it very apparent he was holding himself back. He glared holes into Bruce’s skull with blazing green eyes. “Unless you want your agent back in pieces.”

-

Psssst. this is actually the beginning of the fic where this is from (CW: relatively graphic aftermath of vivisection)

So basically Phantom is public enemy number one, or at least top of the US government and GIW's shit list XD Huh, "Wanted: Dead or Alive", might actually be a pretty fun title, what do you guys think?

[theseawitch-1102]

(❁´◡`❁)_DRAW A CHARACTER YOU LIKE!_

Hi girlys! It's been a while since I last posted anything here, so I thought it would be nice to come back with a little drawing challenge. Here are also some comments on what I think of these characters.

Striker 🌵: Being a Striker fan… it's a daily routine of having a pie thrown in your face and still hoping that one day that won't happen and you'll be able to enjoy the pie. I still remember how intrigued I was by his character in his first appearance. There was something that made him different from all the previous villains. He seemed poised to be the antithesis of Blitzo, the one who would lead him to rethink his very questionable relationship with Stolas, and the one who would actually take action on the issue of discrimination and mistreatment of imps, even if it resulted in questionable methods and disastrous results. Unparalleled narrative potential. …Only for all his potential to be thrown away, ridiculing and discrediting even the true parts of his message, transforming him into a hypocrite with a single purpose: to keep the main couple unaffected and ensure that a certain owl prince wouldn't have to take responsibility for his actions. If it hurts enough that a character can't reach his potential because his series was cancelled… It hurts even more to see how his creators voluntarily throw him away.

Apple White🍎 : Oh Apple, the series never got to show you all your glory. This young woman is EAH's co-star and public enemy of half the fandom. You can hate her or love her, but you'll always have an opinion about her. Arrogant but fair, kind but narrow-minded, she can be many things. But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that compared to the books, the series doesn't explore the complexity of her character as much, the pressures she was under, the microaggressions, the insecurity, and above all, the fear of the future, uncertainty, and even death. What can I say, I have a weakness for complex characters in narrative (and also for pretty clothes, but shhh. I am just a girl).

Emperor Belos 👑: Wow, what a pleasure having you as a villain. The context of his upbringing, an extreme emotional dependence on his brother, during a period of religious fanaticism and persecution, a boy who only grew up to be a witch hunter. This son of a bitch is a bastard, and his writing is fabulous. Manipulative, macabre, and extremely cruel, so dedicated to his cause that for hundreds of years he never abandoned his mission. He's a fabulous villain, and to this day I regret that we never had the chance to see more of his story in the series.

Martin and Chris Kratt 🌿🌊: DON'T JUDGE ME, GUYS. I DIDN'T FIND OUT THESE TWO WERE REAL PEOPLE UNTIL I WAS 16. I still think of their animated versions as endearing characters from my childhood. Both brothers are quite similar, but they still have clear differences: one is an optimist who's more careless but protective, and on the other hand, Mr. Sassy, ​​organized, calculating, but just as absent-minded at times. If you're an anxious person who doesn't mind being told 20,000 random facts about animals, you should watch this series to relax.

Tom Lucitor ❤️‍🔥: This doesn't need any further explanation. HE'S ONE OF SVTFOE'S BEST CHARACTERS, AND I'LL FIGHT ANYONE WHO DENIES ME. I didn't leave the series just because of him; it was that simple.

Ford Pines 🤚: Ford, you're a disaster, but you're my disaster. It's hilarious that he was selected for the "by design" category when I'm a fan of shows like EAH or Monster High, but what can I say? He fulfills the cliches I always include in my own characters: long trench coats, boots, turtlenecks. I found it too comical how he matched everything. But I can't deny how much I love this man's story: his ego, his desire for glory, his dreams of redemption, and the inevitable catastrophe, the paranoia, the helplessness, and ultimately, peace.

[slaaverin]

I just wanted to take a little bit of time to reflect on the last few years.

We've been through it all - the fear of thinking jikook would get separated, the disbelief to see them go on trips for unknown purpose, the celebration of their solo works, and then the relief of finding out they would enlist together.

Then once they were gone, we knew it would be tough but we were still reassured by the fact that despite the challenges they would face, they were together, like an unshakable anchor that would keep them from sinking too low.

We went through every emotions, a true rollercoaster.

Unfortunately, while they were absent, we saw the fandom drop in such bad vibes, such hate, lies, narratives, schemes to attack jikook and their bond, finding always new ways to belittle them as artists and persons and their relationship, that many of us didn't even want to call ourselves ARMYs anymore. Being an ARMY lost its meaning since the behaviour we witnessed went against everything BTS stands for.

Yet.

Despite the chaos, and how hard it was to be online sometimes, many of you stayed, defended jikook, supported them, sent encouragements to them. We were patient and unwavering in our love. We were still united in many ways and that was beautiful.

After a while we got AYS, a magnificent gift from jikook that filled our hearts with joy. Unfortunately people still found ways to belittle jikook however they could. But it did not matter so much because all of us knew what it truly meant, how precious those moments were for jikook and their bond. It never stopped us from showing our devotion to these two amazing people.

The last months have been rough, with the whole fandom ganging up to prevent them to win the iheart award, and then the whole mess of the AMA awards.

It's clear now that jikook are the black sheep of the fandom. And having to support them despite the hate can take a toll on mental health, but I'm sure many of you would agree, it's all worth it.

We all share a special bond with Jimin & Jungkook, a bond not many fans have with their idols. We are linked to them as well as each other by our hearts. It's not something hate can break or belittle. This love jikook share and we share all together is a light brighest than the darkest of shadows.

Thank you all for your resilience, your discernement, and for doing what feels right in your soul.

We've come a long way and now that we're there, the moment when we'll see them again it all feels surreal. All the pent up emotions we've been feeling, we'll able to let them all out, and cry and scream and celebrate in unison once again 💜🥹 I'm really grateful to be part of a community of such incredible people that have the same values as I do.

This has been tough - but we made it. All together. Cheers!

On a more personal note, I've been in and out of here for almost all chapter 2, yet I'm very grateful I got to make all the AYS edits, then start writing on this blog, and then make the 10 years of jikook edit. Deciding also to open a patreon was a huge step for me and my creativity.

Overall, good stuff!

I'm happy we got to the other side, still here to support, still relieved jikook were together in there, and ready for the next adventure 🎉

The future is going to be bright, and I can't wait to celebrate with each of you 💜

Starting with the next few days

If I'm incoherent and screaming everywhere don't mind me, I'll truly not hold back even if I make a fool of myself 😂

Thank you for everything and bless you my favorite jikooker family 🥹💜

To a brilliant next chapter 🥂 full of surprises, love, screams, and mutual support 🫂

[sleepingdeath-light]

yandere hcs ; choso kamo

requested by ; anonymous (13/09/24)

fandom(s) ; jujutsu kaisen

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; choso kamo

outline ; “Sweet! In that case, can we see your interpretation of yandere Nanami and Choso? I just love those two✨”

warning(s) ; yandere!choso kamo, potentially ooc!choso kamo guilt tripping, emotional manipulation, stalking, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, mentions of physical violence (not towards reader)

for as long as he’s been a human being, choso has lived for other people — first his younger brothers and then, after they were killed, you as his lover — and, as one might expect from such a dynamic, that has led to him becoming toxically codependent and unhealthily overprotective of you. and while this could have hypothetically been curbed and sorted out if caught early on, by now this paranoia and dependence has spiralled to such an extent that he’s become something of a yandere

a yandere that, while certainly carrying a degree of naïveté towards human behaviours and modern relationship dynamics, isn’t anywhere near as childish or oblivious or innocent as you may be tempted to believe — and who is more than willing to weaponise his perceived incompetence if it means keeping you right by his side as much as possible

he’s extremely emotionally manipulative, sometimes intentionally and sometimes unintentionally. he’ll play up his injuries and exhaustion after a mission to make you abandon any plans you may have in favour of staying home and taking care of him. he’ll guilt trip you for spending too much time with other people, playing up his more pathetic side and insisting that you clearly don’t love him anymore and that you’ve found other people you care about more than him and he knew nobody could love something like him, etc., only stopping when you’ve cancelled your plans and have started doting on him like he wants. he’ll even mess with your alarms and work schedule if he’s desperate enough — manipulating you into calling out sick or at the very least going in late by insisting that you’ve been so absent and tired lately and that clearly you need a break and should let him take care of you…

he’s a remarkably good actor all things considered, really, such a shame that he only ever uses it to your detriment

he follows you around even when he’s agreed to give you space. and that can mean anything from employing his younger brother and his friends to go to the same location as you to do something for him, outright following you around himself and either staying completely out of sight or staging a coincidental run-in because of some mission he was supposedly sent on, or (if he’s unable to do either of those things) just religiously checking your social media, your friends’ accounts that he knows you’re with, and your location sharing app to keep track of your every move — but that’s all completely innocent… he just wants to keep you safe, he knows what it’s like to lose a loved one and not know where they’ve gone so can you really blame him for being so militant about these things?

he keeps every little thing you give him and even goes so far as to take things from your home whenever he stays over just so he has more of you in his space. the things he keeps out on display are pretty mundane — love letters, a plush toy you won him from one of those rigged arcade machines, some rocks he took from the beach you visited on your anniversary, a bunch of pictures of the two of you scattered around various tables and countertops, one of the sweatshirts you left at his place, a pressed flower from the first bouquet he got you, etc. — but if you go searching through the various corners and cabinets of his house you’ll find the more invasive parts of his collection: one of your toothbrushes, a hair comb that you swear vanished into thin air months ago, some of your undergarments, a crap load of pictures of you that you don’t remember him taking, etc.

it’s objectively creepy for him to steal and keep these things, choso is well aware of that, but he just can’t help himself when it comes to you — he’s just obsessed

he’s extremely possessive and quick to jealousy, seeing everyone you’re close to as a threat to your blossoming relationship — and he’s very open about his strong dislike towards those individuals. he’ll insult them to your face, beg you to spend less time with them or even to cut them off entirely, glare at them and keep close to your side whenever the two of you encounter them until they get the message and leave you alone, etc.

so, yeah, really unsubtle but it’s easy to brush it off as harmless or something he’ll overcome as he gets more confident in your relationship — after all, it’s not like he’s hurting anyone… right?

well, he’s certainly not doing it in front of you

nor particularly often, in all honesty. he’s pretty good at keeping his temper in check and it takes a lot to get him to physically lash out at someone, and when he does he’s very intentional about killing them in ways that won’t get him caught and punished by the higher ups (after all, he is a sorcerer now so he can’t get away with as much as he did when he was working under kenjaku)

… so he just claims they were curse users or accidental casualties from fights with special grade curses — and they usually believe him because, well, there have been a lot of those recently so it’s not like anyone can outright refute his claims

and even if you have your doubts he’s excellent at dismissing and downplaying them just enough to make you feel awful and crazy for even daring to think of your sweet ‘innocent’ boyfriend in such a way — because how could someone so kind and affectionate and devoted to you do something so abhorrent? it just doesn’t make sense…

so until you or one of your fellow sorcerers picks up on just how dangerous and obsessive choso’s love for you really is, this cycle of possessiveness and violence and manipulation is just going to keep on happening over and over again — only ending when he gets caught and punished, or when one of you is killed in action

… let’s just hope it ends up being the former, for your sake and for your colleagues’ sakes

[little-one-eyed-monsters]

Top Form Ep. 6 (The Johnny) trended worldwide at no. 9.

I CALLED THAT. The minute last night's episode stopped I absolutely KNEW it would trend.

And what's amazing about it is that I 100% believe that all of those trends were organic. It's because they've been building that momentum since the first episode. Here's why I think so:

-The show has had very little promotion prior to its release (one photoshoot for the posters, no pilot--just a bunch of teasers lifted directly from the trailer, and a presscon attended by media reps and a handful of fans). Japan had better promotion for this show than Thailand itself, with merch bundles for the show and the original manga, and even inviting the stars to interact with the manga's fans. But that's the way it usually goes for many WeTV Originals because they're new to producing original content in Thailand. Since most of their material is outsourced and varied, they find no need to conquer the market and let other producers worry about it instead.

-WeTV gave it a midweek schedule. In Asia, a midweek schedule is reserved for the filler shows-- shows that the producer thinks may not do too well, or they think may be offensive to a general audience. Weekends are reserved for their heavy hitters and crowd pleasers. This is also the reason why many LGBTQ+ shows air on weekdays-- producers are usually gearing for the potential backlash. Granted, Top Form was placed in a primetime slot at 8 pm Thai time, so it does show that WeTV was banking on it doing well for weekday numbers at least.

-Both Smart and Boom have virtually no fandom to speak of prior to this release. Smart has had very few acting roles in his career, and his music is new too--having switched from agency to agency in the course of three years. Boom, the more seasoned of the two, was largely absent from the spotlighlight for the past 4-5 years. Chains of Heart, his main lead role in half a decade, was critically-panned and did not get the numbers the channel was hoping for (but it was good, I promise. The pacing was just completely off).

With a new show like this and having nothing to show for it, the producers must either be banking on the popularity of its source material, or the shock value that comes with having NCs and questionable storylines. That's why they were expecting the honey episode to trend (similar to how the first NC scene in Love in the Air catapulted the show from unknown to runaway hit).

But it didn't. It did for a bit, but not as high as ep 6. Instead, what saved this show is the talent of its leads, and the utter pleasure of having a show with great cinematography, fleshed out character arcs, and a steady pacing (did you know that this was the Director P'Boss' directorial debut? Hire this dude for more shows Thailand, dear God. Give him a Mandee Channel show, fix whatever the heck is going on over there).

This is why the trend is so satisfying. It's just the audience enjoying a show for what it is-- a well-executed piece of media. That's so rare these days. And with this buzz they can ride out the show's popularity until the last episode, which could guarantee us more SmartBoom in the future (thank God).

And Top Form, never be apologetic about your storyline. Fans will either leave, wait to binge, or stay for the long haul-- that's all par for the course in any show. Just stay true to how you think this should go, and I hope you stick the landing.

[ironboyxs]

Night of the Broken Dragons pt.2

honestly I wasn't expecting to write a second part to this story but it was so well received and someone commented that they would like a sequel, so here it is! p.s. I don't know how to write smut properly

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Warnings: Targcest and smut

part1 here

A few days after the night he spent with his uncle in King's Landing, Y/N was back in Dragonstone. He didn't know how to react to the last few days. All he could think about was Aemond and how he could see him again, but he knew that a visit to King's Landing was out of the question.

"Why are you so distracted, brother?" - Jace asked. The family was gathered for dinner

"Just thinking about…"

"About?" - Lucerys asked.

"Nothing, I was just distracted." - The boy said clearly lying, something he was never very good at.

Daemon and Rhaenyra looked at each other, they knew each of their children very well and knew that something was wrong with the boy. He wasn't usually so absent-minded, or miss his appointments as he had been in the last few days. Dinner continued despite the awkwardness, Y/N's siblings chatted while Daemon and Rhaenyra talked about politics, until the doors opened. It was one of the knights who protected the castle, he seemed embarrassed to enter so suddenly into something that should supposedly be familiar. -

"Forgive me, princess' - He said to Rhaenyra "But a raven came for young Prince Y/N and in it a note said it was urgent." - Y/N was surprised, who could be sending him urgent messages at this time of night?

"Let me see" Daemon said.

"Father, it's for me." Y/N had already lost his fear of calling Daemon father, at least in Dragonstone.

"Okay." Daemon rolled his eyes, "Give it to the boy."

The knight approached the prince and handed him the letter.

"Thank you," Y/N thanked him.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll read it in privacy." – He said, leaving the dinner table, leaving the whole family curious.

It was a letter from Aemond, obviously it would be a letter from Aemond, why hadn't he thought of that?

In a secluded corner of the castle, the young prince opened the letter that read:

“Nephew, I need to see you urgently. Please meet me in the Meadows near God’s Eye Lake. Nyke jāhor ao. (I need you).

The letter was short but to the point. Aemond needed him, and Y/N could no longer stand the distance since the last time they were together, when they had shared such great intimacy. The boy headed for the dragon pit.

“Get Aelithys ready. I’m going out.” He said, entering and speaking to the dragon masters. “But, my prince, it’s already late.” One of them said to the boy. “I know, but I need to resolve an urgent matter. I count on your discretion and not go running to tell my father or mother.” The prince looked at the masters seriously.

A few minutes later, the light pink and white dragon was ready to fly. Rhaenyra always said that Aelithys was the perfect dragon for Y/N, both with a delicate yet majestic appearance.

"Aelithys, soves!" – The prince commanded and the dragon flew. The prince's long blond hair, which at this point reached almost to his waist, was not tied up, so he could feel the wind shaking his locks, which made his escape even more exciting.

After a flight of about 20 minutes, he arrived at the place where Aemond had indicated in the letter. Even in the darkness, it was difficult not to notice Vhagar behind the mountain, the dragon was too huge to go unnoticed.

Y/N landed his dragon near Vhagar, knowing that the two could get along well, and went to look for Aemond. He did not have to walk far, because at the top of the nearest hill his uncle was sitting, watching the stars.

"Vēzos, vestās nykē?" (Uncle, did you send for me?)

Aemond was not startled by the boy's sudden presence. He simply stood up and as soon as he could he put his hands on Y/N and pulled him towards him, giving him a kiss. Y/N was surprised but could not deny that he had wanted this for a long time.

"Nyke ūndegon lēda ao, ñuha jorrāelagon." (I have missed you so much, my beloved)

Y/N blushed at Aemond's words.

"I missed you too." - He said, caressing the taller man's cheek. "But what was the urgency? Why did I need to come so quickly?"

Aemond's gaze became saddened, Y/N then realized that his uncle had been crying, something he never thought would happen after they were children.

"Aemond, what happened? - Y/N said with affection and love in his voice.

"Come with me first." - He pulled the younger man by the hand and led him to a small stone house that was on top of the hill.

"What place is this?" - Y/N asked suspiciously.

"I paid the owners of the house to make it comfortable and tidy, and I gave them an inn and enough money so that they wouldn't tell anyone about my stay here."

"You got a house just to find me?" - The younger man smiled.

"I would get a castle if I could" - Aemond looked intensely into his nephew's eyes. "Come in."

They entered a small stone house with rustic walls and a heavy wooden door. Inside, the warmth of the central fireplace enveloped them, with crackling flames illuminating the simple but cozy space. Fur rugs covered the stone floor, and a sturdy wooden table occupied the center, flanked by rough benches. On the wooden shelves, clay utensils and baskets of dried herbs completed the scene. In the corner, a bed covered with woolen blankets and furs promised rest, while the soft light of the candles and the low ceiling with exposed beams made the environment cozy and safe.

"It is a cozy place." - Y/N said to his uncle.

"I am glad you liked it, now please sit down." - Aemond pointed to the soft bed.

Y/N sat up and was eager to hear what his uncle had to tell him. What could be so serious and urgent to make him sad and call for him so urgently?

"My parents have found me a wife." – Aemond got straight to the point.

Upon hearing his beloved's painful confession, Y/N's face contorted in a mixture of sadness and despair. He knew that this moment would probably come one day, for one of them. Y/N's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Y/N felt his chest tighten, and he struggled to catch his breath. His heart, already broken by the impossibility of being together, now suffered an even deeper pain. He lowered his head, trying to hide the pain, and his hands tremble slightly, his mind clouded with the anguish of a future apart and the regret for a love that cannot blossom.

"But I don't want you to worry about that" - Aemond said seeing his nephew's despair and quickly placing his hands over his.

"I knew that one day this would happen Aemond, with me, or with you." - Maegor takes a deep breath - "We could never be together anyway "- The boy's gaze was of pure sadness.

"I refuse to marry any noble girl I've never seen in my life, I refuse to not be with someone other than you. And that's why I called you here." - Aemond gently takes Y/N's chin and makes him look at him "I have a plan."

"A plan?" - Y/N asks curiously.

"Your father has allies in Dorne, right? There we can be whoever we want. If we offer the ruler there the protection of our dragons, they will accept us with open arms."

"And risk a war against the Targaryens? Aemond, are you crazy? Run away?" - Y/N really wanted to believe that they could have a future together, but he didn't know if that was the right way.

"I won't be without you." - Aemond said in a decisive and possessive way. "I won't accept anyone by my side other than you."

Y/N was flattered by his uncle's words, he knew that the passion between them was intense and that it would burn with them as long as they were alive. They just might need a better plan.

"Let me talk to my parents before we try to run away somewhere?" - He said in a calm tone.

"Do you think your parents would accept us?" - Aemond asked skeptically.

"You'd be surprised at what they do for their children's happiness. Your mother can be… Persuaded. And your father, well, sorry to say but, he would do whatever his favorite daughter asked."

"I've gotten used to my father not being present in my life. I can't get used to missing you."

"So, let me talk to my parents and if nothing works, we'll run away, okay? Whether to Dorne or anywhere. I don't want to be away from you either, Aemond." – Y/N said with all the sincerity in his heart.

Aemond slowly approached, his gaze fixed on the other's face, a mixture of desire and passion in his eyes. He raised his hand and gently placed it on the back of his beloved's neck, feeling the warmth of his skin. His lips, initially half-open, approached the other's softly, until their lips finally touched, hesitantly, almost like a silent question. The moment the contact was made, something was awakened, and the kiss, which began timidly, soon intensified.

Their bodies instinctively moved closer, as if they were trying to merge into one. The hand on the back of his neck now squeezed more firmly, bringing him closer, while the other glided over his beloved's chest, feeling the accelerated rhythm of his breathing.

Their lips intertwined with more urgency, and the kiss became deeper, exploring and discovering, as if time had stopped. Their breathing mingled, while their mouths found a rhythmic and passionate dance, their bodies in perfect synchrony, locked in the moment. Aemond lays his nephew on the bed, kissing his neck, not caring if it would leave marks or not. He wants them to know that Y/N Targaryen already has an owner.

"Nyke jaelāt ao." (I want you) – He says with a growl in his nephew's ear.

"Nyke issa aōhon vēzos, jāhor nykē hae aōhon." (I am yours uncle, take me as yours).

Hearing these words come out of Y/N's mouth, Aemond lets out a growl and begins to undress the boy. Slowly taking off piece by piece of the complicated and beautiful clothing he was wearing. When Y/N was finally naked, Aemond looks at him like a dragon looks at its prey, wanting to devour him.

You are the most beautiful human being in all the seven kingdoms and beyond. – Aemond says, caressing the younger man's cheek. Y/N blushes at the compliment and seeks his uncle's mouth, wanting to taste more of the sweet nectar of his kiss. As they kiss, he helps Aemond remove his clothes, now both of them naked, once again in an intimacy that is only theirs, and that they only wanted to have with each other.

"There is some oil in the drawer next to the bed" - Aemond said to his nephew.

Maegor laughs, realizing that his uncle was expecting that to happen.

"Were you already preparing for this?"

"I wasn't going to find you and just give you a kiss" - He says, taking the oil and smearing it on his fingers. - "Relax, it's me, remember that I will always take care of you."

Aemond thrust himself inside Y/N, feeling the boy's warm insides tighten around him.

"Gods, you're still going to be my downfall" - He said, kissing his nephew's neck.

Y/N's breathing was labored, he had only done that once before, and with Aemond himself, but even so, his uncle was very big and his body needed time to adjust.

"May I move?" - Aemond asked gently.

Y/N nodded confirming that he could and Aemond began to move slowly, seeking more pleasure for his nephew than for himself.

"Is that okay?" - He said, still with his face buried in the younger's neck.

"You can go faster" - Y/N said breathlessly.

"Your request is my command, my prince" - Aemond chuckled.

The older man began to move faster, hitting a specific spot that he knew made Y/N roll his eyes. Y/N felt like he was in heaven, he never thought sex could be so good. He grabbed his uncle's hair and pulled him closer for a kiss.

"I won't last long" - Aemond said with a panting breath.

"Inside" - Y/N said.

That was all the older Targaryen needed to hear, he increased his pace which made the younger one roll his eyes in pleasure. The two screamed each other's names as they had their orgasms synchronized.

Aemond collapsed on top of Y/N, tired after sex.

"Nyke jorrāelagon ao." (I love you) - Aemond said.

Y/N's heart warmed when he heard his uncle's confession,

"Nyke jorrāelagon ao tolī" (I love you too).

"We'll work this out, we won't be separated" - Aemond told his nephew.

"No, we won't." - Y/N said kissing the scar on his uncle's eye. Zaldrīzoti jēdari lēda sīr.

Dragons belong together.

[scoobydoodean]

Hi, scoobydoodean! Are you of the opinion that Cas' confession parallels John's private speech to Dean before he went to take Azazel's deal which killed him. Like, they're both deals to save Dean. And they only decided to say things left unsaid about how much they loved Dean and were proud of who he was, right before they knew they were going to die. I don't know if that's a stretch, and if it's not, what does it say about Cas and Dean if it does parallel John? I don't know.

You know—I could have sworn I've mentioned that very thing before, but probably just in passing, because I can't find it in my archive. Cas and John have some interesting parallels, and I don't doubt Dean notices (and occasionally chafes) at their similarities (because their similarities tend to dig into some of Dean's biggest issues with his dad). It isn't just that Cas and John both sacrifice themselves for Dean, giving him a deathbed speech about what a good person he is (one that is touching and heartfelt but still comes with painful consequences for Dean that they don't foresee).

John and Cas have also both been known to do the following:

Ignore phone calls for weeks at a time.

Disappear without anyone knowing where they are for long periods, leaving their loved ones worrying.

Try to handle The Mission alone and ice others out of it to "protect" them.

Die leaving Dean to care for, protect, and then (if necessary) kill their sons—sons who are being pursued by powerful forces who want to manipulate and use them—sons who are not actually children.

Trade out a car for a truck, funnily enough.

John and Cas are also both soldiers, and Cas understands the soldier's mentality: The Mission comes before everything (this is what Sam and Dean ultimately clash with John over at the end of season 1). Cas has admired John's handwriting (8.08), and I think is probably a little interested in John as a model of the failed protector, though he knows Dean considers John a deadbeat (5.17). Cas has his own issues with his own father to contend with, and I think because Chuck is the absent father but not the protector father (except very specifically with Cas in a few early moments—bringing him back to life 2-3 times)... Maybe one could argue that Cas wishes god was more like John—that his absences weren't always for lack of love but were somehow mission-oriented. Chuck bringing Cas back a few times gives Cas hope that maybe his father is out there watching and caring about him and ready to help him despite his absence and silence. Even as late as season 14, Cas goes off alone to find a way to reach out to his father for help with Jack. Perhaps we shouldn't lose sight of the fact that Cas going off alone in search of help from an absent father instead of communicating with his family is part of what leads into Dean and Cas's "divorce arc". Perhaps we should consider more carefully if something underlying Dean and Cas's conflicts is how they perceive their fathers.

Maybe to an extent, quite unconsciously, Cas wants to prove that he can be absent from his family and still love and protect them from a distance... because if Cas can do that successfully, it means maybe god loves him from a distance too? Maybe he thinks it can make sense of Chuck's behavior—bringing Cas back several times but still so silent. It isn't until AU Michael tells Cas that Chuck is a writer looking at failed drafts that Cas starts to catch on—and he doesn't want to catch on, is the thing. He wants to reject Michael's narrative. Having Michael in particular (in Dean's body) tell Cas this also pits Cas and Dean's perspectives on fathers against one another—Cas's hopeful belief vs. Dean's nihilism. When Dean pleads with god on behalf of his family, he does it faithlessly because he already knows you can never count on your father to help you no matter how hard you plead and cry (1.09, 5.14, 13.01).

As for what this means for Dean and Cas? Well—I've said it before and I'll say it again—fandom could stand to calm down about the "implications" of John parallels. It's often treated like some sort of condemnation to be "paralleled" with John, but... it isn't? Sam, Dean, and Cas all have parallels with John at various points, and it doesn't make any of them bad people. It makes them messy and interesting and (for lack of a better word) human. I think Cas and Dean could have some fascinating fights along this subject and I want to see more of them. Sorry but I love it when they fight it entertains me greatly.

[munipe]

helloo!! gosh im actually really new to the fandom and i have been enjoying your fics they're sooo well written!!

what about saiki and reader baking together?

and there's just these little moments where they accidentally brush fingers/hips, caught each other's eyes, or stare at the other a little bit too long that they messed up the batter they were stirring

just those little moments because i loveee the tension haha!! and maybe in the end the big moment would be saiki and the reader enjoying the sweet they made and then the reader casually wipes off a smudge of cream from the corners of saiki's mouth saying that he got something there before licking the cream themself and went right back to eating hahah!! and maybe then would saiki realise the gravity of his growing feelings for the reader

sorry this is so lengthy!! i just like to yap a little bit!!

Thank yoj so much, it’s so motivating to hear that people do enjoy my writing even if it’s something I do free-lanced-ly. 😭💜

My eyelash literally poked my lower lid at the right angle to prick me while I was writing this

Also yes, I did search up a strawberry cake recipe for this

Home ec. was already such a pain. His friends always pestered him; they were never good at baking. In hindsight, just agreeing to them probably would’ve let him avoid what he felt for you a little more—an undeniable ‘tolerance’ for one of the few people he’s accepted as part of his life. Your parents were friends, so clearly you two had to be friends by extension, tradition, if you will. Agreeing to your oh so gracious request to bake with you because your friend was absent, was a grave mistake.

The task was simple—a simple damned strawberry cake with four layers.

1.PREPARE THE CAKE(S)

“Can you pass me the butter milk and separate the egg yolks from the white?” You asked him as you opened and measured out some cake flour on a scale and measuring cup. Once it was measured, you grab another bowl while he hands you the butter milk. Your fingers brush momentarily—barely. You sift the flour in gently. As you do, he separates the yolks.

Truthfully, he doesn’t mind you running the ship. You seemed in your element— baking and murmuring gentle commands, it was almost cute. As you fold the flour in, he finally slips the egg yolks in.

“Mix it for me?” Though it was a statement, you proposed it like a question. He wouldn’t mind. He took the bowl and gently mixed it. He had to be careful, his strength could accidentally whip it too fast and god knows what could happen. As he mixes, you reach for the egg whites in another bowl that was to his right, arm dipping under his. He watches you, carefully. He’d be sure to erase your memory of this if you found out he was watching.

He watches as you whisk the egg whites into peaks, before adding in sugar. He wanted to point out that some of the puffy whites got on the corner of your mouth when you taste tested it after the sugar, but he didn’t—it was oddly endearing.

“Saiki, I think thats enough mixing,” you smile sheepishly at him, glancing at the batter he’s definitely been mixing too long. It wasn’t like it’d mess up the cake completely, but he didn’t want to be that guy in a group project. Wordlessly, he hands the batter over and watches you fold the whites in. For a moment, he finds himself seeing things. He sees you in the kitchen, bowl in hand, maybe a baby to your hip with maybe a dog barking—whatever you wanted. For a moment, he thinks he’s insane.

He is insane when he sees you make eye contact with him. “Something on my mouth?” You murmur. He points to the corner of your mouth. You huff and lick it away quickly before pouring the batter into a lined cake pan. Three more to go. So you both mixed and mixed away before putting the four cake batters into the ovens.

2.PREPARE THE FROSTING AND STRAWBERRIES

He was near death, he thinks. He had been tasked with cutting the strawberries, and sugaring them, while you were making the frosting—buttercream. You mixed it softly as he gently sliced strawberries. Soon, your hands were buttery, and his, full of strawberry juice.

“Opinions?” You offer him some of the buttercream on your finger. He wasn’t sure what to do—how to react. Yes, you two have been friends for years. Yes, you two have gotten comfortable enough to casually offer each other food. Yes, you two have fed each other out of boredom. No, he’s never licked butter cream off your finger.

Tentatively, he tastes the buttercream off of your finger. He tilts his head with thought.

‘Add another drop of vanilla extract’

He still doesn’t think he’ll reveal his powers to you—not yet. You nod and go back to making the butter cream. He stands, staring down at the strawberries. They were sliced, laid on a plate, sugar dusted over them. He looks back to you.

Wordlessly, he holds a strawberry slice to your lips. He watches as you bite down on it and take it in between your lips.

You hum as you chew. “Sweet.”

3.ASSEMBLE THE CAKE

After letting the cakes cool down properly, it was finally time to assemble the monstrosity. You layered the four, short cakes, with a layer of frosting in between. He had been tasked with spinning the cake table while you frosted. He hadn’t realized how close you’d be. He could smell the remaining sugar on you—the sweetness of domesticity. How gentle it was, when you laughed and told him to spin it a little faster. It was possibly the most rewarding moment of this little adventure. The cake was a product of your efforts. As you scrape down the frosting with a spreader, you hum.

He begins to lay the strawberry slices as you pipe dollops of frosting on the edges. Gently, your creation came to be. You huff softly and look up at him in satisfaction. Yet, as he looks back down, he sees your eyes focused on his cheek.

“Y’got somethin’ there, Sai…” You mumble as you smudge some frosting off of his pale skin with your thumb, only to gently lick it off your fingertip. He had thought he heard every nickname he could from his mother, but Sai, was something you made, and it held.

Other than the insane beating of his heart, and the absolute fight of using cryokinesis to cool his body but also not to freeze everything in the room—he was totally fine. He was normal about what you did—most definitely. He wasn’t. He wasn’t sure what he would do with his head. He wasn’t sure on what to do with the idea of you two baking in twenty years time.

He was whipped.

Did you guys see the pun at the end. hahahah

Ik its unrealistic to make a 4 layer cake in a single home ec period—but pretend, okay

[bullet-prooflove]

Check In: Leroy Jethro Gibbs x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @riley-kore @ilovemark1951 @love-affair-with-fandoms @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

Companion piece to:

The Ice Queen - Gibbs meets The Ice Queen for the first time.

Break The Ice - A act of decency helps Gibbs to break the ice.

Umbrella - Gibbs gets more than he bargained for when he offers you his umbrella.

Grave - You and Gibbs bump into each other in an unexpected place.

Safe - You and Gibbs work through your grief in different wa

After the pager message the night before Gibbs makes the point of seeking you out the next day. He tries to be covert about it, pretending he’s picking up some files for Franks but you see through it the instant he steps into your workspace.

“I’m fine Gibbs.” You state as you continue to write down your notes on the clipboard clasped between your hands. The autopsy you’ve recently completed has been tidied away but the instruments are there, glistening in the light, waiting to be cleaned.

His cursory overview of you indicates that you are fine after last night’s activities. There’s no bruises that he can see, no change to your affect. The tension in your shoulders is now absent, your mood improved. He might be concerned about the method in which you defuse your frustration but he can’t refute it.

“I just wanted to make sure.” He tells you, his palm rubbing over the nape of his neck. “You’re one of the few people I’d count as a friend-”

“And it wouldn’t do if I’d ended up murdered by one of the men I’d taken home.” You remark, your gaze flickering up to meet his. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

What he’s come to understand during the time the two of you have spent together is that no one has worried about you for a long time, not since your sister died. Your parents are long gone, killed an accident during medical school and your friends had drifted away after Violet’s death because they didn’t understand your grief, the emotions that come with it.

“But I do.” He tells you, maintaining eye contact. “And that doesn’t stop when I go home at night.”

You look away then, hugging the clipboard to your chest as if it were a barrier between the two of you. You don’t let people get close, you don’t let them care for you. It’s a lonely existence, one that he understands acutely.

“I don’t need that from you.” You tell him.

And he reads the message loud and clear. You don’t need that from anyone. It’s a defensive response because things are changing in your life, the Thursday night catch ups, the walking you home, his concern about your safety, you aren’t used to those things. So you react like this, with cynicism because you’ve been taught that everything comes with an ulterior motive.

“I know you don’t need it.” He tells you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “But it’s kind of a prerequisite when you care about somebody, when you spend time with them, tell them your secrets.”

You don’t know how to process that, he can tell from the way your grip tightens on the clipboard. He understands that he’s being too much right now, that this is overwhelming for you so he retreats because the last thing he wants is to make you feel uncomfortable.

“Look I just wanted to check in on you.” He says quietly. “That’s all and now that I can see you’re ok, I’ll just go about my day, completing paperwork and ignoring the printer.”

He turns towards the door, pausing as he hears his name leave your lips like a sigh.

“Jethro…” You say and he tilts his head towards you with an inquiring look. “Maybe we make that a thing, me paging you after I take someone home.”

He knows that you’re thinking about what happened to your sister. The type of crime, the horror of it. She did everything right and she still ended up brutalised. With your risk taking behaviour, the odds of something similar or worse happening to you increase exponentially. He understands that right now, that’s not something you can stop and he would never ask you to but you can put measures in place, fail safes as it were.

“Call, page, carrier pigeon, whatever it is I don’t care.” He says finally. “Just know if you need me I’m there, anytime, day or night.”

Love Gibbs? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[mokulule]

Untitled DMC fic - part 2

Part 1

Fandom: Devil May Cry No ships, focused mainly on Nero and Vergil, though Dante will eventually show up. Summary: Weakened from his defeat as Nelo Angelo, Vergil has been in the grasp of Agnus and used to create the Angelos. Through a twist of fate he manages to get a broken Yamato early, but he’s not entirely there mentally. Teen Nero has a no good bad horrible day and gets kidnapped for his trouble.

I was super excited to have anyone be interested in part 1 so here is part 2:

Nero felt better upon waking. His head was clearer and his gut didn’t hurt anymore. The fact that he was alive at all, meant the damage probably hadn’t been that bad after all. He was sore from lying on the floor in the same position, pressed against the wall by the back of his kidnapper as he was.

He shifted, then held still, waiting for a reaction: nothing came. Finally, he felt safe enough to try to move. He got himself up and out from behind the kidnapper. Light was streaming in from surprisingly intact windows. It illuminated the tattered cloak but more importantly the angle of the light made a face visible within the shadows of the hood - something Nero had been too busy to really notice when all he’d seen where those cold eyes.

Now the eyes were closed. The human face was all gaunt lines, hollowed cheeks under sharp cheekbones. But there was something familiar in the shape of the nose. Suddenly, Nero had to see properly. Uncaring of whether he would loose a hand to the blade still grasped in their lap, he grabbed the hood and pulled it back.

Silvery half long white hair like Nero’s own was revealed before blue eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. Nero was frozen, even before the cold eyes held him captive. What did this mean? Why the fuck did his kidnapper look like him?

So he was human? Or was he? Possessed maybe?

Evidently, Nero wasn’t that interesting because his gaze fell to watch the broken blade in his lap.

“Hey, what’s your deal?”

No response. Nero sighed, he didn’t know why he kept trying to talk to this person? Shell? His eyes fell on the blade and it was almost like his attention was noticed. A barely there call reaching for him - from a broken sword.

Nero shook his head. Clearly he was going mad.

It was time to see if Nero could escape today. He wasn’t immediately stopped when he walked to the doorway. Not the doorway to the next room either. With luck his mostly catatonic kidnapper had lost interest in him.

Nero was hungry and he found the once kitchen and looked through the cupboards. He found a can of tomato sauce with an expiration date from years before Nero was even born. He grimaced, but it wasn’t bulging - unlike that one tuna can in the corner - and it seemed intact.

It was worth a shot.

He managed to find a can opener and a spoon in one of the drawers. Neither were exactly clean and he wiped them off on his shirt for lack of better. There was of course no water and no electricity, and so no way to heat the soup. And while maybe there was a fireplace somewhere, chances were a chimney would be blocked by a birds nest and Nero wasn’t exactly keen on smoke inhalation on top of his kidnapping.

He opened the can and sniffed the contents critically. It smelled of tomatoes and just a hint of basil. It didn’t seem bad. He dipped in the spoon and took a small taste keeping it in his mouth as he judged the taste in case he needed to spit it out. It was obviously cold, but otherwise seemed okay. Nero shrugged and swallowed, dipping in the spoon again. He was ravenous.

He walked around this place he’d been taken to while he ate, absently taking in what he hadn’t been able to yesterday. This was clearly a home that had once been very rich. It wasn’t just the size, but the decorations too, the details carved on wooden panels and furniture the fire hadn’t managed to completely burn away.

Honestly it was impressive the house still stood. He’d seen houses that had burned down before. Brick enclosures with scorched wooden ribs sticking up as the only surviving parts of the framework. With this amount of damage to the interior in so many rooms it was a wonder the house still had a roof. It didn’t seem like there’d been a particular effort to extinguish the fire either. If there’d been fire fighters here there should be more water damage too, the whole place should be covered in mold. And while it had some of that scent, it was more like a basement scent. In fact if Nero didn’t know better, he’d think the house was fire resistant somehow.

He arrived in the entrance hall, the door was left open after their arrival yesterday, and Nero could see the trail of mud and dry leaves that was the result of him getting dragged here. He turn around taking in the space, with it’s high ceiling and crystal chandelier, imagined what it could have been like with the lights on, casting warm welcoming light out. The couple of armchairs by the fireplace and above the fireplace-

Nero froze. His breath caught in his throat as he stepped closer.

There was a portrait painting. The right side mostly destroyed by fire and something that looked like slashes. There was a smiling blonde woman, and two smaller shapes that had to be children, but that’s not what had Nero’s heart beating too fast in his chest. Even if their faces were gone, the children had white hair. Not blonde like the women. White, like the mostly erased figure on the right, like Nero’s kidnapper, like Nero.

It could not be a coincidence.

There had to be a reason why he was brought here specifically. Why he was the only one who wasn’t killed. Nero’s heart ached with implications he dared not think. His lungs burned and suddenly he gasped for breath he hadn’t taken in too long. Urgently he ran back to the library.

His steps were heavy as he skidded into the room. His kidnapper, his maybe- looked up from the broken blade and watched the winded Nero impassively. Nero pulled out Blue Rose and pointed it right a that impassive face, which didn’t even twitch at the implied threat.

“Who,” Nero panted, “who are you?”

His jaw trembled as no answer but the continued gaze met him. Clenching his teeth he took a step forwards, brought the barrel of his gun that much closer to his forehead, there was maybe a foot of distance and still nothing. Nero sniffled and blinked rapidly a few times, finally lowering his gun. This was pointless. Of course he was no closer to the answers he’d wanted all his life.

Felling like a puppet whose strings had been cut Nero let himself fall down into a crosslegged position. He turned on the safety and shoved Blue Rose into his pocket. He looked down at the half eaten can of tomato soup still in his left hand. He didn’t feel all that hungry anymore.

Looking up again he held it out, the spoon handle clattered against the edge, drawing empty blue eyes.

“Hungry?” Nero asked, uncertain why he even tried.

Oo o oO

Vergil looked at the cylindrical metal container held out to him by the boy. A thin flat almost serrated circular piece of metal was attached at the top and bent to the side at a puzzling angle, whose purpose Vergil couldn’t discern. While it looked sharp enough to cut it seemed an impractical weapon. A long, loose, thin and flat shinier metal piece had rattled inside the cylinder when the boy held it out to him.

He blinked slowly trying to make sense of the child’s action.

There was something inside the cylinder, liquid and red, but not blood - Vergil would have smelled that immediately. On the contrary, this barely smelled of anything. What little he could smell brought an odd feeling in his chest, like a forgotten memory. The specifics escaped him, but it did offer a realization.

Food. The boy was offering him food.

He reached out. The boy’s eyes widened and his breath caught. Vergil could hear his heart rabbit away like prey - kin, but all too human. Carefully, he pushed the cylinder back to the boy. Unlike the boy, whose heritage was still dormant, Vergil did not need that kind of sustenance.

Oo o oO

Nero looked down at the can pushed gently to his chest. There was a desperate hope building that maybe his kidnapper wasn’t as empty of a shell as he appeared. The gesture seemed to mean that Nero should eat the food himself. Of course it could also be a simple “get it out of my face”, but the gentle push towards him felt deliberate, when the can could have just been batted to the side.

Nero swallowed. Alright then. He started eating again, his body reminding he was a growing teen and always hungry.

His kidnapper quickly lost interest in him, looking back to the broken blade in his lap. Nero found himself transfixed by the way the blade reflected even the dim light as he ate. It was almost like he could imagine a calming pulse going back and forth from blade to man.

Nero shook his head to bring himself out of it, there he went again with his fanciful imagination. Like that Sparda statue in Mitis Forest that always seemed to watch him. Or that one staircase leading to the basement in the cathedral that felt like it wanted to eat him.

He wasn’t a small child anymore, he was a knight, yet still he was glad he’d never had cause to go down there.

He focused back on the cold tomato soup and soon the spoon clattered against an empty bottom. He set it down and leaned back on his hands with a sigh. For how terrified he’d been yesterday, he was starting to feel there wasn’t really any point or purpose to his kidnapping. He needed to figure out a way to get home or at least call to let them know he was somewhat alright even if he had no clue where in the world he was. Kyrie would be so worried or worse maybe she thought he was dead!

The thought of Kyrie being sad when he was sitting around doing nothing filled him with urgency. He jumped to his feet, gaining the impassive attention of his kidnapper. He froze, standing absolutely still until those cold empty blue eyes invariably slipped back onto the broken blade.

Nero shuddered. It was so creepy and terrifying. What could possibly have happened to him to make him so- his eyes fell on the blade: broken, like it’s wielder. He shook his head, strangely torn on his course of action. Everything had been simpler yesterday, before that portrait in the hallway. Nero was probably reading too much into it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling-

Enough!

This was not the time for contemplation. Nero needed to find a way back to Kyrie and Credo, had to at least let them know he was alive. He walked back towards the entrance hall. It didn’t matter that if he left he may never see the man again.

It didn’t matter.

He paused with his hand on the doorknob. He could practically feel the gaze of the gentle looking lady in the portrait on his back. With a sigh he turned the knob.

He waited on the other side of the door for something to happen - for him to be dragged inside again like a disobedient puppy - as he took in the overgrown walkway leading straight to an open gate. But nothing happened and he was free to take in the surprisingly well kept and elaborate bricked fence that separated the property from the street. Coming in from the back like they had yesterday from something that was like a forest Nero had not expected to be anywhere near civilization, but here they were, in a town or a city - Nero had no way to judge how big it was.

He had known he wasn’t in Fortuna, but it was one thing to be in some forest and then inside a house another thing entirely to be standing on a well kept street with fancy elaborate black lamp posts alternating between trees at regular intervals. He turned right and started walking along the wall. There were no cars on the street, clearly this was a quiet road and the large houses across the road had parking on their grounds. Aside from the asphalted road this could have been taken out of one of the older richer neighborhoods in Fortuna, there was something similar but different in the architecture, like a common influence - but fuck if Nero knew anything about architecture.

He stretched his arms above himself with a groan. One thing he did know: he was not knocking on any rich people’s door to ask to borrow a phone or figure out where he was. That was asking for trouble.

Which begged another question. Why in the world did that dilapidated house stay like that? Why hadn’t it been torn down? Judging by the age of the tomato soup Nero had eaten it had been like that for at least two maybe even three decades. And yet all these rich people just accepted that in their neighborhood? Something was definitely fishy about that.

Nero had been walking for about ten minutes by his estimate when there was a break in the wall, and he froze. Open gates lead into a courtyard with a fountain in the center and a large impressive building with a domed roof, but that was not what had his attention. Mesmerized he walked forward into a short arched tunnel, towards the well known silhouette. The tunnel ended leaving him in a small round courtyard, there were four water filled basins in the cardinal directions, but most importantly he’d been right: that was a statue of Sparda.

What was a statue of Sparda doing here? Or maybe he really was on Fortuna? No that didn’t make sense. Nero knew every nook and cranny of Fortuna Castle Town from wandering as a kid and later his job and nowhere else on the island could possibly be mistaken for this place.

He looked up at the statue’s familiar metal face. To think he’d find a statue of Sparda here. It was another odd coincidence. And it looked just like the ones back home. Nero crossed his arms and tilted his head, it was a bit strange there seemed to be consensus what he looked like.

He’d gotten the impression it was only Fortuna that took the legend so literally, what with the way their teachers talked about outsiders, but maybe there were more places. Maybe Sparda had actually existed if places so presumably far apart could agree on what he looked like. Still considering Nero had never encountered any demon smarter than the average animal, driven by instinct and hunger, he was not holding out hope for there being any truth in the scriptures.

Speaking of demons, a familiar feeling, not quite scent not quite sound, overcame him and he spun around to find the archway blocked by five darkly robed demons with scythes. Nero took an instinctive step back only to hit the statue.

Savior watch over me, his brain supplied sarcastically.

He pulled out blue rose, painfully aware he had three shots and no more ammo and stuck in a dead end lest he climbed. He didn’t know if he’d be fast enough for that, those demons weren’t familiar to him and he’d rather not turn his back to them.

His best bet might be grabbing one of their own weapons, though Nero did not feel confident he could wield a scythe with proficiency it would be better than nothing, though huh- quickly he aimed blue rose and fired. The shot went right through the two heads that had been aligned in the relatively narrow arched passage. The demons dropped with pained hisses. Maybe Nero actually had a chance if he used his head and shot wisely.

He took a step to the side and took out two more with a single shot. Only one left and one set of bullets. Nero grinned exhilarated and taunted, “is that all you got?”

He should never have done that.

That same feeling as before welled up and he spun around only to have to raise his eyes to see a large robed figure hovering up behind the statue. It made a gesture and black demonic circles activated all around him summoning way too many scythe wielding demons for this small courtyard.

Nero was so dead.

-

This is liable to so much editing before it makes itself to Ao3. I am just feeling out the story beats here. Also fuck Red Grave, what is your geography. The news article in DMC5 says the demon attack happened "in the heart of" the city. A city that looks suspiciously like London. Why is the house still standing if it's in the heart of a city like that?! It's prime real estate. I can only assume Sparda was a real estate tycoon and his estate owns the entire area and there's some serious stipulations about the house not being touched - like he's a very long lived creature he can't have people tear down his shit just because he's not around for a few decades ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Also Sparda's lawyer is probably cuttthroat, in the know, and comes from a family that has been in service of Sparda for generations. There's a fic to be written there of how Dante has dodged the man for years, claiming it's because he thinks it's a scam, but really it's because he cannot stomach touching that money - it's also Vergil's inheritance after all, and well, there's a reason Vergil can't claim it....

Anyways enough rambling, I would love to hear what you thought in the replies or tags! Or hey, please tell me all your headcanons for Red Grave.

It's possible to subscribe to this story at the Masterpost

[milk-is-stable]

The Detective v The Xmas Tree Bandits

Sick Day rewatch requested by @radioroxx I'm sick, and I know by this that point most of you european folks are asleep but I still have a few hours to go before bedtime so I'm still rewatching long forms and providing commentary!

Pre-watch thoughts: This is never one I gravitate towards rewatching for some reason, and I'm not really sure why? So it's been awhile! Let's do this!

Liveblogging:

Sam sure loves his 1940s New York accents

"just..just push me, please." "Oh, where am I pushing you sweetie?" "Out of the scene" the saga of trike-J will forever be remembered.

Donnie and Frankie into the rooooom!

"You and your ho ho ho" "WOAH, WOAH, WOAH!" <- underrated joke right there!

Bunny rabbits hop around like that, I hear.

"Yeah, we'll keep it understand." Luke not passing up an opportunity to point out one of the others' mistakes.

"I would never betray you, Frankie!" <- feel like we were maybe setting up a potential plot thread here that ended up getting dropped? Weird thing to say otherwise.

"I have two sons called Rupert?? Confusing!"

I'M SETTING A TIME PERIOD. yeah we got that from the accent, too

Honestly half of this play feels like Sam trying to convince the other three that his character isn't a piece of shit, and honestly, yeah, everyone's weirdly hard on the guy when he's just trying to save Christmas for the whole city XD

(he has a point about the food though, idk why we don't have more distinct christmas dishes. every family's different of course, but broadly speaking, yeah it's just thanksgiving again one month later. wtf.)

Ring christmas bells, these are the bells, those aren't the words, you are absurd...

This whole scene is just AJ being confused some more and Luke roasting him for it.

Yes, they're brothers! SO much family resemblance. Can't you tell, from their fabulous coats?

"I told you so many times it was over!" "Did you??" <- see this is what I mean XD I feel like everyone is on wildly different pages about how absent Dad is in this equation, which makes each scene more confusing than the last.

"I was at this strip club this morning" "Oh, and I'M the problem!"

If we're committed to the "AJ plays a campy time-traveling character" thing from Ballet on the Battlefield then I think the times square tree lighter should be part of it. What's my justification? Pure Vibes.

Everyone say Thank You Tom for knowing all the numbers, all the spreadsheets, all the admin.....

Sam: Listen this whole play is a trainwreck but we HAVE to save it in time for Christmas. AJ: SAY NO MORE *activates detonator*

The trike coming out on its own is so good

"Let's crawl to the front of the stage so we can be seen!"

"WE CAN'T ALL BE DYING" *starts desperately playing with every single prop on the table*

"It was never about you coming home-" "REALLY???"

and of course, the iconic: "Donnie, do you wanna do your emotional speech now?" "....nah, I'm good" *dies instantly* Well done sir, no one is doing it like you.

And scene! Honestly, I don't know why Donnie and Frankie don't live in my head more rent free, by all accounts they should tick every character box for me, they've got the dynamic duo, they've got the tragic backstory, they've got the iconic look...it feels weird to say they're underrated because obviously the fandom loves them, but for ME, they're an underrated duo, so it was nice to revisit them here!

[cdragons]

Bound by Embroidered Chains - Aemond Targaryen x Seamstress!OC x Jacaerys Velaryon - Chapter Two

Previous Chapter

Summary: Dragons have a habit in hoarding the prettiest of jewels, and pearls are of no exceptions.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ Obsessive Behavior (we all knew this was coming), tiny!Jace is delulu, tiny!Aemond is kind of a jerk in this one, Dark Themes, shit is going down, not betaread we burn like Harrenhal, etc. Also, translations for Valyrian will be added at the bottom! Also, I used an online translator for the High Valyrian, so it may not be great 🫠

Author's Note: I'M BACKKKKKK! I am so sorry for leaving this story alone for so long! I have been getting into other fandoms and making new stories because of those fandoms. But the two new trailers for HOTD season 2 brought me back! I swear I will be better at updating this story! But on the bright side, I made this chapter over 5k word length! I own only the plot and OCs of this story, please do not repost without my permission.

Despite living in the Red Keep for nearly your entire life, you still felt hopelessly lost as you walked down the corridors beside the prince. Like you and Aemond, the sight of you walking side by side with the heir of the Iron Throne’s firstborn son made for an unusual sight for the courtiers of the Royal Family. But this was not the case with the serving staff, which comprised smallfolk. Your mother was a favored companion by Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra. Despite coming from such humble beginnings, Doreah of Essos became a highly regarded member of the serving staff belonging to the House of Targaryen. All the maids respected your mother, while most stewards who served under knights idolized your father. And as your mother’s daughter, they were very used to the vision of one of their humble sewists’ children playing with the Royal children.

As a result, no one so much as batted an eye when they saw you walking down the halls directly beside Prince Jacaerys. It would have made a much more unusual sight if your presence was absent by either his or his uncle’s side. The older staff bowed their heads in respect to the prince while also flashing a small but kind smile at you. The younger serving girls were still too new in the ways of the court and beamed with broad smiles at the sight of you before acknowledging Jace. You grinned back as you inwardly beamed at the knowledge that Head Septa Marlow was with you.

She would have scolded those girls fiercely if she had caught them greeting an apprentice seamstress before the prince.

You turned your head to glance at your childhood friend, who happened to be second in line for the Iron Throne, as you both made your way to his mother’s chambers. Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in the troubled expression on his face. Just a few minutes ago, he was practically bouncing on his feet as the two of you left Aemond alone in the Godswood. But now it felt as if he was a thousand miles away from you despite being so close. Having been by his side since his birth, you always felt a sense of protectiveness toward the young prince. No matter his station, you were a month past your third name-day when he was brought into this world. It was natural that you were perspective to his shifting moods.

“Jace?” you softly called out to him. You were relieved to have brought him out of his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

Jacaerys stopped in the middle of the stone corridor. Staring at you with those large brown eyes, he looked much older than his actual age. When someone as happy and bright as Jace became somber, it was always a reason to worry. Was Rhaenyra all right? Had he been listening to those awful rumors of his true birth?

“Ashi’,” he began, “what were you and Aemond discussing in the Godswoods’ Heart Tree?”

Ah, so that’s what this is about.

You inwardly grimaced as you realized how foolish you were to worry. With Aemond and Jace, it was always something one did to the other. And almost every time, it was up to you to stop their squabbling by being forced into the middle. You were not as blind as everyone in the castle liked to believe you were. You knew that both boys had an unhealthy attachment to you for whatever reason they conjured in their minds. Reasons that were only encouraged by their mothers.

You were still cross when they interrupted you and your mother’s reunion with your father. The matter was really very stupid. Jace had made fun of Aemond for not having a dragon during their family supper with the King. However, Jace only did so because Aemond and Aegon were snickering to themselves about how fat Princess Rhaenyra had grown due to her third pregnancy.

It didn’t make any difference to you, in all honesty. All you remembered from that time was that your time with your beloved father was forcibly cut short. To make matters worse, the two boys’ outbursts startled your mother, and the stress was so terrible that it nearly caused her to faint.

As a result, you decided not to speak to either boy for nearly two weeks. It had grown to the point where Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra practically begged you to forgive their sons—but even a royal command would not budge you. It did not matter how many blueberry tarts or honey cakes they gave for your forgiveness. You made it very clear that you would resolve never to speak to either boy unless they sincerely apologized to your mother for the awful fright they gave her. You finally resumed your friendship with them after your mother asked you herself to forgive them after Aemond gifted her a lovely bouquet of blue and purple hyacinths, and Jace gifted her a basket full of her favorite honey lemon cakes.

“Jace,” you groaned, “you cannot be serious.”

“Ashi’, you’ve been spending so much time with him lately. I feel like I don’t ever get to see you anymore.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked away from him as you sped up your pace to reach their destination. You only made it a few meters from where you were earlier before Jacaerys caught up to you and firmly grasped your wrist to keep you in place.

“I’m serious, Ashi’!” he insisted. “Unless it’s for fittings or when the Maester seeks your help teaching us High Valyrian, I rarely ever see you anymore!” His eyes had a wet sheen in the light, and his lip quivered slightly. “I miss you. Luke misses you. And so does Mother and Father!”

If the pitiful sight was enough to fill you with guilt, his next question nearly broke your heart.

“Do you – do you still consider me your friend?”

“Oh, Jace-” you pulled your younger friend into your arms “- of course I do. I’ve been so busy with my duties and my mother’s health. She and Princess Rhaenys have been so concerned over Lady Laena’s pregnancy and are trying to convince Prince Daemon to travel to Driftmark for the baby’s arrival.”

Jacaerys wrapped his arms around you, eager to feel your warmth. If the gods were kind, time would stop, and he and you would stay like this forever. But he became sad at the mention of his Aunt Laena. He had heard his father recount hundreds of stories of their time together at Driftmark in their youth. Jace knew his father missed his sister terribly, and he was sure she missed him the same.

You noticed your friend’s change in behavior. You looked at him with concerned eyes, and his heart began to race at your care for him.

“Oh, Jace,” you whispered, “have I upset you somehow? I did not mean to!”

Jace frantically shook his head. “No, Ashi’! I just wondered…do you think I’ll ever meet my Aunt Laena?” he softly asked. “Do you think she’ll like me? Can you tell me more about my cousins?”

You rolled your eyes at his request. He had yet to do so despite your advice for Jace to send a raven or two to his cousins. You hadn’t seen the twins for many years, but the three of you wrote to each other so often that it felt like you would recognize them by how they spoke alone.

“I’m sure she and your cousins will adore you, Jace. Baela is excited about her new sibling. She says she’s close to riding Moondancer! Once she gets big enough, she hopes to ride her with Rhaena!”

Jace wondered how you’d react if you knew he didn’t write to his cousins because he was scared they wouldn’t like him. To be honest, he didn’t really care about them at all. He only cared about the way you smiled at him, and only him, when he asked.

“Mother!”

Still seated at her dark-stained ebony-wood desk, Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen scribbled away with her black swan’s feather quill, nearly hidden behind stacks of dusty tomes and piles of scrolls from across the Seven Kingdoms and, despite being heavy with child, remained to be one of the most exquisite beauties across the realm. Hearing her eldest son’s voice, she looked up from her papers and smiled at the two children standing in her chambers' doorway.

“Jace! You made it and brought our little Lady Ashirri with you.”

You looked down at your feet as your cheeks slightly pinkened at the attention brought to you. Princess Rhaenyra was one of your mother’s closest friends and one of the few belonging to the noble houses that approved of your father’s rise in status. But his title was only in name, and so many in the keep look down on him with ill-hidden disdain. And as a result, many in the keep looked down on you with the same contempt and disgust.

The image of Lord Otto Hightower’s cold and judging eyes gazing down at you with arrogance came to mind before you could block it out.

You lifted your skirts and bowed in a deep curtsy in respect for Princess Rhaenyra. “Yes, my princess. Prince Jacaerys told me that you required my assistance with something?”

Princess Rhaenyra warmly smiled and laughed. “Yes. My husband seems at a crossroads in deciding which fabrics best suit his sister. Although, as you can see, he is being unnecessarily picky about it all.”

Her husband, Prince Consort Laenor of House Velaryon, stood beside your mother with his arms spread wide apart. On each arm were textiles of luxurious materials and superb stitching patterns. His close friend and confidant, Ser Qarl Correy, stood close behind him. The crown princess spoke truthfully as the entire room was filled with dozens of fabric bolts, from brilliant orange-marigold Dornish satin to iridescent light-azure Yi Tish silk. Your eyes were filled with excitement and wonder at the magnificent sight. You raced to touch the imported textiles.

“Is this silk truly from Yi Ti?” you softly whispered while carefully stroking the surface with one finger. “It looks almost too pretty to be real. This color would beautifully complement Lady Laena’s complexion and silver curls.”

Your mother and Prince Laenor smiled in agreement. It was softer than anything you’ve ever touched. Yi Tish silk was famous for its textile quality. One bolt was worth double your mother’s monthly wage at the Red Keep. The color alone was mastery at its finest. You knew from personal experience that blue was an incredibly tricky dye to handle. Although it was a primary color, it was rare in nature. You had to devote hours, if not days, to find the correct materials to yield the desired tone and shade properly. But that work is useless if the dye ends up damaging the fabric. Dark blue was one matter – it was still stunning, and many nobles would pay a hefty amount of coin for it. But to own such beauty, you wouldn’t dare imagine the price for a few yards, let alone an entire bolt.

“Fine eye as always, little lady,” Laenor jovially laughed. “Yes, I’m sure at least one of these fabrics will make a suitable dress for my sister before she gifts me another niece or nephew. I’m afraid your mother is very cross with me at the moment. Any delay in choosing the fabric will result in her being unable to finish the dress before the baby is born.”

“Lady Laena will need it to be loose and not so tight around her waist,” you spoke matter-of-factly. “Muña says that most pregnant women have rashes and inflammations after giving birth, so the dress must be made of a fabric that won’t cause irritation. Let’s see…excuse me for a moment?”

 You took out the small leather-bound journal Kepa gave you as a gift from one of his many voyages with Lord Corlys that you kept in your dress pocket, along with a small stick of charcoal. You drew out the image as quickly as possible whenever inspiration struck, regardless of the time or place. It was a habit that could lead to horrible misunderstandings, but being scolded and berated mattered little to you if it meant you could train yourself to be half as talented a seamstress as your mother.

After flipping past all your previous ideas, you finally spotted a blank page. Racing to your mother’s side for help, you excitedly shoved the journal in her face.

You thought aloud and drew out the concept simultaneously. “I think it should be blue. Even if Lady Laena married Prince Daemon, she is still a Velaryon by birth! Maybe if we chose a material that looks like water, it would make her feel closer to Driftmark and Lady Rhaenys!”

Doreah beamed from ear to ear as she crouched down and took you in a tight embrace. It filled her with such joy to know her daughter had developed such a tender and compassionate heart. You were a deeply empathetic girl who always considered the needs of others before your own. Her little pearl had a heart of gold that shone through the darkest storms. She planted a loud kiss on your cheek before letting you go.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea, my little pearl,” her eyes twinkled as she cupped your cheeks. “I have just the fabric in mind for it.”

Lady Doreah Pyke pulled out a large bolt of shimmering azure blue silk velvet. The rippled pattern and texture matched the transcendent and melancholy shores that surrounded High Tide. You gasped in delight at the sight of it. It was exactly the color you imagined! You gently caressed the hand-pleated panels, expecting it to feel crinkly and cheap despite its luster. But the fabric sheen and its soft, velvety texture made you want to wrap yourself with it like a warm blanket.

Your mother thoughtfully inspected the fabric. “Yes, this will be perfect. However, I think instead of a dress, it may be better to be used as a cloak. If the result is as beautiful as my little pearl envisions it to be, it would be a shame to be a dress for one lady. If it is a cloak, it can be passed down from mother to daughter.”

“An heirloom cloak…” you murmured in excitement. Your mother was a genius. “It sounds so romantic…the waves should be hand-painted and glass beads strung and stitched into the fabric. Oh, Lady Laena will look like a sea goddess! Would she like it enough to pass it down to Ladies Baela or Rhaena?”

Doreah chuckled at your delight and booped your nose. “She will love it, my darling – especially because you will be helping me make it.”

“A wonderful idea!” exclaimed Laenor. “Who better than our lovely Doreah and her little pearl to complete the task?”

“Really?” you gasped. To work beside your mother on such a prestigious project…was like a dream too good to be true. “Mother, do you…do you truly think I am ready?”

Jace jumped to his friend’s side to hug her. “Ashirri! This is wonderful! You and Lady Pyke will make the most beautiful cloak in the Seven Kingdoms - I know it!”

Rhaenyra and Laenor glanced knowingly at their son’s support for his dearest childhood companion. Everyone in the Red Keep knew of Jacaerys Velaryon's infatuation with Ashirri Pyke. If only the gods had allowed their stations to be so different. It seemed cruel to let two young souls meet and grow beside one another without the hope or possibility of love being borne.

You beamed at Jace with a brilliant smile that shone with so much radiance that looking at you felt nothing less than sin. You took his hand in yours as you squeezed his hand in silent thanks and appreciation for his words. In the young prince’s eyes, you were more heavenly than the Maiden herself. He hopes to be seen as strong as the Warrior in yours one day.

“Kirimvose, jorrāelagon raqiros,” you said in your mother’s native tongue, softly stroking your thumb on his skin as a rosy hue bloomed on Jace’s cheeks. “Muña, īlon līs jiōragon naejot mirre rȳ istin! Nyke jāhor sagon going ēlī!”

You were about to leave before stopping and tracing back your steps to bow to Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Laenor quickly. Your cheeks were bright red from embarrassment from forgetting such basic etiquette.

“My princess, my prince, forgive me for not remembering to thank you for granting me this opportunity and forgetting to leave before you dismissed me. I was too caught up in my excitement. But, I swear that I will not let you down.”

The adults in the room shared amused expressions at your excitement. Ashirri Pyke’s transparent honesty and sweet nature were so refreshing to not only the Targaryen Princess and her prince consort husband but also the entire Royal Family. She was the perfect combination of her parents’ personalities. From Hotho, you adopted your father’s unwavering honesty and sense of justice. From Doreah, you were your mother’s copy in sweetness and purity. You were a highborn noble in all but birth and title.

Rhaenyra waved off your apology and nodded. “No need for apologies, little pearl. Run along. There is work that needs to be done, and your mother and I still have things to discuss between old friends.”

You pouted to hear that your mother would not be joining you. After all, this was a very important job, and you had hoped this would provide an opportunity to learn more of your mother’s secrets in her trade. But who were you to refuse a princess’ orders? You bowed once more before waving goodbye to Jace and everyone in the room before racing to your chambers. The disappointment you felt moments before was washed away by the jittering and buzz of your creativity rushing through your mind.

The waves would have to be hand-painted – that goes without saying. But should you paint silver instead of ivory for the sea foam? And did you have a steady enough hand to replicate each pattern perfectly? You were going to need a template to trace it.

You were going to need dozens if not hundreds, of beads ranging from violet to turquoise to teal. Were there any artisans in Kings Landing that could make such a large quantity? Were there any skilled enough to ensure the glass and crystals would yield such clarity and durability? You may need to ask Kepa if he made any glassmaker friends from Essos or the Free Cities.

Could you dip into your personal collection of sea crystals and pearls? Mother would be cross with you, but it would look so splendid against the fabric!

While racing down the many halls and past the flurry of chambermaids and squires, you came across Aemond. His trademark frown on his freckled face quickly turned to a kind smile.

“Ashirri! Mother wants to–”

But you did not have time to stop and quickly ran past him. You interrupted him with an apology.

“Usōven, Aemond! Yn issa muña se Dārilaros Laenor teptan mirros hen rōvēgrie import! Nyke emagon naejot jiōragon naejot mirre paktot qrīdrughagon!”

Aemond owlishly blinked before realizing you had spoken to him in High Valyrian. He took a few moments to mentally translate what you said before calling out your name and asking you to explain.

“Umbagon! Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma?”

But when he turned, you were nowhere in sight, and he was left alone in the middle of the stone corridor. His shoulders slumped in deep disappointment at seeing you running away from him. But he supposed that such a slight could be forgiven since you were his loveliest and dearest friend. On the plus side, he was gifted with the sight of how the sunshine rays peering through the windows darted your glossy locks and wrapped you in a warm halo that brought out even more of your natural charm and prettiness.

As soon as you reached your room, you shut the door and grabbed every colored charcoal stick you’ve been gifted since you began learning your letters. Grabbing your big sketchbook, you immediately began jotting down your vision. By the time your mother joined you, your entire floor was covered with pages filled with a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, violets, and silver. Doreah was ecstatic of the display of your budding talent and took you in her arms for a tight hug.

The next few weeks were the most thrilling of your young life. You would spend hours on end with your mother, going over and debating which colors would match the tone of the cloak. Your mother found out about your idea to incorporate your pearls in the stitching, and she gave you a lecture that put all her past scoldings to shame. Eventually, you relented. In truth, you were a tad reluctant to part with your pearls. Each pearl was a gift from your beloved kepa for each country he visited. He said it was his way of giving you a tiny part of the world to his little pearl.

Because you were so busy trimming and stitching, you barely had time to read with Aemond under the Heart Tree in the Godswood or watch Jace practice his sword fighting with Ser Harwin Strong. You and your mother could only be removed from the cloak when either Queen Alicent or Princess Rhaenyra ordered your presence. They often expressed their woes at your decreased presence in court. As a result, your mother would take small breaks to share tea with Queen Alicent to discuss your progress as a seamstress, or she would get called by Princess Rhaenyra to her chambers so that they may speak their most private thoughts and troubles in High Valyrian.

You would often escape their orders by spending time with Princess Helaena. She would sneak into your workspace to bring her own embroidery and ask for your guidance with the more intricate patterns. While most of the court found the second princess a bit…odd – you took to her presence like green to pink. The two of you greatly differed in personality, but that made your friendship with her all the more special. You always made sure to treat her with kind words and common courtesy.

The most rude you had been to her was when she showed you a massive spider in her hands, and you loudly shrieked before crawling under your bed as a reflex. It took a few minutes before you could rejoin her. When she asked if you liked to hold Gerald the Spider, you took your father’s thickest riding gloves before you went near the beast.

You only held Gerald in your palms a few moments before you cried and begged Helaena to remove him from your person. But despite the terrors you got from Gerald the Spider that night, it was worth it if Helaena could smile as happily as she had when you agreed. She was so pleased that she didn’t correct you when you called her by the nickname you made for her, ‘Hel.’ In fact, you were almost certain that the nickname made her happier than you holding the spider.

But despite the peace these past few weeks have brought you and your family, such joy was not granted to the rest of your friends. Trouble was brewing in the Red Keep for House Targaryen – a fact you were unaware of until much later. You were returning from the rookery after being notified of receiving a letter from Baela. She was so excited about the arrival of her new sibling. You were reading the letter until you heard soft cries in the library. Searching for the source, you were shocked to find Aemond crying in a secluded section of the Royal Library. Distressed at your friend’s tears, you immediately knelt and hugged him close to you.

Clinging to your arms like you were his anchor, you could only make out the words: ‘pig’ and ‘dread.’ When you voiced your confusion, Aemond explained once more.

“They gave me a pig!” he barked, wiping away the angry tears from his violet eyes. “They said they found a dragon for me, and it was a pig! The ‘Pink Dread’ they called it!”

You lowered his head to the crook of your shoulder. “Aemond, who’s ‘they’?” you softly asked.

“Aegon! Who else?” he exclaimed. Your simple linen frock muffled his yells. “My sister’s bastards were there, too!”

Your blood chilled. He couldn’t mean…Jace wasn’t…

“Aemond, you can’t say such things,” you warned. “It’s considered treason by your father’s laws.”

But Aemond wasn’t listening. “I hate those bastards. They shouldn’t carry the Targaryen name. Their last name should be ‘Waters.’ It’s the name that bastards born in the Crownlands carry. Northern bastards are called ‘Snow,’ ‘Sand’ for Dorne, ‘Flowers’ for the Reach–”

“‘Pyke’ for the Iron Islands,” you snapped and let him go. “Am I a bastard, Aemond? Am I what you hate? Do you hate my father?”

Aemond was shocked at your venomous tone. When he realized what he had done, he quickly tried to make amends.

He shook his head. “My pearl…no, no, no,” he said. “You aren’t a bastard. I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about–”

You clenched your fists and stood on your feet. “I know who you were talking about! That does not make it right!”

Aemond was getting angry. Why weren’t you taking his side? Had his whore of a sister already poisoned you against him? Had Jace already dirtied you with his filthy, bastard blood? He stood up and stared you down with fury in those beautiful violet eyes that you once so adored. But all you saw was his grandfather.

“Your father is a bastard,” he stated matter-of-factly. “He was a bastard from the Iron Islands that Lord Greyjoy didn’t want! He wasn’t worthy of his noble father’s house name, so he is named ‘Pyke’!”

You shook your head. “There is more to family than names and blood. I am neither a Targaryen nor a Velaryon. I do not carry a speck of your noble house’s blood, but I consider you and Jace my dearest friends! To me, you are my brothers! You and him are my family because I love you, not because of blood! Does that count for anything?”

“I never thought of you as a sister,” he spat out. “Not once did I consider you family.”

Devastation overwhelms your broken heart as tears flood your and Aemond’s eyes. He reaches out to hold your hand, but you step back. Once more, he tries to keep you closer to him, but you turn around and run to the door. When you reach it, he calls out your name and begs you to let him explain. Once more, you turn to face him to see he has not moved an inch. You feel so small and insignificant underneath the massive stone framework, but you summoned the sea of hurt and rage crashing inside your heart.

“I used to wonder how a horrible and mean-spirited man like Otto Hightower could be the grandsire of such a sweet boy,” your voice trembled, but you continued to steel yourself. “I thought…you were smart enough not to listen to such horrible things. I thought you were my friend. But I was wrong. I was so horribly wrong. What your brother, Jace, and Luke had done to you was cruel and unfair. But Aemond…what you had become…I-I don’t even recognize you anymore.”

With that being the final word, you raced to your mother’s chambers. You cried into her skirts and told her what happened – of the Pink Dread, Aemond’s cruel transformation, and the ruin of your friendship with him. You sobbed out your wish to leave the Red Keep and never return.

Doreah Pyke immediately thought of what Princess Rhaenyra had informed her in the afternoon. ‘Nyra told her that she would be moving her family to Dragonstone. Each day since her failed attempt to match Jace with Helaena, the Red Keep feels less safe and more hostile to her and her children. Since Harwin assaulted Ser Cole, tensions between the princess and the queen have reached an all-time high.

“Come with me,” her princess begged Doreah. “Come with my family to Dragonstone.”

“Oh, ‘Nyra,” whispered Doreah, “I don’t know. Dragonstone is so far from King’s Landing. And Ali would never–”

“Alicent is becoming more like her father each day,” Rhaenyra interjected. “She wants to put her son on my father’s throne – both she and her father are conspiring against me.”

Rhaenyra clasped Doreah’s hands in her own. “I know you want to believe she is the same girl from our youth. But Otto Hightower has sunk his poisoned claws in her and will stop at nothing to crown Aegon when my father passes. I need people I can trust by my side. People like you, my sweet Dory, and your husband.”

“…But Ashirri, my pearl,” sighed Doreah. “She will be so devastated. She grew up running in these halls, playing in the Godswoods, exploring this castle’s corners and shadows. This is her home.”

“Your daughter will flourish wherever she goes,” insists Rhaenyra. “She will never be alone – not with Jace, Luke, and Joffery by her side. And forgive me for what I am about to say, my friend, but…King’s Landing no longer agrees with you as it used to.”

Doreah sighed and gazed out the window with slumped shoulders. What her princess said was true but hard to hear. As she grew older, she found the air and noise outside the Red Keep more sour and rancid. It made her miss the clean and fresh sea breeze in Essos. Rhaenyra was not the only one who had noticed Doreah’s melancholy. Hotho, her beloved Iron Knight, has remained in King’s Landing after learning of her despondence. Her husband implores her to care more for her health – if not for herself, but their daughter.

Doreah waved off their concerns, but perhaps…they had a point. Stroking your hair to calm you down, your mother asked if you would be open to the possibility of moving to Dragonstone. She reassured you that she and your father would be there with you and that you would still be around Jace, Luke, and Joffery if you ever felt lonely.

You agreed before she finished and immediately started packing. By the end of the month, you had not spoken another word to Aemond and left with Princess Rhaenyra and her family to Dragonstone. You did not look back. You wanted to leave King’s Landing and Aemond as soon as possible. You wanted to leave this wretched castle and have peace once more.

While others stared at the obsidian castle with trepidation, you felt hope. Unpacking your things from your trunk and knapsack, you were determined to leave behind all the political headaches and focus solely on stitching with your mother and sailing with your father.

If only life could be that simple.

Translations:

Muña - mother

Kepa - father

Kirimvose, jorrāelagon raqiros…Muña, īlon līs jiōragon naejot mirre rȳ istin! Nyke jāhor sagon going ēlī – “Thank you, dear friend…Mother, we must get to work at once! I will bet going first!”

Usōven, Aemond! Yn issa muña se Dārilaros Laenor teptan mirros hen rōvēgrie importance! Nyke emagon naejot jiōragon naejot mirre paktot qrīdrughagon! – “I am sorry, Aemond. But my mother and Prince Laenor gave me something of great importance! I have to get to work right away!”

Umbagon! Skoros gaomagon ao nūmāzma?” – “Wait! What do you mean?”

Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @valeskafics, @faesspace, @aphroditesmoon, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @nellychick, @asa-do-your-thing, @arcielee, @bellamys-girl1, @immyowndefender, @xxlovingfandomsxx, @elinedjarin, @meg-egg-blog, @marvelescape, @mandiiblanche, @lokiofasgard12, @boxedpandas, @anewpersonthatexists, @toodlesxcuddles, @mckiquinn, @cvspians, @aemondslove, @bogbutteronmycroissant, @lady-ashfade , @axelsagewrites

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[my-soul-sings]

if we had never met: ch 1 - page one

Fandom: Love and Deepspace Characters: Sylus/Reader

Summary: "How would we have met, if I hadn’t made my way into the N109 Zone back then?”

In which you regale Sylus with stories of how you might have met in alternate worlds, across different timelines.

Because no matter the setting, and no matter the paths that you choose, you can only envision it ending the same way: with him, and only him.

ch 1 | ch 2 (coming soon) 

A/N: This may or may not have been inspired by my compulsion to write the first chapter and nothing else of a new story. I've also just been itching to explore different AUs without the commitment of a new multi-chapter story for each one... 😂

Anyway I already have some AUs planned but if you have anything you'd like me to consider writing for this series, feel free to leave it in an ask.

Hope you enjoy! :)

*See replies to this post for the AO3 link.

+++++++++++++

You’re not sure when it first began; when the thought first wormed its way into your head and settled in there, hatching eggs and scattering its progeny all over your mind. 

Sylus isn’t sure either, but he picks it up quickly enough, the way he does whenever any sort of troubling emotion shows on your face. 

“You’re thinking again, kitten.”

You hum absently, flipping a page in the book that you’re not actually reading. Your eyes are skimming the words, but none of their meanings are actually sinking in. Beneath your weight, your chair shifts into a slightly more comfortable position, its arms snaking around your waist while you feel its mouth rest against the curve of your shoulder. 

A yelp leaves you when you feel a sharp nip in your flesh, startling up and jerking your neck around to glare at your “chair”. 

Sylus grins back at you, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes now that he’s finally gotten your full attention. Of course, he doesn’t let you go when you try to leap off his lap, keeping you trapped in his warmth. 

“You’ve been preoccupied lately. Is it because of work?”

“It’s not that,” you tell him, rubbing at the sore teeth marks on your shoulder. “Nothing bad, if that’s what’s worrying you.” 

“I’m curious,” he corrects, raising one hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re usually more present when you’re here.” Then he points to the book, a smirk curling his lips. “And this has been upside-down for the past twenty minutes.”

Shit, he’s right. Your fingers scramble to change its orientation, but keep your face straight and smooth. 

“It’s actually a skill I’ve been meaning to pick up for a while.”

His brows arch skeptically. “Reading backwards too?”

The book shuts like a clam, and so does your stupid mouth. It simply proves the smug man’s point — that your head’s been elsewhere for quite a while now.

When you glance over at him, you see Sylus giving you an expectant stare, and you hold eye contact with him defiantly. But as these staring contests usually go, you lose your nerve first and look away as a long, defeated sigh blows past your lips.

“You’re going to laugh at me,” you say lamely.

He chuckles, warm breath ghosting against your temple. “You know me. I love a good joke.” 

A fist lands squarely in his bicep. It hurts your knuckles more than it hurts him, probably. The man appears to have been built of steel. “You’re not allowed to laugh,” you snap, the stinging from your hand adding to your mild irritation. “Otherwise I’m not telling you a word.”

“I think I can manage that,” he replies confidently, even though his eyes are already full of mirth. “Go on, then.” 

Restlessly, you fiddle with the bent corner of the cover page, refusing to maintain eye contact with him as you open up. 

“It’s nothing serious. I’ve just been thinking… you know… how we would have met if I hadn’t made my way into the N109 Zone back then.”

“You mean the time you hunted me down for revenge?”  

You can’t help the wince that leaves you when that awful memory of sticking a gun at his head and shooting him in the chest surfaces in your mind again. Sylus seems to sense this, and immediately stops his teasing, instead choosing to gently ask, “That was a long time ago. Why are you bringing that up now?” 

“It’s just… funny, you know? Not ha-ha funny, but, I don’t know, weird when I think about it. Like how life could turn out so differently if I never chose to become a Hunter, if all that didn’t happen to my family, or if you didn’t get there in time before that guy shot me. Lots of things could have been different. And then,” you gesture generally to the lack of space between you, “maybe we wouldn’t be here.” 

“We would have made it here one way or another,” Sylus assures you, taking your restless hand in his and squeezing it. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

There’s a gleam in his eyes, like a crow fixated on its most prized jewel. “I have many ways of getting what I want.”

“The way you said that was so romantic and not at all like a serial killer.” 

Sylus barks out a laugh at your deadpan tone. “Yes, perhaps in another world, I’m a serial killer who tracks you down and makes you fall in love with me. And that’s how you end up one day using me as a chair while you pretend to read a book and have this conversation about all the other ways we might have met.” 

“You’d make a great storyteller,” you tell him sincerely. “Although, that wasn’t one of the scenarios I had in mind.” 

He blinks twice as he registers your words. “You had… scenarios in mind?” 

You slap your hand over his mouth before he can break into a grin, or worse, laugh. “You promised,” you remind him, to which he nods, keeping his lips pressed together when you finally peel your fingers off his face. 

“So, these scenarios… were those what you daydreaming about while I was here, in the flesh, next to you?” 

“Well… it doesn’t sound so nice when you put it that way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...Yes.”

“Okay then, tell me about them. These scenarios.” He drawls out the word like it’s an interesting new toy. 

You perk up, excitement pulling taut in your abdomen. “You really want to hear about them?” 

“Why not? If you’re going to be daydreaming while I’m here, might as well let me in on the fun.” 

“Only if you say please.” 

His lips stretch into the handsome, charming smile you know and love so much. It has you mentally kicking your feet like a schoolgirl, heart swelling up like a hot-air balloon.  

“Please,” he indulges, ever patient with your demands. 

“Okay, if you insist.” Content, you clear your throat after a light, giddy laugh. 

And with that, you turn the cover open.

[princess-charlie-of-hell]

honestly the show should have gotten charlie to put her foot down and tell her dad that he can't permanently stay in the hotel because 1. He's literally the king of hell, any potential residents might be scared shitless of his presence and drive them away, 2. Again, he's the king of Hell, he has a job to do, running Hell, that he didn't do correctly cause he's been stuck making rubber duckies. I know he's in a state of depression due to Lilith's absence and it's reasonable that he's not in the right place but it's not an excuse to ignore his duty to fuck around the hotel and make his daughter, who he neglected for a long time, uncomfortable. He's a grown adult, I'm not gonna baby him because of his condition (unlike the majority of the fandom cuz he's their poor sad uwu baby 😒) and neither should Charlie. Forgiveness doesn't happen overnight, if Lucifer wants to do right for Charlie, then he should get off his sorry ass, take responsibility by being an actual king and help Charlie in any way he can while giving her the space she needs.

Hardly agree, I don't think that Lucifer living in the there is neither good for the hotel or his relationship with Charlie

Like you already he said he could scare potentially residents away and I think people there could be uncomfortable with having the literally highest ranked person living there, like image being an ordinary person and the king of England is living in the same hotel as you

Also Lucifer and Charlie barely had contact for 7 years and then suddenly living together again? Like the hotel is huge but it is still a huge change living in the same building as your parents. I have a good relationship with my parents and still live home with them but i image after not living together with them for years and then suddenly moving back together would definitely cause some problems

Was there even a conversation between them where the two talked about how it would be when Lucifer lives there or did he decided it by himself to move there and didn't even ask her? We didn't saw anything in the show, so i could image both happening

How he handled his duties in the 7 years is something i ask myself, I don't image that he took care of them in himself so did he told someone to do it for him? We see in Helluva boss that Satan took practically over as the boss in court but i don't think he took any other Tasks from Lucifer at least nothing we know about. And we know that Satan uses his absent to tell lies, like that he ruled before Lucifer so that kind of backfired

Like the other sins probably rule their specific rings themselves without Lucifer, i can also image that before Liliths disappearances she ruled over pride ring with Lucifer and took care of the sinners there as we see that Lucifer didn't really seem to care about them

I personally believe that the ars goetias and Overlords also have a huge influence in pride. I personally headcanon that Paimon took over many of Lucifer's tasks as in the mythology he was describing as his most loyal servant (off topic but why isn't there more fanart of Paimon x Lucifers this is the real old man yaoi and not RA) and is the only "King" from the goetias we see in hellaverse

That with babying of Lucifer is something i agree especially that in my opinion Charlie forgave him too fast but that probably was because of the fast pacing of the show. But i don't really want to criticized him too much because of his depressions because i am not an expert in it and don't want to say anything wrong. One thing which annoys me is just when people use the excuse that he is too hurt because of Lilith disappearance and there for completely blameless for his bad relationship with Charlie and blame anything on her and ignore the fact that She was Charlie's mother and Charlie is hurt too

But in the end i don't think that it is going to be a problem in the show, simple because the writers won't probably make it one. Like i think they want Lucifer too bad to be part of the main cast and will ignore the theoretically problems which he could bring with him. Why focusing on the female characters of the main cast who didn't had much spotlight in the first season, just let us add a new male one who will steal the spotlight from them anyway especially his daughter, remember Charlie? The actually protagonist of the show!

Like we will have 3 woman in the main cast (Charlie, Vaggie and Nifty) and 6 men (Alastor, Angel dust, Husk, Lucifer Baxter and Sir pentious). It are double so many man than women there. At least i think it was said that Baxter probably will take over Sir pentious place in the hotel and that pentious background how he ended up in hell will be showed. Remember when people said that helluva boss is a male lead show and Hazbin hotel a female lead one?

[asha-mage]

Assimilation; Tigraine Mantear

[Send me a fandom, character, or pairing and a one word prompt and I'll write a quick drabble for you! Still taking these by the way!]

From where she crouched on the bank of the River Erinin, Shaiel gazed out at the Andoran shore and tried to recall being Tigraine Mantear.

It was a cold morning, and she had wrapped herself tightly in the coat of her cadin’sor, her veil raised as much to keep a chill from his cheeks as to be ready to kill. First light was just beginning to break, turning the Erinin from black to a pale glassy blue and illuminating the small town on the opposite side.

Walls that had been indistinct shapes an hour before loomed now, solid and two stories high. There wasn’t enough light yet for Shaiel to make out the banners that waved above some of the squared watchtowers- but she knew it would be the white lion on red, followed by the sigil of whichever house claimed the town as its own. That was the custom, this side of the Dragonwall.

She wondered absently who had ultimately prevailed in the Succession and if they were the ones holding this town. There had been a Succession- she had learned that much since crossing the Dragonwall, though she did not know the details. She had not tried too hard to learn them. She had told herself that it was because she didn’t want to know how many had died for her choices. But maybe that had just been an excuse.

She hoped Galad was well. She hoped for that desperately. But she knew it was not likely. Not the way Taringail had been raised to play the game. And he would have been in the thick of it- Taringail would as soon give up on breathing as give up on his hopes of power. She longed to see him on the battlefield almost as much as she feared seeing Galad.

But if either her former husband or her son were fighting, it would not be in this town on the border- where no one expected the Aiel to strike.

Do you know its name? Janduin had asked her in the small hours two days ago, when Waterseekers had returned with reports of the river, and the town beyond. He had waited until they were alone, so as not to put her in an uncomfortable position before her spear-sisters, something she was thankful for.

Shaiel had not. Tigraine Mantear would have. Tigraine had known the name of every town in Andor large enough to have tower walls, especially those on the border with Cairhien or Murandy. But Shaiel had needed to forget so much of being Tigraine Mantear- not because she had wanted to, but to make room for all the things that came with being Shaiel. Hand signs and spear work techniques and which plants indicated water and how to treat a garra bite and- the list went on and on.

Was there really a time when I thought I would never fit my new life? She wondered, running a finger along the edge of her spear. She could remember those doubts and fears- at first that she would be too brittle, too rigid in herself to become Far Dareis Mai. Then that she would be too soft and weak, that she would never measure up to even girl children with skirts above their knees, never mind her teachers and spear sisters.

And now…

“You don’t have to do this, sister.”

Shaiel blinked and looked up. Sulin had moved out of the brush to crouch beside her. All along the river bank were two scores of other Far Dareis Mai and another of score spears from other warrior societies. Tigraine would never have known the signs- no wetlander noble girl could hope to spot an Aiel that did not wish to be spotted- but Shaiel could see the faint shadows, the careful rustling of leaves and brush, spot the occasional flash of cadin’sor shifting, that told her the truth.

Sulin had been one of Shaiel’s most faithful teachers. She was Goshien, not Taradad- but in Chumai for her brother’s wedding when Shaiel had arrived there. Sulin had insisted on being among those to oversee Shaiel’s training. All Maidens had pride in being Maidens. But Sulin had pride in Far Dareis Mai as an ideal and would not accept the slightest degeneration in the society’s standards. She had been the most brutal and exacting of all those who taught Shaiel- accepting no excuses and expecting not one whit less then she would any prospective Maiden.  If Shaiel were blindfolded at midnight, one punch would be enough to tell her if it was Sulin attacking her not- she would know the woman by the shape of her fists alone.

But never once had Sulin suggested Shaiel give up on her quest. Shaiel loved her for that alone.

It made her words now sting all the more.

When Shaiel did not acknowledge she had spoken, Sulin repeated herself.

“You do not have to do this, sister.” Sulin said. Her words would not have reached even another Maiden unless they were crouched knee to knee with Shaiel and Sulin.

Instead of answering, Shaiel tapped two of her fingers to the heel of her hand twice. I do not understand. One of the hand-talk signs she had learned first and used most often in her first year.

Sulin frowned, glaring over her black veil.

“Sister, I have spoken with-“ Sulin began and Shaiel turned away, glad her expression was hidden by her veil.

“With Janduin or Bair?” She demanded.

“No.” Sulin said quietly. “This is the business of Far Dareis Mai and none of chiefs or Wise Ones. I have spoken with the others who lead the spear sisters, and we are in agreement. Far Dareis Mai has never asked a sister to break clan. We will not start now.”

Shaiel went quiet, turning her gaze over to the town. Annoyance flared hot and itchy in her ribcage. Creator curse all men and their sly tongues. She should never have told Janduin the name of her birth country. Of course that bit of knowledge had made its way to Sulin and the others. Janduin knew he could not ask her this without shaming her. But her spear sisters were another matter- and Sulin had a first sister married to one of Janduin’s second brothers. Bloody men.

For a moment Shaiel let herself consider the possibility. She had prepared herself for this, knowing that it would likely come to fighting Andorans. But that didn’t mean the idea sat easy. These were soldiers who would have sworn their swords and their lives to her if things had gone the way they were supposed to. And even if that hadn’t been the case…she could never be easy spilling the blood of her countrymen.

Framed this way- as a matter of not breaking clan by her spear sisters- it would not be a great shame to accept if she truly wanted to. It was not as if Andor was the only ally who had come to fight at Cairhien’s side- there would still be much ji to be won. And it would not breach her promise to Gitara. She had not even promised to fight at all- only to stay with the Maidens until they went to Tar Valon.

The question was…was that what she wanted? It should be. The memory of Tigraine Mantear was not so distant as to want to kill Andorans. And even if it was, wasn’t that memory still owed something?

And yet the thought of standing aside, even for a single battle made her skin itch. The possibility that she would watch her sisters and her comrades clash and she would not be there to fight beside them- to watch Sulin’s back, or cover Savric, a Waterseeker she called friend, on the side where old battle wounds made him a little slower – it made acid bubble in her throat.

The Queen’s Guard would have died for her, in another life. But she had shed blood beside the Aiel in this one and that mattered more. 

To refuse to stand beside them when she could…If she did that she would have great toh.

“I am like water.” She muttered. Sulin blinked, not understanding. It was a mantra Shaiel had recited to herself again and again- when it had felt as if all her skin were one large bruise. As if she could not take another step.

I am like water. She would tell herself. I will take the shape of the place I find myself.

“Sister.” Sulin said seriously. “The Maidens have never asked me to shed Goshien blood. There is no shame in-“

“Are there Taradad in that town?” Shaiel asked coldly. Sulin recoiled slightly. Shaiel waited.

“No.” Sulin said, finally lowering her eyes.

“Am I not Shaiel, of the Chumai Sept of the Taradad Aiel?” She asked, letting a little savageness leak into her voice.

“You are.” Sulin said, lowering her eyes further. She made the second hand talk-sign that Shaiel had learned, the one that most Maidens usually learned first and used most often that first year. First and second finger and crossed and pointed back to herself.

I have toh.

Shaiel felt a stab of guilt, but she did not make either of the gestures that would have alleviated Sulin’s shame- small or I see nothing. She only wanted to have this conversation once. Instead, she made the gesture for later and turned back to the town.

It was light enough now that Shaiel could make out the sigils on the banners. She had been right- the Lion of Andor, above the Keystone of Trakand.

Three sharp bird calls cut through the early morning gloom- black heart sparrows. A bird not found this side of the Dragonwall. Shaiel and Sulin did not move, but both tensed as their eyes swung south, along the bank.

Two Thunderwalkers had appeared, lopping along at a careless easy pace. The Andorans would not see that though. They saw as poorly as Tigraine Mantear- they would only see men racing for longer and faster than most of them could manage and know fear. The trap was so obvious to Shaiel now that she wanted to scoff, as the pursuing cavalry appeared, half a league back in pursuit of the pair, charging ahead blindly. A horse could overtake an Aiel in a short dash, but the mounts were clearly flagging from a longer chase.

Showoffs. Sulin signed as one of the Thunderwalkers actually backflipped over a rock and waved at the pursuers before falling back into pace beside his fellow.

Shaiel signed her agreement, but it was more exasperated than frustrated. Janduin was a Dawnrunner, and they could make Thunderwalkers look positively demure.

The two Thunderwalkers started to veer towards the fjord in the river. Their strides faltered for a second, but both recovered quickly, their shoulders setting. They had crossed the fjord once already- but she doubted they would ever be easy crossing that kind of water.

The pursuers veered after them, blindly charging ahead. They were close enough now that Shaiel could make out the red of their coats and the glint of their helmets. The Thunderwalkers were moving with such caution- none of it faked- it was obvious the soldiers would catch them in another minute, maybe two.

It is time. Shaiel signed. Sulin nodded and let out a shrill single whistle, just as the Thunderwalkers reached the center of the fjord. It was echoed back three times.

The Queen’s Guard reached the fjord just as the Thunderwalkers were almost across. She could almost taste their triumph, their certainty they would be dragging prisoners back to the town. They were fools.

The moment the first soldier reached the bank and began to wade his mount into the water, Shaiel and Sulin stood and began to glide onto the beach- joined by three scores of Algai'd'siswai

Taking a deep breath, Shaiel began to sing.

[that-sudsy]

🍅SUDSY NOTES: Hello, everyone! This story is dedicated to @goatgoesmbe , who could use a little cheering up right now. I hope Gaz (I didn't know who your favourite character was so I tried to guess) can bring a smile to your face during this gloomy moment. And to anyone else feeling under the weather, may our favourite Kyle "Gaz" Garrick lift your spirits!

If you have any requests or know someone else who needs a bit of cheering up from their favourite characters from cod or other Fandom, feel free to leave me a message in my ask box.

🍅MASTERLIST

Dosage of Care

You and Kyle "Gaz" Garrick had been best mates for as long as you could remember. It all started with a simple competition: who could get back to base first. But as missions grew tougher, you both found yourselves spending more time in the medic bay than on the battlefield, getting patched up after each escapade. The awkwardness of undressing in front of each other faded away, especially since Kyle seemed to have a knack for getting himself into scrapes.

You nearly had a heart attack when you heard he fell off a helicopter. When he finally returned, you hugged him tightly, then playfully slapped his arm.

"Don’t you ever do that again, Kyle! I was worried sick!"

You were always there, waiting for him to return to base, and today was no different.

~**Present Day**~

Kyle stepped off the helicopter as Nikolai switched off the engine. Instead of their usual cool poses, they emerged with groans and aching muscles. Kyle sighed heavily as Soap slid the door open and hopped out.

They all went their separate ways—Simon needed to clean his uniform after a rather unfortunate encounter with a sewer, Soap needed a patch-up after getting shot, and Price had a mission report to file. Kyle, however, headed straight for the medic bay, not because he was injured (a rare occurrence), but to find you.

He peeked inside, only to find you absent. Your partner was on duty.

“She isn’t here, Garrick. She’s off duty,” the medic said.

“What do you mean, off duty?” Kyle replied, his thick English accent laced with concern. “It’s a Saturday! She works weekends!”

The medic nodded. “Aye, but she wasn’t feeling well. She’s in her quarters.”

Kyle thanked her and made his way to your quarters. Before he could knock, he heard you cough and sniffle. He knocked gently and opened the door. “Love?” he called, only to find you curled up under the covers with a small pout.

“Oh dear, you look absolutely dreadful,” he said, approaching you as he removed his gloves and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“I feel terrible, Kyle... How was—ACHOO!—your mission?” you asked, despite your weak and tired state.

“It was alright, nothing special, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is you getting well. Let me take care of you,” he said, his voice softening.

“No, you’ll get sick too,” you protested weakly.

“I don’t mind, as long as I get to look after you. You always take care of me,” he whispered sweetly. “Now, let’s get you some soup and meds.” He placed a gentle kiss on top of your head. “Stay put, alright?”

Kyle stood up and left your quarters. A few moments later, he returned with an impressive stack of goodies that nearly obscured his view: comforters, pillows, meds, food, snacks, plushies, and a small portable DVD player.

“Where on earth did you get all this?” you asked, astonished.

Kyle grinned as he dumped the items onto the bed. “With a little help from Simon and Johnny, of course!” He placed the food on your study table. “I got you your favourite: soup from the Mess Hall, chips just in case, and your favourite action and rom-com films,” he said, patting the containers.

“I’m not really hungry, Kyle,” you said.

“But you’ve got to eat something, love,” he insisted, sitting beside you and lifting your chin with a finger. “It’ll help you heal faster. The soup has baby corn in it!”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Alright, just a little bowl.”

Kyle nodded enthusiastically and prepared a small bowl for you, all while playing your favourite movie on the mini DVD player. Little did you know, he kept refilling the bowl until you’d polished off the entire serving.

He stayed close, ready to fetch anything you needed, even insisting on guiding you to the bathroom whenever you had to go. Kyle didn’t mind one bit.

When the movie ended and it was time for bed, he tucked you in snugly. You looked up at him and asked, “Why are you doing all this, Kyle?”

He met your gaze, his expression softening. “Because you take care of me when I need someone most. Right now, you’re the one who needs caring, so I’m here for you,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

Your stomach fluttered at his words. “I wish I could kiss you, but I don’t want to pass the bug to you,” you sniffled.

Kyle chuckled. “It’s alright, maybe after,” he said, planting a kiss on your forehead, then on the tip of your nose, and to your surprise, on your lips. You went wide-eyed and exclaimed, “Hey! No!”

“I thought you wanted it,” he grinned, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“What if you get sick?” you protested.

“Nah, I can handle it. I’ve survived falling off a helicopter; a flu won’t take me down,” he said confidently, flashing that charming smile of his.

*After a week, you were fully recovered.*

But then, just as you were settling back into your routine, you heard a dramatic groan from the other room.

“ACHOO! I’M DYING!” Kyle exclaimed, throwing himself onto the couch with exaggerated flair.

You rushed in, a smirk on your face. “Oh, come on, Kyle! You’re not dying; you just have a cold!”

He looked up at you with puppy-dog eyes. “But I need my nurse, What if I can’t make it through the night?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Alright, alright, I’ll take care of you, but you owe me a kiss for every bowl of soup I make you.”

“Deal” he said, grinning from ear to ear, his spirits lifting at the thought of your care.

Borders by @saradika-graphics

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© 2025 that-sudsy. Your creativity means the world to me! I kindly ask that you refrain from reposting, plagiarizing, or translating my work in any form. Thank you for your understanding