#Combat Risers

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (8)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Angst, pining, injury

a/n: I appreciate thoughts and reactions more than you know!!! <333 Italics indicate flashbacks.

Series Masterlist (all parts ♡)

~~

The next two weeks were interesting. 

In the first few days after the accident—the ones filled with confusion and incorrect suspicions—you had spent most of your time alone or sleeping. Mor visited your bedroom every morning to share limited information about your past, but there was no routine beyond that. Everyone tiptoed around you, too afraid to set off the timebomb they assumed was your mind.

But Helion had disputed that assumption. 

You were allowed to know who you were, to become the person you had been. 

So, a routine began to form. 

Breakfast early in the morning, usually with a random assortment of the inner circle. Mor was always present, keeping up with her responsibility of telling you about yourself. Cassian joined more often than not—an early riser, he deemed himself. Azriel made it when he could. He was always busy in the morning. Doing… something, everyone told you.

Rhysand would join you after the meal, whisking you away for an hour or two to work on the powers you still could not call upon. He would have a different objective in mind every day and it was your job to parse out what it was. 

You failed. 

Obviously. 

He started bringing in random Velaris citizens instead, but you still felt nothing. It was nice to see the smiling strangers; they were all kind to you, all apparently knowing who you were. The vagueness surrounding them leveled the playing field more. They didn’t know your whole life story and you weren’t supposed to know theirs. 

“You’ve explained it to me before,” Rhysand had said. “It’s a vibration, sometimes a light or a color. You see it around them, feel it. You understand a deep part within them that they don’t even know they’re revealing.” 

Well, there was never any light or vibration or color. You could never tell that the fae were lying or that Rhysand was planning something big for his anniversary with his mate. None of this otherworldly intuition that the Night Court seemed to value so highly. It was all just stagnant. 

After spending some time failing with Rhys, you got to explore Velaris. You had insisted that you didn’t need a chaperone, and your family believed you—for a time. You had three whole days of walking around the city alone before that privilege was revoked.

Granted, it was your fault that it was revoked, but that was neither here nor there. 

It hadn’t been your plan to get lost, just as it hadn’t been your plan to get caught up in a street brawl over a cart of potatoes. But when you weren’t at the designated meeting spot for Cassian to bring you back up the house, and when he found you with a bleeding nose an hour later, what you meant to do didn’t matter. 

“Y/n?” you heard a voice shout, heavy footsteps shaking the ground beneath you. “Shit—y/n, look at me, you okay?” 

Warm hands enveloped your shaking ones, drawing them back and catching sight of the red staining your fingerprints. It was Cassian, you realized, with his broad wings cloaking you in their shadow. The General’s expression hardened when he took in your face.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low, comfort combatting fury. “Where have you been? We have about 10 people looking for you, sweetheart.” 

You grimaced—both at the pain in your nose and the notion of your family scouring the streets of Velaris. “I’m so, so sorry, Cassian. I got turned around and then I was in this alley and there was a boy—” 

“Hey!” Defeat washed through you at the sound of another voice in the alley, all hopes for a peaceful return home washed away. “Is your girlfriend over there gonna pay for the product I lost?” 

The Illyrian before you paused, body going still at the accusatory tone. Cassian’s jaw clenched and he turned, keeping you well behind him. You still caught a glimpse of the scene from between his legs, and the merchant—to his credit—had the mind to stop his taunting. 

And to look afraid. 

Really, truly afraid. 

“You did this to her?” Cassian growled, fists clenching at his sides. 

The merchant swallowed. “You’re—and she’s…” 

“Did you. Do this. To her?” Cassian asked again, words broken up by malice. 

A beat of pressing silence, only whispers of the street meeting your ears. The merchant took several, shaky steps back, but the movement damned him. His hands swayed with his backtracking feet, and red glistened on his knuckles. 

Cassian’s wings flared at the sight. It only took a small uptick of his brow for the smaller man to fall to the floor in a plea. 

“Please, please don’t kill me! I didn’t know who she was. Don’t turn me over to the Shadowsinger, I won’t make it! I have a family to care for—a wife! I was only trying to protect my crops and she butted in. I didn’t want to hurt her!”

The General hooked his chin over his shoulder and sent you a questioning gaze, one you were sheepish to answer. With a harrowing breath, you revealed, “There was a little boy stealing potatoes. He was going to hit him. I stepped in the way.” 

A tug at your chest had you gasping as Cassian turned back around. The feeling had been persistent the moment you got lost, increasing after you’d been implicated in the merchant’s conflict. It pulled and pulled, a desperate winding around your ribs that you didn’t know how to relieve. 

It had to have been fear. Or stress. 

Cassian eyed the man crumpled to the floor. “Is the boy okay?” he asked, the question meant for you but directed across the alley. 

“Yes,” you confirmed, pressing your hand to the blood running down your chin. “He ran away.” 

Cassian grunted, sent a harsh warning to the man, and then crouched back down to your place on the ground, shaking his head in frustration. “Let’s get you home.” And then he grumbled, “I might get my ass kicked but…” 

Cassian had not gotten his ass kicked when you got home, but many other things happened. Mor just about cried in relief, her arms thrown around your neck followed by a string of commands to never do such a thing again. Rhys rubbed at his jaw as tension lifted from the House. He also had a command—that you wouldn’t be traveling alone anymore. 

And Azriel… Azriel looked like he would vomit, his shadows flitting angrily around him before bridging a path to you. He had cleaned the blood from your face, eyes haunted by misplaced grief, and pure guilt replaced all else in your myriad of emotions. 

You agreed an escort would be better. 

Azriel volunteered. Every day. 

And so you got to know Azriel. 

Mor had described him as reserved, not one to offer the intimacy of touch or personal information so readily. That was not your experience with the Shadowsinger. 

Fleeting touches had become commonplace between the two of you, whether it was his hands or his wings or the brush of his thigh as you sat by the Sidra. You weren’t sure if he was doing it consciously, but you welcomed the familiarity. You found he did it most when he wasn’t paying attention—when he was deep into a story about your past or listening to your opinions intently. 

He was open, sharing pieces of himself you didn’t have to pry to receive. He told you about his mother, about his scars, about how he overcame them. He shared with you how important you were to him many, many times, slipping it into conversations so causally. A thread connected the pieces of his life, and you, it appeared, made up the spool. 

He did not speak of his mate, despite being prompted. 

A sadness came over him at any mention of her, one so achingly melancholy that you told yourself you wouldn’t ask again. 

He loved her deeply, but something had happened there.

You tried not to get too close. This was friendship, a deep familial love that he relied on. That you seemed to have relied on for so many years.

And Azriel was hurt. Even if he and his mate were no longer intertwined by their bond, he didn’t need the onslaught of emotions his amnesiac friend was suddenly overcome with. 

Because you were—overcome by emotions for him. 

It was wrong. 

You wished you had the context to separate those feelings. If you understood your history—if you had memories beyond the few weeks of sweet stories and brushes of his fingers along your hair—maybe you wouldn't be feeling this way. Maybe your heart wouldn’t beat painfully against your ribs each time he entered the room… each time his eyes met yours as if he could feel your admiration for him within his own chest. 

You wouldn’t be feeling this way, surely. Because no one had told you that you should be. 

You only had the recounts of your friends, and the three of them had made no insinuations about you and Azriel. 

You wished you could meet the rest of the inner circle. 

There had been plans to, but then you came home with blood on your face and a disorientation in your eyes and that was suddenly off the table. 

After your time exploring Velaris, you read. 

Mor would pile your favorite books beside you in the small reading room you had come to love and rave about how great of an opportunity this was for you.

“You would kill to be able to read these for the first time again,” she’d laugh. “So have at it!” 

Reading felt easy. 

Books did not pressure you to remember things you weren’t able to. 

You could see it all in their eyes, the way your family clung to each of your words for even a hint of reminiscence. They’d make a joke and hold their breath, desperate for the laugh that should be bubbling out of you. But you never got it, never making the connections that they did. 

Azriel was the only one who’d catch the shame you felt at your lack of deliverance. Although he was the one with the most torture in his expression, he was also the one with the most understanding. He’d lean his head down and whisper what you needed to know in your ear, and then you’d giggle—for show—and hope would return to the room. 

But nothing had returned to you. 

You were still a shell.

~~

“What do you think?” 

Cassian’s question blanketed the table, forks halting their movements atop plates. Breakfast had just begun and you were dressed for a morning in Velaris at the theater, this time with Cassian. 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” Mor questioned, eyeing the General beneath a raised brow. 

“Were you there last week when I brought her home all bloody? I think it’s a great idea. Rhys agrees.” 

“And Az?” 

Cassian continued his breakfast, reaching for his drink. “Cassian—”

And so you found yourself steps away from the roof of the House of Wind—no longer in the comfortable daywear you’d been sporting—squinting into the morning sun. Leathers fitted for your body were laced up at your back and waist, stretching with a groan as you reached up to block the light from your eyes. Although the pain in your head had subsided to practically nonexistence, it often flared up in brightness or in times of stress. 

Like when you stood atop a mountain and stared into the sun. Or got punched in the nose by a potato merchant. 

“This is where I go while you go galavanting around the city,” Cassian chimed in, a grin evident in his words. 

“Charming,” you muttered, still adjusting to the jarring assault of the sun.

The sound of grunts and clashing metal oriented you quicker, and as your eyesight settled you were met with the image of Azriel. He was bare-chested, leathers donning his legs as he pressed further and further forward, the knife you always saw at his hips hacking away at the metal dummy before him. 

He moved so quickly that it was difficult to track him, one swipe after another, so carefully skilled and practiced. Sweat beaded down his tattooed skin. His wings rippled and spread in time with his footwork. 

He was mesmerizing, a force of nature only halting as his shadows wound around his ear, whispering. Azriel whipped around, sheathing his knife at his side and staring out beyond the training ring with a narrowed gaze. He spotted you instantly, without looking near or around—a magnetic force. 

Until he wasn’t looking at you, instead glowering in Cassian’s direction. “What are you doing, brother?” he bit out. The back of his hand made a quick pass along his forehead. 

Cassian didn’t look the slightest bit sheepish, ushering you to the outskirts of the ring. “She’s going to train. Now that we know she won’t break at the slightest thing.” 

Hazel eyes slid back to you, a softness overcoming them as you quickly averted your gaze from the broadness of his chest. You were not ogling him. 

You bit into your cheek to stave off the embarrassment. 

“I thought we agreed—” 

“Az, come on. It’s been a couple of weeks now. We need to get her back in the swing of things.” 

A crack of defeat edged its way onto the Shadowsinger’s face. 

What had they agreed on? To wait it out? To treat you like glass until you were their version of yourself again? Something ugly licked up into your chest, something raw. 

For a moment—just one—you stood on the sidelines and felt pathetic. While the two Illyrians stared at each other, a silent conversation between eyes, you let yourself feel like an outsider. They had had discussions about you, but not really about you. About the you that they loved—the one with memories and reciprocation. 

“Will you be careful?” Azriel’s even voice snapped you out of the spiral you had initiated. His expression was uneasy, a hand pressed to his chest. “And tell us if you need to stop? If your head—” 

“My head has been completely fine for a while now,” you assured, hands coming up to grasp the rungs of the training ring. “Promise.” 

Azriel pressed his lips into a line but motioned you in with a nod of his head. 

Despite the conflict still raging within your mind, you smiled at Cassian, the two of you letting out a small cheer and high-fiving before the General lifted you by your hips and past the rungs. You regained your footing and stood before the spymaster, meeting his level gaze with your own. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” Cassian began, a loud clap resonating behind you. “Muscle memory is going to play a big role here, but I don’t want to risk you getting hurt, so you’re just with this guy for now.” He patted the shoulder of the dummy Azriel had been practicing with. 

You scoffed, dropping your hands to hang by your thighs. “What? I still have the same muscle tone from before and last I checked my face was beaten in by a real person, not a chunk of metal.” 

“And that will not happen again,” Azriel cut it. “Ever. But especially not when you’re… in this state.”

You ignored the unsettling remark. “Okay, well I think sparring one of you would be more effective in the prevention of that, don’t you?” 

“Cassian and I could hurt you.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“We can’t guarantee—” 

“I trust you,” you interrupted, your view of Azriel partially obstructed by the shadows that wound up your body. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Let me do this, Az.” 

The male before you faltered, his eyes darting quickly between yours. His chest, gleaming in the sunlight, rose and fell with strenuous effort. A clench of his jaw. Another pass of silence. 

“Okay,” he nodded, gaze roving over your features. “Okay, y/n. Get warmed up and we can spar.” 

You warmed up with Cassian, stretching and relishing in the feel of your body moving. He went over a few basic maneuvers with you, and you tried your hardest to pay close attention to how his feet slid around the ring. 

It was a rather hard task, seeing as Azriel had continued his blade work on the dummy. Still shirtless. 

After the General was satisfied with your progress, he passed you off to his brother. The Shadowsinger’s posture had softened a hair from when you first entered the ring, his wings coiled back and his shadows creating uneven shapes along the floor. He kept his hands by his sides, his feet relaxed—not a fighting stance in the slightest. 

“Come on,” you teased, cocking your head to the side. “You have to at least try, Az.” 

“I did not spar with you often before your memories were lost,” he admitted. “I do not enjoy the thought of hurting you.” 

Guilt immediately flooded you. You hadn’t even thought about what this would be like for him, too caught up in your own strife. Your stance dropped, the fists at your chin loosening and falling. 

“Oh, Azriel, I’m sorry. I can have Cassian—” 

“No.” He dragged his left foot back. A ghost of a fighting position. “Only me.” 

You took a painful breath in. 

He didn’t move, allowing you to lead. 

You shook your hands out and then your body moved of its own accord. 

You swiped at his legs first, unsurprised when he leaped back with practiced grace. The two of you fell into a dance of drawn arms and calculated shifts and you were almost unnerved by how your body moved without you willing it to. 

Cassian had said that muscle memory would play a role. 

It seemed to be the only thing driving you.  

You went for his knees, but in a way that maneuvered past his wings. 

You used his shadows as cover, taking advantage of their familiarity with you and cloaking yourself in their mist. 

Azriel swung a halfhearted punch at your shoulder and you bypassed the motion, grabbing his wrist and twisting at his back. 

It felt right. Your actions were not your own but they were ingrained in your being. 

This was your body. 

Something that remained unchanged. 

In your newfound joy, you missed the open palm Azriel carefully directed at your chest. The impact caught you off guard, stealing your breath from your lungs as you were pushed to the ground. As your back hit the floor, another shocking burst of air was ripped from you. 

You laid frozen for a moment before a shadow cast over your body, the sun no longer beating down on your skin. Through the ringing in your ears, Azriel’s voice flowed through. 

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—y/n, take a breath.” A scarred hand rubbed along your clavicle. “Breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.” 

A startling gasp of oxygen entered your lungs. You were fine, completely unharmed, only shocked and disoriented. Azriel bowed his head as you continued to circulate the air into your body, and it was then that you saw it. 

A chain hung between you, dangling from his neck and brushing against your chin. It swayed back and forth, a grounding point as you blinked back the tears lining your eyes. The ring glinted in the sun, rubbing against the golden chain, looking as if it did not belong there. 

Azriel tracked your gaze as he raised his head, looking down at the object of your attention. He sat back on his ankles and the diamond followed him, resting close to his chest. 

You raised yourself to your elbows. “Who’s—” You coughed. Azriel winced. “Is that yours?”  

A stupid question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. A guarded look passed over the Shadowsinger’s face and you regretted it instantly. He reached up and clutched the necklace in a closed fist.  

“No,” he responded. “Are you okay?” 

He didn’t release the ring. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “I’m not hurt. It just knocked the wind out of me.” 

Azriel nodded. A grim line formed between his brows. 

“Hey! She alright?” Cassian called. He had moved clear across the roof when you began to spar with Azriel, mentioning something about inventory or knives or something you hadn’t paid attention to. You had been too focused on the warmth you felt from being so close to Azriel’s skin. 

The sound of Cassian’s voice did nothing to break the hold Azriel’s eyes had on you. 

Another beat of silence passed. 

The wind blew a strand of his hair across his forehead. 

“I—” 

“I have a mission. I was supposed to meet with Rhys before midday.” He spoke the words apologetically but his hand shook when it lowered to his knee. 

The sun was already past the high point in the sky. It was no longer midday. 

“Okay,” you whispered. “I want to thank you for—” 

“Don’t thank me. Please, just—Be careful. I have to go.” 

A quiet collection of parting words fell from your lips and Aziel twitched, looking as if he would move forward but thinking better of it. 

But you had thoughts too, and they worked against Azriel’s

You raised to your knees and brushed the hair on his forehead back, a small smile gracing your face, trying so hard to melt some of the tension that had grown between you. Azriel’s breath caught as you moved, but you only doubled down, softly dragging your nails along his scalp. 

He shuddered, eyes falling shut for a brief, unguarded moment. 

His shadows consumed him. 

Azriel was gone. 

[nevadancitizen]

-> FASCINATION WITH THE ORDINARY

synopsis: your world is vastly different from the nevada native to madness combat. after the main three + 2bdamned get transported to your world, they each find things that fascinate them.

word count: 2.5k

characters: hank, deimos, sanford, 2bdamned, player! reader

trigger warnings: ehh slight yandere/obsession but could also be read as super heavy pining if you're not into that lol

notes: madness combat fandom arise. madness combat fandom come back to me (also set in @/saltymongoose 's self-aware au)

For the sake of consistency, let’s imagine that the Player lives in a big, lonely, woodsy and plain-sy plot of land. There’s little to no outside human interaction, and lots of animals wandering through the area with a river running through it. For the wildlife, I’m basing it on the American South because I’ve lived here my entire life and know how they act.

SUNSETS & SUNRISES

2BDamned would be the most entranced, since he has the most memories from before the fall and before Hank killed the sun. He’s an early riser by nature (since his body has conditioned him so he’s mostly overworked and under-rested, as unhealthy as it is), so he leans more towards the beauty of a sunrise, towards the light that starts to paint the dark sky with hazy orange shades and rosy hues. He likes breathing in the crisp air and the way it almost sends a shock through his lungs.

But the sun stirs a lingering feeling of nostalgia, though, for the way things were before everything fell to madness. Doc tries his best not to let the thoughts get the better of him as you slip through the front door and out onto the front porch, carrying two steaming cups of coffee. 

God, he could imagine staying like this forever: just you, him, a beautiful sunrise, and coffee. Surely the way you pay attention to him, the way you get up extra early to watch the sunrise, the way you doctor his coffee just right – they’re all examples of how you care for him, just as he cares for you. But for now, he’ll just bide his time, blowing the steam off the surface of his coffee and purring, soft and raspy, both at the taste and because of your company.

But that doesn’t stop the others from appreciating the astounding view at dusk, because Sanford and Deimos are more partial to sunsets after long days. They like lounging in the adirondack chairs set up around the fire pit, cracking open a few beers, and simply relaxing with you. (Don’t worry, Sanford will gather firewood and Deimos will set it alight if it’s a little too cold for your taste.)

They’re fresher clones, so they don’t remember the sun well, if at all. They both always go quiet when the sun starts to dip below the horizon. Sanford props his tea sunglasses on top of his head and Deimos sets his cigarette in the ashtray as they both stare at the way the light turns the clouds purple and paints the sky with pink streaks. It stirs something sad in your heart – both of these men are pushing and just over the cusp of thirty, yet they don’t know the simple sweetness of a sunset. 

But as soon as night overtakes the sky, they both turn their attention back to you. Deimos makes some suave comment about your beauty being nothing in the face of a sunset in that rumbling, smooth voice of his, and Sanford gives him a pointed glare. Sanford points out that your beauty and the beauty of nature are two whole different things, but keeps showering you with not-so-inadvertent compliments, leaving you flustered and blushing from both grunt’s words.

Hank is somewhat of an anomaly with this one. All of the grunt’s biological clocks are absolutely porked from their time without a sun, but Hank’s affected the worst by far. (That, and he doesn’t really care for the sun. He literally slaughtered it.) Therefore, he’s more privy to waking up in the middle of the night and dragging you onto the roof to look at the stars. 

He likes laying on his back with you on his chest, pointing out the brightest stars and asking you questions about them. (He doesn’t really care, he just likes hearing your voice.) He loves your vivid descriptions of the constellations and how you describe them in intricate ways. To Hank, they’re just sparkly, unreachable dots in the sky, but it seems like, to you, they’re beautiful: like millions of silver nails driven into a dome of dark blue velvet. 

He savors the moments like these the most, when you’re alone with him. There’s no sound except for the crickets and dog-day cicadas and spring peepers and your voice and Hank’s sputtering purring. Honestly, it’s as it should be – without those other pesky dipshits ruining your time together. (Well, he can tolerate Doc, but that annoying extraction team could go fuck themselves for all he cared.)

ENTERTAINMENT

Sanford hates being lazy. He hates feeling like he’s not doing anything useful, even if he’s being useful by resting. The only real way to make him sit down and stop moving is by trapping him on the couch, laying your head in his lap, and turning on the TV. (Even if, for the first thirty minutes, he’s too focused on you and your body heat and how fast his heart is beating to even consider looking at the TV.)

But the thing he loves watching the most isn’t any sort of movie with amazing cinematography or show with riveting writing – it’s infomercials. Specifically, infomercials from the 90’s to the late 2000’s. He likes seeing what things could’ve been like if there was no madness in Nevada, because things are oddly peaceful (at least, to him) in your world. Billy Mays and Cathy Mitchell make him wonder about domestic life with you (even if the Jupiter Jack and the Xpress Redi-Set-Go are completely obsolete by now), and how these little gadgets would make your life together supposedly go smoother.

He likes combing his claws carefully through your hair as you both watch these people play up how useful these obviously useless inventions are. He tries to avert his eyes and act interested in the TV as you look up at him and point out how the Red Devil Grill was recalled because it got so hot it collapsed and caused fires, but can’t. He just can’t keep his eyes off you when you look up at him so sweetly, and can you blame him? You just make his face so warm and his heart beat so fucking fast…

Deimos has always had a fascination with electronics, but it’s mostly been from a tactical and weaponized standpoint. But he’s discovered (well, really, you introduced him to) video games. He absolutely loves curling up into your side, purring and providing commentary as he watches you play. (Because, despite his trying, he hasn’t really gotten a hang of the controls yet.)

He loves more story-fueled games with characters he can really get attached to. He likes investing himself in things and people that don’t actually affect him, because seeing your favorite character go through dire straits or even die hurts for a little while, but it’s nothing compared to seeing someone get eviscerated right in front of you. And, yeah, he totally cried when Arthur Morgan died (and totally played it up so that you’d comfort him). 

He also likes draping himself over you in the middle of a boss fight, wriggling and nuzzling into your cheek, causing you to giggle, lose focus, and, obviously, die. He strings together half-hearted apologies through his raspy purring, but he’s not really sorry. More deaths means more time spent with him, and internally, he’s completely and honestly unapologetic for his underhanded tactics. 

Due to the nature of his administrative role, Doc spends a lot of time in front of screens. He likes to unplug and unwind by reading, no doubt with a straight-up hazardous amount of coffee by his side. He prefers reading with you with an arm wrapped around your shoulder, whether you’re also reading or working on something else. Though he’s inexperienced (and sometimes even shy) with these types of things, he’s more than happy to ease into affectionate touches and romance that kills his common sense with you. 

His tastes are often cheap, but when he earns enough dough, he likes to splurge on second-hand college anatomy textbooks. No, he’s not planning on going to university, but he wants to know the inner workings of the human system (and, therefore, the inner workings of you). He also likes speculative biology and seeing what humans think about other intelligent species potentially being out there.

He would absolutely be elated (though he tries his best to hide it) if you took his interests seriously and discussed them with him. He tries to keep you in his makeshift office and away from the others so you can continue to spend this precious alone time with him, but that doesn’t stop the red-hot flare of jealousy as one of the others bursts in with a childish ask about something that should be obvious. (Of fucking course you wouldn’t want to go for a walk, Deimos, have you seen the weather out? Leave you and him alone!)

Obviously Hank would love gorefest and splatter film movies because of his all-encompassing and absolute love for carnage, and he’d love them even more if you got scared and hid yourself in his shoulder or chest. It’s clear that he’s your strongest and most capable vessel, so he clearly agrees with your choice to choose him as your protector (even if that choice is based on an instinctive need to hide). 

He also loves WWE and MMA fighting. When given the choice, he opts for MMA because it’s real and bloody and he prefers seeing people push themselves to their absolute limit rather than some predetermined fight that serves a higher storyline. (But, then again, he really likes the clip of Undertaker breaking into Paul Bearer’s house during an interview and throwing a cabinet at him because, what the fuck? He’s never thought of that before! Using things from the environment when out of weapons instead of his fists could be an improvement. Maybe he can learn a thing or two from these fake fighters…)

And, yes, if you give him access to Twitter he will turn your entire timeline into those backyard fight videos and dashcam car crashes. He doesn’t mean to, it just happens.

ANIMALS

Being a natural night owl, Deimos loves keeping a lookout for what critters come out at night. When he’s on the front porch with you, smoking a cigarette and waving away mosquitoes, he makes sure to keep an eye out for weird and unusual wildlife. (While pressed against your side and purring loudly, no doubt.)

He likes watching the whip-poor-wills swoop down and catch the moths that swarm around the overhead porch lights. Yes, he will try to catch one, but backs off when you tell him to. Instead, he opts for digging in the dirt to find beetles and grubs to toss up in the air for the small birds to catch. He will kinda feel bad if the beetles hit the ground but will continue to throw them to the birds when you tell him insects are basically immune to fall damage, so… no harm, no foul.

He’s also absolutely enamored by raccoons. He likes throwing food to them from the safety of the porch and watching them eat with their little grabby hands. He’s very reckless so, despite your warnings, he’ll try to squirrel one away inside the house. (He does this multiple times and, without fail, gets bitten each time. 2B has given him multiple rabies shots after shooing the raccoons out with a broom.)

Speaking of Doc, he enjoys going out in nature and finding decaying things just to see how many buzzards arrive. He excuses it with something about wanting to see if decomposition works the same across both your world and his, but he secretly finds some relation with the birds – something about being deliverers and arbiters and negators of death. (Though the last one really only applies to him.)

He also likes the rare sightings of wild horses. He’ll go out of his way to (carefully, shyly) rouse you from whatever you’re doing to go take a look at the majestic beasts, and he’ll be even more excited if there’s a foal wandering between the stocky legs of the adults. 

He just barely brushes his fingers against yours as you both stand on the edge of the treeline and watch them graze. Seeing the foal break from the herd, kick out and tumble and fall over and immediately get back up sparks… something in his heart. A vision. Just you, just him, linked pinkies, and a future together, with this warm feeling in his chest.

Hank really likes the more dangerous creatures. He gets along well with cottonmouth and other venomous snakes (and “gets along well” really means that they’re mean as can be and strike as often as possible while he just holds them and smiles at you). 

If you don’t keep a close enough eye on him, he’ll wander off and try to provoke larger animals, like bobcats. To him, they’re just tiny little pussycats, even if they pose a real threat and could kill him. Please don’t let him go too far, because if he comes across a bear, he will try to wrestle it, and Doc doesn’t like having to do emergency surgery on the island countertop in your kitchen. 

On multiple occasions, he’s come back to the house after being missing for hours, reeking of skunk spray. He just purrs happily as you tell him to strip and hold still as you spray him down with the hose.

Sanford is way calmer with his interactions with wildlife. He likes sitting on the dock with you and watching the fish swim by (because he’s impressed both by the fish and by the river – he’s never seen water in such great quantity!) Set him up with a hook, lure, and line and he’ll be entertained for hours. Though he struggles a bit with making streamers and fishing knots due to his big hands and claws, he’s more than patient when you teach him (mostly because he gets to spend time with you). 

When he’s fishing, he likes to look around and observe – mostly because fishing is a waiting game. His favorite visitors are herds of whitetail deer, especially when summer is in full swing and the fawns are ready to start exploring. They remind him of his family, mainly because of the way the does don’t really care which fawn is theirs, just that each is getting enough milk. You point at them and discuss them with him in small whispers because you don’t want to spook them. 

Again, it reminds him of his want for a domestic life with you. Just basking in the mottled sun that seeps through the trees, dipping your bare feet in the cool river water as a catfish tugs on the line – it’s all he wants, really. Now if he could just get the rest of the grunts to leave you alone… excluding Deimos, of course.

[gingerbearbaby]

Superstitious (Lockwood x Reader!AU)

I am absolutely obsessed with Lockwood and show choir and I was desperate for someone to write it. So this came out. It's my first (and likely only) work, so enjoy! Best read with F!reader (sorry!).

Basically, Lockwood and reader are co-dance captains in their show choir. Barnes is their director and Holly is their choreographer. Their girls group is called Elegance and their mixed group is Fusion. Also Kipps and reader used to date.

As for their ballad, it's called Maybe I Like It This Way from the musical The Wild Party. It's such a good song!

Tropes: enemies to lovers, fake dating, forced proximity

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: cussing, mentions of cheating, one line of slut shaming, kissing, a little bit of angst but plenty of fluff, they're idiots your honor, mentions of unrequited love (but it's really requited), regular mentions of superstitions

“Luce, I’m not so sure I can do this anymore.” You looked to the redhead next to you, shrugging your rehearsal bag further onto your shoulder.

“You said that last year.”

“Well last year I didn’t have to dance with him.”

Lucy opened the school door, a heavy sigh escaping her. “He’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

“Correction: he’s not that bad to you.” You swung open your locker door, wrestling your duffle bag into it. “You guys are friends we are…”

“Two people with intense sexual tension.” Lucy interrupted as you trailed off. A quick smack to her thigh was received.

“Not every rivalry has sexual tension.”

“No, but yours does.”

“Oh shut up!”

“Why is Lucy shutting up?” You looked up to see Norrie wrapping her arm around her girlfriend.

You stood up and began walking to the choir room. “She’s trying to convince me that I have sexual tension with that asshole.” You gestured to the lanky figure at the front of the room, fixing his hair in the mirrors whilst vehemently arguing with George.

Norrie gave you a look as if to say ‘Is she wrong?’ which left you shaking your head as you walked to the front of the room.

“Ah, my vice captain. Nice of you to join us.” Lockwood poked.

You raised your eyebrows. “Vice captain?”

He nodded. “Like a presidency? I’m the captain, you’re my vice captain.”

“You’re mistaken. I’m the captain and you’re my vice captain. I mean,” you crossed your arms in an effort to seem more nonchalant, “I have more experience as a captain, being the dance captain of Elegance too.”

“If I was a girl, there’s no doubt that I would be the dance captain of Elegance and you would be my vice captain there too.”

“There is no such thing as a vice captain. You’re co-captains. Sit down.” Barnes spoke, gesturing to an empty spot on the risers.

Lockwood leaned to whisper quickly in your ear, “He only said that to save you the embarrassment of losing that argument.”

You flicked his thigh, whispering back a, “Fuck you.”

He gave you a wolfish smile in return. “In your dreams.”

You simply rolled your eyes. You don’t truly remember when you really began hating Lockwood. You suppose it had always been that way. You never really spoke much except for talking about choir in history your freshman year, and even then it was brief comments about upcoming concerts. Then came your sophomore year with a shared English class, which began this weird competitiveness between the both of you. Though you have to admit, your rivalry was the primary reason you escaped that class with an A. But that didn’t make him any more bearable.

You turned to your right to see Lucy already looking back. She mouthed ‘tension’ before flashing an innocent smile and turning towards your director. 

“Your show this year will be a kind of romance-y theme. Think rom-com. Weird tension to soulmates.” Lucy nudged you. “To combat any… hormonal drama,” you cringed at his words, “we’re gonna pair you up for the show. You’ll each get a designated dance partner, bond with them throughout this season. Learn to trust them. There will be a lot of partner dancing.”

“Just make smart choices.” Holly smiled. Barnes gave her a quick thumbs up for her addition to his little spiel.

“Our first pair is our two dance captains.”

“Kill me now.” You muttered through gritted teeth.

“Kill me first.” He muttered back.

You were in for one hell of a season.

The first rehearsal was admittedly rough. Every chance you and Lockwood had, you were whispering insults underneath your breath or coughing while the other demonstrated a move.

By the fourth rehearsal, you and Lockwood began to trust each other in your dancing. And even began to bond a little. Sure you still traded little insults whenever he stepped on your toes (or vice versa), but for the most part you became friends.

By the tenth rehearsal, you realized you actually enjoyed your little dynamic. Your hatred turned to teasing and you even began talking to him after rehearsals. This of course earned you more teasing from Norrie and Lucy, but soon even George began to join in as your friend group developed.

Next thing you knew, it was the night before your first competition. You turned to Lockwood after your final runthrough of the night, hoping to give him a high-five, but was caught off guard as he ran his hand through his hair. Dancing and singing was no easy feat so you weren’t surprised that he was sweating, it was just the fact that you found his sweaty hair attractive. It was probably just the stage lights, but you quickly found yourself staring at him.

“You alright?”

You quickly nodded, shaking yourself out of your thoughts of, well, him. “Just thinking about our competition tomorrow.”

“Hey, we’ll be fine. It’s not our first time competing against Fittes. There’s nothing to be worried about.”He reassured as your face dissolved into one of horror.

“Shit.” Lockwood raised an eyebrow at your choice of words. “Kipps.” You answered. His brows furrowed.

“You worried your boyfriend isn’t gonna like our show or something?” You shook your head in dismissal, your face changing to one of disgust.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. Cheated on me with Kat Godwin about a month ago.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” You shrugged off his sympathy till his lips forged into a grin. “It’ll make our win even more rewarding. We’ll put that motherfucker in his place.”

“Yeah, except there’s one step of our little revenge plan missing.”

“Oh?”

You nodded. “In my heartbreak, I may or may not have made an ill-advised decision. And let's say that I told him that I already found a new boyfriend.”

“Oh.” You nodded, pursing your lips as the reality of your situation sunk in.

“So we need to find you a boyfriend.” You nodded. “They don’t sell those at the supermarket, how are we gonna find one overnight?”

“You don’t.” You sighed. “I’ll need to find someone to fake date me for the season.”

“One hiccup with that plan. Fake boyfriends aren’t sold at the store either.”

You nudged him with your shoulder as you began the walk to your car. “I know they don’t. But to get the ultimate revenge, I happen to know someone who he very much hates.”

Lockwood paused beside you, leaving you to turn to him, facing the consequences of your suggestion. “You want me to fake date you?” You gave him a sheepish smile.

“Maybe?”

You watched as he considered it in silence. “If I said yes, I would be doing this the whole season?”

“Preferably.” You watched as he fiddled a bit with his ring. A habit of his you began to notice more as you increasingly spent time together. “But only at competitions. The rest of the time you can go back to hating my guts.”

“I don’t hate your guts. I never have.” You felt heat begin to creep into your cheeks at his words. Maybe you won’t have to worry about finding a fake boyfriend overnight if you get sick before the first comp. “So we’ll just piss off Kipps?”

“Only at comps,” you assured. You sat in silence once more, the cold February air leaving you impatient at the length of his consideration. He was likely finding the best way to turn down your proposition.

You turned to walk away, reaching your car door as he called out, “Let’s do it, babe.” You looked to see him wink at you, feeling the heat flush once more. “Let’s get our revenge.”

You sent him a smile, climbing into your car, and hoped that the feeling in your stomach would subside before tomorrow morning.

The bus ride to the competition was spent huddled over your phone resting atop your shared mountain of garment bags, conversing the details of your fake relationship, and drinking a coffee that Lockwood gave you earlier that morning. He told you they gave him the wrong order and offered it to you, saying it was “too sweet” and that he only wanted an americano. Luckily for you, they mistakenly gave him your favorite latte.

By the time you arrived at the competition, you were a bundle of nerves just itching to finally perform. A quick glance at the clock (and your comp itinerary) left you and Lucy in a rush to find your dressing room to get ready for your performance with your girl’s group, Elegance.

You and Lucy stood backstage after your warmups, watching your stage crew and band load on. You fidgeted with your dress as you double checked your heels were on the right feet. You made that mistake once in a rehearsal your freshman year and vowed to always check before each performance. Just in case. It was a superstition you’d developed.

Thinking of superstitions, you grabbed Lucy’s wrist, giving it a quick tap as you watched Barnes motion you all on stage. Taking your places, the show began.

It was an utter blur, the adrenaline melding the whole show together into what felt like seconds, until your solo began. As you grabbed the mic, you looked to the audience and finally acknowledged the brunet boy sitting front and center. You met his eyes from the stage as he smiled brightly at you. With a quick wink in his direction, you returned the mic to the stand as the rest of Elegance returned from their costume change.

The bows began too soon. You could’ve spent all day on that stage just to know that Lockwood was watching you. He was smiling at you. And not one of his teasing smiles, a real smile.

Still in your costume, you met him in the hallway, running to give him a hug.

“You were incredible. That was incredible!” He was muttering in your ears, as he placed your feet back on the ground.

You simply smiled up at him, caught up in your proximity to him. It wasn’t uncommon to hug people in the midst of a post show reverie. It’s just that you’ve only ever been so close to him when choreographed. It felt different to feel his hands on your waist when it was a choice of your own volition. Your attention shifted as you felt a tap on your back.

Lucy, who you lost earlier in the hallway as she ran to find Norrie, was now pulling you back towards your homeroom to get changed.

“What the hell was that?”

You looked at her. “What the hell was what?”

“Your sexual tension turned romantic.”

“It did not.”

“It did.”

You jumped. “Jesus, George! Where did you come from?”

“I was right next to Lockwood. You were just so caught up in your little rom-com moment that you didn’t notice me.” You frowned.

“Not true, it was not a rom-com moment.”

“You literally just reenacted running through the airport to stop him from flying to Amsterdam to start a new life without you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t kiss him,” Lucy added.

You simply groaned in response. “Lockwood and I are just friends who are fake dating.”

The two raised their eyebrows. “That’s new.”

“That’s really new.” George agreed.

“Kipps is here. We’re trying to piss him off.”

The two nodded. “You’re going for a Proposal kind of thing.”

“Luce, what does that even mean?”

“We have to get you caught up on your rom-coms.” Lucy nodded at George’s comment.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Just, if Kipps asks, Lockwood and I have been dating for a couple of weeks since the breakup.”

And with that, you entered your homeroom to change back into your normal clothes.

“They’re hopeless, Luce. Hopeless.”

“They’ll figure it out sometime soon. Just give them till the end of comp season.”

Once changed, you met Lockwood in the cafeteria, the two of you looking for a seat in the expanses of the cafeteria.

“Well, what do we have here?” You steeled yourself at the sound of your ex’s voice and looked to Lockwood who had already spun around.

“Kipps. What a surprise.”

“Tony! Always a misfortune to see you here.” He turned to you. “I see you’ve become the rebound for our little princess over here.”

“She’s not your princess.” Lockwood stepped forward as you reached for his wrist. “Why don’t you find someone else to bother? I’m sure some of Tendy’s kids are getting bored without someone to insult.”

Kipps simply ignored Lockwood and looked at you. “Tony? Really?”

You let out a dry chuckle. “I could say the same thing about Kat.” Kipps’s face twitched with anger as you continued. “And at least I found someone who actually cares about me, something you could never manage.” You laced your fingers with Lockwood’s. “And his name is Anthony, not Tony.” And with that you pulled Lockwood away.

When it was finally time to perform, you found yourself fidgeting backstage again. Lucy quickly tapped your wrist, leaving to go back by George, her own dance partner. Still toying with a sequin on your dress, you glanced at Lockwood whose hair was in spikes as he continuously ran his hand through it.

“You look like a mess.” You whispered. “Are you always like this before a performance?”

He only nodded. As stage crew was almost done loading on, you quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him. “There’s no way I’m letting you go onstage like this. You look like you’ve been electrocuted. Can I fix your hair for you?” He simply nodded once more as you went on your tippy toes to fix it, wobbling a bit in the process. Lockwood’s hands flew to your waist to steady you, giving you a rush of that same nauseous feeling in your stomach. You brushed off the thought, rationalizing it as nerves, and quickly admired your work with his hair. Adjusting his tie, you flashed him a smile. He responded with a simple squeeze to your hips before he turned to see Barnes gesturing the choir onstage.

The performance was a whirlwind, and before you knew it, Lockwood was dipping you in his arms, his hands supporting your waist. He gave you a little squeeze, identical to the one before you began performing. A large smile had engulfed his features, as he pulled you out of the dip, twirling you as you both exited the stage to the sound of a thundering applause.

“Holy shit.” You exhaled a laugh and turned to Lockwood.

His hands had found their way back to his hair, spiking them up yet again. You found yourself thinking back to yesterday’s rehearsal when he had done the same thing. Without the stage lights, he somehow looked even more beautiful, with his leather jacket pulled taught around his arms. He smiled at you before leaning in to whisper, “We put that bitch in his place.”

You simply laughed along with him, walking back to the homeroom to meet up with Lucy, George, and Norrie.

Later that evening, your choirs were huddled together in a corner of the vast auditorium awaiting the emcee to announce the finalists. In a swarm of the students, one Lockwood was missing, leaving you frantically searching for him. Swatting a sophomore from the seat beside you, you felt Lucy lean over to whisper, “You’re whipped.”

Her words were quickly forgotten by the arrival of the boy holding a pretzel. He tore a piece, squeezing through the row to settle beside you. “Want some?”

Wordlessly, you took it, and turned your attention back towards the stage as the emcee, one Mr. Fairfax, entered. Reaching to Lucy, you linked pinkies with her.

“Going first in your large mixed finals is Tendy High School Swing Sensations!” Squeezing Lucy’s pinky harder, you felt Lockwood’s knee knock into yours, his hand opened beside him, inviting yours.

Lacing your fingers, you heard Fairfax continue. “Second in the large mixed finals is Bunchurch High School Encores!” You felt your body tense. Only two more finalists.

A thumb brushed over the back of your hand, softly. Like a whisper of comfort that one was unsure to offer. You squeezed his hand again. He squeezed right back.

“Your third finalist tonight is Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence!”

You dropped your head, holding your breath to better hear the announcer. “And last but certainly not least, Portland Row High School’s Fusion!”

You exhaled, leaning over to Lockwood and linked your arms with his. “One step closer to revenge.” And with a smile you turned back to Lucy to discuss the possible results of the competition.

On the way to your warm-ups, you felt Lockwood reach over to lace your fingers together. Looking up at him, you saw the pure anxiety on his face. Squeezing his hand, he turned to you, his brow unfurling ever so slightly.

As the Fittes crew exited their warm-ups, Kipps shoulder bumped Lockwood, knocking him into you. His once anxious features dissolved into one of anger, his jaw clenching.

“He’s only doing that because he knows he can’t win.” Lockwood turned back to you, taking a deep breath before the warm-up began.

Once again huddled backstage, you checked down at your shoes while Lucy tapped your wrist again.

“Can you fix my hair again maybe?” Lockwood whispered.

Back on your tippy toes, you checked his hair and straightened his tie. “Are you superstitious, Lockwood?”

Without words, he squeezed your hip before turning to wait for Barnes’ directions.

On the stage, you only got to see Lockwood performing. With his big smile and irresistible charm, it was impossible to think of the boy you saw backstage. The one who holds your hand and squeezes your waist. You’re not sure which Lockwood you liked more: the dazzling performer or the one who needs you to fix his hair. Once your second number was finished, you hit your pose, one Holly was quite proud of. It’s not necessarily even a pose, it’s just a hug. In your quick embrace, you heard Lockwood exhale into your ear, quiet enough to not be picked up by any of the mics, but loud enough for you to hear his words.

“I like when you call me Anthony.” As Norrie began her solo, your mind kept repeating his words. It was as though he was stuck in your head; a broken record on repeat. You found yourself suddenly relating even further to the ballad as you began to sing once more.

Once the bows commenced, you met Lockwood’s eyes as he dipped you for your final pose. It was then you decided that the Lockwood you liked most was Anthony. And as he twirled you offstage, you felt that same nauseous feeling settle into your stomach.

Smiling at him, you rushed to find Lucy and Norrie. “You were right,” you whispered. “Our tension has gone romantic.” Lucy grabbed your elbow, pulling you closer to the wall. “He told me he likes when I call him Anthony.”

“What, during our show?”

“Yes!”

“When is there time to do that?” Norrie asked, huddling around the two of you. “We’re singing the whole time.”

“He whispered it during the hug. Before the ballad.”

“Oh shit.” The two whispered. “Well is it so bad that he maybe has a crush on you?” Lucy continued on. “We’re all waiting for it to happen.”

You ran your hand through your hair, squeezing your eyes shut. “No! No. He doesn’t have a crush on me. I have a crush on him.” The two shared a look before turning back to you. “Telling your friend to call you by your first name is normal. It’s the fact that I can’t stop thinking about it that’s throwing me off.” 

“Well it happened only 10 minutes ago, I’d say it’s fine to think about it after such a short duration.” You groaned.

“It’s not that it’s recent. I don’t get thrown off by things like that. Especially not onstage. He’s gotten into my head.”

“What he’s gotten into is your heart. Is that so bad?”

“Yes! Because it’s Anthony fucking Lockwood! We’ve hated each other for years, he’s only being like this because of forced proximity. Or a bet or something.”

“Keep telling yourself that. But the longer you deny it, the worse it’ll get.”

You sighed, beginning down the hallway. “I just need space from him. It’s just like a showmance, right? None of this is real.” You began nodding slowly. “I don’t like Lockwood.”

“No, you don’t. You like Anthony.” You smacked Norrie’s arm and entered the auditorium, finding Lockwood’s leather jacket over a chair. As soon as he noticed you, he began waving his arms, leaving you no choice but to shimmy your way down the rows and into the seat beside him.

“Thanks, for saving me a seat.”

“Anytime. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t save a seat for you?”

“A pretty crappy one.”

“Well many sources have said I’m the best fake boyfriend on the market.” You wrinkled your nose.

“What are they grading you on?”

“Charm, chivalry, and chemistry.” You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t think the person who judged you had their proper credentials.”

“Rude.” He whispered, as Fairfax entered the stage.

Reaching for his hand, Lockwood laced your fingers together and gave you a quick squeeze.

“Your third runner up, from Bunchurch High School, it’s the Bunchurch Encores!” Snapping with your free hand, you felt Lockwood’s grip tighten. “Your second runner up is the Swing Sensations from Tendy High School!”

You closed your eyes, bending your head as you awaited for the caption awards to be announced. “Best vocals go to Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence.” Holding your breath, you heard Fairfax continue. “Best visuals awarded to Portland Row High School Fusion!” You let out a sigh of relief. There was still a chance.

“And now, for our first runner up. From Portland Row High School, it’s Fusion! Which means that Fittes Academy Vocal Excellence is our Grand Champion. Congrats!” Jumping up and down with the rest of the choir, you turned back to Anthony.

“Sorry we didn’t win.” You bumped your shoulder into his, breaking him from zoning out.

“Why are you sorry? I’m sorry I talked it up so much.” You shrugged. “We’ll get our revenge at the DEPRAC comp, right?” You smiled at him.

“Until then, you’re off duty as my boyfriend.”

“You know? I was really starting to like it.” You watched him wander over to George before Lucy tackled you from behind.

“First runner up for our first competition means we can only go up.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Three weeks later, you found yourself smashed in the bus seat with Anthony for three hours. Holding an empty latte cup— they messed up his order again— you had dozed off on his shoulder halfway into the ride. Feeling a shove, you woke up to see the high school in front of you. The DEPRAC Invitational was an exclusive competition filled with dozens of the best show choirs from your area. You were lucky to even walk the halls.

Placing your garment bags in the homeroom, you heard your name being called.

“You’ve got the solo today.” You looked at Barnes quizzically.

“What solo? Elegance isn’t performing today.”

“Norrie’s out sick. You need to cover the solo.” You nodded. You had auditioned for the 

song earlier in the season so you knew the part. But covering for Norrie left some huge shoes for you to fill. “Can I trust you?”

“Yeah, I’ve got this.”

Meeting Lockwood in the cafeteria, you told him about the switch before being interrupted.

“Come to lose to the big dogs again?” This time it was you turning around first.

“Fuck off, Kipps!”

“Woah, calm down, sunshine. It was just a question!” Lockwood scowled. “And remind your little guard dog here that you were mine first. We both know you’ll come crawling back in the end.”

“That’s enough, Kipps. Leave my girlfriend alone.”

“Sure thing, Tony. No one wants a slut like her anyway.” And with that, Kipps turned sharply, leaving the two of you fuming.

“If it didn’t mean getting us disqualified, I would have kicked his ass for you.”

“That’s not your job to do. I can handle myself!” 

“I know that but I’m your boyfriend I wanna-”

“You’re not my boyfriend!” You seethed. Not sure where this anger with him was coming from, you stormed off to avoid any further arguments.

You avoided him for the rest of the day, only going near him to fix his hair and tie or to dance. You didn’t squeeze his hand or hug him after performing, despite his attempts to compliment your solo.

As finals rolled around, you found yourself more anxious than ever before. As Lockwood squeezed your waist one last time, you finally met his eyes before snapping out of his trance. You refuse to get blindsided by his pretty brown eyes, but distancing yourself from him was impossible as the whole group was packed like sardines in the wings. With a small smile, Lockwood turned around and entered the stage.

As the second song ended, you realized the breath you were holding as Lockwood posed in your hug again. His breath warm against your ear he whispered again. “I want to be your real boyfriend.” Masked by the applause, you allowed your breath to stutter before the music to the ballad began.

Departing his embrace, you grabbed the mic with shaking hands. This love song, this twisted and toxic depiction of love you were singing about found a resolve deep in your bones, the chills of the rest of the choir singing behind you settling across your skin. The fear of a boy who found a chink in your armor resounded in your heart and the anger of a confession you were too blinded to accept. It felt like hours when Lockwood finally squeezed your hip one last time as you twirled off stage.

Gripping his leather jacket, you pulled him into a hidden vestibule, the adrenaline of your performance still coursing your veins.

“What the hell was that?” You seethed.

“The truth.”

“Couldn’t the truth have waited?”

“You’ve been avoiding me all day! When else was I supposed to tell you?”

“Never! You were never supposed to tell me!”

He groaned, running his hands through his sweaty hair. “I had to tell you! It was killing me! I’ve wanted to be your boyfriend since freshman year. And the second I finally thought I had a chance with you, you came to school with that stupid Kipps as your lock screen. How do you think that felt?

“To be second place to an asshole like that for so long! I hated how I still liked you, so I pretended to hate you. To drive you away. And it finally worked! But the instant you asked me to fake date you was like a dream come true. I couldn’t deny it anymore that I still wanted to be yours. To even pretend you actually reciprocated any feelings was as good as any other. But it wasn’t enough for me! I need you.”

“You’re making this up. You got caught in the whirlwind! It’s just a showmance!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do! You don’t mean any of this and you’ll regret it all by next week. Trust me I’ve-”

He pulled your waist, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. Grabbing his lapels, you quickly found yourself kissing him back. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he further pulled you into him till your bodies were fully flesh against each other. Pulling away, you tried to lean back in but he further pulled back. “Since you’re so sure it was fake, there’s your proof. I’m done waiting for you.” And he turned down the hallway.

The second you snapped from your daze, you ran to find him, but he was already lost in the crowd. Finding Lucy, she pulled you aside, taking you to Barnes. “Found her!”

“Perfect, where’s Lockwood?”

“Behind you,” you turned to look at him but his attention was fully on your director.

“You two are our reps for awards tonight. Got it? Head backstage.” You both looked at him. “Now!” Turning back towards backstage, the two of you departed, a heavy silence falling over you.

“Can we talk about this?”

“What is there to talk about?” Crossing his arms, Lockwood turned from you.

“Anthony, please?”

“Some lovers quarrel.” You look up to see Kipps and Kat. “This is just your first heartbreak of the day. Can’t wait to watch you lose.” And with that, you were beckoned on the stage for the presenting of awards.

“Your second runner up, from Rotwell High School, the Rhythm Makers!”

You brushed your pinky against Lockwood’s, smiling when he relented and linked them together.

“Your vocal caption award goes to… Portland Row High School Fusion!” Your smile spread further as Lockwood squeezed your pinky. “And our visual caption award goes to… Fusion again!” Turning to smile at Lockwood, you found him already looking at you.

“And now, for your first runner up.” You began holding your breath, squeezing Lockwood’s pinky even tighter. “Fittes Academy!” Your jaw dropped as you began smiling in realization. “Congratulations to our Grand Champions from Portland Row High School!” 

Holding the caption awards and trophy, you and Lockwood watched as the rest of your choir joined you on the stage. Each given a medal, tears and hugs were shared. Exiting the stage, you grabbed Lockwood by his medal, pulling him back to that same vestibule.

Pulling his lips to yours, you felt his hands find your waist, squeezing it gently. “Revenge is only fun if it’s real.” You muttered, lips still brushing gently over his. “This is real for me, Anthony.” Looking into your eyes, he pushed your hair back before capturing you in another kiss.

You felt him begin to smile into it, brushing his thumb over your cheeks. Reaching to play with his hair, you deepened the kiss until finally pulling apart for air.

“I think we should kiss after each performance.”

“Yeah?” He looked at you, the teasing smile you were so familiar with painting his face.

“Maybe I’m a little superstitious.”

[optimizche]

Missing (Part 5) [Aemond Targaryen x Reader]

A/N: I hope you enjoy this chapter, my loves! Feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Early that morning, Aemond held a sleeping Jaehaera in his arm, the toddler sleeping on his shoulder as he sat in one of the armchairs in Helaena's chambers.

His daughter always slept so soundly around him, the thought bringing a ghost of a smile to his lips.

Little Jaehaerys slept peacefully in his cot and Aemond gave the boy a fond glance before returning to the book he was reading in his free hand.

Even as his eye scanned the pages of the book, Aemond could not comprehend a single word. Too preoccupied by thoughts of you.

When you had given him the kiss that healed him in the cave, you had awakened something in the one-eyed Prince. If he closed his eye and let his mind drift, he could still feel the warmth of your full lips upon his, your almost mystical powers tingling against his flesh. Even the gentle touch of your hands reminded him of the spring sunlight underneath the weirwood tree where the two of you had spent so many seasons together…

"You seem distracted, ever since you've arrived from Storm's End," came Helaena's soft, dreamy voice, the observation accurate as ever.

"Hmm," Aemond agreed.

In the hours since you had departed from Storm's End, you were present in the forefront of his mind. The snowy haired prince spent his moments recalling every single detail of you, every single memory of you that he held.

How fond his father and mother had been of you. How you argued with Aegon, Jacaerys and Lucerys when they took their teasing too far. How intently you spent your time studying, your brows furrowing with concentration as you studied the arts of healing and different tongues spoken in Westeros and beyond. How he'd often find you sitting with a book under the weirwood tree, and how your eyes would light up when you'd see that it was him who had interrupted your solitude.

How hurt you had been when he turned his anger on you that night in Driftmark, tears shining in your doe-eyes as he pushed you aside for claiming Vhagar's strength as his own. All you had ever done was loved him and in return, he had hurt you and cast you aside.

Aemond's thoughts then shifted from memories of your childhood to the present.

What a strong-willed and accomplished woman you had grown up into, maturing into a woman so beautiful that any man in Westeros would be fortunate to have you. How well you had honed and controlled your powers, how you had even become a dragon rider and a woman trained in combat as well.

You were nothing like his sister, the mother of his children, who occupied herself with her bugs, her needlework, her dreams and her babies.

Had you never left, perhaps Aemond would have asked for your hand in marriage upon growing a little older, upon gaining a little maturity. Upon seeing and appreciating you for who you truly were. Perhaps the child, now sleeping in his arms, would have been yours and his…

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of Ser Arryk who stepped through the door of Helaena's chambers.

"I apologise for the interruption My Queen, My Prince. The King requests your presence in the Throne Room. Urgently," the knight of the Kingsguard and Aegon's close friend spoke.

Aemond frowned. Strange. Aegon was never an early riser, too inebriated from his drinking and whoring the night before to make it to the Small Council meetings before late afternoon.

"Both of us?" Helaena asked Ser Arryk, gesturing for her handmaiden to take Jaehaera, who was still sleeping, from Aemond's arms.

"Yes, My Queen."

Helaena looked at Aemond with concern, rising to her feet nevertheless and following the knight.

Aemond walked a few steps behind her, letting her lead the way to the Throne Room.

King Aegon sat atop the Iron Throne, holding what looked like two pieces of crumpled parchment in his hands, the black and gold doublet and the crown of Aegon The Conqueror he wore giving him a look of authority.

The Throne Room was empty, save for the presence of a handful of the gold cloaks of the City Watch and the white cloaked Kingsguard. And Queen Mother Alicent Hightower and her father, Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.

Upon seeing his sister-wife and brother enter the Throne Room, King Aegon's face morphed from seriousness to absolutely seething with rage.

"Your Grace, must you do this?" Queen Mother Alicent asked her eldest son, worry laced in her voice, her expression one of utter distress, who held up a hand to silence her.

"I've been a pawn in your scheming long enough, Mother," the King stated. "This is something I wish to find out for myself."

Turning to Aemond and Helaena, the King tossed his brother one of the pieced of parchment he held. "Something interesting arrived by raven at dawn."

Hastily, Aemond smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper, reading its contents at which he slowly felt the blood drain off his face. The broken white wax seal contained no sigil, the penmanship unrecognisable to the one-eyed scholar.

When he looked at Helaena, Aemond could see that she had grown white as a sheet. Cowering at his side, having read the letter with her own eyes.

Trying carefully to conceal the dread that he felt in his heart, the King's younger brother opened his mouth to speak.

But the King interjected him. "Do you deny these charges?"

"My King," Otto Hightower began. "We mustn't let such base calumnies create divide within the house of the Conqueror-"

"Do shut up, Grandfather," Aegon hissed. "I am addressing my siblings, not you. You need to hold your tongue given how useless you've been with securing Princess Rhaenyra's surrender at Dragonstone."

Otto Hightower stared at the King with baleful eyes but gratefully remained silent.

As did the rest of the hall.

"You both don't even have the decency to deny these charges? Shall I assume them as truth, then?" Aegon asked.

"These are blatant lies, Aegon," Aemond said, finding his voice. "Filthy rumours started by enemies to create friction amongst us. We remain ever loyal to you. I've secured House Baratheon for you with my betrothal and-"

"You know, it amuses me that you mention House Baratheon," the King said, leaning back in his seat and drawing out the second piece of parchment, shaking it angrily in his hand. "I received a raven from Borros Baratheon this morning. He has clearly stated that he refuses to ally himself with a Prince who's reputation is sullied by rumours of adultery and fathering of bastards. According to him, your betrothal to his precious Cassandra is now at an end, Aemond. And he is CONSIDERING SWEARING ALLEGIANCE TO RHAENYRA'S FACTION!" the King bellowed, his voice echoing through the Throne Room, sending Aemond's blood run cold. "Perhaps this 'lie' does have some merit to it after all."

"Who- How many?" Aemond gaped.

"The Riverlands, The Vale and the Reach have allied themselves with the Blacks, having received similar letters in the last few hours," King Aegon said, running a hand across his face wearily. "Dorne and the North are currently considering generous terms from Princess Rhaenyra. So, I ask you both once again, is this all a lie?"

Helaena remained silent at Aemond's side, unable to speak a word. While the one eyed Prince looked up at his brother, stunned into silence.

The silence stretched out for a few long and unbearable moments, while Aemond pondered who could have done this?

"Fine," Aegon spoke. "Have it your way. Kingsguard, hold the Queen confined in the Tower of the Hand until my command. Take the twins with her."

Ser Arryk stepped up beside Helaena who had now begun to weep. She threw her arms around Aemond in tears, clinging to him almost desperately while he stood shocked. "Aemond, please, stop them…" she sobbed.

"The remedy is obscured in frost, enwreathed in darkened flames, Aemond! The remedy is obscured in frost, enwreathed in darkened flames!" she cried, and he could only wonder at the meaning of her words.

Before Aemond could ask her what her words meant, Helaena was being pried forcefully away from him by Ser Arryk who guided her out of the Throne Room as her cries turned to wails.

"My King," Otto Hightower said, an urgency finding its way into his voice. "You cannot hold your Queen captive!"

At this, Aegon laughed ruefully. "For as long as I remember, I've been nothing but a bargaining tool in your machinations. Less a grandchild and more a stepping stone on your way to the top of the social ladder of Westeros. I have endured the verbal and physical abuse you and Mother meted out, forever listening and acquiescing to your demands. No more. I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms and my command is that Aemond Targaryen be exiled from the Crownlands. Indefinitely."

Aegon turned his rage toward his brother, his voice turning cold. "Before the day of my coronation, I begged you to let me escape to the Free Cities. You were the one who was always going to be better than me at being King, you said. I never wanted to marry Helaena. I only wanted to spar with my nephews and was content with my childish pranks on you, Aemond. I never wished to be the King of the Seven Kingdoms. But the crown of the Conqueror now rests on my head and you have committed treason against your King. I refuse to be humiliated any further by my own kin," he said. "Consider yourself grateful that I am sparing your life from a public execution. I am sparing you from lifelong duty on The Wall with the Night's Watch. You will surrender your wretched dragon to the dragonkeepers and make your leave from King's Landing within an hour. Never to return."

"Aegon, please! Have mercy!" Queen Mother Alicent pleaded, tears running down her own face as she watched the men of the City Watch drag her second son away from the Throne Room.

The sound of her cries echoing through the halls was the last thing Aemond remembered before the doors to the Throne Room were shut in his face.

You sat at the Painted Table in the Great Hall of Dragonstone, with Jacaerys beside you while you waited with Lucerys, Rhaena and Baela for the Queen Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon and the rest of the Lords and knights on the island to begin the council session.

Jace could see the worry on your face, his hand gently grazing your own in a gesture of reassurance. When you looked at him, he gave you a comforting smile. It will be alright, sweet one, you could almost hear him say.

It was the sound of approaching footsteps that drew you to your feet, Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon smiling, positively smiling, as they walked into the room followed by their knights and lords.

"We have received ravens this morning from the Vale, the Reach and the Riverlands. Lords from major and minor houses swearing allegiance to our side," the Queen informed you all, beaming.

Exhaling the breath you did not realise you were holding, you looked at Jace, who was now smiling openly at you, making a smile break out upon your own lips.

Lord Corlys Velaryon, freshly returned from the Stepstones having recovered from his bout of fever then took over the council.

Briefing you all about his plan to place blockades on The Gullet with his fleet, obstructing the main pathway of trade and commerce to Westeros: The Narrow Sea.

The whole council heartily agreed with the plan, Princess Rhaenys proposing that she would patrol The Gullet herself, starting that very same day, upon the back of her dragon, Meleys.

It was when Prince Daemon brought up the topic of bringing House Stark to Queen Rhaenyra's cause that you saw Maester Gerardys rush into the room with a message.

He handed it to Prince Daemon, before giving you and Jacaerys a rather significant look and taking his own seat at the table.

Reading the piece of parchment in his hand, you could see joy sparkling in Prince Daemon's eyes as he let out a victorious laugh.

"My spies in King's Landing have just informed me that Aegon the cunt has exiled his own brother, Aemond, while imprisoning his sister-wife Helaena and her children in the Tower of the Hand," he said. "He has also sacked Otto Hightower as Hand of the King, replacing him with Criston Cole."

You looked at the map on the Painted Table, trying to avoid anyone's eyes, trying to make sense of what you were feeling. It was a tumult of emotions, ranging from triumph and vindication to a hint of sadness.

The sadness you felt was for Helaena's children, for being discriminated against on the account of their bastardy. You had no love left for Helaena herself, your heart being too resentful after hearing the confirmation that she had borne Aemond's children. You knew that deep down, it was no fault of hers, but you just felt so bitter about her relationship with him.

Jacaerys gave your hand a squeeze, seeming to sense exactly what you felt and you found yourself looking up at him with a small, restrained smile.

"This war's trajectory has been drastically altered, my Lords and Ladies," Prince Daemon said, calling for an end to the meeting.

Just as you were about to exit the hall, you heard Queen Rhaenyra call out to you and Jacaerys.

You could feel your heart thundering in your chest as you made your way back to the table. Had you been found out?

"Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North, is a man closer to your ages than mine," the Queen said. "Jacaerys, you will depart on dragonback to treat with the Lord. And you shall accompany him to Winterfell, my dear," she said, turning to you.

"Me?" you asked, flabbergasted.

"Yes, dear one. You," the Queen asserted, reaching out to take your hands in hers. "I am not doing the mistake of sending my son without you, as I had done with Lucerys. If it weren't for you, he would be…" she trailed off and you understood exactly what she meant.

"You honour me, My Queen," you said, grasping her own hands with yours. "But I have no royal blood-"

"In the past few days, you have behaved more like royalty than anyone. You have demonstrated how instrumental you are to our side in this war. Not only did you rescue my Luke from sure death, you helped secure the allegiances of so many houses all at once," she said, giving you a knowing smile.

"I- How did you…?" you stuttered, giving Jace an accusing stare but he held up his own hands in surrender as if to say that it wasn't me.

"It was Maester Gerardys, who informed me what you had done," the Queen replied.

"On both occasions, at Storm's End and by writing those letters, you acted without the leave of your Queen," Prince Daemon said, smiling impishly at you. "Your sense of rebellion, your determination to do what is right is something I deeply admire, little one."

"My Prince, I-"

"You remind me of myself, dearest," Queen Rhaenyra said fondly. "Once upon a time, I, too, flew here to Dragonstone, without the permission of my father, the King Viserys, to retrieve a dragon's egg that my now lord husband had stolen."

"Hey!" Prince Daemon chuckled, acting like he was hurt by his wife's words.

"You've proven yourself worthy at every test, my dear. And I'm sure Jace will appreciate your company in the cold and hard North," the Queen said.

"Thank you, My Queen," you could only manage to speak, still trying to come to terms with the consequences of your actions as you left the Great Hall with Jacaerys.

You were in your chambers, restlessly fretting over which dresses and gowns you must take along with you to Winterfell.

Accustomed to the warm and pleasant weather at King's Landing and Dragonstone, you were hardly equipped to deal with the harsh Northern cold.

Also playing in your mind was the news of Aemond's exile. You had not believed Aegon of being capable of it, truth be told. But he had, in fact, exiled his younger brother while keeping his dragon, Vhagar.

Where would Aemond go now? He was effectively homeless, a traitor declared by the King himself. What was he going to do next? He had no lands or holdings of his own, the King must have ensured to strip those away, too. His betrothal with the Baratheon girl was ended. He was separated from Helaena and his children. Surely this would cause a great deal of anger in him, but how would he retaliate? Would he find out that it was you who had written those-

A knock on the door interrupted your relentless train of thought, and when you asked the person to enter, expecting your handmaiden to return with the cloaks and gloves you had asked her to fetch, you found Jacaerys walking in instead.

"All ready to leave?" he asked, brightly, his eyes taking in the mess of clothes in your bedroom.

You chuckled, placing a hand on your forehead. "Well, almost," you sighed closing your eyes to cease your overthinking.

"Hey," the dark haired Prince said, taking a hold of your other hand in both of his. "Are you still worried about Aemond?" he asked, reading you like an open book.

"I am," you admitted. "He attacked Luke with no provocation, despite Luke insisting that he had come to Storm's End as a messenger and not a warrior. What do you think he'll do to me if he finds out that it was my letter that got him exiled?" you asked, concern growing in your urgently whispered words.

"You have nothing to worry about, sweet one," Jace said, tugging you closer until you stood before him, his brown eyes shining with warmth. "You are a dragonrider, a fighter, a healer. You have already proved that you can defend yourself in dire situations."

"But-"

"And I will be by your side," he promised. "My uncle won't harm you unless he goes through me first. I give you my word."

You smiled at his words. Jacaerys always had a way about him that made you feel warm and secure.

Safe.

"I'm also afraid that I'm going to be an utter disaster in Winterfell," you admitted.

At this, Jace openly chortled. "What are you talking about? You will be the delight of Winterfell!" he said, his hand gently sweeping a stray strand of your hair away from your face. "The North will finally have some warmth and light from the radiance of your beauty."

"You flatter me, Jace," you said as colour flushed your cheeks.

"I mean it," he said, before thinking for a moment. "But if Lord Cregan Stark decides to make a move on you, I'll have to kill him."

"Jacaerys!" you exclaimed, before bursting into a fit of laughter along with him.

You'd be fine in Winterfell.

You'd be alright, you were certain.

Almost.

Part 6

[kifkay]

Winx Headcanons, part 2!

Riven is a genuine fan of Musa’s music.

Musa is an early riser and annoying about it. Flora is also an early riser but is chill about it. 

Stella can sleep for like twelve hours straight and not give a damn. 

Tecna and Bloom stay up late at night, Tecna more so than Bloom. She will maim whoever wakes her early. 

Aisha loves to take naps whenever she feels like it, and sleeps like a baby. She also kicks at night.

All the Specialists have to be early risers because paramilitary school. Sorry, boys :(

Bloom and Sky sometimes fantasise about owning a menagerie of pets, if they were ever to move in together. 

Riven is genuinely a fan of Musa’s music.

Specialists vis-a-vis combat: out of all the boys, Sky has the best technique. He is also intuitive, able to read his opponent’s body language and easily predict what step they might take next. Timmy’s a short shooter, their main pilot, strategist and handler. He’s a whole unit on an actual mission, but is pretty useless in hand-to-hand combat. Brandon is the strongest, yet the most reckless with himself. He relies on his raw power and stamina to carry him through fights; a DnD Barbarian through-and-through. Riven, like Sky, is an excellent marksman. He has a knack for improvised weaponry and utilising his surroundings.

Helia is on par with Brandon vis-a-vis strength. He is agile; capable of dodging attacks and outsmarting opponents. Usually prefers to detain enemies and knock them out, and rarely engages in actual combat. When he is angry, there’s less technique, and more of self-destructive, horrifying beating.

Nabu is a warlock. He makes duplicates of himself that are capable of fighting but are glass cannons. He can detain and blind enemies, become invisible, make a fog, etc. In hand-to-hand combat, he lacks experience and stamina, but has a couple of tricks up his sleeve.

Sky is surprisingly a very good cook. All of the Specialists are not half bad at cooking, except for Nabu (that nepo baby never cooked a meal for himself in his life). 

The Winx are mostly bad at cooking. Tecna is ok; she follows all recipes to a T and ends with middling results. Musa is the best among the girls and actually enjoys cooking. 

Aisha likes sleeping with the lights on.

Since Aisha and Stella room together, Stella commissioned a Solarian engineer to create quality, magic light spheres that last months. They float near the ceilings and Piff likes to try and catch them. 

One side effect of prolonged psychic intrusion on a mind is the nightmares that follow afterwards. Riven struggles with them after Darcy.

Nabu also struggles with nightmares, due to him being a warlock and having battled/spared with many other psychics. As well as Darcy. He’s more humorous and dismissive of them; he says that he cannot remember his nightmares aside from a vague feeling of emptiness and anxiety. After meeting Aisha and working against Valtor, his nightmares would become way more concrete and terrifying. 

All the Winx adore Miele, and she loves them in turn. Tecna is probably her favorite though; she just finds her “the coolest and the bravest”!

Miele definitely had a crush on Brandon and Helia, although it was short-lived. 

Helia and Saladin have a very close, very complicated relationship. 

In childhood, Helia was entranced by his “Company of Light, Brightest sorcerer of Magix” grandpa Saladin. His father Rames was a pacifist and had a strained relationship with Saladin, but didn’t want to deprive little Helia of his grandfather. When Helia’s father and mother were in the midst of divorce, Helia, under Saladin’s guidance, enrolled in the Red Fountain. Rames raised his voice on Helia for the very first time and they had a big argument, which resulted in them not talking for a few months. 

They made up, but their relationship remained strained until Helia dropped out of school and came home to his father. 

Saladin instilled perfectionism in Helia, always expecting excellency and above. Saladin, being a military man, didn’t believe in “expressing feelings” or “being pacifist”. 

Saladin truly only wanted the best for Helia, but he never understood him or his own son.

Rames absolutely adores Flora. He is the crunchy-muchy granola dad, Henry Oak style, and how could he not love an eco-terrorist icon, the gentle Flora? 

[unlucky-phantom]

Cayde-6 x Guardian reader SFW alphabet relationship headcanons.

So, first post, it's a long one I will say but I tried my best to be as accurate as I think it would be. hope you'll enjoy x

um...warning for swearing i guess. Could be read as gender-neutral, there is a mention of periods but it's barely there so I'll tag it as both. other than that have some good old fluff.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

At first, Cayde is slightly reluctant to show affection in front of people he doesn't trust wholeheartedly, mostly because he's worried you might become a target, not wanting another Taniks and Andal situation. When he sees you can more than hold your own in combat, he is happy to relax a little. (Just a little)

Afterwards, when you two are in public he's not afraid to let people know you're his, he's actually very proud of the fact that he won you over however there's no over-the-top PDA. A stolen kiss here and there, holding your hand, a hand on your lower back or waist, maybe the odd steamy moment somewhere in a dark corner of the hanger as you both giggle like teenagers.

Privately he's incredibly affectionate, wanting to make the most of the very slim amount of downtime the 2 of you have together. He'll follow you around your home like a cat, eager to simply be in your presence. He's always finding an excuse to touch you, sitting together on the sofa? He's got his head laid in your lap. Cooking in the kitchen? He's got his chin resting on your shoulder, watching you, arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Your friendship with Cayde would likely start after he tells you to take him with him because he hates his job. Much to his delight and surprise you try and sneak him out onto your ship, however Zavala has eyes everywhere and catches you both in the act. After a slap on the wrist, Cayde takes you out to ramen when he's next able to, to apologise for being a "bad influence" or so Zavala says. (he tooootally didn't sneak out a 2nd time to do this).

As your best friend, he's ride or die. He's incredibly loyal, maybe a little brash but you know both of you have each other’s 6, on and off the field. After a while, he's not afraid to show up (normally unannounced) at your home at stupid o'clock in the morning. He claims it's just because he's an early riser, or he was just awake, or some other ridiculous excuse, it's actually because you're the only thing that can calm him after the nightmares that more often than not plague him during the night.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Oh god yes. This man is the exo equivalent of a limpet. He loves the feeling of your skin under his fingers, your warmth pressed against him. He loves them for a lot of reasons. They're comfy, and deep down he misses the warmth of a human body.

If you're hunkered down, cuddled up in one of his many hideouts, stashes or one of your homes, he likes to make shapes on your skin. He likes to be big spoon 90% of the time, wrapping himself around you, arms around your waist securely, a protective gesture, it'll take a lot to coax out of him that he partially does this because if shit hits the fan while you're sleeping, he knows exactly where you are. You can feel the hum of his internal workings against your back, a soothing melody, the gentle vibrations seeming to mimic a heartbeat and breathing.

There are the odd days that cayde isn't big spoon. The nights his nightmares get too much, or he arrives home battered and exhausted, he'll crawl into bed with you without a word, kick off his boots and lay his head on your chest. You let him stay there a while before coaxing him into removing his armour and getting into something more comfortable. Afterwards, it's straight back to nestling his head into your chest, listening to your heart, legs tangled together. He's particularly fond when you gently stroke the back of his head and hum some soft tune.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Deep down cayde would like the idea of settling down, he knows the likelihood of that is slim. It's a dangerous and volatile world and he knows he'll probably never stop fighting. But he fights for the life he could have, someday. He also loves the wilds too much, out on the bleak expanse of Mars, the cold snows of Europa or the various golden age ruins on Earth, the call of adventure is something cayde will always answer, an adrenaline junky at heart.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

There are few reasons I can think cayde would break up with you, your safety being the main one. Maybe an argument broke out about how reckless you were being or how reckless he was being, he isn't known for his sense of self-preservation. Maybe he thinks you deserve better, better than he can give and no matter how much you plead and beg it's hard to change his mind. He would talk to you; he'd at least have the nerve to break up with you face to face. He'd make a point of avoiding you as much as possible after.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Commitment is a tricky one, cayde but he's an all-or-nothing guy. Once he knows you're the one, the one he can trust, the one that can keep up with him, the one he can confide him, then he's there. Cayde wouldn't want to get married soon, the tower is a hectic place and there's always a new threat on the horizon, but he'd promise you one day, when the fighting stops, then, then you can tie the knot. It's a bittersweet promise that you often doubt will ever come to light but right now you have each other, facing the dangers of the system together.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

The first time cayde went to hug you, he accidentally bashed you with his horn, a bright red and sore mark on your cheek. After that, he's a little more cautious with his enthusiasm...a little.

When you’re hanging out together in your private space cayde isn't opposed to the occasional tickle fight and rough and tumble. (He will never admit that he, an exo, has a ticklish spot but you know the truth. Tickle a sensitive patch of silicone by his hip and he's a mess)

But when you're feeling down, the pressures of the tower getting to you, your injured or it's that time of month, he treats you like glass. Like you're the most precious thing he's laid his hands on, swaddling you in blankets and wrapping his arms around you. He speaks in low soothing tones and rocks you gently, he’ll likely order you both ramen and put on your favourite holotape.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Cayde is a big hugger when it comes to those he truly cares about. Most times he plays it off as a joke when he opens his arms and says "Hugs?" But he'll never admit the glee it brings when someone (especially you) steps into his outstretched arms.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Cayde definitely overthinks it. He spends nights losing sleep questioning if he truly feels love or just a ghost of what his human consciousness thought as love. He overthinks saying it to you, it’s only when you're about to do some stupid and possibly self-sacrificing thing on a mission that it's blurted out in desperate panic at the thought of never being able to tell you again. He’ll be grabbing you by the shoulders and you can see the desperation in his face.

After the mission cayde won't mention it unless you do. If you ignore it he'll become a little more reclusive, not as touchy-feely any more.

 But if you do, and you reciprocate his feelings, a stupid grin will grow on his face and no matter where or who is watching he's grabbing your face and kissing you with all the pent-up emotion he's been bottling since the friendship morphed into more confusing feelings, feelings of wanting…well, more.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Cayde is a very self-assured guardian, and he trusts you. He knows that you'd never do anything to betray him...Its other people he doesn't trust. Not that he doesn't think you can't stick up for yourself or know when someone is getting a little TOO cosy, but he will step in now and again. He’d saunter over with his usual charm, an arm winding around your waist. "Who’s this, dollface?" he'd ask sweetly while eyeing the other guardian, a clear message. she’s mine. back off

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

At first, Cayde was slightly worried about kissing you for the first time. Had you ever kissed an Exo before? Would you want to? When he begins to develop feelings for you, he often finds himself thinking about what it would be like if it finally happens, your soft lips against his.... Lips? Face plates? Whatever people choose to call them.

Your first kiss likely happens in the heat of the moment, relieved after a high-stakes mission together and unable to contain himself anymore, his leather-gloved hands find your cheeks, pulling you up into a passionate kiss. It was a new experience, his 'lips' were softer, smoother than you imagined an exos to be. When the kiss finally breaks you are both breathless, gazing at one another.

After this cayde would steal kisses occasionally. He was surprisingly good at sneaking kisses while you were both out and about the tower. Pulling you into hidden alcoves, sneaky chaste kisses while Zavala is turned away giving long speeches about.... something neither of you remembers.

When the pair of you are in the privacy of your homes cayde will take his time, he loves kissing any bit of you he can get to. lips, cheeks, neck, anywhere. Likewise, he loves feeling your lips on him, when you swoop in to kiss his cheek when you're busy in the kitchen, his chest when you're curled up in bed, he's addicted to the feel of your lips on him.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Cayde doesn't get many opportunities to be around children. Often his interactions are fleeting waves as he walks the last city on patrol or when disaster has struck and he's ushering frightened families to safety, trying to treasure them. When you see these rare moments, you don't miss how his demeanour softens slightly but there's a ... melancholy beneath it.

however every month or so cayde gets plenty of time to spend with children..he has to coach his dodgeball team after all. it is very early on that cayde tells you about how he beat Shaxx and convinced the titan to play dodgeball with the children of the Last City. Cayde cant help but laugh when the children he's coaching meet you for the first time and start singing teasing songs about kissing in trees. these are usually followed up by cayde with an over-exaggerated eyebrow wiggle and "you know... I know some pretty good trees" whispered between barely held-back giggles.

Cayde's little team love you and the Hunter Vanguard totally hasn't gotten everyone team shirts. yours may or may not say property of cayde somewhere either hidden or in massive letters on the back, hell say its a printing error...it totally wasnt.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

If you're not both on some sort of mission or patrol, you normally wake up in an empty bed, cayde likely already off to perform his vanguard duties.

If you’re both up bright and early, he’ll wake you with a gentle shake and soft words. His voice is not warmed, up its lower, a little staticky and it sends shivers through you. Once you’re both dressed he’ll make you coffee and ask about your jobs for the day before wishing you a safe day and kissing you softly.

If both of you have a rare day when neither of you has morning commitments, it's the sun peaking lazily through the blinds that wakes you, Caydes arms around you securely. If you try to get up and escape the cocoon of warmth, the response from him will be a groan of protest as he pulls you back towards him, nuzzling into you and murmuring "Stay" and how could you resist such a request?

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights where you can stay up late with no commitments the next morning are spent either in a bar somewhere in the last city, hidden away in a corner. or you would spend it in your room. drinking, playing cards, or just cuddling while some old golden-age holotapes play.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

It takes a long time. There are some things even Zavala and Ikora aren't privy to. One of those things being Cayde's journal and ace. He very slowly begins opening up, the charismatic and charming mask slipping slightly to show you the vulnerable and scarred exo beneath. Eventually, after a few years, cayde will tell you about Ace and his journals over a quiet drink away from other prying ears. It's a few years after this that he actually lets you read them.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Cayde inwardly is a patient man. He'll make jokes about how long things are taking, and pester people, normally Zavala but part of being a hunter is control and knowing when to wait for the best moment to strike.

That doesn't mean people don't push his buttons sometimes. He doesn't take kindly to threats or things bothering those he holds dear, namely you. Cayde is quick to shut it down.

You rarely see cayde truly angry, pissed yes, irritated also yes. But angry, that's a rare 'treat'. He's not a loud angry person but the type who when they go silent you know shit is about to hit the fan. A quiet cayde is a dangerous cayde.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Cayde remembers most things, his position as hunter vanguard means he's under a lot of pressure to remember things such as patrols, Bounties and planning the next missions but he'll make an effort to remember dates. Anniversaries, birthdays, and other important dates he comics to memory. He tries to remember your favourite foods so he can surprise you with dinner sometimes.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

You were both so tired. Tried, worn out and stressed. You were returning from a mission that had gone south quickly and from your seat behind him you could hear his leather gloves creak in protest at his tight grip on the controls as he piloted the ship. You'd both been in foul moods, sleep-deprived and aching, the mission had been filled with snappy retorts and growled orders. You hadn't spoken since getting on the ship. The silence was broken by Zavala on the coms ordering for your return, Cayde interrupts, slamming a finger on the disconnect button. "Fuck this" he grows and turns the ship around.

Minutes later you finally touch down somewhere and neither of you moves, he slumps back into his seat. " 'm sorry" he murmurs, not turning to look at you. His voice is quiet, remorseful. You ask where you are, and he signals to the exit of the ship. Once you disembark you find yourself in a forest clearing, a lean-to was haphazardly built against a tree, filled with a few caches, chairs and supply boxes. "Little private hideaway. Sometimes I just...need somewhere" he says leading you to a chair.

He pours you a glass of something, it's strong and warms your throat on the way down. You stay there that night, laid out on a blanket drinking and just talking. Wrapped up in one another under the stars. That's the night he tells you about Andal, about Ace and his journals. The night he truly realises how much you mean to him and how much he can't let you go.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Cayde outwardly is about what you would expect when someone's in a relationship. He's cool and collected and shows he knows you can handle yourself. But inside that exo brain is a totally different story. He knows every mission you're going on location and time. He's committing your ship, sparrow and every detail of your armour to memory, God forbid he ever have to look for it, wreckage or otherwise.

If you're on a mission with him, he's first through every doorway, round every corner and in every room. He plays it off as being the leader of the fire team and thus leading. But really, it's to make sure if there's a trap, a hidden danger or an enemy and you’re both caught unaware it's not you who gets the hit.

If he's having particularly bad days after nightmares about Andal and other lost friends, he might slip a tracker into your gear in case something happens to you. When you found it, you were livid at first. You let him explain, panicked words tumbling out promising it wasn’t out of worry of you being unfaithful but fear of actually losing you in that big expanse outside your cosy apartment. After that, you Make sure your ghost sends cayde frequent updates on your location while you're on missions to cayde.

You've saved Caydes ass more times than either of you can count. Every time you do there's a look in his eye. One that took you a while to decipher but when you did you realised it was a mix of pride and trust. He knows you have his 6. And he'll never admit how hot it is when you get angry at whatever it is threatening his life and subsequently beating it into a pulp just for him.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Caydes' love langue is acts of service and physical touch.

Cayde would try, bless him. He'd try so hard but in the chaos, it would be difficult. Your odd and often full schedules rarely match up but when they do he's making plans, and dates, he's buying you flowers, and gifts.

Everyday tasks like making your coffee, and running you a bath when you return from a long day among others are a regular when it comes to cayde.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He’s incredibly self-sacrificing when it comes to fighting the good fight. Even if it means him stumbling in at 3 am, beaten and tired. This also manifests in your relationship sometimes taking a backseat, you understood of course but that doesn't mean you didn't miss him.

Other than that he is terrible at taking care of himself unless its initiated by you, eating, sleeping and sometimes bathing taking a back seat in order to do his job.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

While he’s not too concerned too much with his looks, he does like to keep looking good. He uses wax on his metal plating and makes sure his armour is in good spec. When the two of you began getting closer cayde began to care a little more. At first, it was subconscious, you were his friend, and he didn't want to look like a scruff. But then he found himself fussing over his cloak in his reflection before he would go to see you and maybe he had even bought a new cologne and hoped you'd get close enough to notice.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

At first no. cayde was certain about that. Until long missions felt longer, when you were away the bed felt emptier. His hand felt barren without his queen of hearts and he realises that you are his safe space, his respite and he wants to be that for you.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Cayde will never admit this out loud, but he loves a little pampering now and again. You heard him mention offhand to another exo about a little place in the bazaar that does an exo wax that he swears by. That evening you surprised him with a home-cooked meal and candles. After you led him to the bed and helped him out of his armour. He was surprised when you pulled out the exo wax, he hadn't directly told you and he won't admit how much it meant. By the time you finished gently massaging the wax onto him, he was asleep, blissed out from the attention and much-needed care.

Sundance ADORES you. Cayde's little light had liked you the moment they witnessed the two of you meet and cayde loves hates it. You and Sundance are little sass machines sometimes and cayde is often the object of your laughter. Sundance loves that you take care of cayde, especially when he won't. Cayde confided in Sundance when he began feeling feelings more than friendship and the little ghost was thrilled. Often when cayde is busy pouring over maps and reports, Sundance will float by you, or perch on your shoulder or lap to keep you company.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Cayde isn't a fan of people who put others down, especially if those people are guardians who were resurrected recently. He has a protective streak when it comes to new lights and finds people who actively put them down or treat them with disdain to be unlikeable.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Cayde is a light sleeper. When you’re out on missions constantly God knows where you need to be alert and ready. This twinned with occasional nightmares and his vanguard duties means his sleep schedule is horrible. Some nights you wake to rustling covers, a bleary-eyed cayde slipping into bed at 3 am, some mornings you find him where you had left him the night before, awake and pouring over maps or reports and some nights the bad coupling in his leg gives him spasms keeping him awake.

He appreciates any attachments at helping him sleep, hot cocoa in the evening as you coax him to bed, holding him close, white noise and even reading to him, he just likes the sound of your voice. And every night after he sleeps soundly.

[mirrorhouse]

oc meme

tagged by: @hawke <3 thank you!

name: aravex starvane

nickname: vex

gender: trans man

star sign: capricorn

height: 202cm

orientation: bisexual

race: zariel tiefling

romancing: gale

fave fruit: red apples. green ones taste too sour for his liking

fave season: early/mid autumn, when the leaves are turning but not all falling yet

fave flower: heather

fave scent: parchment and petrichor

coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: coffee (black, but with a shit ton of sugar in it)

average sleep hours: both before and after being tadpoled and losing his memory his sleep was rarely uninterrupted, and usually only lasted 3 hours max before fully waking up. post-campaign he's still a light sleeper, wakes up often, and doesn't need too much rest, but he can sleep for longer periods. he's an early riser no matter what, though

dogs or cats: cats :) he likes dogs too, but sometimes feels an odd sense of unease around them at first. it's much easier for him to get along with cats

dream trip: nowhere, really. post-campaign, he prefers staying in waterdeep and isn't too keen to travel anywhere else

amount of blankets: the maximum he can handle is two, but he can sleep without any just as easily

random fact(s):

the parents that raised him believed him to be their birth child; he was formed in the similar image of a recently born tiefling baby, and was switched with it the first moment it was left alone. they were kind and doting, and loved vex more than anything

his eyes are slightly sensitive to bright daylight, so he tends to keep his head lowered or keeps his eyes on the ground when outside and not in the shade

he likes to hum and sing quietly when he's alone

considering his size and strength, he's almost unnaturally quick and quiet when he moves; even in combat, when he makes himself a purposefully bigger and louder target, his movements have a strange, almost silent precision to them at times

tagging: @mightymizora @haarleps @pinkfey @dekariosgale @korcariiwitch @yrlietlanaevyss (no pressure! also if you see this and wanna do it i also tag you 🫵)

[samanthess]

OC QUESTIONNAIRE

Tagged by @velnat004 (tsk canım kızımmmmm!!<33333 I think Roman and Dünya would be besties <3)

Super late to the party actually posting this, I’ve been trying to illustrate Dünya’s armor and it’s taking awhile - so here’s a screencap of her looking exhausted on the throne lol

Name: Dünya Trevelyan

Nickname: No nicknames from her family, but after Varric nicknamed her Pinky, Bull started using that as her Chargers nickname too

Gender: Female

Star Sign: Taurus, born in early May/Molioris/Bloomingtide

Height: 6’ 2” ish, tall for a human

Orientation: Straight

Nationality/Ethnicity: Definitely Turkish coded - in-game fully a Free Marcher

Favorite Fruit: She’s very into citrus fruits, especially grapefruit - because of DA’s funky geography I feel like she has a hard time finding citrus in Ferelden lol

Favorite Season: Spring, she loves spring flowers most of all

Favorite Flower: Tulips!

Favorite Scent: Anything earthy, but she also love citrus scents and incense

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: Coffee when she wakes up, hot chocolate with Josephine when they’re having a gossip <3

Average Hours of Sleep: 7ish, she’s an early riser always, getting up past 8am puts her in a funk for the rest of the day

Dogs or Cats: Both - my hc is that as the youngest of 7 Trevelyan children, her parents sent her straight to the Chantry to train as a sister as soon as she was old enough (get thee to a nunnery lol). She never had a pet, but loved every animal she could find in/around the Ostwick Chantry

Dream Trip: Antiva - she’d love to visit Josephine after this is all over!

Number of Blankets: She’s definitely the type to make a nest with a bunch of blankets

Random Fact: After dissolving the Inquisition, Dünya decides to join the Chargers 1) to stay with Bull and 2) to keep using her combat skills. With two mage older siblings, she never felt completely comfortable having a role in the Chantry if it meant having power over them. She chooses Leliana as divine so she and her siblings can live more freely.

Tagging: @weirdisme @azures-grace @peforby @beloved-lady-alma @angelic-anissa @avani-telvanni

Also @velnat004 & @ashenlavellan, I would love to see your Wardens/Hawkes if you want to make another 👀👀

[tatterings]

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 6, "Bracing the Branches"

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Mature

Tags/warnings: NSFW. Spoilers to the beginning of act 2. Trauma/light SA discussion. A little angst.

Word count: 4.9k

~*REBLOGS VERY APPRECIATED*~ <3

Note: This is the sixth chapter of my first ever fanfiction!

I’ve also posted this on AO3.

Fic under the cut.

The party had chosen to transverse the Mountain Pass, at the insistence of Lae’zel of the promise of a creche hidden there. They had set off for the steep hills in the distance. After a day of travelling just to get to the creche, positioned in a former monastery, they had burst through its rotting doors the following morning before the sun had a chance to rise. To nearly everyone’s chagrin, the Gith inside were also early risers. More disappointment followed when the adventurers discovered the creche was not the Vlaakith-sent gift that Lae’zel had imagined, and the Gith “cure” was a painful death. To survive within the creche, the party had to paint its halls with blood, as hostile Gith met the group around each corner.

During each fight, Halsin had found himself fighting by Astarion’s side. As a sleek black panther, the druid had slunk to ambush foes, paired with the stealthy rogue. Together they’d downed scores of Vlaakith’s faithful with claw and dagger, amidst a symphony of slicing blades and startled shouts. A Gith quartermaster met her end when, just before she had reached Astarion, she was struck down with a mighty swipe from Halsin’s gigantic bear claws. Astarion had gently wiped blood from the cave bear’s muzzle and offered him a scratch behind the ears, after he had padded over to ensure his battle partner was unwounded.

Although the adventurers fought well together, confusion was inevitable when fighting as a group. A mix of shouts, spells, and slashing weapons sent the ruined monastery into chaos. Echoes of “Ignis!” and the clatter of weapons created a deafening ruckus that echoed off the stone walls and shattered stained-glass windows.

But within the dilapidated hallways, Astarion and Halsin created their own microcosm, a symbiotic team of shadow and strength, of slashing daggers and sheer brute force, of poisoned arrows and healing spells. It made the battles a little less daunting. And most importantly for Astarion, a lot more fun.

He delighted in the bloodshed of turning his opponents inside-out. The adrenaline rush during and after combat sent electricity through every nerve ending, and Astarion felt as close to a god as an immortal creature could become. It was even more of a delight when he attacked with his fangs to satisfy his bloodlust temporarily.

Once the adventurers had cleared the Gith forces from the monastery, the sun hung far in the west; it was late evening. After dragging a few bodies out of a large chamber, it made sense to use the ruins as their campground for the night.

**************

Though the ancient monastery’s mighty walls sprawled across the cliff sides, centuries of neglect had left the building crumbling. Nature had waited patiently for an opportunity to return, and she had done so with vigor. Trees, shrubs, and thick tangles of vines created a lush, wild grove within the walls. At Halsin’s request, their chosen campsite opened to a courtyard which teemed with life.

Halsin tucked himself away in the courtyard for a pre-supper respite. His companions were a grand old oak and the birds that sang from its boughs. He reclined against its weather-worn bark, his long legs splayed in front of him. In the druid’s hands tumbled what remained of a broken branch; he’d found it lying beneath the tree. He worked it deftly with a whittling knife. At least an hour passed in pensive quiet - Halsin had amassed small piles of wood shavings at his sides.

The sharp hiss of an arrow streaming overhead broke the silence, followed by a dull thud as it met its mark. The arrow had dug into the bark mere centimeters above Halsin’s head.

His lips turned downward, but not in anger or disappointment. The archer’s aim was objectively impressive. His frown was from the surprise of a scrap of paper tickling his nose. Dangling in his face, tied to the arrow with twine, was a small piece of parchment. Halsin raised a hand to steady it against the breeze. In precise cursive script the color of spilled blood, the note read:

“Room for one more, or are you brooding enough for us both? - ★”

Halsin’s smile spread across his scarred face, and his shoulders shook with a laugh. He plucked the arrow from the bark and rolled its shaft in his fingers.

“I would be happy for you to join me, Astarion,” Halsin announced; it was no shout, as there was no need for his deep voice to carry far. He was positive the vampire was quite close, cloaked in shadow.

Astarion seemed to materialize from the darkness about ten meters away. His perch was the east side of a half-crumbled parapet. His ivory hair seemed ablaze in fire from the orange of the sunset. His pearly smirk sparkled even from a distance and deep red eyes flashed as he sauntered to the druid.

“I appreciate the invitation, my dear,” Astarion drawled, casually kicking away wood shavings at Halsin’s side. “Old habits tend to die hard, you know.”

Halsin helped the vampire brush away debris before patting the ground at his side. Astarion lowered himself to sit, making a show of dusting off his breeches when a twig stuck to them.

“So, what are you up to all by your lonesome?” the pale elf asked, his hand gesturing at the wood shavings. Astarion tilted his head back to peer at Halsin through half-lidded eyes. “I’d jest and say ‘sawing logs’, but snoring is no laughing matter when one’s tent is near Gale,” he finished with a hiss.

Halsin presented his creation: an intricately carved wooden duck, small enough to fit in a person’s palm. “I use fallen branches for whittling things like ornaments, utensils… and ducks,” he explained with a shy grin. “I like ducks.”

“Not a bear?!” Astarion asked with a faux, incredulous gasp, his mouth curved in a fanged smile, “Ducks? You never shared with me your inclination for waterfowl.”

Halsin’s eyes were drawn to the smaller elf’s elegant nose; it was endearing to see it crinkle when he smiled. “Well, personal hobbies haven’t been a discussion topic,” Halsin replied apologetically. “With the tadpole issue, you and your friends have had more pressing matters to discuss.” The druid’s heart fluttered when the vampire’s wry grin pulled further at his handsome laugh lines. “Whittling is something I do to pass time. Conveniently, wherever I roam, there tends to be an abundance of wood.” Halsin regretted his words as soon as he saw the devious flash in Astarion’s ruby-red eyes.

“Darling, I’m quite sure that you could never run out of wood, based on what I felt the other night”, Astarion purred, sliding his delicate hand onto Halsin’s thigh. The druid hissed as he nearly cut his thumb with the whittling knife. One thick auburn eyebrow arched at the smaller elf.

“That is.. an apt observation,” Halsin admitted, a flush rising to his cheeks. The large elf pulled one last knife stroke along the wood grain to form the smooth curve of a wing. “I cannot deny my desires. Once you get to my age, you realize there’s little point in denying yourself what you crave… as long as it does not hurt others,” he finished with a smile, holding the wooden duck over Astarion’s lap.

A gift.

The deviousness in Astarion’s eyes melted to delight, his silver-white lashes fluttering as he studied the carved creature. The vampire cupped the duck in his palm with care; as if he expected it would turn to dust if he moved too quickly.

“But what of revenge then, dear Halsin? Surely once or twice you’ve wanted to mete out revenge to those who harm your precious ducklings?” Astarion teased. He finally moved his hand, bobbing the duck up and down in the air, like its live counterparts did on water. The large elf’s heart felt as though it would leap from his throat at the sound of Astarion’s giggle.

“That is fair enough. Perhaps I should rephrase it. ‘You shouldn’t deny your desires, if it hurts no one. Or, if those hurt deserve justice.’ Does that work for you, little duck?” Halsin replied, gently bumping his broad shoulder into the smaller elf’s arm.

Astarion’s porcelain cheeks flushed pink. “Well well, aren’t you quite the hedonist. I thought of you as a ‘let things go’ sort of druid.” He turned his face from the duck to the druid. “But anyway.. thank you. For the gift.”

Halsin’s eyes twinkled as he met Astarion’s gaze. “Thank me by returning the favor, why don’t you?” he asked, “Come on, I’m sure you’ve got something more interesting to share about yourself than a whittling hobby.”

Astarion arched a single white brow. “If you insist. I… may have a bit of a sweet tooth?” he finished with a sing-song lilt.

A deep rumble emanated from Halsin’s throat and grew into a chuckle. “Is that so? Would you seek to drizzle honey on a neck, before indulging?” the druid asked, winking at Astarion.

“Ah, I.. I would not say no to an occasional treat,” the vampire replied. “But your blood was sweet enough on its own, no honey needed,” he said, leaning his torso into Halsin’s barrel chest.

The druid’s pulse roared, changing from a flutter to a drumbeat. He was sure that Astarion could hear it. “I will remember that for the future,” Halsin said with a chuckle. “Out of curiosity, Astarion… does the flavor of blood truly vary by person? Even in wild shape with heightened senses, it all smells of copper to me.”

Halsin felt a tenseness rise in the vampire’s form, which still leaned against his larger body. Astarion released a sigh and his muscles seemed to relax; but only a little.

“I’ve had this condition for two centuries… but truth be told?” Astarion turned his head to Halsin, his gaze half-shielded through his long snowy eyelashes. “You.. were my first.”

“You jest,” Halsin replied, his jaw slack in disbelief. The druid, whose cool-headedness allowed him to not jolt when Astarion’s arrow had struck above his head, could not hide his shock.

“About this topic, Halsin? I would never,” Astarion assured, his eyes wide and earnest. “You were the first person from which I’ve ever actually fed. Sure I’ve gotten a few bites in, but no actual sustenance. In all these years, I’ve only fed on beasts.”

Halsin shook his head in surprise, flyaway strands of his long hair tickling Astarion’s ears.

Astarion nodded, white curls bobbing against the growing dusk. As darkness settled upon them, he seemed made of white marble; true Nature-sculpted beauty. “I was expressly forbidden to feed on thinking beings,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. His arms lay limp in his lap. “Boars, deer… kobolds. During the worst of it… I was served only putrid rats. A cruel jape from my master,” the vampire’s voice trailed off. It seemed as though the energy had been drained; even his hands fell open around the small wooden duck.

Halsin had no words that could ease such a painful memory. He placed a hand on Astarion’s leg; his fingers, when splayed, nearly covered the smaller man’s thigh. He gave a gentle squeeze as they sat, birdsong rolling from the tree above them.

The purple darkness of night finally set after a while, only illuminated by a bright bit of flame shooting into the sky over a crumbling wall. Gale’s cantrip ignis served as a proverbial dinner bell.

“Ah, dinner is served,” Halsin noted with a nod. “And speaking of nourishment… you are welcome to feed again tonight, Astarion.” The large elf paused, waiting for the vampire’s million-realm stare to pull away from the whittled duck to meet his own eyes. “Also… I want to thank you. Your camp is a most welcome solace, one I couldn’t do without. I look forward to your company this evening.”

***********

Supper had been splendid as Gale, ever the people-pleaser and an excellent cook, had prepared specialized meals for his friends. A hearty vegetarian stew for Halsin. For the others, he had added meat from a rabbit Astarion had snared in a trap. And for the vampire himself, Gale had prepared black pudding from provisions he’d found in the Gith creche. Astarion had devoured it with delight and had thanked Gale with a pat on the wizard’s back and a genuine smile. Over the past few days, the vampire had grown more at ease in, figuratively and literally, reaching out to his fellow adventurers.

His friends, as Halsin had insisted on calling them.

Astarion had realized, as he reclined in front of his tent atop plundered creche pillows, they truly were friends. They had risked life and limb (and soul, in Wyll’s case) to protect each other. To work together on the tadpole problem. Everyone also had agreed to help Astarion exact revenge on Cazador, for which Karlach was especially excited. The pale elf felt no need to mask the smile that formed on his lips as he thought of his friends… and especially of the Arch Druid Halsin.

The rest of the party had socialized enough for the evening and had retired to their tents. Though the blood sausage had been delectable, it was time for Astarion’s main course.

The slender elf strode over to Halsin’s tent. Confidence set his mouth in a smirk. Halsin has been won over, Astarion thought, but this is my opportunity to ensure he stays that way. The vampire was certain that he had Halsin’s allegiance; the druid himself had said so, and proved time and again he was trustworthy. He had shown kindness which Astarion assumed stemmed from attraction. It was mutual attraction, if he cared to admit it; but he pushed that thought down to the pit of his stomach. Attraction meant vulnerability.

It was far easier to be an object of desire, than to entertain his own desires.

Halsin’s tent flap hung open, and again the druid was reclined while reading a book, holding it above his head. There were no logs to lean against this time; instead, the larger elf was propped up by delicately embroidered linens and plush pillows. Astarion had insisted that the druid had “roughed it” enough, and that he deserved to treat himself to the luxuries they’d found in the creche.

“Ah, good evening Astarion,” Halsin said, his smile extending to his honey-hazel eyes, “So glad you could join me for dinner.” The druid chuckled at his own jest and patted the bedroll. Astarion returned his smile and kneeled on a pillow by the druid’s chest.

“It is my pleasure,” the vampire replied, his voice a low purr, one hand settling on Halsin’s well-muscled chest. He absentmindedly tugged at the loose strings danging from the druid’s tunic. “Ready whenever you are, darling.”

Halsin nodded once and laid the book aside. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Astarion,” he said, with less nervousness in his voice than there had been in the last feeding. He raised his large hand to the small of Astarion’s back and placed his other on the vampire’s shoulder. His steadiness helped support the smaller elf as he assumed his feeding position.

Astarion took no further prompting; the druid seemed tantalizingly eager. It would make his task all the more simple. And more pleasant. The vampire accepted the unspoken aid from Halsin and climbed atop the druid. It was easier to feed if he straddled the large elf, as opposed to stretching across his wide body.

As Astarion lowered his mouth onto the red-ochre tattoo on Halsin’s neck, the friction of his leather trousers against Halsin’s stomach sent a rush of tingles to his groin. Hells below, he thought, flattening his tongue against the Arch Druid’s neck before a whine could escape from him. Astarion was certain that Halsin could feel his growing erection. Once, then twice his cock pulsed with eagerness; immediately after, the druid’s hand pressed more firmly on the small of the pale elf’s back.

This time, it didn’t bother him; the physical manifestation of lust meant it was easier for him to fulfill, and remain the object of, Halsin’s desires.

A rumble vibrated the druid’s throat against Astarion’s open mouth; Halsin relished in the cool wetness of the vampire’s tongue tracing along his jugular. The pale elf nibbled Halsin’s neck with his dull front teeth. Time for a tease, he thought, and pressed his hardened length into Halsin’s stomach. With the pressure, he felt a firm thickness between Halsin’s legs. The druid was already hard, and Astarion hadn’t even bitten him yet. Perfect.

But the teasing was enough, and his hunger gnawed at his stomach. The vampire opened his mouth wider and pierced his top fangs into Halsin’s neck. As he sank his fangs deeper into flesh, Halsin gripped Astarion’s buttocks with his large hands. The druid rutted his hips against the vampire with a deep moan, lifting them both off the bedroll with his lust.

Hot blood poured onto Astarion’s tongue as he lifted his fangs to suckle greedily at the druid’s neck. His soft tongue lapped at the divine offering, which coaxed a deep groan from Halsin’s lips. Astarion’s hands moved with swiftness; with intention. His slender fingers found Halsin’s nipple through the linen tunic and his mass of curly chest hair, and pinched it gently. Halsin hissed in response, his wide fingertips digging into Astarion’s hips. The vampire smiled against Halsin’s neck as he swallowed one mouthful of druidic lifeblood, then two.

Halsin’s chest rumbled fiercely against Astarion. The smaller elf took it as a sign to stop feeding; he lapped up the remaining blood that dribbled down Halsin’s neck, onto his collarbone.

Dinner was done; now for his duty.

Astarion’s mind was clear, rushing with the ecstasy of fresh blood. But for this second task, it was a habit to clear his mind completely. The vampire let himself mentally float away as he kissed along Halsin’s collarbone, then his throat. His movements were smooth, automatic; a deft hand lowered from the druid’s nipple to his stomach and teased under Halsin’s shirt, running through thick body hair. The large elf’s torso nearly raised from the pillows.

“You enjoy our feedings, don’t you, my dear?” the vampire whispered, his voice an octave lower than normal. “You naughty thing…” his voice trailed off as he lifted his torso from Halsin’s. Although his eyes looked directly into Halsin’s, he stared past the druid. The large elf’s face was a blur, out of focus, but Astarion could tell Halsin’s head tilted to the side.

“A-Astarion,” huffed Halsin, breath hitching in his throat. He kept his hands pressed firmly against the smaller elf’s waist.

“Isn’t this what you want, darling?” the vampire started, slipping his long fingers downward to settle on Halsin’s groin, hot to the touch even through the druid’s breeches. Halsin’s hips pressed into Astarion’s hand instinctively. The vampire drug his palm along the druid’s impressive girth, then rutted his own erection against Halsin’s arousal through his leather trousers. Halsin hissed through clenched teeth at the sensation, but sat stock still in his reclined pose.

It didn’t make sense. The druid’s hands should have been exploring Astarion’s body. Not to worry - they will, Astarion thought. He leaned his front against Halsin’s chest, again creating friction between them. “We could have a quiet evening for once, my dear,” he crooned. “Haven’t you waited long enough for what you want?”

The druid’s body did not respond as it should have. It was inexplicably tense.

**********

As soon as Astarion had finished feeding, his body language had shifted. His gaze had seemed to be a million realms away. His voice had even lowered to that of a stranger’s; it was deeper, with a predatory edge to its vocal fry.

The transformation shook Halsin’s confidence and his chest was heavy with concern. He couldn’t hold back his inner beast’s response to Astarion’s expert ministrations; but he had domination over his mind and his conscience. He did not return the vampire’s heavy petting. He needed an answer, first. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly to tame the beast; his focused breathing soothed the beast, and he felt himself grow soft.

“Astarion, tell me plainly. I need your truth,” Halsin demanded, tipping the vampire’s chin upwards with the tips of his calloused fingers, “What is it that you want? From me? From this?”

Astarion blinked once, then twice. His snowy eyebrows lost their wrinkled furrow, the crease in the skin between them disappearing as they raised. The small elf’s eyes went round and softened; wetness formed in the inside corners of his eyes until his silver-white lashes blinked it away. No cutting words formed on his tongue; no well-worn blithe phrases fell from his pink lips.

Halsin raised one large hand to Astarion’s face, pulling his thumb across the pale elf’s pouted mouth and marble cheekbone. He nestled his fingers into the nest of snowy curls at the back of Astarion’s head and gently ran his fingernails on the vampire’s scalp. He felt the goosebumps rise on the smaller man’s arms and neck as he carded his fingers through Astarion’s hair.

The druid did not repeat himself; Astarion had heard him. Nature has her own timeline, her own natural cycle in which life is born, dies, decays, and is born anew.

Halsin was in no rush; he would never pick from the plum tree in when it was tart and unripe in late spring, nor be surprised when the harvest was mealy and bird-pecked in late autumn. He knew it was best to wait for the natural cycle of things, were it in-season fruits, or the words of someone who did not know what to say.

He existed for this moment, with this beautiful man who haunted his dreams and clouded his mind. Astarion lowered his head to rest his cheek on Halsin’s broad chest, his blood-stained lower lip leaving a smear of scarlet on Halsin’s tunic. The druid pulled his hand from Astarion’s hair and lowered it to his delicate neck, using the pad of his thumb and rough fingertips to massage the vampire’s neck muscles gently. He felt a strained muscle and hummed the verbal part of a healing spell; his fingertips glittered a hazy green before the glow rolled from his hand onto Astarion’s neck, where it seemed to sink into his ivory skin.

Astarion broke the silence a few moments later. “I.. I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice muffled between Halsin’s chest and his own shoulders, “I had nothing at all for so long. Not my free will. Not even my body.” Halsin felt Astarion’s face scrunch into a scowl against his chest. “That was owned by Cazador; to tempt fools into his palace. I laid on my back for breadcrumbs a thousand times or more. Half of them I barely remember,” Astarion choked back the threat of tears he spoke. “Most of them never even bothered to grant me temporary bliss.”

The druid’s chest felt like it was being crushed by an owlbear. It wasn’t Astarion trying to seduce me. It was his past.

“Astarion. I am so sorry,”, whispered the large elf, wrapping his arms tighter around Astarion, accidentally pulling a small grunt from the vampire’s lungs. He released the pressure, but held the pale elf still. “You have survived so much. And you did not deserve any of it. You are so much more than what that bastard forced upon you,” Halsin assured with a low growl in his throat as he thought of Cazador. The druid inhaled deeply and his chest rose, lifting Astarion along with it. The vampire’s body slowly descended as Halsin exhaled. The large elf tilted his chin to place his lips on Astarion’s forehead, nuzzling his nose into the soft white curls.

******

Astarion let himself melt into Halsin’s embrace, and let his jaw relax. The druid’s large arms were heavy but not overbearing; the weight was a soothing balm to his frazzled nerves. For the first time in 200 years, he felt seen. He felt safe enough with Halsin to share the raw wounds of his past that had yet to heal.

“Thank you,” the vampire finally replied, his tongue thick and dry in his mouth. His voice had cracked when he spoke. He appreciated that Halsin did not acknowledge the lapse of composure.

“You are most welcome, dear heart,” Halsin replied softly, before releasing his hold on the slender elf. He raised his torso, bracing Astarion’s body as he swapped to a cross-legged sit. Astarion’s rear slipped into the gap between Halsin’s knees, nestling comfortably in the open space; the vampire’s toes dangled a few inches above the tent floor. Halsin adjusted his arm to support Astarion’s back while his free hand grasped Astarion’s long fingers.

“But I want to make something abundantly clear to you,” Halsin said, his deep voice soft and slow. Astarion’s brows shot up, and Halsin felt the man’s muscles tense. The druid gently squeezed Astarion’s torso.

“It is okay to not know what you want, Astarion,” he stated, his honey-hazel gaze meeting the pale elf’s round eyes. “What is not acceptable… is to make assumptions as to what I desire from you. You are no thrall. All of your choices… are yours to make.”

*****

For one of the very few times in his long life, Astarion had nothing clever prepared as a reply. He seethed as he felt his skin flush with the fresh blood when Halsin held his fingers. How is such a large man so gentle?

How he loathed that he could not hide the rosiness in his cheeks. But how he adored the druid for not mentioning it; for not poking fun. For the larger elf’s kindness and patience. For his willingness to see Astarion as more than a plaything, with which he could rut and then leave to rot.

“Halsin…” Astarion started, unable to resist pressing his cheek against the druid’s face. “I.. I appreciate you. More than you know.” He pulled his head back to look into Halsin’s eyes directly. They were as warm as the evening sun; as comforting as a crackling bonfire.

“I needed protection. People don’t trust vampires, perhaps understandably,” Astarion admitted with a nod of his head and flick of his hand, “so I needed someone to get on my side. Seduction has always been easy. It’s all I’ve known for centuries. But now...” His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted realms away.

Halsin waited patiently, dragging his fingers along Astarion’s long leg. His movements seemed aimless, with no intent on seduction. Astarion felt that the druid’s touch was an anchor for him. It tethered his mind to reality and the present moment. For once, he did not drown in a tumultuous sea of past memories. Astarion finally exhaled, his cool breath tickling the hairs on Halsin’s arm.

“I…don’t think I want you to think of me in terms of sex,” he admitted, meeting Halsin’s gaze again with his snowy brows knit upward. The corners of the vampire’s eyes became wet again; as chilled red wine in a glass, covered in dewdrops of condensation. “I don’t know if I want anyone to.” He turned his gaze down, pretending to study his nails.

His body shuddered as he choked back a sob, disguising it as a cough. Astarion knew Halsin likely saw through his ruse; he didn’t care either way. He could not look the druid in the eye. Halsin’s hand stopped its crawl and raised to Astarion’s chin, tenderly pulling his face to meet the druid’s. The larger man’s other arm curled tighter around the vampire’s back.

“Come now dear heart, do you truly see me as so fickle?” Halsin asked, his voice low and thick with hurt. “A river does not suddenly breach its banks to change course. Nor would a bear decide to be sated only with grass,” Halsin said with a chuckle. “Revolutionary upheaval is not the way of nature. Nor is it my way.”

The large druid placed his scarred forehead to Astarion’s pearly brow. Astarion couldn’t hold back the small smile that tugged at the edges of his own lips.

“I have lived a long time, Astarion. I have grown to understand my own desires. I will admit that you tempt me to ruin,” Halsin continued with a wink, rubbing his nose to Astarion’s, “and I would love to partake in your body, and share mine with you. But, that will only happen when, or if, you wholeheartedly want to do so.”

Astarion’s mouth fell open, but no words formed on his tongue, which had grown too heavy and thick to speak. All the vampire could manage was a nod, before tucking his face under Halsin’s chin. The tips of his pointed ears burned with heat as the druid’s thick arms held snugly against his waist.

Astarion felt as though his dead heart had begun to beat once more.

[active-mind-15]

As I am lying down on the verge of falling asleep I have decided to post some Akashi sleep headcanons

Now, I have seen many people speculate what Akashi looks like when he sleeps/wakes up or what his sleep habits are, so I thought I'd get a quick one out of the way before going to bed. Let's go!

Even though he's very prim and proper because of his upbringing, I don't think that reflect in how he sleeps.

Not to say he's a messy sleeper per se, but he's definitely not a scarily neat sleeper where he lies still on his back firmly tucked in and doesn't move.

He seems like a side-sleeper who curls in on himself, kinda like a cat. He's normally not vulnerable when he's awake, but when he's asleep, vulnerable is the only word I can imagine when I think about how he looks. There's a particular innocence to his sleeping form. He only sleeps when his guard is down, and he doesn't have to worry about what he looks like.

Very few people have seen him sleep. I know Kuroko is canonically one of them because in that trip to Hawaii from the Replace Plus novels, Kuroko shared a hotel room with him, but I'm wondering who else might have seen him sleep aside from maybe Mibuchi and Nijimura. God knows.

Something that the fandom can agree on is that Akashi's bedhead is probably terrible, though. Especially since he and Kuroko have such similar hairstyles, it wouldn't surprise me that their hair gets messed up in the same way while sleeping. He usually takes care of it before he actually leaves his room (again, he likes maintaining an image in front of others), so just like very few people have seen him sleep, very few have seen his bedhead. Those who have seen it found it so cute.

I wouldn't peg him as a sleep talker, but I don't think he'd be entirely quiet either. If he's having a dream, I'd like to think he'd make little noises, but nothing super loud. In fact, they're so quiet that you almost might not catch it if you happen to be awake.

He doesn't move around a lot either when he sleeps, but he doesn't stay in the same position throughout the night. He only gets really fidgety if he has nightmares.

Speaking of that, I think that since Akashi is so busy, is frequently stressed, and is probably always exhausted, there will be random periods where he'll get frequent nightmares and sometimes sleep paralysis. During those times, he'll be more irritable during the day due to lack of sleep. (Can you tell I'm projecting with my own personal experiences in high school?)

He's tried to find ways to combat this over the years. Tea helps, music helps, and post-Winter Cup, being open with his friends about what's troubling him helps. Through doing all these things, he's able to sleep better and for longer.

(^^Secret 4th remedy, touch helps. The only person who knows this is Mibuchi because when they travel for games and share a hotel room, he's usually with Akashi. Post-Winter Cup, there were nights when Mibuchi heard Akashi make these sad little noises in his sleep, and Mibuchi felt so bad just sitting there and listening without doing anything, so he kinda just walked over to Akashi's bed and softly stroked his hair, just to see if that would do anything?? And it did! Gradually, Akashi quieted down and stopped fidgeting. And Mibuchi went back to sleep. But he told Akashi nothing about those events that transpired.)

And even though he's an early-riser, it's not by choice. He just has so much to do during the day that he can't help but wake up at like 6 or 7am. But if he has nothing to do the next day, he'd rather sleep in til 9 or 10am.

He's also a slow starter. That's why he gives himself so much time in the morning to wake up. It normally takes him a veeeery hot minute to get out of bed because he's constantly having to play catch-up with sleep since he's always busy.

I would bet he's a blanket hogger. He seems like the type to get cold easily, so when it's time for him to sleep, he just switches to Maximum Coze Mode™ and snuggles under the blankets. On a cold day, it's especially hard to get him out of the blankets.

Lastly, if he ever gets tired and falls asleep in school or something like in the gymnasium, he'll have his arms crossed while he nods off. Since it's so rare that Akashi sleeps, though, Kise tells everyone not to bother him. Eventually, it's Nijimura who discovers him and covers Akashi with his jacket.

[s-0236-salix]

Your radio's scan function happens to lock on the combat doll's comms frequency. Your headset is filled with 21 identical adorable voices belting out "Blood on the Risers".

[rata2ouillegame]

RATA2OUILLE: THE PERFECT DISH (Info Post + Download)

You’re probably wondering, “what the hell?” Honestly so am I, as not even I can fully process what I’ve done. Rata2ouille: The Perfect Dish (AKA Funny Ratgame) is a satirical, freeware indie platformer, social simulation, full length role-playing hybrid game. Following the events of Ratatouille for Wii and its sequel Ratatouille PSP, a new adventure unfolds after a series of events leads to the protagonist discovering a mysterious world known as the Food Network. Partnering up with an odd naked mole rat named Twinkles, the protagonist forms the Rodent Risers, braving the Food Network to find the mythical Perfect Ingredients and defeat the brutally evil rat Knox. Along the way, the player will have to develop Companion Syncs with both coworkers and customers, craft and obtain Persona to wield in combat, manage their restaurant, cook food that will assist them on their journey, and more.

itch.io page: Click Here

Google Drive: Download Link

Archive.org: Download Link

Please feel free to upload and share with your friends wherever you feel like if they have trouble with either of these links!!!

Unravel a grandiose conspiracy involving the amnesiac Twinkles, the evil rat Knox, the mysterious Food Network, the labyrinthine Hyperstream, fast food delivery apps, and an impending visit from the food critic Guy Fieri that could make-or-break your restaurant!

Fight intense battles with Shadows that you can also wield as Persona. Use them to best your enemies and rivals, like Ratatoing!

Form various Companion Syncs to deepen your bond with important figures in your life to unlock skills and gameplay perks!

Date various cute boyfriends! Only one girlfriend included.

Over 100 characters from various different media properties appear as customers in your restaurant, including... Sans Undertale, Peter Griffin, Yu Narukami, Kazuma Kiryu, Joseph Joestar, Bayonetta, and many, many, many more!

Customize your hero! Set pronouns and unlock over thirty unique costumes that appear both in cutscenes and gameplay!

Obtain all seven of the legendary Chaos Emeralds by succeeding in target breaking minigames hidden throughout the Food Network!

Difficulty adjustments and options, such as the “Skip Battles” pog item that can be equipped to skip all battles and focus purely on the story! Perfect for players that do not care for combat.

Create your own “My Food Network” where you can set your own favorite song to play, choose your color palette, create a food exhibit, and set posters that can be unlocked using points earned from in-game achievements!

Super cool players that 100% the game can view a Secret Ending that plays upon clearing the epilogue or talking to a certain friend in My Food Network...

This game is in no way, shape, or form an actual Disney, Pixar, or Atlus product. It is an independently developed satirical game. It is parody and no profit is being made from it.

Check out more down below for a little Q&A

Q: Is this really a full length Persona style RPG? A: Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know why. It’s about 60 Hours long.

Q: How long did this take to make? A: About two and a half years, though I took many breaks from working on it due to being a full time college student (after some gap years) and having other projects I’ve been working on.

Q: Who made this? What kind of person makes this? Can you tell us about yourself because I need to know what’s wrong with you??? A: I’m very sorry to tell you that a very hot goth artsy nonbinary femboy made this game. I hope that makes the game more intimidatingly powerful.

Q: If this is a heavily Persona inspired game will it be re-released with a single new dungeon in a few years with a new marketable character tacked on? A: Buddy if enough people find this funny and enjoy playing it, you know it! That and if enough people would like to help me add full blown voice acting in a re-release, which would be one of my major focuses for an enhanced version.

Q: Why did you make this? A: I was really bored during the pandemic. Originally this was a small crude gag game I was making years and years and years ago that I scrapped, but I completely revamped it into something much more elaborate and surreal as a little distraction to keep me busy while quarantining. It sort-of functioned as a low stakes testing ground for less facetious games I plan on releasing in the near future. There’s also an underlying commentary on how obnoxious and outlandish unnecessary sequels to self-contained and subdued stories are, which can be seen in how ridiculously unhinged the game is with constantly recontextualizing various minute-details of the original movie and retconning things as if it was all deep foreshadowing.

Q: Why are you acting like Ratatouille is some kind of game series? A: In the past, in the really early beginnings of making this game, I had this whole elaborate ARG thing I would often joke about with friends where I would insist the movie was just a really bad faithless adaption of a video game series developed by Platinum Games and published by Atlus. There were jokes about the name “Remy” being a “dumb movie adaption thing” and that Ratatouille is in fact the proper name. The implication was that the “Disney movie adaption” was so bad it killed off the game series until this sequel came out well over a decade later due to “vocal fan support.” This eventually died down a bit, but some of the ironic ARG stuff has lingered. One part of the ARG was originally going to be that there were two people working on this game instead of one and that they’d have a messy public falling out on the game’s tumblr blog, but this was scrapped because it felt too explosive lol.

Q: What do you mean by this being a sequel to Ratatouille for Wii and Ratatouille PSP? Aren’t those the same game? A:  While the Ratatouille tie-in game on most consoles was just a movie adaption, the PSP version was one of those weird tie-in games that takes place after the movie. I never beat the game but the plot entails Chef Skinner stealing all the recipe cards from the new restaurant around the time of their grand opening, and Rem- Ratatouille having to retrieve them. This is recited as some sort of major, melodramatic event in Rata2ouille. Ratatouille PSP has a lot of scrapped side-characters from the movie appear (such as rats named Celine, Dodo, Twitchy all of whom were meant to appear in the movie and were in the official art book) in addition to very odd new characters such as Teen Rat, who is seemingly a Sonic the Hedgehog pastiche that challenges Remy to races. These game-exclusive characters are all treated as if they’re established characters from the movie that we should know and recognize so when I discovered they exist halfway through development, I retroactively added a bunch of them into this game and treated them exactly the same here. I did a lot of deep diving into the production of the movie and its tie-in material while making this game and referenced a lot of niche stuff -- in order to be as bizarre as possible, I also needed to be as “authentic” as possible.

[wildissylupus]

I know you've spoke a lot about Cass but dude that content keeps me alive 😭 (I love him so much) So if you have any more headcanons or ideas about him please ramble about them

Alright!! Always happy to talk about my favourite Cowboy!!

I like to think Cassidy is really good with little kids, and that kids always bond with him super easily. This is specifically because Cassidy doesn't underestimate them and is the first to recognise them as their own person. He treats them with the amount of respect he gives adults, it's part of the reason Fareeha drifted towards him of all people. Because of this and because of the fact I've been reading Hero of Numbani, I like to believe Efi and Cassidy would get along. I also like to think that Cassidy would see a lot of Liao in Efi.

Cassidy is not a morning person, he's an early riser, but he looks like he died, went to hell, and clawed himself back out in the mornings. The thing is he wakes up almost before anyone else so no one has really seen Cass like that, except Jack. Jack wakes up at around the same time a Cassidy, and being the morning person he is, has seen Cass looking half dead and making himself five cups of coffee on multiple occasions.

Cassidy never really left base on his days off unless a big event was happening with Pharah, like her graduation or a big basketball game. He knew the dangers since he was still technically a wanted criminal but he wanted to support his sister. (Especially after things got bad between her, Ana and Sam.)

He finds comfort in the mundane, even though he probably will never have a normal life (not like he wants one now anyway) he still finds comfort in cooking and cleaning. Though he never really gets to do that much since there is always something else happening.

Cassidy is like Ana in the fact that he can fight either Jack or Gabe and they will actually have to put effort in. This is because he was trained by Ana and most likely spared with Gabe on multiple occasions, meaning he's one, stronger than he looks and two, can both take a punch from and fight a super-soldier. Does this mean he'll win the fight? Hand to hand combat, no, but since Cassidy can fight from a longer range, at the very least against Reyes he'd have a possibility of winning.

Cassidy is terrible at technical subjects like math and science, however, he knows and understands the most random topics for them. He's also fairly good with mechanics and engineering.

[pavetisprescott]

oliver stark, gay, cis male + he/him, (mage) «—◦—→ well meet, wyatt prescott! the godling born child of phobos. it’s been thirty years and now they have answered the song in their veins. can he change the course of history with his resilience, preparedness, + diligence? or will their insecurity, wariness, and obsessiveness hinder them? only time will tell before this godling’s name is sung into myth and legend!

even iron still fears the rot...

hiding from something i cannot stop name: wyatt prescott nicknames: prescott (army/louisville fd), scotty (army), pretty/pretty boy (louisville fd) date of birth: october 30th, 1993 age: 30 face claim: oliver stark godly parent: phobos height: 6’3” dominant hand: right education level: some college, certified in his career. occupation: paramedic. emergency preparedness trainer. 

parents: brenda jean prescott siblings: n/a pets: a cat named marsh/marshmallow

astrological sign: scorpio sun, cancer rising, taurus moon positive traits: resilient, prepared, diligent, independent, empathetic, capable, nurturing negative traits: insecure, wary, obsessive, guarded, defensive, guilty habits: he’s an early riser, keeps a regimented diet and workout schedule, has a daily routine that he tries to keep to as much as possible. quirks: hums melodies to himself to self soothe, taps things in a rhythmic pattern as a compulsion, will not lay down to go to sleep unless his bed is made, tends to fidget unless focused on something. pet peeves: people who pry, overt rudeness/bluntness, disorganization/messiness, being underestimated/not taken seriously hobbies: bicycling, running, drumming, journaling, reading, baking 

sexual orientation. gay sexual position. versatile 

clothing style: dark colors, and earth tones. simple, comfortable, solid color polos, button downs, tanks, and t-shirts with jeans. hoodies. combat boots and worn in converse. prominent features: southern drawl. height and musculature. his blue eyes, and full lips. mildly hypertrophic scar on his left brow area. a scattering of tattoos on his arms and chest.

what were they doing when they heard the song of their godling blood? wyatt was working on a call at an event that took place at the louisville motor speedway. there’d been a bomb placed by a vengeful racer, and things got out of hand as widespread panic made the situation worse. 

class: mage inspirations: raven (dc), midsommar, american folklore/cryptids, hereditary, shameless, haunting of hill house/luke crain.  biography- wyatt’s journey has been a long, twisted tale, one that you’d have to slowly pry out of him, if you ever wanted to get to know him. he’s worked hard to be a good man, a strong man, someone who has his life together and isn’t tied to his shitty start. it all began in a little college town in kentucky, one that was shadowed by the appalachian mountains, a massive beast that always loomed above. there have always been stories, tales of mysterious creatures that might lurk in the mountains, in the woods. there was the legend of bigfoot, the mothman, and even reptilians who had come down to control humanity. wyatt’s mother, brenda jean, unfortunately had always been paranoid, anxious, restless, needing something to guide her and make her feel secure. that’s how she ended up in a doomsday cult hidden in the appalachian mountains, led by a man who had convinced the members that they were being called upon by the great beasts of the appalachia to be the chosen few survivors that would bring in a new human race. everything was to be destroyed and made anew. the world was terrifying, ugly, evil. change was inevitable, and these beasts had a wisdom far beyond human comprehension, they had a plan for the betterment of the world. needless to say this was all bullshit, and it was yet another case of a power hungry, narcissistic man taking advantage of a group of people who were scared, desperate, or alone. wyatt’s first years were spent living in that cult, up until he was around ten years old, and the whole operation was shut down by federal agents. most of his memories of that time are hazy, the only thing he has to remind him of that life is the scar on his left brow, the one he tells people is a birthmark. being freed from the cult wasn’t a happy ending though, there was no resolution to his story. things were…marginally better, but his mother was a paranoid schizophrenic whose condition only worsened after being taken out of the cult. she had never been in a state to raise a child, and that only became more apparent when it was just the two of them. wyatt practically raised himself, with a little support from sympathetic neighbors who cycled in and out of their trailer park. as wyatt’s mother’s condition worsened, she turned to substance abuse to cope, and that slowly turned her into a ghost in their home. wyatt barely kept up with his high school education, needing to work in order to keep them afloat. as soon as he could, wyatt escaped his situation, choosing to enlist in the army. he had no other options, and it was the only lifeline offered to him. there he had a regimented schedule, structure, and a purpose. despite all of the horrible, awful things he experienced during his service, he doesn’t regret it, because he developed valuable skills during his time there. namely, becoming a certified army medic, and using that as a jumping off point to land work as a paramedic in louisville once his contract was up. wyatt used his high strung nature, and his knowledge to try and do some good in the world, and help save people. he worked as a paramedic, and an emergency preparedness trainer, wanting people to have the right tools when times of panic and emergency came about. the final wrench in his plans came during one of the worst calls of his career, a bomb had gone off at the motor speedway, and people were hurt. it was total pandemonium, the panic was palpable in the air, bitter on his tongue. that’s when the call of his true nature came, when he learned the truth of his parentage. wyatt wants nothing to do with phobos, placing the blame on him for the trajectory of his life, and the way his mother turned out. he does, however, want to get a handle on whatever abilities he seems to have, and try to use them for good. is he meant to bring fear and waste into the world? he hopes not. 

[isolaradiale]

"If you do not descend into the depths you will never find the truth. Nor will you find the treasures within..." (Some explorer maybe idk Ofiuco made it up)

"Rise and shine. A new day of adventure awaits." Every piece of technology in the city that could broadcast sound and / or images whirred to life at exactly midnight, surely awakening any "early to bed, early to risers" long before they wanted to wake up. The voice was familiar in its monotone, but it didn't carry the robotic hollowness that it once had. That was because it was the voice of Ofiuco, who had recently undergone some changes to become one of the Stars herself.

She waited a minute before proceeding, giving the watchers and listeners ample time to wake up first. "I apologize for waking you, but as it seems to be the standard of the Stars to make these announcements at this unpleasant hour, I am expected to do the same. I take no joy from having to do so..."

For those watching on a screen, the android holding her hand out to the side with her palm flat could be seen, upon which a screenshot seemed to rest. A screenshot that was undeniably of the hole in the city's centre, but something was different. It was lit up! "As you can see, an anomaly has opened in the city's centre. I have deployed my remote version to investigate, but to no avail. A lift has been set up to take you down to the bottom."

The images that floated above her hand changes as she described different things. It lingered on an image of the older version of Ofiuco hastily putting a lift together though, before the image changed to one of a large, glowing gate at the bottom of a huge pit. The bottom of the hole that no one was allowed to see.

"I am unable to send my remote body through that gate. And as my scans have confirmed, the world on the other side of that gate is unstable. Uncharted. Every time someone enters it, its design and layout are different. We need you to do the charting for us. I understand that we're... I'm asking a lot, but you will be rewarded for your efforts. Please." The broadcast ended, but something didn't feel quite right.

Why did Ofiuco seem so concerned?

OVERVIEW

Welcome to our newest event, DOWN YOU GO! Inspired by dungeon crawler and roguelike games, it will have your character (either by themselves or with a party) exploring a variety of environment in pursuit of answers and treasures. But mostly treasures. Here are all of the features of this event:

four unique biomes to explore

each biome has its own mechanics and circumstances

a random buff / debuff system

a grand prize to be received at random once you've reached a certain word count with your event threads

abilities unlocked while within a biome, though difficulty scales accordingly

BIOMES

Each biome is unique and features different gimmicks, enemies, and a different challenge to overcome. Outside of the descriptions provided below, you have complete control over how the biome's size and how it looks, as well what is inside of it (such as things like poisonous swamps or lava pools). The challenged you encounter and how you overcome them are also up to you!

FANTASY A biome inspired by fantasy. A series of caverns and open forest clearings that are rife for exploring. You are liable to find standard fantasy fare here in terms of monsters, so everything from goblins to dragons is on the table. This is also the biome most populated with monsters in general, and will be the most combat focused. The stronger the characters that enter this biome are, the more dangerous and ravenous the monsters will be, and they will not be so easily killed even by overpowered abilities.

SPACE A biome inspired by space horror. The setting is an abandoned space station deep in the depths of the void. You must navigate the halls of the space station while being pursued by a murderous alien creature that will not stop until your whole party is dead, while navigating the risks of using abilities in a place where destroying one window could kill everyone. Feel free to customize the alien however you'd like provided it isn't just a licensed alien from an existing property! Just make sure it's a suitable challenge, because the alien cannot be killed. It will pursue you until you reach the control room where the treasure can be found.

SEA A biome inspired by pirates and ocean-related myths. Completely submerged within the depths of the ocean, this biome's gimmick is that your character has been adapted into a new form to thrive. They have become a merfolk, obtaining fish traits to help them move about the dark, underwater caves. They are rife with undersea monsters that can take advantage of their speed and experience vs your character who is still adjusting to their new underwater abilities. You're free to customize your character however so that they can function underwater!

JUNGLE A biome inspired by old adventure movies. While monsters are scarce, the caves and open jungle are plagued with numerous traps that seek to immobilize your character, if not kill them outright. It's also extremely hot and humid. For the sake of fairness, any mobility related abilities will be disabled in this biome, as well as any that provide invulnerability. Be as inventive as you want with the traps! Now is your chance to be chased by a giant boulder!

COMBAT SPECIFICS

Every character will be returned their abilities and weapons for the event while within a biome, but remember difficulty should be scaled according to how powerful the characters exploring are so that characters cannot steamroll it. While most of them are caves and tunnels, they're still extremely spacious for fights, barring the space station considering its unique threat. The corridors there are much tighter.

For characters that have no powers, the Fantasia system will be active and they can access their Fantasia forms while within the biomes. For those of you who weren't around during the Fantasia War event, you can still make a form for your character! You just need to pick one of the races from this post, and your character can then use any of these spells!

BUFF / DEBUFF SYSTEM

Within each biome a series of chests can be found (aesthetically reflecting the biome's theme). When opened, this chest provides a buff or debuff to the entire party. We've put together a wheel here where you can roll for what that buff or debuff might affect them. Of course this isn't something we can control, so if you just want to pick one for narrative purposes that's also fine! We just wanted to include the option. The list of buffs / debuffs you can receive can be found below:

ATK + / ATK- An increase or decrease to the strength of all of the characters.

SPD+ / SPD- An increase or decrease to the speed of all of the characters.

INVINCIBILITY All characters are invincible to damage and knockback for five minutes.

HEAL ALL All characters in the party have their health restored to full.

POISONOUS FOG A poisonous fog amasses within the biome that slowly drains the health of all party members and obscures the surroundings. Can be cleansed with the right abilities.

GRAVITY+ / GRAVITY- Gravity increases or decreases slightly, altering the ease of movement. (If in the sea biome, reroll)

FORTITUDE Every party member is shrouded with a barrier that can negate all damage from the next attack received.

DIVINE INTERVENTION Revives a fallen party member with the group. (If no one is fallen, reroll)

WELL RESTED Everyone's energy levels are restored. It's easier to forge ahead!

OFIUCLONE SWARM Summons a swarm of ten Ofiuclones during your next enemy encounter to aid in battle.

TRANSMOGRIFICATION Everyone in the party is changed into a random animal for ten minutes.

GOOD VIBES During the next enemy encounter, everyone's overall stats are increased. You feel like you can take on anything!

GRAND PRIZE

You're only required to make a single event post or drabble to be eligible for event participation, but we are also offering a grand prize to everyone who reaches 1000 words* across all of their event threads. This prize is random, and for each person that reaches this point we will be spinning a prize wheel to determine what you receive! Every character can only receive this prize once, but if you do not like your initial prize you get one reroll. You can also exchange your prize in for a Star amount equivalent to its retail price and put the money towards an item or items you do want!

The included prizes are as follows, all taken from our Galaxy marketplace:

shielden ring

companion star

polymorph star

cosmogills

starcycle

mysterious blueprints

1000 stars

*You do not need 1000 words before the event ends. So long as the threads are started before the event period concludes, you can cash in for this prize whenever you hit that milestone. In the case that a thread partner drops in the meantime, you can continue the thread in a new thread or drabble with that person separated provided you link back to the original in the first post. We will not be awarding prizes until the event period has ended.

EVENT FAQ

WHAT HAPPENS IF A CHARACTER DIES WITHIN THE BIOME? Accidents happen! Your character will simply respawn at the beginning and will be able to catch up with the others by trekking through the explored areas already. This may be more difficult in some biomes than others.

HOW ARE ENEMIES BALANCED WHEN CHARACTERS OF VARYING POWERS ARE IN THE SAME PARTY? Every group of enemies will have at least one foe that is equivalent in strength to your strongest member and will aggro to them. Unless your weaker members aggro the monster themselves, in which case? Good luck! If your strongest character has abilities that are considered "gamebreaking" like the ability to alter reality and so forth, this enemy will be immune to those abilities.

WHAT ABOUT THE ALIEN MONSTER IN THE SPACE BIOME? It cannot be hurt or killed even by your strongest party member. Run!

CAN WE USE A FANTASIA FORM IF OUR CHARACTER HAS ABILITIES OF THEIR OWN? In the case that those abilities would not help them in a combat situation, then yes!

ARE OUR CHARACTERS ALLOWED TO CHANGE THEIR FANTASIA FORMS? Sure thing! That information is stored in the Intraverse, so they could go in and change in whenever they like so long as it remains within the limitations of the Fantasia System.

CAN WE USE ABILITIES THAT WOULD "CHEAT" THE SYSTEM? LIKE BEING ABLE TO JUST TELEPORT TO THE END? Abilities that would otherwise break the spirit of the event are disabled even if your character has everything unlocked otherwise for the sake of fairness.

DO WE NEED TO RANDOMIZE THE BUFFS / DEBUFFS FROM THE CHESTS? As mentioned, you don't need to, but we hope you will as a fun mechanic! It isn't like there's a way for us to check if you actually did it randomly, and your threads are your own.

DO WE NEED TO CLAIM THE PRIZE TO GET PARTICIPATION? Nope! That prize is just a little something extra if you choose to shoot for it. Participation requirements are normal. And remember, you don't need to claim the prize by the event's end. You can finish it whenever so long as the thread is started before the event concludes at the end of the day on February 10th.

[bite-the-bloody-hand]

🌷- How does this oc take their coffee?

🍀- Around when does this oc get up in the morning?

🍂- What music does this oc like?

🌳- Does this oc collect anything?

🌙- Does this oc have any unusual hobbies?

🌈- What does this oc like and dislike about themselves?

❄- What is this oc's favorite and least favorite food?

⚡- How well does this oc sleep?

From Yunessa!

Oooh thank you Yunessa these are great!!

🌷- How does this oc take their coffee?

Zell really enjoys bitter and savory things, so he takes his coffee with a little bit of salted yak butter when he can get it.

🍀- Around when does this oc get up in the morning?

That implies he ever actually sleeps lmao. Generally he's an early riser so he can make sure to get in a full set of stretches before getting on the road. Gotta combat that pseudo rigor mortis after all.

🍂- What music does this oc like?

He can find something to appreciate about any kind of music, but he generally favors anything boisterous and brassy, and he's in love with the banjo. He can't play it very well on account of his fingers being a bunch of hypermobile little traitors, but to him the banjo is the most beautiful instrument ever devised by mortal hands.

🌳- Does this oc collect anything?

Zell collects spindles! One of his hobbies is spinning thread, and he likes to have a variety of sizes to work with. He currently has a collection of six - one mammoth bone, one rosewood, two walnut, and two cherrywood. Each have unique carvings; the bone one is cross-style, one of the cherrywood is supported, and the others all have unique whorls.

🌙- Does this oc have any unusual hobbies?

Party Crashing. He doesn't do it maliciously, and only started doing it for the free food, but finds that pretending to be one of the band and sneaking into a private event is *absurdly* fun for him. Something about getting into a place uninvited as a Dhampir is exhilarating to him. Usually nothing crazy happens, but he has been present for several high-intensity birthdays, weddings, and funerals where he was compelled to employ his unique brand of mischief to everyone's benefit. He'll tell those stories some other time ;3

🌈- What does this oc like and dislike about themselves?

Zell has a complicated relationship with himself in that he mostly likes *who* he is but he doesn't like *what* he is. He's tried to live up to his own ideals and be patient with himself when he fails to do so, but those ideals often come in conflict with his desperate hatred of being undead and celestial and how much pain it physically causes him to be alive. He's on the edge of lashing out more often that he'd like but has to be gracious because it's not like it's his fault for being born that way.

Sometimes he worries that he excuses himself too much because of the pain he's in, and that's what he like about himself the least.

❄- What is this oc's favorite and least favorite food?

Favorites: Illitu blood, Kulajda (creamy mushroom and potato soup with dill), garlic soup (no matter what it does for his digestion)

Least favorite: Most sweets (Aivu reaps the rewards here), most mortal blood, cold potatoes that had previously been crispy,

⚡- How well does this oc sleep?

Not very :( he has constant joint and nerve pain that worsens when he lays still for too long, and gets frequent migraines that upset his sleep for days after. However, if he has a very dark and cool room, and a pillowy bed he can snuggle up and move around as necessary without hitting any pressure points, that's pretty close to heaven for him.