#I continue what is apparently a tradition at this point

[sunnfish]

[ID: A digital illustration of Monkey King/Sun Wukong from Lego Monkie Kid. He sits crouched, balancing on his staff, with a confident smile on his face. His phoenix feather cap and red cape flare out behind him, and his tail curls beneath him. The background is a light blue with a slight cloud motif and a big yellow sunburst shape centered around his head. The artist’s signature “sunnfish 2023” is written on the flap of his cape. /End ID]

Woe, lego monkie kid be upon ye

Alternate versions under the cut ^_^

[ID: Two versions of the same image as above; in each, the color main color layer is turned to a different blending mode, changing the colors and allowing the background colors to bleed through. The first changes it to brighter colors, while the second changes it to darker colors. /End ID]

[rae-writes]

all for you...

Dazai x twin!reader

wc : 1.k

warnings : angst, ambiguous ending, major character death [not reader or Dazai], blood, implied prior emotional/physical/[light] sexual abuse

synopsis : "I don't want to play this part but I do, all for you"

a/n : I...apologize for this

“Well now…this is quite the mess to clean up…” 

The splattered blood on the wall had begun to drip, sliding down the wood slowly and splashing onto the floor with faint ‘pit, pit’ echoes. There was an eerie, ringing, silence to the air and a tension that felt suffocating.

Something shifted when Mori turned to look at the two children who just witnessed the murder— they were no older than fourteen. 

“You twins are my witnesses…from now on, I will be the new boss of the Port Mafia, and the two of you…will stay by my side.”

Fukuzawa Yukichi and Mori Ogai sat at a small, cherry-wood table that was decorated with a glass china set for the tea they were talking over; it would’ve been a rather amusing sight, if the conversation topic hadn’t been so serious. 

While they both performed their positions as head of their respective organizations diligently- and extremely well- it was no secret that they were each getting higher up in their years. They thought it best to discuss who would potentially be taking over once they were retired together, as it would help maintain their mutual agreement between said organizations. 

“Your best candidate is Doppo Kunikida, is it not? I was fairly certain it was him who was acting in your stead whenever you could not.”

You and Chuuya stood directly behind Mori, with a small handful of your subordinates a couple of feet away; similarly, Fukuzawa had Kunikida and Dazai behind him, with the rest of the agency’s core members on standby. The two heads didn’t really need them here, as they could very well handle themselves against one another, however by this point, it was more or less a tradition. 

“That is correct. What about you? Surely you’re going to pick from your pool of executives, aren’t you?” 

There it was. That nauseous dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. It sunk into your bones, forcing a cold sweat to the surface of your skin as, instinctively, your flight or fight response tried to take over. 

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

The sounds around you grow muffled so suddenly it makes your head spin and the scenery melts down into a memory of the executive meeting held a week ago.

“Do not mistake my words. I will continue as the Port Mafia’s head until it is apparent I am no longer able to fulfill my role; even then, my presence will not just disappear. This is my home and the organization I’ve dedicated my life to. I’m simply implying that we will need a suitable replacement when that time comes.” 

Rae glanced at Chuuya, finding him to be exactly who Mori was looking for. There was no one else in the room, or even the entire Port Mafia for that matter, who would be better suited to take over the position as boss. 

“And Dazai Osamu shall be just the person to do so.” 

No matter how sickening the feeling of fear and dread can be, anger will always be the secondary emotion. Even if that anger doesn’t last, it festers somewhere deep inside someone and builds until it’s crawling throughout their whole body— and suddenly it’s controlling them. It’s what takes over their mind like a parasite until it’s moving their legs, their fingers, their hands; until it acts on all those…scenarios in a person’s mind that were never meant to be born- that were only supposed to stay as impulsive thoughts. It’s then that the entire world a person experiences can be flipped upside down and drowned in the raging tides their anger brought. 

It was that anger that had your body moving on autopilot while you just…watched. Like you were a prisoner in your own mind, watching something on the tv screen. 

Your feet took a few steps forward before your hand was reaching for Mori’s teacup and slamming it on the edge of the table, shattering the glass. It left one big shard in your grasp. Your free hand had come up to the back of his head, fingers tangling in the long strands of black hair before yanking, forcing him to look at you with an exposed neck. 

When his red-purple hues met yours, your movements became your own. A gasp tore from your throat as you took in the sight in front of you, ragged breathing making you tremble. It was now that you were able to consciously think about your actions. 

And you thought about Osamu. 

You thought about everything he had to go through— everything Mori forced him to go through. 

You thought about that shine he had in his eyes that dulled over the years, only returning when he’d escaped Mori and the Port Mafia. You thought about the night he left, the way he cried over Odasaku and the way he cried about not wanting to leave you; you’d never seen him cry before. You thought about the hope in his eyes as you helped him leave and the genuine smile he’d given you two years later when you saw him again in the Agency. 

You thought about Mori’s sick, twisted version of affection— or ‘love’ as he called it sometimes. About the way he treated the two of you. The way he talked, manipulated, used, touched the two of you. 

As you gazed into the eyes of your tormentor- the man who was planning to drag your brother back to the darkness that had already consumed you- all that was swimming in those devil eyes was some warped version of pride; of satisfaction. 

His voice echoed in your mind, words he didn’t even need to voice aloud because he’d engrained them into you, seeping disgustingly- permanently- into your core. 

‘If I cannot have Osamu, I will gladly have you instead, my precious Y/n.’ 

With steady hands, though a trembling heart, you forced the broken piece of china into the flesh of Mori’s neck. And with a chilling cry, you dragged it across the entire expanse of his throat; his blood was now coating your face. 

It would’ve been a rather amusing sight- the horror plastered across everyone’s faces…if the situation hadn’t been so serious. 

“He…he was going to ask Osamu to be the next boss…and I couldn’t— I wouldn’t let him. Not you, Osamu.” Your voice cracked as you looked over at your brother, heart clenching when he looked at you with such…mortification. “Anyone but you.” 

And Osamu thought back to you. 

He thought back to all those times your eyes darkened in rage whenever Mori did something to him. He thought back to how you’d always yell at Mori for hurting him, whether physically or mentally. He thought back to the nights you promised him you’d help him shove down that darkness Mori festered in him. He thought about the promise you made him when he left the mafia: the promise that you’d be the one to kill Mori for what he’d done to the two of you. 

As he gazed into the eyes of his twin sibling- standing with blood on their face after just repeating the cycle, all for him- he could see the fear of what you’d just done. The determination to be better than Mori...and the love. Love for him. 

He should’ve known, his heart screams. He should’ve known this would happen, that you’d snap. He should’ve stopped you, he should’ve talked to you, he should’ve been there for you, because now—

. . .

After a haunting moment of ringing silence, the only person who dares to move is Chuuya Nakahara; the redhead kneels, sliding his hat off as he bows his head, “All hail the new Port Mafia boss, Dazai Y/n.”

[tentacleteapot]

it’s been said many times before but Ranni is easily the funniest character in Elden Ring, and in my opinion she’s the funniest character FromSoft has ever written

she was so vehemently opposed to being used by the higher powers in the Lands Between that she responded to being picked as a potential new goddess by killing her own body and moving her soul into a doll body with four arms. (said doll body may just happen to look exactly like the person she learned her signature magic from.) she did this by stealing a piece of the physical manifestation of the concept of death, and then had one of her many siblings assassinated with that same piece of the rune of death, and she flat out admits she did all of this to your face if you ask her about it.

she is (apparently) on a first-name basis with your horse, and the only reason she initially introduces herself to you is because she heard your horse has a new master and wants to find out what you’re like. she’ll comment on what a “ruffian” your horse has chosen as a master if you’re rude to her. she uses an alias the first time you meet her, and said alias, Renna, in addition to being the name of her mentor, is literally just her mom’s name with two letters dropped from the end. (it's also just her own name with slightly different spelling and one letter changed.)

her first body used to be really tall, so now she constantly tries to appear taller than the player by sitting on a wall the first time you meet her, and later by sitting on a pile of books, concealed by her robes, on top of an already decently tall chair. conversely, she later abandons her relatively more human-sized doll body to hide out inside a tiny little replica OF her doll body, and when you find her she pretends to be an inanimate object the first few times you talk to her and then she gets pissed at you for figuring out it was really her.

she responds to marriage proposals by saying “okay that’s fair, but you have to become royalty first, I’ll see you when you have that figured out” and then leaves you a free sword because that’s the traditional wedding present the women in her family give their spouses. and then when you’ve beaten the game she DOES in fact take you as a consort, no questions asked. there is absolutely no gender-specific dialogue of any kind at any point when you talk to Ranni, including when you propose to her, and she is the chaotic bi representation I know a lot of my bi friends have been hoping for.

if you try to fight her mother, an optional boss most people will go after during their playthroughs because the benefits are pretty useful, Ranni impersonates her mother by creating an illusion of her at the height of her power, and has her ‘mom’ say she hopes Ranni is able to achieve all her weird goals as her ‘death’ quote if you destroy the illusion… but also if you destroy the illusion she just. leaves. and you reappear in the same room as her mom, who’s seemingly totally forgotten you two ever fought, without any apparent worry you might just try to pick that fight again.

if you ask to work for her while having an ulterior motive (due to already being on a quest that requires you to gain her trust so you can snoop around her castle) she immediately calls you on it but also finds it funny enough to let you work for her anyway. then if you come back to her after she's given you what you want, she continues putting you to work because why not? you came back, after all. she is the best she's such a fundamentally weird person and that makes her feel so effortlessly real, like a friend of a friend you're always hearing crazy stories about. I love Ranni so much.

[wandagcre]

SAM & HER GF & COREFOUR IN CHRISTMAS HEADCANONS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!

christmas with the core four as sam's girlfriend 🎄

Note: this had become a christmas special writing hhh i hope you like it nonetheless <3

whether you have a tradition or not during christmas time, you'll certainly have a lively extension of a family now that you're sam's girlfriend!

you ask sam what you should prepare and she simply says "your presence is much needed of course, then some clothes and finally, hope for the best for the sake of your sanity"

you chuckle at sam's words. it was between a lighthearted joke and reality. the 3/4 of the gang is full of expressive and loud personalities but you already met them and hung out, so you know you're in for a (good) ride 🫶🏼

but thankfully, you're already welcomed so you thought your previous worries were silly. chad goes for a special handshake, then mindy and tara for a warm hug and how are you's <3 it was genuine too

sam is already smiling at the sight of you as she puts your bags away, how you're getting along with them in christmas style. she has known the twins for so long and was ecstatic to finally continue celebrating it with her sister, and now with someone special — you.

after settling in, you're surprised that they actually cooked? not because of their skills but them combined is a hazard and their brain cells cancelling out each other. sam chimed in soon as she caught the conversation, "hey what does that say about me then! >:( i instructed them carefully when they started cooking,"

rest of the gang laughed, took no offense to your assumption. they said that you were absolutely right. in fact, tara reveals she almost did the classic switch up - salt over sugar - all because she got immersed at their in between conversations to which you join laughing at.

it's so diverse! full of everyone's favorite dishes at christmas time instead of the traditionally expected dishes. you told them that this was such a good idea and made things even more heartwarming to celebrate. they smile and chad rubs your back, "of course. we're our own little family. we do it according to our favorite picks and sharing it... in a way feels like you're sharing love, too. it makes it even more special." mindy butts in, "not bad, brother."

tara agrees and says chad definitely has his moments.

then! from your back, apparently sam sneaked in and smoothly glides another dish - your own favorite! she looks anywhere else except your eyes, "you didn't know the theme and you deserve a slot in this tradition," she murmured and tara adds, "so that's what you've been burning your hands for?" your eyes well up in affection. you press a chaste kiss to which the gang gagged at 😭

"no mistletoe for you two!" - they reprimanded you

trying eggnogs in discreet - perpetuated by the twins, specifically by chad (unknowingly made them after mindy said "go wild, surprise me") and immediately regretted her words. after things cooled down (re: woodsboro and new york mess) they decided to bring it up, the carpenter sisters weren't safe and so were you!

sam looking at the sidelines, suspiciously smiling and seemingly anticipating. you took more than a sip unknowingly, then soon as it hit your tastebuds, your face was contorted in disgust. the women started laughing. chad says "don't hate the brits!"

sam says in your defense, "you know they eat baked beans with dry sausages and bread right?" tara agrees with ease, saying that's a fair point and flips off the twins for the same surprise they did last year. adding to the chaos, you firmly say, "yeah! it offended my tastebuds. i thought this was a christmas tradition not a frat initiation!"

the core four loved your response 😭 sam included, was laughing hard and gasping for air. it was witty and the twins playfully retort that it was extreme of you to accuse!

sam couldn't stop smiling and laughing oh my god somebody help her facial muscles! it's permanently stitched to her at this point

mindy loves the banter. she nudges you and says that sam is partially getting her lick back. but mainly it was in your honor, to which she gags at because you guys are subtly so sweet already 🥹

they introduce you to some clichés, but with a twist! gingerbread house making but five of you will pick names, not revealing them and within an hour u should dedicate it to them. they're all wonky creations but decent. sam can't do much to control it anyway as they try to sabotage everyone, including yours 😭 the clean up will be tedious for sure!

you're surprised that tara decorated yours in your favorite color and how she noticed since it wasn't that obvious and yet she noticed a pattern apparently, it shows with your stuff and clothing! i think hers are perfected, standard-like creation and you see her stickman drawing attempt of two persons - apparently it's you and sam

sam points at it, "is that us? why am i smaller?" and tara grumbles. "this is for your girlfriend can you leave my masterpiece alone?"

you agree with tara who grinned widely at your approval, "be nice. i think it's an adorable touch to this homey gingerbread house!"

mindy adds knowingly, "also, sam, i hate to break it to you but you're an absolute puddle of baby around your girlfriend, that's why you're smaller - duh. your real height is not equivalent to your height there." and tara spreads her arms, exclaiming 'exactly!'

chad looks back and forth, trying to grasp the context. "oh! oh! i get it," he clasps his hands rather loudly. "you're so right for that. and you let her call you sammy?"

you giggle at sam's petulant pout at the teasing but she doesn't deny anything. "whatever," she grumbles and when you wanted to appease it with a kiss as you lean in to sam, the 3/4 are already making gagging and vomiting sounds 😭✋🏼

watching movies based on your favorite christmas themed movies! (insert an obscure movie u randomly hyperfixated or a popular one from your country) usually it was a matter of rock paper and scissors for fairness, but since you're new they gave you a special pass and played your choice of movie <3

your pick was new to them. therefore they were entranced at the plot and you enjoy the commentary and how they analyzed it, like little kids during the movie time in class. you look to your side and see that sam's eyebrows were bunched and she ate in sloth-like manner 😭

baby was so focused! it was funny how she looked like that while her arm is hooked around yours and leaned to you comfortably. sam says i can see why this is appealing to you... it's so you and unique and it matched your energy and she happily rambles - much to 3/4's surprise

not because sam is silently attentive but it's their first time to see her so open and carefree with her partner and so they have this faint, knowing smiles on their faces. they're happy that sam finally have found her person that she feels comfortable and honest with🥺

as you go to your respective rooms (obviously you're rooming with sam) mindy shouts from the hall, "please be respectful and let's keep the jolly, wholesome spirit alive! we do not need anymore virgo babies,"

tara visibly wanted to vomit and covered her ears. chad looks at his twin confused, "since when do you have beef with virgos?"

meanwhile you and sam were stuck in chuckling and was flustered. "i didn't even think of that!" you shout back to mindy who replies with sure, jan. as you and sam settle in her room, you take her hand and swung them gently, your gaze intent on sam's brown ones. "thank you for having me. i felt so loved." both of your hearts felt so full. your silly smile is unerasable and so is sam's, you find it endearing how the two of you probably look like fools together.

and sam pouts cutely at your words. "no, thank you baby for being here. it's only a first of many more to come." she retrieved something - a mistletoe - on her pocket. sam placed it above you two, and you smirk at her sly action. "let's seal it with a kiss then?" you say to which sam eagerly responds to and met your lips with no hesitation.

[mariacallous]

Salman Rushdie has just published Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder. In August 2022, he was giving a talk at the Chautauqua Institution in New York. Hadi Matar, a 24-year-old from New Jersey, rushed the stage and stabbed him 15 times. It was astonishing that Salman survived. He lost the sight in one eye and sustained terrible injuries, but he’s still with us and he’s still writing, and unlike Hadi Matar, he’s still worth hearing.

We think of fanatics as stalkers with an obsessive knowledge of their targets.  Like the antisemites who compile lists of Jews in the media or the homophobes who so focus on the details of gay sex they might almost be closet cases

Most terrorists and bigots are not like that. They are like soldiers in an army who kill and hate for no other reason than tradition or men in authority have told them to kill and hate. If we were less fascinated by the pseudo-glamour of violence, we would see them for what they are: dullards and jerks.

In Knife Salman is almost as angered by the sheer lazy stupidity of his wannabee assassin as his violence.

“I do not want to use his name in this account. My Assailant, my would-be Assassin, the Asinine man who made Assumptions about me, and with whom I had a near-lethal Assignation … I have found myself thinking of him, perhaps forgivably, as an Ass.”

The ass “didn’t bother to inform himself about the man he decided to kill. By his own admission he read barely two pages of my writing and watched a couple of YouTube videos”.

That was enough, apparently, along with a little light indoctrination in the Levant.

We know from Matar’s mother that her son changed from a popular young man to a moody religious zealot after visiting her ex-husband in the Hezbollah-controlled town of Yaroun in Lebanon, a mile or so from the Israeli border.

“I was expecting him to come back motivated, to complete school, to get his degree and a job. But instead, he locked himself in the basement. He had changed a lot. He didn't say anything to me or his sisters for months.”

Salman quotes a wonderfully perceptive line from Jodi Picoult

“If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”

Rushdie is openly contemptuous, as he has every right to be.

“I see you now at twenty-four,” he writes, “already disappointed by life, disappointed in your mother, your sisters, your father, your lack of boxing talent, your lack of any talent at all; disappointed in the bleak future you saw stretching ahead of you, for which you refused to blame yourself.”

This has always been the way. Readers old enough to remember 1989 when the Ayatollah Khomeini ordered Salman’s execution for writing a blasphemous satire of Islam’s origin story in the Satanic Verses,will know that Khomeini had not read it. Nor had the furious demonstrators in the streets or the regressive leftists and Tory ministers who upbraided him for the non-crime of causing offence.

Those of us who had read the book pointed out that it was a magical realist fiction which contained sympathetic accounts of the racism Muslim immigrants in the UK suffered. Indeed, the Tories of the day loathed Salman, we continued, because of his confrontations with official racism.

But after a while we fell silent. Pleading with his enemies felt demeaning. It gave them undeserved credit, as if they were reasonable people, who could be swayed by evidence rather than just, well, pillocks.

In Knife Salman attempts an imaginary conversation with his persecutor.

OK, he says, Islam, unlike Judaism and Christianity, holds that man is not made in God’s image. God has no human qualities, it says.

But isn’t language a human quality? To have language, God would have to have a mouth, a tongue, vocal cords and a voice, just like a man. The terrorist’s understanding is that God cannot be like a man, however. So, God could not have spoken to Gabriel in Arabic. Gabriel must have translated his message when he came to the prophet.

The angel made it comprehensible to Muhammed by delivering it in human speech which is not the speech of God.

Thus, the version of Islamic instruction Matar received in his basement when he switched from playing video games to listening to Imams was an interpretation of a translation.

“I’m trying to suggest to you that, even according to your own tradition, there is uncertainty. Some of your own early philosophers have suggested this. They say everything can be interpreted, even the Book. It can be interpreted according to the times in which the interpreter lives. Literalism is a mistake.”

For a while, Rushdie says he wants to meet Matar again at the trial, as if he wants to have the argument in the flesh.

He tells a story about Samuel Beckett, which could only have happened to Samuel Beckett.

Beckett was walking through Paris in 1938 when he was confronted by a pimp named Prudent, who wanted money from him. Beckett pushed Prudent away, whereupon the pimp pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the chest, narrowly missing the left lung and the heart.

Beckett was taken to the nearest hospital, bleeding heavily. He only just survived.

You will never guess who paid for his treatment. James Joyce, of course, he did.

Anyway, Beckett went to the pimp’s trial. He met Prudent in the courtroom, and asked him why he had done it. This was the pimp’s reply: “Je ne sais pas, monsieur. Je m’excuse.” (I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.)

But the more he thought about it, the less Rushdie had to say to his enemy. The idea that you can have theological arguments with a man who wants to kill you for writing a book he hasn’t even read felt ridiculous.

Although popular culture is full of stories about murderers, and true crime podcasts top the charts, killers and fanatics are nearly always less interesting than their victims. More often than not they are just thick. Nasty and vicious, but thick first of all.

We are about to see the stupidity of fanatics deployed on a mass scale. Two thirds of Republican voters (and nearly 3 in 10 Americans) continue to believe that the 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump, and that Joe Biden was not lawfully elected. They think it because that is what Trump told them to think.

Islamists told Matar that Salman was an apostate, and that was all he needed to know. Trump told Republicans the election was stolen and ditto.

If Republicans were consistent people, they would not vote for Trump in 2024. What would be the point? They would have every reason to fear that the deep state would rig the 2024 presidential election as it rigged the 2020 presidential election.

But they will vote for him because, once again, that is what he tells them to do.

In the end there is a limit to how much attention you can pay the vicious and the stupid.

They are not interesting enough, as Rushdie concluded with marvellous disdain as he contemplated the life sentence Matar will face.

"Here we stand: the man who failed to kill an unarmed seventy-five-year-old writer, and the now 76-year-old writer. Somewhat to my surprise, I find I have very little to say to you. Our lives touched each other for an instant and then separated. Mine has improved since that day, while yours has deteriorated. You made a bad gamble and lost. I was the one with the luck… Perhaps, in the incarcerated decades that stretch out before you, you will learn introspection, and come to understand that you did something wrong. But you know what? I don’t care. This, I think, is what I have come to this courtroom to say to you. I don’t care about you, or the ideology that you claim to represent, and which you represent so poorly. I have my life, and my work, and there are people who love me. I care about those things.”

[alkalische]

so for the past 4 months i've been brainrotting about theresis on twitter priv because nobody fucking gets him as a character actually.

anyone who says that he isn't very interesting is WRONG. he's actually very fascinating but in a way that's low key and easy to write off

to start off, something that's very important to theresis's characterisation is the fact that he's implied to be apparently very adherent to sarkaz tradition. to 'not fuck around with the dead'- this can be seen in manfred's conversation with the cluster.

it's explicitly expressed here:

except from Ch 11:

"Just one Sarkaz, no army, no servants. He rose from his throne, laid down the authority that he had never truly cared for, and walked here."

i LOVE the description of him here- when he appears in the story for the first time, NOBODY realises until it's too late.

His ONE goal was to PERSONALLY kill amiya and just eliminate the threat- no fanfare, no monologung, straight down to business.

He's not even particularly sneaky it's just that he's just such a regular ass dude that people just don't realise he's there

"laid down the authority he never truly cared for."

In the lore book, it's actually stated that theresis never bothered to declare himself king after the death of theresa, and made no effort in searching for the new sarkaz king.

for power isn't what he was after. his goal wasn't to be king, it was for a way to execute his plans, because the one thing he ACTUALLY cares about is the future of the sarkaz.

also:

i love how the text explicitly says that even his sword is rather unremarkable. he got to this point with his sheer tactical acumen and his pure skill with his sword

something that's really interesting is actually how he's described as a 'sword wielding guard', and theresa a 'royal dressmaker', before theresa was king- and he's even DRESSED like a guard.

He's very specifically still dressed like a sarkaz General, (uniform + red cape, shares this with Manfred) and an utterly unremarkable one.

the lore book also describes Theresis also being eligible to be chosen for the crown, but he willingly gave it up to continue his role as theresa's sword- and it describes him 'severing the horns of the sarkaz that refused to follow the orders of a dressmaker.'

i think that to him, he did care about theresa, but she was his king first and his sister second. what she meant to him wasn't just 'family', it was what she represented, her role.

Which was why despite his adherence to Sarkaz tradition, he was reluctantly willing to to let the confessarius bring her back, if it serves to advance his goals.

The biggest point is that he literally doenst give a FUCK about anything that isn't important to the future of the sarkaz. He's the scale of 'for the greater good' cranked up to the max.

His plan is deeply fucked up, but the core premise of it is that it must be done- and the craziest part of his plan, compared to theresa's, is that it might actually work to remove the shackles of the sarkaz from their oppressors.

genuinely so sick and tired of people reducing him down to 'villan who is hot' or 'generic fantasy bad guy' THATS THE MOST BORING INTERPRETATION you could POSSIBLY have for him.

[kana-de]

★ summary: fatui!scaramouche x fatui!reader. reader is afraid of lightning, and scaramouche offers his methods of calming them down.

☆ cw: gender not specified. fluff (cuddling), hurt/comfort (?), scara not being a dick for once. 1812 words.

scaramouche watched as you turned around to face him, a mixture of irritation and curiosity evident on his face. his eyes followed you as you walked, eventually arriving at the ryokan on ritou island. the traditional architecture and ambiance filled the air, immersing you both in the atmosphere of inazuma.

his gaze lingered on the shared room, taking in the rice shoji doors, tatami flooring, and the two futons placed together. there was an unspoken tension in the air as you contemplated the arrangement. scaramouche, ever the dominant and self-assured individual, seemed unfazed by the proximity of the futons. with a nonchalant wave of his hand, he dismissed any semblance of concern. "what? are you implying that you have a problem with sharing a futon with me?" he sneered, a playful edge hidden beneath the arrogance of his words.

he dropped himself onto the futon, unphased by the fact that it accommodated both of you. positioned in a way that practically begged for conflict, his half-lidded gaze met yours. the room was still, the sound of rain acting as a backdrop to the tension between you.

"as much as i enjoy the idea of sharing a sleeping arrangement with you," he continued, the teasing tone more apparent, "i suggest you change into something dry. you're already soaked, and i wouldn't want you catching a cold. not that i actually care, of course."

his words were laced with a mixture of indifference and concern, a strange contrast that hinted at a deeper layer to his personality. with a flick of his wrist, he pointed to a nearby wardrobe that definitely had a few spare kimonos for you individually, indicating privacy for you to change.

"well, what are you waiting for? we still have a mission to complete, and i expect you to be in top form tomorrow," he remarked, though a flicker of something unfamiliar danced in his eyes.

scaramouche observed your movements from the futon as you disappeared into the bathroom to change and take a bath. he reclined lazily, seemingly indifferent to your actions, but his gaze lingered for a moment before he turned his attention to the rain-soaked scenery outside.

the room was filled with the soft sound of falling rain and distant thunder, creating an atmosphere of tranquility despite the tension that simmered between you. as you returned from the bathroom, wearing a fresh kimono, you made your way to the windows, lifting the curtains to gaze out into the stormy night.

unbeknownst to you, scaramouche's gaze followed your every movement, though he appeared more engrossed in the scenery outside. but he couldn't help but notice the slight tremor that coursed through your body whenever a bolt of lightning struck the sky, yet he still scoffed quietly at the sight.

he watched quietly, his sharp eyes capturing the vulnerability that snuck into your otherwise composed demeanor. the room fell into a hushed silence, filled only by the rhythmic patter of raindrops against the windows and the occasional rumble of thunder.

in a rare moment of empathy, scaramouche broke his usual cavalier attitude, the teasing and harsh remarks left unspoken on his tongue. instead, he cleared his throat and spoke with a tone that was surprisingly calm, bordering on concern, and not on mockery.

"you're afraid of lightning, aren't you?" he asked, a touch of peace underlying his words. it was a stark departure from his usual abrasive demeanor, revealing a side of him that often remained hidden.

without waiting for an answer, he rose from the futon and approached you, his movements uncharacteristically careful. standing beside you, he leaned casually against the windowsill, staring out into the storm as well.

"it's a remarkable sight, isn't it?" he mused, his voice low and reflective. "the electrifying power of the storm, the way it illuminates the darkness... it could be almost poetic, if i didn't hate inazuma that much."

as his words trailed off, a bolt of lightning split the sky, briefly casting the room in a brilliant glow. scaramouche glanced at you, his normally guarded eyes softened by his momentary vulnerability - you covered your ears as the lighting's sound was too loud.

"i won't pretend to understand what it's like to fear something so common in inazuma," he murmured, his voice laced with an unknown calmness. "but... if it bothers you, perhaps i can provide some... distraction. some..." a lingering pause. he's trying to find the right words to fit his demeanor. "..some kind of peace for you. just this once."

a proposition hung in the air, the air tingling with both uncertainty and the possibility of... comfort.

his tone of voice clearly piqued your interest, and you turned your head to face the indigo-haired man beside. you also hesitated, because... why would he, the sixth harbinger, with all of his smug and aloof demeanor, want to calm you down, even this once? you could imagine him mocking you throughout the time that the lighting lingers, but not this. "... distraction?"

scaramouche's indigo eyes met yours with a slight raised eyebrow, the usual sharpness replaced by a hint of gentleness. though he attempted to maintain his air of aloofness, there was an underlying sincerity in his words that couldn't be ignored.

"yes, a distraction," he repeated, his voice carrying a touch of warmth amidst his typically cold demeanor. "a diversion from the storm, a temporary respite from your fear. perhaps... i could offer you something that might take your mind off the lightning, even if it's just for a little while."

as he spoke, scaramouche reached a hand out, his slender fingers gently grazing your arm. it was a surprisingly tender gesture, considering his usual roughness and lack of regard for personal boundaries.

his touch sent a shiver of electricity down your spine, the faintest whisper of sensation that seemed to awaken something within you. he had the ability to ignite desire in the most unexpected of situations.

scaramouche's expression remained elusive, his usual mask of arrogance firmly in place, but there was a flicker of something more vulnerable hidden within his gaze. it was as if he sought to offer you solace, wrapped in a layer of his own enigmatic nature.

without further delay, scaramouche headed towards his futon, lying down on the soft mattress' material, and extending his hands towards you with raised eyebrows, as if gesturing to hug him. "c'mon. this is a one-time activity from me, so decide quickly."

following his actions with your careful eyes, you freezed at place at his gesture. "are you.... offering to hug?"

scaramouche's face contorted slightly, a mixture of impatience and annoyance flickering across his features. it was clear that he wasn't accustomed to offering comfort or showing vulnerability, and the words tumbled out with a touch of exasperation.

"yes, i am," he replied curtly, his voice laced with irritation. "what's taking you so long to decide? it's just a simple hug, nothing more."

there was a sharpness to his tone, a defense mechanism rising within him as he braced himself for possible rejection. his indigo eyes met yours, a challenge lurking beneath their surface, daring you to accept his gesture.

and yet, amidst the tension, there was a touch of sincerity, a fleeting vulnerability revealed in the words he didn't speak. despite his rough exterior, he was offering you a rare glimpse of his desire for human connection, a moment of fleeting intimacy.

he remained lying on the futon, his arms outstretched, his gaze holding a mixture of defiance and longing.

you battled all the thoughts in her head, eventually heading for his futon, the tatami flooring quietly and irritatingly creaking under your footsteps. as you sat on his futon, impermissibly close to him, you awkwardly tried to fit into the grip of his arms. a vague sense of awkwardness hung in the air. the rain outside continued to pour, creating a symphony of sound as you settled into the embrace he offered.

his arms closed around you, the firmness of his grip contrasting with the unexpected gentleness in his touch. it was a peculiar sensation, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as you sought solace within each other's arms.

scaramouche remained silent, his typically acerbic tongue momentarily tamed by the vulnerability of the moment. his breathing shifted, his touch becoming lighter, almost delicate, as if he was unsure of his own actions.

as the storm raged outside and you found comfort in his embrace, a fragile connection formed between you. the tension and animosity that had defined your interactions seemed to fade away, replaced by a surprising sense of tranquility.

you found your forehead pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around you more and more tightly every time as you shudder from the loud and scary lightning. with some contemplating, your hand hesitantly wrapped around his waist, bringing your body even closer to him.

scaramouche's hand, which had been resting on your back, moved gently, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your clothes. it was a surprisingly tender gesture, a rare display of care from someone who prided themselves on their cold and aloof nature.

in response to your hesitant touch, his waist against your hand, scaramouche's grip on you tightened even more. it was as if he needed the connection as much as you did, a silent admission of the desire for human contact that lay hidden within his complex heart. the lightning still danced across the sky, illuminating the room in brief bursts of brilliance, but it no longer held the same power to shake you to your core.

in his arms, you felt a sense of security, a respite from the world of duty and responsibility that awaited you outside these walls. it was a fragile moment suspended in time, one that held the potential for a deeper understanding between you, or simply the brief connection born out of shared vulnerability.

and as you clung to each other, the storm continued to rage, its fury echoing in the backdrop of your sanctuary. but for now, in the confines of this room, scaramouche and you found a moment of tranquility amidst the chaos, an unexpected bond that defied the boundaries of duty and affiliation.

it was a brief moment of respite, a temporary escape from the harsh reality of your mission and the weight of your fatui responsibilities. and for that fleeting instant, scaramouche allowed himself to be vulnerable, to offer you the comfort he never thought he needed.

in the embrace of the tempestuous night, you found solace, wrapped in the arms of the enigmatic sixth harbinger.

and as you lay there, encircled by the embrace of scaramouche's arms, you couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath his icy exterior. maybe, just maybe, there was more to scaramouche than met the eye.

[pianokantzart]

The Super Mario Bros. Redux (Pt. 5)

What would happen if, in The Super Mario Bros. Movie, after Mario and Luigi are separated, Mario was the one who ended up in the clutches of Luigi’s eventual arch nemesis, while Luigi teamed up with some of his own close allies to go rescue him?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

________

As the crowd continues to cheer for Sarasaland's Princess, she turns and waves at the four kings with a cheerful "Hi dad!" They all return the greeting with an equally enthusiastic "Hi Daisy!" before remembering their regality and regaining their stoicism.

The kings call for the crowd to settle down, and once the audience is fully silenced they announce the rules: It is a traditional one on one fight. The first to be knocked unconscious or knocked out of the arena is the loser. King Totomesu also adds– while looking at Luigi in particular– that either opponent is free to forfeit the fight whenever they wish.

Then the buzzer goes off and the battle begins, but it immediately becomes apparent to the Princess just how inexperienced Luigi is at fighting– perhaps the most inexperienced person she's ever encountered in her life....

She knocks Luigi around a bit, mostly to show off and let him know he's out of his depth, but to her surprise he keeps standing back up despite the bumps, bruises, and threats.

Eventually... to give the audience a proper show and to keep herself from getting bored (and not at all because she feels sympathy for the little mustachioed man of course)... she starts quietly coaching him whenever they're in close combat, giving Luigi pointers about how to use his surroundings to his advantage.

After a little bit of back and forth, Luigi finally gets fully used to The Poltergust, and taking Princess Daisy's advice to heart he starts putting up a decent fight.

In the audience where the kings are seated, Professor E. Gadd has finally made it back to his assigned seat among them. He asks how Luigi is holding up, and the kings admit halfheartedly that he is doing better than expected.

The Professor adjusts his glasses to better survey the scene below. He sees Luigi use the strobulb to disorient the princess, use the blowing function to knock her off her feet, then pull himself a safe distance away with the suction shot before she can retaliate. He can't help but chuckle proudly. "There now, you see? My invention couldn't be in better hands!"

Back in the arena, Princess Daisy... realizing that she now has a proper opponent rather than just a frightened punching bag... kicks things up a notch. Reaching into her dress pocket she pulls out an ice flower and activates it.

With a powerup now engaged Princess Daisy regains the advantage, only this time she has no intention of going easy on Luigi. Laying a path of ice down in front of him she causes the plumber to lose his footing, and after a short struggle Princess Daisy has him completely encased in a block of ice– everything except his head.

Daisy takes her time crafting a spear out of ice and pointing it threateningly at Luigi's nose. "Come on little guy, give it up already. You either call it quits, or I make you call it quits."

Luigi, struggling to escape the ice, fighting until he's red-faced and breathless, shouts back. "I can't! Don't you understand!? Helping The Professor is the only way I can get to Evershade Valley, I can't!" Daisy, unsettled by the desperation in Luigi's voice, lowers the spear and looks at him inquisitively.

Before she can ask what he means by that, they are both startled by the sudden appearance of Polterpup, materializing at Luigi's side, barking and whining, tail between his legs, clearly trying to get his attention. The crowd becomes disquieted, mumbling amongst themselves about the sudden appearance of the phantom pup.

Daisy, though startled at first, tsks and wags her finger disapprovingly at Luigi. "C'mon Luigi, call off the dog. This fight’s supposed to be a one-on-on, remember?" "I didn't call him!" Luigi insists. "I don't know what he's doing but... he looks scared! I think... he's trying to warn us about something?"

Suddenly there's a crack of thunder. Luigi and Daisy turn in unison to see a large purple cloud drawing closer, darkening the bright evening sky until it's indistinguishable from midnight. Lightning short circuits the lights and TV screens of the arena as an enormous ghost materializes over the frightened audience. Polterpup disappears into the nearest wall with a whimper as Boolossus makes their appearance.

Boolossus cackles, taking their time basking in the screams of the fleeing audience while they casually float toward the arena where Princess Daisy and Luigi stand. The four kings of Sarasaland– seeing their people terrorized and their daughter threatened– leap into action.

Unfortunately, for all their power and skill, there is no defeating this sort of ghost without the proper equipment. The most they can do is break their opponent apart into smaller ghosts, who merely swarm back into the form of Boolossus as soon as they are separated.

Seeing this turn of events, Princess Daisy gets right to work shattering the ice encasing Luigi, freeing him just as the last of the kings of Sarasaland is knocked unconscious. Daisy wastes no time climbing into the stands, rushing to defend her dads while Professor E. Gadd checks on the condition of the fallen royals.

The Professor assures Princess Daisy that the four kings are not terribly injured, but merely unconscious. He begins to explain the scientific intricacies of how prolonged, powerful attacks from ghosts can induce a state of deep sleep while Boolossus looms threateningly over them, empty frames in his hands, ready to strike.

Before they can capture E. Gadd or the princess, a blast of suction takes hold of them by the tail and starts dragging them away toward the center of the arena. It's Luigi, wielding The Poltergust with all his might, barely keeping his footing while slowly dragging the ghost toward him.

"S-stop! Leave them alone!" he shouts, his voice shaky and thinned by effort. Boolossus chuckles, though their laughter is tinged with annoyance as they struggle against the relentless pull of The Poltergust. "Fine!" they snarl in their myriad of voices. "Once that contraption is out of the picture, the rest will be all too easy!"

Luigi barely manages to dodge Boolossus' attacks, and despite having being successful in getting the ghost's attention he finds himself unable to properly retaliate. Though he's able to yank the ghost around with The Poltergust he can't hold on for long, and for all the machine's strength it doesn't have enough suction to drag the giant ghost all the way into the vacuum chamber.

The tides turn when Princess Daisy joins in, using her ice flower to forge pointed projectiles that break Boolossus apart. Each time the giant ghost falls into its fifteen separate boos, Luigi sucks some of them up into the vacuum until at last... working together... Princess Daisy and Luigi succeed in capturing Boolossus bit by bit, until every member of the giant ghost is locked away inside The Poltergust.

The sky brightens and clears as the strange phantasmal thunderstorm rolls away in Boolossus' absence. The four kings steadily regain consciousness, and the members of the audience who hadn't fled completely crawl out of their hiding spots to examine the scene.

Professor E. Gadd is first to break the silence, unable to contain his excitement as he calls out to Luigi: "You did it my boy! You did it! You caught one of the deadliest apparitions in the world! I've never seen such ghost hunting in all my years! Fantastic work!"

Luigi, still a little shaky, turns to Princess Daisy to ask if she's okay. Princess Daisy doesn't answer, she merely gives Luigi a proud smile before taking him by the wrist and holding his hand victoriously into the air before the remaining crowd, who immediately erupt into cheers and begin chanting Luigi's name.

Luigi shyly waves at the audience with his free hand. When he looks up to see the four kings of Sarasaland nodding at him in approval, he can't help but let out a giddy laugh and shoot Professor E. Gadd a thumbs up.

[celestial-toys]

A Vivid Imagination

In today's story- you take a nap on the couch, and your favorite pair of pants give Sun an identity crisis. In other, somehow related news, he and Moon get caught up in thoughts of what they'd like to do to you.

Pairing: Sun and Moon + Reader Word Count: 2,673 minors DNI - 18+ content below the cut

Contains: [sex] [threesome] [fingering] [afab!Reader] [sub!bottom!Reader] [implied null!Sun & Moon] [soft dom!top!Sun & Moon] [chubby / plus-size Reader] [Eclipse makes an appearance but not in the traditional sense] [Porn With Plot]

Sun and Moon might be a little bit obsessed with getting you off.

Maybe a little bit.. addicted to how easy it is to make you cum, even with with nothing but their hands to work with. They can’t get enough of it.. it just does something to them. They’ll take any appropriate opportunity they can get to rile you up and bury their hands between your plush thighs, fingers sinking into your wet heat and homing in on the spots that make you whine for them.

You certainly don’t mind it in the slightest, and you’ve made that quite clear to them on multiple occasions. You’ve given them permission to play with you as much as they’d like, as long as they always remember to ask nicely first.

So, as Sun slinks his way through the house one evening, he finds you on the couch, apparently having fallen asleep. You’re sprawled cross it with your legs spread apart, eyes closed and head resting on one arm, finally relaxing after another long day in your office spent staring at that goddamned computer screen, and Sun’s mind is already wandering to ways he could help you relax even more.

You're wearing a soft, oversized black cowl neck sweater and a pair of those gaudy split-print clown pants that were supposed to look like a mix of the designs that their fictitious counterparts wore in-game. He feels a strange mix of emotions at the sight of you wearing “his” pants. He can’t tell if it’s possessiveness or jealousy but it’s mixing in with his sexual desire and his fans have to kick up a notch to keep his temperature stable. He wants to take them off of you for two very different reasons.

On one hand, they’re simply a barrier between him and what he desires. One that he’d like your permission to remove. While it was enjoyable sometimes to keep you clothed and have you grind yourself against him, begging, panting, and whining until you soaked them so thoroughly you’d have to take them off anyways.. it wasn’t quite as fun as having direct access to the most sensitive parts of you from the very start.

On the other hand, though.. the clown clothes also serve as a reminder of a number of other, much less exciting things. Sun remembers how he used to take the opportunity to mock them nearly every time you wore them, never really getting much more of a response from you than an eye roll in return, until one day when you’d apparently had enough and decided to tell him why you wore them so much.

-

“Sun, I’ve had these pants since long before I created you. When the two of you were nothing more than pixels on a screen and an insane pipe-dream in my mind, I would collect things that resembled the two of you. Because.. I mean.. who doesn’t collect merch of their favorite characters, right?”

He remembers the way you began to look embarrassed at the confession, but kept explaining nonetheless.

“I had no way of knowing at the time that one day you’d actually be standing here in my living room mocking me for them, but..”

You paused there, giving him a pointed look before continuing.

“..even if I had known that.. I probably would have still bought them anyways.”

At that, you looked down, running your hands down over the tops of your thighs, over the red and yellow stripes and the blue and yellow stars. Sun never forgot the look of fondness that graced your features as you did so. It made him feel something that he couldn’t name at the time.

Before he could come up with one of his signature snarky responses, you spoke again.

“It’s kind of funny, honestly. They also serve as a nice reminder of how far we’ve come. I wore them quite often during all those late nights I’d spend at work, fussing over the two of you, you know.”

Sun’s faceplate shifted a few clicks to the left, curious if you were about to drag him down a trip on Unpleasant Memory Lane. The expression on his screen changed, his default features fading to black and leaving nothing but his signature yellow smoke billowing across the screen. You knew him well enough at that point to know that that meant he wasn’t a fan of where the conversation was going. Sighing, you stopped yourself before you could get too far into all of that.

“Regardless of any of that.. these pants were here first, they’re comfortable as hell, and I happen to love the way your original designs looked. You’re gonna have to come up with a better reason than them being an eye sore for me to stop wearing them.”

You got up from where you’d been seated, walking over to him just to make a big, playful show out of poking him in the chest as you spoke.

“You know, lots of people would be flattered to see their partner wearing their clothes.”

Sun brought his eyes back from the void of his screen just to roll them at you, and his rays took one lazy spin around his faceplate before he responded.

“Those aren’t my clothes though. You know I wouldn’t be caught dead in those things.”

You smiled up at him as you took a step back, and you took in the sight of all seven skinny feet of him before saying,

“Well, I can’t very well fit into your actual pants, now can I?”

You gestured to his impossibly tall, slender frame, and then to your much shorter and wider form before giving a dismissive laugh and returning to your prior spot on the couch. After a moment of standing there taking in your words, Sun finally decided to drop the subject.

-

Ever since then, somewhere, in the back of his mind, he’s wondered if.. underneath your jokes about your size differences.. if it actually bothered you that you couldn’t fit into most of their clothes.

He truly hopes that it doesn’t.

In spite of his relentless mocking of the iconic clown pants, nowadays part of him is actually glad that you have something to wear that feels like it’s theirs. He wants you to have something that reminds you of them.. both the (ridiculous) idea of them from the past, and the real-life version, standing here, zoned out in your living room today.

Before he can get any further carried away in his thoughts and memories, a notification flashes across his HUD.

[ 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑷 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. ]

[ 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. ]

[ 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜? ]

Sun pulls his attention back into reality and his monitor silently rotates on it's axis, scanning the room. His optics quickly land on Moon, who is currently leaning against the doorframe leading in from the kitchen, arms crossed and looking at him expectantly.

Sun rolls his eyes in exaggerated annoyance and mirrors Moon’s stand-offish position, leaning back against the opposite wall.

[ 𝕒𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕. ]

Moon smiles.

[ 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆? ]

[ 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕙. 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕚𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕦𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕝 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕠𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕡𝕠𝕡-𝕦𝕡 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕦𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕞𝕖. ]

It’s now Moon’s turn to roll his eyes.

[ 𝒐𝒉, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏, 𝑺𝒖��. 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕 6 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 39 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒔. 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒕. ]

[ 𝕚’𝕞 𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕜𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕪𝕤𝕖𝕝𝕗, 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨. ]

[ 𝒊 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘. 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒊'𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 ******* 𝒘𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒖𝒑 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒑.  ]

[ 𝕒𝕤 𝕚𝕗 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕒 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕜 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕠𝕗 𝕕𝕠𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕝𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕥? ]

[ 𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕'𝒔 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒊𝒕. ]

Sun lets out a loud, annoyed sigh, the first actual sound to break the silence in the room, and both bots look to your dozing form on the couch to see if it might have woken you. You don’t stir, and the tension slowly drops from Sun’s shoulders.

[ 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕜 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣. 𝕦𝕟𝕝𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕞𝕖 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕠𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕒𝕔𝕔𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟? ]

Moon holds his hands up in mock surrender.

[ 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕.. 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒃𝒖𝒕.. 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒖𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆? ]

Sun doesn’t feel like explaining how your stupid clown pants nearly sent him into a spiral revisiting the complex history of his identity issues today, nor does he have the desire to drag Moon into it, so he tells a half-lie.

[ .. 𝕚 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕓𝕒𝕕𝕝𝕪 𝕚 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 *******’𝕤 𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕗𝕗. ]

Moon’s expression shifts from one of concern into a look of confusion as he tries to make sense of why Sun had been standing there, looking so conflicted, if that’s really all that he’s been thinking about.

[ 𝒐𝒉 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚? 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍? ]

A few tense seconds pass before Sun responds.

[ 𝕞𝕙𝕞. ]

Moon doesn’t buy it for one second.

Still, he lets the lie slide for two reasons. For one, there’s no getting the truth out of Sun unless he actually wants to share it. The second reason, though.. is a bit more of a selfish one.

Sun isn’t the only one that wants to take your clothes off, and if he is willing to elaborate on his supposed thoughts.. then Moon isn’t going to turn down the potential opportunity to join in.

If Sun’s gonna lie to him, he’s gonna have to commit to his story, too.

[ 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏.. 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒗𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒆? ]

Sun looks almost taken aback for a moment, surprised that Moon let his half-lie slip by so easily, until he suddenly smirks at the realization of what Moon is hinting at.

Well, if Moon is willing to let it go and move on to some far more pleasant thoughts.. who is Sun to deny him?

He thinks it over for a moment, taking in your soft sleeping form, and when he looks over to Moon for confirmation of his request, he finds his lunar counterpart’s gaze already cast over you with that familiar, cautious desire in his eyes.

Sun fiddles with a few internal settings before initiating the process.

A few moments later, an identical alert pops up on both of their HUDs at the same time.

[ 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙴𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙿𝚂𝙴 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙾𝙲𝙾𝙻. ]

[ 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶: 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚗-𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚍. ]

[ 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚎𝚍? ]

[ 𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑷 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙲𝙴𝙴𝙳. ]

[ 𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔻ℝ𝕆ℙ 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙲𝙴𝙴𝙳. ]

[ 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜’ 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍. ]

[ 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.. ]

-

There’s no stopping the next flood of thoughts they get. Their motions now in sync, every sensation, thought, and emotion felt simultaneously between them, their gaze homes in on you. Still sleeping, unaware of the growing desire you spark in your partners when you shift a little and your legs fall even further open. Unaware of the show they’re preparing to put on in their combined headspace.

Thoughts of how you're already on display for them, if you'd just let them pull those damn pants down..

They know you're not wearing underwear. You rarely do.. not in the evenings like this. It gives them easier access. Just one less thing to get in the way with how most nights they approach you begging to touch you, pleading to help you feel good. They just want you to feel so goddamn good for them. They can't help it.

They can already imagine just how wet your cunt’s gonna get for them.. and those fucking sounds, god, the sounds you’ll make when they finally touch you. The way your breath will hitch when they trace a finger gently up between your folds, your slick immediately coating their digits, helping the smooth silicone glide effortlessly up, further and further, agonizingly slow. They won’t give you what you want right away. Where’s the fun in that? Besides, it always feels better when there’s some anticipation involved.

They’ll trace slow, teasing circles around the base of your hard little clit until you can’t take it anymore. When your voice takes on that desperate, pleading edge and one set of their hands has to hold your hips still to prevent you from moving around under their slow, calculated pleasure, they finally show you some mercy. One wet thumb reaches up and runs up along the underside of your clit, so slow, so gentle, over and over again.

Never going any faster, never changing pace, just a rhythmic stroke across your most sensitive bundle of nerves, soft yet relentless until you start whimpering again. They'll pull away for a moment to soothe you like always, reassuring you.

One of them will climb up onto the couch with you, pulling you into their embrace as they cup your cheek, directing you to look at them.

"It's okay, Sunlight.. we know.. it's intense, isn't it?“

You’ll nod your head vehemently, over and over, desperation and want clearly written across your features as you make some sweet, shy noise of agreement.

“Mhm.. but you know we've got you, right?"

Instead of returning their attention to your clit, as they await your response, two long fingers will slip inside of you, meeting little resistance as your hips buck and your walls tighten around them in an effort to bring them further inside.

Your eyes meet theirs and once again you nod your head in acknowledgment, a quiet little whine of “please, please take care of me..” falling from your lips.

You know they’ve got you.

They’ll smile. An identical, love-drunk, hungry grin will spread across the screens of both of their faceplates. They’re so close, bodies caging you in against the too-small couch such that you can feel the hot air escaping from their vents against your skin. They’ll speak again, one of their hands finally returning to give you the attention you desperately need.

“That's right, Starlight.. just let it feel good. We know you can take this for us. Let us see how wet you can get, yeah? How much of a mess you can make.."

They know you’re sensitive. They'll be sure to take good care of you.

-

A pop-up flashes in the center of their vision.

[ 𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜. 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝙰𝚂𝙰𝙿 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖. ]

[ 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. ]

[ 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙰𝙶𝙴 𝚘𝚛 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙲𝙴𝙴𝙳 ]

Both bots release reluctant groans into the quiet room, the only other sound being that of their fans working overtime trying to keep their temperatures down.

Then, they notice how you begin to stir from your little nest on the couch.

[ 𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑹𝑶𝑷 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙰𝙶𝙴. ]

[ 𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔻ℝ𝕆ℙ 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙶𝙰𝙶𝙴. ]

[ 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜’ 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍. ]

[ 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.. ]

As soon as they finish the short separation process, they’re making their way over to you and dropping down on their knees in front of the couch, asking for your permission in record time.

You blink open your tired eyes and can't help but smile a bit when you see the both of them with their long fingers anxiously hovering over the waistband of your pants. They lock eyes with you and with a quick “Can we? Please?” they don’t even need to specify what they want. You know, and you’re happy to oblige them.

You hate to say no to those puppy dog eyes, anyways. Especially when they’re looking up at you like this, deep beautiful shades of burgundy, desperate and pleading.

You want to give them what they want, after all.

It just so happens that most often, what they want is to see how fast they can have your legs trembling, hands searching for purchase on any part of them you can reach, whining and repeating their names over and over like they’re God and you’re praying.

A/N: FYI, this story takes place in my ‘[Not] Made by Design’ AU, if you’re curious as to why the hell they’re behaving so differently from canon. It’s intentional! Also, I made a slight change to the wording of the sexual part of this, compared to the version of it I posted on AO3. It's inconsequential, really, but I figured I'd mention it. If you'd like to see the original and/or read more on where the original inspiration came from, you can find it here.

[highpriestessarchives]

Know Thyself: How This One Exercise Shaped My Writing

“Know Thyself” Interpretations

Heraclitus: “It belongs to all men to know themselves and think well.”

Charles H. Kahn: this fragment echoes a traditional belief that “know thyself" had an essentially similar meaning to the second Delphic maxim, “nothing too much;” both sayings might be considered alternative ways of describing the virtue of sophrosyne.

Heraclitus defines sophrosyne as the art of “perceiving things according to their nature,” apparently referring to the perception of objective, material facts. If so, and if self-knowledge is the same as sophrosyne, then, as Kahn writes, “the deepest structure of the self will be recognized as co-extensive with the universe in general … so true self-knowledge will coincide with knowledge of the cosmic order.”

A fragment from Ion of Chios provides the earliest explicit reference to the maxim. It reads: “This ‘know yourself’ is a saying not so big, but such a task Zeus alone of the gods understands.”

“The unexamined life is not worth living” -Socrates

Soliloquies of Augustine: The book has the form of an “inner dialogue" in which questions are posed, discussions take place and answers are provided, leading to self-knowledge. The first book begins with an inner dialogue which seeks to know a soul. In the second book it becomes clear that the soul Augustine wants to get to know is his own.

The Consolation of Philosophy: Boethius writes The Consolation of Philosophy as a conversation between himself and a female personification of philosophy, referred to as “Lady Philosophy.” Philosophy consoles Boethius by discussing the transitory nature of wealth, fame, and power (“no man can ever truly be secure until he has been forsaken by Fortune"), and the ultimate superiority of things of the mind, which she calls the “one true good.” She contends that happiness comes from within, and that virtue is all that one truly has because it is not imperiled by the vicissitudes of fortune.

Meditations: Marcus Aurelius likely didn’t intend for Meditations to be published, as the work centered around his own self-analysis and self-guidance. Aurelius advocates finding one's place in the universe and sees that everything came from nature, and so everything shall return to it in due time. Another strong theme is of maintaining focus and to be without distraction all the while maintaining strong ethical principles such as “Being a good man.”

...to think that all of these classic works are “regular” people figuring themselves out. I decided to do the same.

Writing My Own “Soliloquy”

I’d like to clarify that I, in no way shape or form, see myself as this great thinker or philosopher or anything like that. I recognize that this practice is but one way to understand myself, especially since I struggle with mental health and a lot of spiritual questions (but that’s another topic).

In choosing to write my own soliloquy, I am becoming my own Devil’s Advocate. Like Boethius, I’ve decided to structure my journaling as if I am arguing with someone. I will choose a topic that I am passionate about or that I am having my own crisis over, such as “Why do I not believe I am a good person?” or “Why do I prefer logic over emotion?” or even “What draws me to classical paintings?”

What I found is that anything and everything that I am attached to says something about me on a deeper level.

Here is where it gets a little tricky: in continuing to argue with myself, I’ve found that I get better at coming up with counter points. In other words, this self-analysis becomes more and more complex the more used to it you get. It’s almost like you’re playing some mind chess and this fictional opponent, who is also you, as they are but your own Devil’s Advocate, is also getting better and learning with you.

But, to me, that is what makes this “Know Thyself” maxim important. You are not meant to have a full-fledged answer. We are constantly evolving and changing, as will our knowledge of how we perceive ourselves and how we perceive the world in response to it.

How It Affects My Writing

To start with the obvious, the character development and creation changes so much when you get to know yourself. At least, for me, the world becomes less and less black and white (not that it ever was black and white to begin with). Because of that, my characters become more dimensional.

I am no longer afraid to write controversy. There is a... debate, for a lack of better words, on the media literacy rate nowadays. Because of this, I would fear that, just because I wrote about it, people would assume that I am in support of it; or, for example, just because there is a mainstream focus on one demographic, that nuances of that focus cannot be written about (again, another topic).

However, writing my soliloquies reminds me that my work is meant to be a message from myself to the audience first and entertainment second.

As artists, authors, creators, etc., there is a danger in losing ourselves to appease the masses. There is the question of whether we should create what we want or stick to what is trending, and I’m not immune to that spiral, either.

In knowing yourself, you become your #1 advocate. You know what your boundaries are, what your morals are, and what your values are. It gets harder to allow those who don’t do that same work to sway your pen.

Closing Words

Whatever form that takes, get to know yourself. For me, that’s journaling whenever I can as if I’m debating with someone. Grab a journal meant specifically for this exercise and go crazy! No one’s going to read it (unless you become someone like Marcus Aurelius and your own version of Meditations comes out. In which case... sorry?)

Never stop challenging the way you think, too. It can be uncomfortable and hard, but change always is. Perhaps you will stick to your ideals, and that’s okay, too! Do not live life on the easy path.

As always, these exercises are not a substitute for professional or medical help. I will always encourage those who need it to seek therapy, as I believe it is a great tool to use alongside this exercise, should one feel inclined to do so.

[diagonal-queen]

Concept: Chuuya being the one who recruits you into the mafia and he gives you his choker when you join

Welcome Gift

♡ pairing: Chuuya Nakahara x gn!reader

♡ synopsis: "It's tradition in the Port Mafia that the person who recruits a new member is responsible for their wellbeing. To symbolise that, they hand down one of their belongings."

♡ wc: 1.25k

♡ cw: Swearing, and I made Chuuya and reader friends before reader joined the Mafia, hope that's okay ❤︎

note: You can't possibly expect me to see a prompt like this and NOT write it. Thanks anon ♡︵(ゝ。∂) sorry it took so long and apologies for spelling/grammar errors

To be honest, you assumed that your official induction to the Port Mafia would contain a plethora of trials and tribulations to determine your strength, resolve, and perhaps the darker aspects of your character. You'd had the idea that you might be asked to prove loyalty by committing a crime, whether that be killing someone or something equally heinous.

No. Absolutely none of that happened.

Apparently, when you're friends with a mafia executive, it's as simple as just asking them to work there. Such was your case, at least, being close with the infamous Port Mafia executive Chuuya Nakahara. 'Close', in theory, was supposed to be code for 'in a relationship', but the 'friends' aspect was certainly throwing a wrench into that plan. Perhaps by joining the mafia you could get closer to Chuuya? You always knew how important to him his work was.

To your luck, Chuuya was happy to take you in as one of his subordinates and act as your guide to organised crime. You'd initially wondered how he would be testing you to see if you were a good fit for the occupation, but that time never came. Instead, you were called and asked to meet with him to go over a few basic rules so he wouldn't 'find your ass in a dumpster on day one'. Those were his words, and you had initially scoffed at them.

"How do I get other people to respect me? I don't think I'm that scary," you asked. This was not the first question but rather one of many you'd been asking Chuuya during your slow evening wander around what you supposed was the wide expanse of the Port Mafia's turf. The size of the area you'd travelled so far led you to believe that perhaps you may have been biting off more than you could chew with this new job. Clearly, the Port Mafia didn't fuck around.

"Well, you're a mafia underling now, but more importantly you're my subordinate. People who know me are gonna respect the people I recruit. In fact, you'll probably eventually have troops of your own."

"Ooh, like henchmen?" You asked.

"No- this is the actual mafia, not a Saturday morning cartoon," he shook his head. "Listen. Being part of the Port Mafia is serious business. I know you're not stupid, but just try not to be too...friendly with people you don't know."

At that point you weren't really sure if there actually was anyone you didn't know in the Mafia. Of course, you'd never known anyone in real life aside from Chuuya, but he'd already gone through all the important ones. The other executives, Akutagawa, the Black Lizard, and even the boss himself whom you were still quite terrified of meeting.

"I'm gonna be fine. It's not like I won't have you to protect me anymore," you grinned, nudging his arm. He didn't return the smile. "Don't worry about me, Chuuya! I'm gonna be alright."

"You're too optimistic, Y/N," replied Chuuya who continued his stroll. You quickly shuffled to catch up with him.

"I'll do my best. I promise." You told him firmly. He let out a sigh. You continued to walk alongside the mafioso quietly, wondering what exactly was going through his head. You had thought that you were the only one who had your concerns with this job, as much as you tried to conceal them. Did he really care about you so much that he'd worry like that?

"Oh, right, I almost forgot about this." Chuuya stopped and turned to face you. "There's a tradition here, where the person who recruits you gives you something of theirs which represents that they're responsible for you. It's how I got this," he explained, jerking a lazy thumb towards his hat.

"...you weren't born with it?" You asked, and Chuuya rolled his eyes. "I was joking!"

"Very fuckin' funny, Y/N. Anyway, this means that I now give you something as a new member of the Port Mafia, which will be..."

You were about to say something but stopped as you eyed his next movements; that is, him removing his choker from his neck and presenting it to you. You stared at it, almost in awe.

"...your choker?"

"Your choker," he corrected, and you glanced up at him. He was giving you a reassuring smile. You shook your head.

"I can't take this- no, it's important to you."

"...that's why I'm giving it to you, Y/N," Chuuya replied, cocking an eyebrow. "That's kind of the point."

"Are you sure?" You hesitantly queried, reaching out and nervously taking the choker from his gloved hand. It felt warm. "Because you know, you look really cool with this thing..."

Chuuya let out a snicker as you examined the new accessory. "How flattering. But I'm sure." After hearing that, you eventually hummed in acknowledgement and began to put on the choker. Or, at least you tried to. It turns out that putting something on your neck without being able to see it is quite difficult.

"You need help?" Chuuya asked after a moment of silence.

"Well, yeah. I don't have a mirror, Chuuya. Or, are you like, Mr. Nakahara now that you're my boss?"

"Fuck no," he answered, and you laughed. Chuuya took the choker from you and began to fasten it around your neck. In your close proximity, you could almost feel his breath on you each time he exhaled. You were worried that perhaps if he focused hard enough he would be able to hear your rapidly beating heart.

"Not too tight?" He suddenly asked as he carefully adjusted the choker.

"Nope." Could he notice your nerves? If he could, he wasn't showing it.

"Right, there we go. You look great." Chuuya took a step back and examined you, now clad in his choker. Your hand travelled to your neck and brushed against the black choker.

"I do?"

"Yeah- it suits you." He smiled. You didn't know what to say, bashfully casting your eyes to the ground. "Are you blushing at me? C'mon, now."

"What? I'm not...!" Your hands flew up to your face, which was admittedly pretty hot, as Chuuya leaned forward and eyed you roguishly. "Oh, maybe I am..."

"Don't let anyone else see you do that, alright?" He warned you, though he was still giving you a cheeky smile. "You keep this between you and I."

"Y-yeah..." you nodded. You figured that he was right- getting embarrassed so easily wasn't very mafia-like. But it almost seemed as if he were purposely trying to tease you. "But you know, people are gonna see me wearing the choker."

"Again, that is kind of the point of it all, Y/N." He told you as he straightened.

"Yeah, but I'm probably gonna blush about it again if anyone asks!" You exclaimed. "It's essentially a piece of jewellery. People might start thinking we're a couple or something."

Chuuya bit his lip. Then he shrugged.

"And?"

You opened your mouth to say something but quickly closed it. Dumbstruck, you couldn't think of a way to answer him. You truly couldn't tell if he was joking, apathetic, or if that was actually supposed to be some sort of confession. Chuuya sighed in amusement, before patting you on the shoulder and continuing to stroll past you. You turned to see him walk a few feet further, before stopping.

"You know what? I think you're gonna do just fine with me." He turned his head and beamed at you. "Welcome to the Port Mafia, Y/N."

i love chuuya ( 〃▽〃)

[aldeanotes]

the art of cooking

aemond / modern!reader, 16+, fluff / comedy / mild angst in later plot points. inspiration taken from kdrama mr. queen. reader is very bi and loves girls so much.  

summary: in which you are a famous young chef whose soul was transported into the body of some way too pretty and privileged noble woman. oh, and you’re supposed to marry a prince or whatever. anyway, can you test this to see if it's ready ? 

warnings: reader is batshit wild and doesn't have time for westerosi norms : ). characters will be ooc at times and this story is not entirely canon compliant.

author's notes: sorry for the very long delay !!! i've had so much going on !!!

tag list: @azaleapotterblack, @aurorathi

chapter two: / 5.2k words

Sitting before Otto and Alicent Hightower, you realize, quite bluntly, you don’t want to be here. They’re going to think you’re out of your mind if you speak the truth of the situation – you fell in some water and then woke up here in this place – but it’s the truth nonetheless. Given their hardened expressions (that Otto gives you and Alicent has the mercy to give it to the floor instead of you), you have a feeling they already don’t like the situation as they perceive it.

Which is that the younger prince’s betrothed (you make a face whenever they refer to this relation) has suffered a memory loss and the greatest doctors of this age can’t seem to fix it through traditional means.

Alicent takes in a deep breath, finally breaking her intense eye contact with the floor and running her hands briefly across her face in slight distress. Though, you have a feeling she’s a little bit of a mess inside. You shift uncomfortably in the seat at the Small Council. Jaquetta’s comforting presence is behind you. Unfortunately, the other presence in the room causes you to pretend to be deeply interested in the space between Alicent’s eyebrows.

Prince Aemond sits across from you, next to Otto. If he’s looking at you, you don’t know. You don’t care. He’s not YOUR betrothed, after all, and you have no joy in getting married to anybody. In your real life in your real body, you never had a good example to follow for a healthy relationship, and this girl’s body and that guy sitting across from you do not contain brains that are smart enough to realize that marriage in your teens is a usually bad idea.

Apparently none of the brains of the others in the room are smart either.

“Your uncle and sister are on their way. I have already written to them informing them of the situation,” Alicent breaks the tense silence, looking right at you.

Your eyes meet hers, and you can see a certain kind of tiredness in them. You feel inclined to just nod, so you do. You hope these people will be normal, at least.

“Regarding the marriage–” Otto’s voice pierces straight to the point. He has this way of speaking that makes you feel like he teeters around certain topics like a fighter circling his opponent. “It would be best if we–”

You raise your hand suddenly. Your eyes stare right at the table’s surface. You don’t want to know what everyone else looks like at your actions. You open your mouth and let out a dumb sound – “Um.” There’s a small pause. “Question.” You smack your lips as you gather up all your courage to make your inquiry. “Can we just, you know, not have it?”

Jaquetta grips your shoulder tightly and you know you’ve messed up.

“That is not an option,” Alicent says.

Her tone is sharp enough to cause you to flinch and hesitantly look up at her. Your eyes meet her brown ones. You feel a weight on you. You’ve come to realize in the brief moments you’ve looked at her that Alicent comes through in the eyes. Even as they capture you in their vision, you can’t look away.

It all feels much like how things used to be with your mother.

Alicent must sense the way you retreat into yourself because she swallows before continuing on in a gentler voice.

“It is for the good of the realm.”

But you don’t care about that. Jacquetta has tried telling you of things here and there, but, for the love of the creator, you have no investment in the happenings of this world the same way these people do. You’re a foreign entity trapped here, treated with a different level of scrutiny and pushed down by traditions that have been relatively abandoned in your own world. It feels unfair. You want to scream at these people.

“But I’m not well,” you say. It’s the only real protest you have.

Alicent purses her lips and glances down at her intertwined hands on the table. Her father beats her to it.

“To speak plainly of it,” he starts, and you already can tell from his tone that you’d been doomed to this fate before you even knew it. “This marriage contract has already been approved by the royal household and your house. The wedding is to be held in three months’ time –”

You put your face in your hands.

(“Oh, my fucking god,” you whisper into your flesh. Otto ignores you.)

“Given the time frame, we will not be able to cancel the wedding nor is it in the interest of the realm to do so.”

A wave of nausea hits you, and you distinctly feel like throwing up.

“Your uncle and sister have been informed of the situation and will be arriving within the month,” Otto says. He speaks like everything is final, and as you feel the walls close in around you, you realize it is. “We will have to make use of these three months to be sure you are presentable in time for the wedding.”

Something like dread settles in your stomach. Forget the uncle and sister. Your more immediate worry is about how they plan on making you ‘presentable’ at a wedding you don’t want to a person you don’t know.

Your voice is small when you speak again. “And you’re going to do that – how ?”

“We will arrange some tutors and a septa to be at your side at all times,” Alicent chimes in.

‘At all times’ – you get the impression it’s more to keep an eye on you rather than for your benefit. After not giving yourself nearly enough time to process everything, you lift your head up and glance between Otto and Alicent. You ignore the way Aemond has taken to tapping his finger on the table top.

“So that’s it?” You ask. They say nothing. “Just like that?”

Still nothing.

You look at your last lifeline. Aemond has stopped tapping on the table and is looking back at you when you finally forget the uncomfortable tension between the two of you. You must look pathetic because his lone eye flickers over your face as if he’s taking you in. Even in this situation, he makes your spine go a little cold. It takes some strength not to flinch back from him.

“You–” You take a breath to collect yourself. “You don't really want this either. Right?” You might as well be pleading to him right now with the way your eyes look at him and the way you wave your arm around. “There’s no way you actually agree. I mean – I’m not me anymore.”

He just regards you in brief silence.

“You don’t want to do this!” Your voice raises a bit and Jaquetta stiffens next to you.

“I will perform my duty to the realm,” Aemond answers, keeping your gaze.

You’re floored, a breathy chuckle leaving you at his words. The corners of your mouth twitch up as if he’d told a joke. It was a sick one, if you’d ever heard one. Your arm that you’d been waving around flops helplessly onto your lap as you watch him turn to his mother and grandfather.

“I will wed my betrothed as agreed upon.”

You don’t know if it’s commendable or downright idiotic of him to marry someone who clearly he knows is not normal. Your lips part to make another protest but all that comes out is air. Everyone in this room with any semblance of power greater than your own has shut you down. Your worries are cast aside. They’re like whispers in the wind to these people.

Otto says something before getting up and walking away. You retreat back into your mind as you always do when you’re frightened, when things are beyond your control like this. The screech of chairs don’t awaken you from your state. Your eyes bore into the polished table, and you think you might almost cry but your eyes flutter shut to stop them. How can you even stop this?

Jaquetta kneels down beside you and takes your hand. You feel a little less alone.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The septa, which you realize is something like a nun, assigned to you is boring and overbearing. Septa Lettice is stern, rule-abiding and watches your every move. Even Jaquetta has difficulty adjusting to this new presence in your life, her bright smile appearing a little tight against the septa’s neutral expression. You can’t even so much as go for a stroll without her lingering right on top of you. Her teachings are even worse.

While you’ve been spared from being inflicted any physical punishments, when you raise protests against whatever bullshit she tries shoving down your throat, she’s quick to dole out more readings or lessons to occupy any free time you were waiting for. Though you at least admit that not all these long sermons on the Faith of the Seven are for naught. You find that this world is just as brutal and unfair as the damn Dark Ages in your own world. A discovery which makes you look forward to your time here. Of course.

You whisper your practiced prayers monotonously so she’ll get off your back.

When it’s not with Septa Lettice, Alicent and Otto have been kind enough to assign you other trusted governesses to teach you etiquette, speech and some admittedly more useful knowledge like history and basic finances. The governess presiding over your history and financial lessons finds you more agreeable than Septa Lettice and the other governesses that try to wrangle in your resistant behavior. The first week you attempted to just not show up for the first couple of lessons, and the following week you found that several palace servants had come early in the morning to escort you to your daily lessons. You try for another escape through the window and it takes both Septa Lettice and Jaquetta their entire strength to pull you back inside. Alicent gives you a thorough verbal reprimand that evening, and it’s enough to get you to curb your behavior somewhat.

Jaquetta proves herself to be your greatest asset, though.

“This is your house, my lady,” she says, unfurling a piece of soft, muted purple fabric with your house’s sigil on it.

You flinch a little at the sight of a shrike perched upon a branch with one of its meals skewered on a thorn against the backdrop of a castle.

“Kind of gruesome,” you reply, looking down at your botched attempt at sewing a flower for your embroidery lesson. It looks like a distorted mess, like a plate of spaghetti that’s been dropped on the ground.

Jaquetta smiles widely. “The shrike with its prey has been your house’s sigil since its founding. Your ancestors used the bird’s way of killing its victims to build Shrikesdrop to defend against enemies.”

Shrikesdrop – the ancestral seat of House Durant. It’s perched miles high above the water’s surface, impossible to invade by a beach landing and nearly impenetrable by any army thanks to the steep incline of the roads that lead up to it. According to Jaquetta and a couple notes you found in a book here and there, Shrikesdrop has spikes that resemble thorn covered branches that can impale thousands of men who are unfortunate enough to fall off the inclines. Your house has perfected many tricks to get people to fall off of it, and death by impalement is apparently the go-to execution method of your house. You suddenly didn’t want to meet your uncle and sister after hearing that.

“‘As Sharp as Thorns’,” you mumble your house words. It’s dumb, but you guess it’s the best your ancestors could do.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t mean to stumble across Aemond again. It just happens. Like so much in your two lives.

While you don’t exactly allow yourself to get extinguished fully, you at least understand that your ability to get some manner of freedom rests on some compromise on your part. And, well, you’re pretty smart. Smart enough to remember your lessons, to execute the right angle when you greet your governesses, to hold your head high like you’ve always had blue blood in your veins. That was all you had to pay in exchange for some free time.

It’s the sound of steel clashing that causes you to hurry to the platform overlooking the training grounds, eager for some action to rid you of your boredom.

Your opinion of your betrothed is tainted, of course, because of your judgments. It’s also a little difficult to find yourself liking someone you’re forcefully bound to at this point. However, you can’t deny it. The silver locks that fly about like feathers belonging to a bird of prey are what catch your eye first. You can spot them as he dances about the ground, the dirt crunching underneath his boots.

You can’t see his lone eye, but you feel that if you were close enough they’d have that unsettling intensity you’d seen before – honed in on something. His body is both strong yet nimble as he readies himself. His hand grasps the sword as if it were part of his body.

He’s a fighter.

Fire and Blood – Jaquetta taught you the Targaryen words before those of your own house. The blood of the dragon.

You’d heard the screeching of the dragons sometimes, but you’d never been allowed to rush to see them. Somewhere between your acceptance of your fate and your need to cling on to what you know, you think you’d prefer not to see one. Aemond’s dragon, Vhagar, is the largest in the world, or so you’ve been told.

“Shit,” you hiss underneath your breath when you see Aemond’s opponent take such a fierce swing at him.

Your fingers grip the edge of the platform. The hard surface superficially scratches the skin of your palm. It’s a reflexive reaction, but unnecessary. Aemond blocks it gracefully and disengages cleanly. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Fear not, my lady,” Septa Lettice says. “Ser Criston Cole will not harm the prince.”

Criston Cole, the most trusted sworn sword of Queen Alicent and member of the king’s guard. The best knight in all of the land. Apparently. The royal family sure does have access to some of the best things and people in this land.

Criston circles Aemond after engaging once again, facing towards you as you watch from the platform. Watching training interests you in ways that lessons do not. Perhaps it is the deadliness of it or perhaps it is because even you understand that observing two skilled warriors in a small battle is a luxury few can see. Dark eyes flicker up to you and you stiffen, realizing that Criston is looking right at you.

He says something you can’t make out to Aemond. As soon as you see the back of Aemond’s head begin to move, you run off, Jaquetta and Lettice chasing after you behind you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your beloved Septa scolds you all the way back inside and only lowers her voice when you begin to pass through the busy halls of the Red Keep. Her expression of concern for your dress skirt getting dirty mirrors a stressed chicken, noisily frantic. You just sigh as she keeps on talking.

Even when you are given free will to wander about as you please, everything feels rather … boring once the splendor of the place begins to wear off. The architecture and luxury is impressive, of course, but how much gold thread and pointed stars can you bask in before you start to long for home again? The faces that greet you and pass by you don’t interest you. You’re selfish with your time. There’s no use entertaining yourself with people that won’t alleviate your anxiety or boredom.

“My lady, you should have stayed and spoken with Prince Aemond,” Jaquetta says, walking a little ways behind you.

You give a dry chuckle. “I’ve got better things to do than that. I’d rather be bored to death. Or go pray at the Sept all day.”

As if you’d want to spend more time with him than you have. Maybe if you prayed to these Gods enough they’d send you back home, but you find that gods tend not to listen to your pleas.

“Prince Aemond is a good prince,” Jaquetta continues. “He is studious, talented in fighting and dedicated to his studies. You have always enjoyed his company so well–”

Her words stop because she’s run into the back of you. You felt the hit but your eyes were trained on someone. A young lady walks across the hall and she is stunning.

“Whoa,” you breathe out as your eyes remain fixed on her. “Who’s that?”

Her silver hair falls past her shoulders, a lone braid framing the top of her head like a crown. You recognize the shade violet that stains her irises, but they look way better on her. Fuck your betrothed. Who gives a fuck about him when there’s pretty girls instaed?

Jaquetta quirks an eyebrow at you before following your eyes and responding, “That is the Princess Helaena Targaryen. You may not remember her since you lost your memories, but you two have been companions since little and– My lady, where are you going?”

Of course, you pick up your dress skirt from off the floor and make your way over to Helaena. Too high for this society’s standards but perfectly comfortable to you (which is all that matters). Jaquetta and Lettice follow after you with their cheeks flushed.

You execute the encounter as perfectly as you do in your head. Every step has a certain charismatic swagger to it as you approach the princess with a wide smile. Your shoes make soft sounds on the floor. Helaena is momentarily pulled away from her embroidery. You spy a pretty design of an insect crawling out of its pupa.

The both of you seem to just stare at each other for a couple of seconds. You beam down at her while she blinks up at you. Then, without another word, you sit down next to her. This seems to make her jump a little, and you make note of that, sliding away from her to give her some space. It doesn’t dampen your enthusiasm.

“Helaena?” You say her name.

A soft smile tugs on her lips. She says ‘your’ name back to you.

“Uh–” You aren’t quite sure. “I’ve been sick for a little bit after … everything, you know, but I’m all better now. Soooo-”

Some kind of glassy look overtakes her eyes. You feel like your heart slows for a moment. It’s suddenly as if she can see through you, into you – almost like Aemond.

“Coin in the waves; heads to tails; tails to heads.” Her voice is a whisper. “The true reflection is on the water.”

Something magical and hidden is woven in her words. Something makes you feel compelled. By what – you know not.

“…Oh.” I mean – what are you even supposed to say to that? “Okay.”

You two stand there in an awkward silence as you both flicker your eyes to the side. You hear Septa Lettice clear her throat behind you. It’s just like you to be so clumsy in front of a pretty girl like this.

“You want to –” Helaena looks up expectantly at you. “Do some … needlework together?”

She smiles, and you feel your heart leap up into your throat.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helaena’s needlework is beautiful. A lovely image of two flowers sprouting together in full bloom rests gracefully on her cloth. The sound of children babbling a bit and toys clanking against the floor draws your attention away from your messy second attempt at sewing again.

Truthfully, you don’t envy Helaena being a mother already. This body’s original owner and she are the same age. Her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, are old enough to at least understand when you say certain words to them. Maelor is still a little young. She must have had them young, and while you know it’s a symptom of Westerosi culture, it makes you feel ill regardless. You wonder if the original Lady Durant would have found this equally as repulsive or if she would have bowed her head in acceptance? You won’t accept it, at least.

The children say ‘your’ name as soon as they see you. It’s not who you really are, but you can’t bear to do anything other than pat their heads and play along with them. You see Helaena in them when they look up at you. They’ll definitely be pretty like their mother when they grow up.

You nearly threw up when Jaquetta had informed you that Helaena’s husband was her own elder brother, Aegon. And then you nearly did it again when she told you that it was traditional for House Targaryen to marry close family relations. Sibling marriages are common, and, quite frankly, whatever magical or bloodline related reasoning they can give is not enough to justify literally any of that.

“Sooo–” Your voice disrupts the peace that’s settled in between you and Helaena. “What’s the … gossip? What’s the – What’s the new thing? Since it’s been a bit since we’ve chatted and all that?”

She gives you a momentary look before she thinks. “You’re going to marry Aemond soon.”

You suppress a groan. “Yeah, I guess you’re … happy about that. Right?”

Helaena smiles softly and you feel your heart flutter a bit. “Marriage isn’t so bad. Aemond won’t ignore you. He’ll be nice to you.”

You frown. “He’s ignoring me right now.”

“Aemond was worried about you,” she says. Your hand stops pulling the needle through the fabric. That’s the second person to tell you he was worried.

Helaena sets aside her needlework to give you her full attention. “He just … Sometimes has trouble conveying how he thinks and feels. You’ve always been very mindful of him, though.”

Yeah, the old owner of this body but not you!

“I guess so,” you say, tossing your own needlework on the cushion next to you. “Can’t say my mind is getting any better lately.”

A noise from the children takes your attention away. They’re giving a plate of biscuits being offered by their servant rather disgusted looks.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

The servant regards you with an apologetic expression. “The prince and princess have been having some difficulty eating their snacks lately.”

“They think it doesn’t taste good,” Helaena explains. “The royal kitchen has tried just about everything to please them, but nothing seems to work.”

You’ve got an idea.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They should have known you were up to something when you were being so … compliant. Way too compliant. You excel in your lessons the following two days and spend some time praying like you’re supposed to before you spend the night scribbling furiously down on some paper. You shoo away Jaquetta whenever she inquires about what you’re doing but you unveil everything one day after your lessons. You snatch the papers and gleefully make your way to the royal kitchen, your two companions in tow.

“My lady, a maiden of noble birth like yourself should not be–” Septa Lettice tries to dissuade you as you enter the kitchen with a bit of misplaced swagger but you promptly cut her off with a yell.

“Bring me your ingredients at once!”

The entire kitchen seems to freeze in space before the attendants scramble about to gather everything you wish. They assemble fruit jam, flour, honey, and anything you ask for. If being a future princess grants you this authority, you might consider being nice to Aemond in the future when you see him.

You give a sweeping gaze over the ingredients, putting your hand on your hips. “That’ll do it.”

“My lady,” Jaquetta says, “What do you plan to do?”

“Don’t worry yourself, Jackie,” you respond, washing your hand in some water and covering your hair with a napkin. “Lettie.” Septa Lettice makes a face. “Let me work my magic.”

Despite their anxious words and the annoying way they hover about you, they soon join the growing crowd of kitchen staff that watch you, entranced by your skills. It should be expected, though. Who can beat you when it comes to cooking? Even baking these jam filled cookies for the twins is a piece of cake. If the royal cooks can’t make anything that pleases them, then you definitely can.

You inspect the heat under the baking oven located some ways away from the kitchen. Your eyes trail along the metal of the oven. It shouldn’t be too time consuming to bake the cookies as long as the heat was regulated. With that over, you crack your knuckles and get to work.

You hold your hand out towards the kitchen staff. “Small knife for designing, please.”

“My lady, that is–”

You narrow your eyes. Soon, a small knife is put in your hand and you get to cutting out insect shapes of the cookie dough you prepared. You make two of each design, putting a dollop of the fruit jam mix in the middle of one cut out dough piece and then putting the other on top of it. You make sure to draw each part of the insects with precision – butterfly wings, caterpillar body, beetle legs. Something for both the children and Helaena to enjoy.

“If these are burnt by even a little bit–” You tell the servant that manages the oven, handing over the tray of cookies. You drag your thumb across your neck. “You’re dead, okay? On the future princess’ order.”

He gulps and scurries off.

You nearly trip over your own feet that afternoon when you hurry up the long staircases and through the many hallways of the Red Keep to Queen Alicent’s room. Helaena takes the children there to visit their grandmother, and you’re determined to be there to have them enjoy the treats you’d made.

“Helaena!” You call out to her in a sing-song voice as the servants open the door for you, Jaquetta following behind you with the food and Septa Lettice right behind her (nearly out of breath).

Several eyes fall on you, but any thoughts of shame are pushed aside immediately when you see him there.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

Aemond regards you with a quick sweep of his single eye. “I came here to see my niece and nephew.”

“…” You narrow your eyes. “Okay.”

You hear Alicent let out a quick sigh before giving you a tired look that has you shrinking a bit. “I see your lessons have given you no progress.”

You flush. Something about disappointing Alicent makes you embarrassed. “No, no. They’ve been going well. I, uh–”

After clearing your throat, you straighten up as you’d been instructed and take those light steps towards Alicent and Helaena, both of whom are sitting on the couch. You give both of them a little curtsy – light like a cloud, your teachers told you. Alicent’s mouth turns upwards, her eyes are expectant. You want to roll yours. You know what she wants.

You swallow your pride and glide across the room towards Aemond, not meeting his eyes. Stopping in front of him, you give him a quick curtsy before grabbing your plate of sweets for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. The children look up at you as you kneel down beside them.

“Look what your future auntie made you,” you say, holding out the treats for them.

“You made that?” Helaena says, reaching out a hand and plucking a spider shaped cookie.

“Yep, yep!” You nod. “You can have some too. And Her Majesty.” You don’t even bother to look at Aemond. “And His Highness too. If he wants.”

You hear him get up from his seat, the wood creaking beneath him. His boots echo through the sounds of the children munching happily on the cookies as he comes over. You lift your eyebrows in surprise and stand up. He grabs one of the cookies, a butterfly shaped one, and takes a bite.

“…You cook, my lady?” He asks.

“Huh?” You say without a thought. Oh. Right. Maybe you didn’t think about that.

“The servants told me you were in the kitchens yourself,” Alicent adds, and you can already tell this is going to be a battle with the two of them.

You bite back any mean retort you had prepared. “I … wanted to make something for my future little niece and nephew. And as far as cooking, um … “ You shrug, tripping over your words for a moment. “My illness unlocked a new, creative side to me. Like sunshine after the storm.”

Alicent and Aemond look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

Helaena smiles widely. ��That’s wonderful. I look forward to what else you will make.”

You smile back at her, showing teeth. Alicent looks ready to protest but you cut her off.

“I’ll make something for Aemond.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop yourself. You look up at him and into his eye, something burning inside you. That same kind of passion that kept you going throughout your life. “Something you’ve never had before.”

“That…” Alicent trails off.

“I look forward to it,” Aemond says.

You don’t know why, but you feel taken off guard by that.

You don’t know why but you toss and turn at night, thinking of what Aemond would enjoy. Food is the way to someone’s soul. You’re not that interested in getting to know Aemond beyond the superficial, but you figured if there’s anyone you need to NOT hate you … it would be Aemond. You don’t care what Helaena or Jaquetta has to say, that kid looks like he could sink a sword in you without so much as breaking a sweat. Besides, it got you out of having to appeal to Alicent to let you in the kitchens again.

You’re not getting out of this marriage. The thought makes you want to sink into the bed and into the darkness even more. Marriage? In this place? Your husband is going to tell you what to do? Why couldn’t you have been sent into the body of a rich widow? Then you’d at least have some money to throw around with no one to tell you what to do with it.

But what are you to cook him? Aside from what others have said to you, you’ve no idea what he likes, and you’d already promised him something new. You use your brain to go through what you know.

“Fighter,” you mumble. “Diligent … Something filling, but not too heavy.”

Perhaps a broth. A broth that’s full of flavor, savory like a victory. With some kick in it. A robust flavor on the tongue with some spices and herbs.

Your eyes pop open as you sit up.

“…Ramen.”

[nat-20s]

mini-fic time!!!

(all of these r also posted on ao3 lol)

Donna and The Doctor share a discussion about Christmas

~*~

It’s during one of their many little late night chats that the subject comes up. It even happens organically, Donna noting the soft glow of the fairy lights pinned about that were, technically speaking, Christmas lights, and how the entire family had apparently conceded to this being a year round fixture. Of course, instead of focusing on the noble-temple-mott-doctor clan’s terrible consistency with interior decorating, the Doctor throws on a downright cheeky grin and asks, “So. You still hate Christmas?”

She knows the answer he’s expecting. After all, this year’s event was, perhaps, ‘lovely” and ‘joyful’ and ‘bringing tears to her eyes a few times, don’t mention it’. But. Still. Eh?She grimaces and sucks in a breath through her teeth, which is enough for The Doctor to throw the non-mug holding arm in the air and ask slightly too loud, “Seriously?”

Donna shrugs and hides her face behind her mug. “I mean…”

The Doctor blinks at her a few times, and as she has no desire to provide further details, he replies, “Huh. Really? Ialways sort of assumed that, well. You didn’t like Christmas because you had mostly bad ones?”

“What, no.I had loadsof happy Christmases. Hell, there was a good ten years where it was the only day me and mum were actually nice to each other. I just don’t really care for it. I mean, sure, there’s...parts I like, I guess. I like the lights, some of the songs are okayish, and don’t get me wrong, I have loads of fun getting to spoil Rose rotten each year but. I dunno, it’s all a bit, ugh,you know?”

When she gets a downright agog expression in exchange for her statement, she can’t help but snort. “Why the hell do you even care? I can’t imagine that Time Lords are all that arsed about Christianity, and, by the way, if you tell me that you were Christ, I’m gonna tell you fuck off, no you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Obviously.”

“Was one of the disciples though.”

“Fuck off, no you weren’t.”

The Doctor stares at her very, very intensely, giving away nothing. For all of about 3 seconds, when his nose wrinkles up in amusement and he waves a hand. “No, I wasn’t. I’m not sure I even know all their names. Think I have some reindeer mixed up with them. On Dasher, on Dancer, on Donny, on Simon, or something like that.”

Donna manages to just roll her eyes rather than enjoy the goof, because he is derailing the conversation, again. “So my point stands. What’s your big thing about Christmas?”

After a hum and a shrug, The Doctor replies, “Oh, it’s not just Christmas. Purim, Holi, Lunar New Year, hell, I adore a good Arbor Day.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s..”

The Doctor looks to the side for a second, in that non-targeted way that Donna knows means he’s trying to remember something. She takes a sip from her cocoa and practices some of her hard won patience.

With a soft hum, The Doctor finally comes back to the present and tells her, “It’s not that Gallifrey never had holidays, of sorts. But they were all very traditional and very serious and very dour. It was all ceremony and diligence and respect, not,” he nods towards the Christmas tree, “fairy lights and colored powders and silly costumes.”

Grinning now, he continues, “You know, in all the lifetimes I’ve lived and all the species I’ve met, humans are utterly unparalleled in their ability to have fun. For all your lots’ faults, of which there are many-”

“-yes, thank you-”

“-nobody celebrates like a human. Any excuse, even the basic, or, ah, often not so basic, act of survival, and you’ll start singing and eating and dancing. You have such a capacity for joy it will leak from you. Happy crying, who the hell does that?”

“Hold on, I’ve seen you do that. Three times in as many days when you first got here.”

Tilting his head in acknowledgment, he counters, “Ah, but that’s only because of the company I keep. Your laughter is infectious, literally, in the year 16,000 it gets classified as a dangerous contagion.I mean, honestly, you lot could make a Dalek snicker. It’s...it’s incredible. There’s genuinely like nothing else in the universe, and, well, I can’t help but be charmed by Christmas as a small sliver of all that relentless joy.”

After a half second pause, he adds, “Plus, yes, the lights are quite pretty.”

Donna can’t quite contain a smile, replying, “I suppose I could see the appeal of it. Through that lens.”

The Doctor grins back at her, and they let themselves sit in a companionable silence. After a minute of simply letting themselves be, and polishing off the last dregs of their cocoa, Donna tells him, “Still can’t fucking stand ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ though.”

Hearing the burst of laughter that comes from The Doctor, Donna can’t help but silently agree with him. She thinks it’s not so bad being infectious, when that infection is joy.

[anisespice]

“ that electric toothbrush sounds crazy right now ” || hq! 

synopsis: on the phone with them, & the buzzing coming from your end sounded a little suspect.  pairing: various x fem!reader [ bokuto, oikawa, mattsun ] warnings: mature language, mentions of phone sex, crack note: based on a real life event i had where i thought my friend’s electric shaver was a vibrator lol p.s changed it to a toothbrush since i figured it was a more common tool compared to shavers. p.p.s i don’t know what this is either. but hope you enjoy! ♡

bokuto ッ 

Flabbergasted. This man would be caught SO off guard, immediately turning red as fucking stop sign thinking that he was being a pervert or sum. While on the phone with Big B, you were in separate time zones due to volleyball—He was getting up, you were getting ready for bed. It was a regular phone call since FaceTime wanted to act up due to his poor connection, and he refused to break tradition of you falling asleep next to him…distance be damned.

It’s only been a week, and he’s already homesick. You could hear his teammates teasing him in the background, amused at the fact Bokuto held no shame in expressing his undying love for you so openly, but expected nothing less. However, it wasn’t long until the atmosphere changed when you started brushing your teeth. Your boyfriend had no idea you recently bought a new toothbrush, let alone an electric one. So when the buzzing started and you went silent for a while…

You heard shuffling, concerned but you figured he was just moving around so you continued brushing your teeth. It wasn’t until you heard the sound of a door slam did you decide to spit in worry. “Ko? You alright?”

He’s quiet; alarmingly quiet. Then, with strain, he squeaked.

“U-Uhm…babe? Can I get a warning next time, t-the guys were still around—Unless, y-you’re into that! Which is totally fine, b-but I wished you brought it up beforehand so that I was prepared…”

You had no clue what he was going on about, and he kept rambling until you eventually asked him what the issue was. When he did, you barely held it together; you were never going to let him live this down. Now before you brushed your teeth over the phone, you’d tease by warning him ahead of time. 

Bokuto turned red every single time.

oikawa ッ 

Obnoxious. This BITCH would be eating it up! Despite the fact that he freaked himself out jumping to this conclusion, not knowing how to handle it at first, he couldn’t help but to scandalize it immediately.  

He, like Bokuto, would be out of town due to volleyball, so phone calls were a must. At any point in time Oikawa had a free moment, he’d be on the phone with you. If it wasn’t already apparent, this man was needy for you, craving your presence like oxygen. You’d call him dramatic, and with good reason, but wouldn’t want it any other way—You missed him just as much. 

So, when you went outta frame while he was reminiscing about his day, he thought nothing of it; he knew you liked to keep busy while on the phone. But, as soon as his ears caught on to the faint sound of buzzing from your end, that conversation flew right out the window. Like a meerkat, Oikawa sat straight up as he pulled the phone closer to his face, angling it around as if that would help him see further into the room. This man would put the speaker up to his ear and STRETCH it to see if he could hear any…other sounds. 

“Goodness, [_____], how very lewd of you. If you missed me that much all you had to do was say so, sweetheart!~” 

When you came back into frame, foam in your mouth and toothbrush in hand with a confused expression, Oikawa’s entire demeanor just deflated. 

“Oh. Nevermind.” 

mattsun ッ 

Smug. Thinks he’s hot shit AKSJSKS and he is  but that’s not to say he wouldn’t be caught off guard. Whenever y’all called one another, you’d be doing your own things on the phone as if you were in the same room. He’d either be playing video games or watching tv while you’d be on social media, or doing chores around your apartment, just to keep each other company without needing to waste gas (especially in this economy whew). 

At some point during your regularly scheduled phone call, you decided to brush your teeth to keep from eating anymore junk before bed (as if that would really stop anyone, but it helps sometimes lol). Mattsun had been so engrossed in whatever he was doing, didn’t even notice you getting up and taking your phone to the bathroom. It wasn’t until you turned the water on and your toothbrush did his mind instantly go in the wrong direction in terms of identifying the sound; he knew it was a toothbrush, but just couldn’t help himself. 

“Whoa, if you wanted privacy, you could’ve just hung up. But, can’t say I don’t like where this is headed.” He’d tease. You’d come into frame with your toothbrush in your mouth, confused as hell. Mattsun wiggled his eyebrows as he leaned closer to the phone. “You gonna swallow for me, princess?” 

“WHAT?” 

© 2022-2023 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[skamenglishsubs]

Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 2, Episode 1

Season 2 picks up after the Christmas break, it is now early January 2021, and Wilhelm is asleep, dreaming of Simon...

Cinematography: The show does a slow transition from Wilhelm's sex dream by changing the colours from the soft golden light of his dream, to the harsh early January daylight, and by letting the sound of a vacuum cleaner pierce the signature [dreamy electronic music] of his dream.

Subtext: We're seeing Wilhelm move like a ghost through the palace, ignoring everyone, even his mother. He's still angry with her, and they haven't really talked all break.

Blink and you miss it: It's hard to make out, but Erik's silver cigarette case is also inscribed with Sällskapet - The Society, the ultra-douche nobility club.

Cinematography: Just like last season was bookended by a fourth wall break, here comes the opening montage and a very angry Wilhelm staring into the camera.

Subtext: The August montage tells us a bunch of things. He's been spending Christmas break alone at school since he doesn't really have a family to spend it with, and his eating disorder/body dysmorphia sure isn't getting better.

Culture: Simon is playing the song Aldrig Igen by Cherrie, which is about leaving someone who has hurt you. The repeating refrain goes: "Never gonna happen again. I don't want to feel like that."

Culture: Minimum age for getting your driver's license in Sweden is 18. It's getting more and more rare for people to get their driver's license as soon as possible, because it's simply not a necessity for most. When I went to high school last century (in the 90's), about half the class got theirs at that time. These days less than a third get theirs that early.

Subtext: Although Felice didn't really have a plot of her own this season, I'm glad to see that she learned something last season and keeps ignoring her annoying, prattling, mom. That her friend Sara got into the Manor House is much more important than whatever horsey-horse blah her mom is whining about.

Subtext: Madison hands Sara a crystal, of course she's into that. But I'm not crunchy enough to figure out what the hell she means by "among other things". Help. Anyone? What is that even? Amethyst?

Subtext: "Native Americans and other indigenous peoples have burned sage for centuries as part of a spiritual ritual to cleanse a person or space, and to promote healing and wisdom." Thank you Google for that explanation. And of course it's something Madison would do.

Lost in translation: The English translation of their chanting didn't quite capture everything. A literal translation would be "Fine girls, deep pockets, worship our fine pussies!" But fina flickor is an expression that means well-mannered upper-class girls, djupa fickor is a Swedish idiom that means being rich, and these two fragments both rhymes with and alliterates with fina fittor, except the latter is extremely vulgar, which creates an interesting juxtaposition of contrasting tone. Btw, my high school Swedish teacher was the best teacher I've ever had, and I know he would be so fucking proud of me right now if he could see me writing this! Tack, Magnus.

Subtext: And here comes the first mention of this season's main theme; traditions, upholding them, breaking them, examining them... Interestingly enough it's Felice who suggests breaking it, while all the other girls insist that Sara has to continue the tradition. And boy, does she ever. At least the fire department didn't show up...

Subtext: The real reason August didn't join Vincent or Nils on their expensive Christmas vacation to the Seychelles is of course that he can't afford it. But his dismissive joke also just point to his own eating disorder problems. August, get help.

Subtext: When Simon insta-stalks Marcus we get to see a bit of his personality. Apparently, Marcus likes camping, fishing, hiking, horses, and his Volvo. The 850 is a classic 90's station wagon, and although it's pretty unusual for 18-year-olds to own a car in Sweden, something like that checks out and it's probably his car.

Subtext: Vincent is such an ass, and I love every second of it. He has zero respect for the younger students, he doesn't give a shit that Wilhelm is royal.

Subtext: Wilhelm is being an assertive bitch to August here and insists on him addressing him in third person, as if they weren't familiar...

Blink and you miss it: ...which makes Nils and Vincent laugh, and Vincent makes a mocking salute to Wilhelm.

Subtext: But in the end, August is the prefect, so they do as he says and allow the first-years to join the party, even though they have no idea why August is letting Wilhelm get away with it.

Cinematography: This season also does a lot of mirroring where scenes in this season look like scenes in the first season. This particular one mirrors the one where Simon appears at the initiation party for Wilhelm and catches his eye, except it's a lot more sad this time.

Subtext: Oh look, The Theme™ pops up again, and Simon is of course not a fan of keeping the shitty traditions that forced Sara to do something stupid, so that he had to rush to school to check up on her.

Subtext: Wilhelm is an awkward idiot around Simon. He really has no idea how to reconnect with him.

Cinematography: Again, we're mirroring the initiation party in s1 where Simon excuses himself, but this time Wilhelm doesn't chase after him.

Subtext: I'm sorry what now? Nils is not straight? That came out of fucking nowhere, but ok, let's roll with it! Also, whoever subtitled this is obviously familiar with Tinder, but not with Grindr. Nils says that he saw Marcus on Grindr, not that they matched, because that's not how Grindr works.

Subtext: The main theme of the entire show is about social class, if you haven't figured this out by now. Nils is firmly in team upper-class, and tells Wilhelm how he's supposed to handle dating: Only date or hook up with people from your own class, or with people who know how to keep everything discreet, private, and down-low.

Subtext: Wilhelm looks around in confusion, because he expected Simon to be singing in the choir. Where the hell is Simon?

Subtext: Meanwhile, Simon is late and on the bus with his friends on Team Rebound, who are giving him advice that's gonna turn out to be pretty crap.

Culture: Padel is so middle class, Vincent is right! Padel surged in popularity in Sweden in 2021 for some weird reason, and tons of padel courts popped up all over the country. However, the hype completely crashed in 2022, so most of those places are now facing bankruptcy and people actually talk about padeldöden - padel death, so the sport is kind of a joke right now.

Subtext: Wilhelm puts on the most fake smile ever and says hi to Alexander who is back at school. They were all correct when they said that Alexander really wouldn't get punished for getting caught with the drugs, his parents simply bribed the school to hush it down, but their treatment of Alexander will backfire spectacularly on Wilhelm later in the season.

Subtext: The show is doing a bit of exposition here, but it's also reminding us of who knows what about the sex tape, and why Wilhelm hasn't told Simon that he knows who did it. One more thing that will backfire spectacularly.

Subtext: And in a quick throwaway comment we learn that the late prince Erik had a thing with a porn model, and that the royal court successfully swept that whole thing under the carpet, as they do.

Subtext: The rest of the girls thoughtlessly let Sara pick up the tab for their coffee, which is nothing to them, but for Sara it's half her savings. She's treating them without protest, but doesn't buy anything for herself because she simply can't afford it.

Subtext: Don't sit next to him, don't talk to him, pretend he doesn't exist! Simon is really trying to follow the advice of his friends.

Cinematography: Oh look, a mirroring of the scary movie scene where they touch hands in season 1. Except this time Simon jerks his hand away.

Subtext: The Theme! This time it's Wilhelm who's on team fuck the traditions, although he's doing it just to undermine August.

Lost in translation: Vincent actually uses the word kladdiga - sticky, smudgy - about their hands, which in Swedish implies they're all toddlers who should sit down and shut up while the adults are talking.

Subtext: No, Wilhelm really didn't stick up for anyone last season, he threw Alexander under the bus, and he threw Simon under the bus, so we're just heaping on the guilt now.

Subtext: And we're doing some more exposition to remind everyone about who knows what about the sex tape. Here Sara finds out that August knows that Wilhelm knows it was him, and he's blaming her for telling him, even though she hasn't told anyone. Not even Simon, speaking about things that will backfire spectacularly.

Subtext: Sara's plotline is gaining steam, much like she did after touching August, if you know what I mean, eh, eh, eh? She knows he's a piece of shit, she knows he's a bad person that she can't trust, but she also thinks he's hot as fuck and this obviously causes quite a lot of conflicting emotions in her.

Subtext: No, Wilhelm truly doesn't realize this. He's been trying to get close to Simon in order to get him back, but he still hasn't got a damn clue as to why Simon is keeping his distance.

Subtext: Note that Simon going after Marcus is 100% reactive. He asked him for a ride because he needed to for Sara's sake. And now he's agreeing to karaoke night because Wilhelm just hurt him again, and because his friends have been encouraging him to go for a rebound boyfriend.

Culture: Carola Häggkvist is a very well known Swedish artist and songwriter who had her breakthrough at 17 in the 1983 Eurovision Song Contest with the song Marcus is choosing. She only came in third that time, but won the ESC in 1991 with the song Fångad av en Stormvind. Despite being wacko Christian for a while and married to Norwegian preacher Runar Søgaard, who lost his weapons license after shooting a deer from his bedroom window, she has now mended her ways and is somewhat of a gay icon in Sweden, performing at Stockholm Pride in 2013.

Culture: Främling is about meeting a stranger, falling in love, and taking a chance on this newfound love. Marcus might look like a doofus, but his song choice is pretty clever, although obvious.

Subtext: Can we just appreciate Vincent's dramatics for a second? A first-year not moving their ass off a couch he wants to sit in is apparently causing his entire world to come crashing down. The audacity! Chaos! The system is there for a reason! It provides stability! What's next? Everyone is just gonna sit around playing the bongos? Someone needs to enforce the proper order of things, because August apparently refuses to do so!

Subtext: Some nice foreshadowing here where Alexander checkmates Wilhelm.

Culture: The Swedish Royal Court is an organisation with hundreds of employees who assist the royal family in all their official duties. Here we're seeing the Queen having a late night meeting with some court officials. Although the show doesn't say, it's likely that Minou who was introduced in season 1 is the head of the press and information department, and that the new character Jan-Olof is the Marshal of the Court, which would put him in charge of planning and preparing all official events that the royal family attends.

Subtext: From the perspective of the Queen and the court, Wilhelm's outburst comes out of nowhere. He's been refusing to talk to his mother for weeks, and now he suddenly calls them up, rants about Simon being on a date with another boy, and screams that he doesn't want to become king in the future. In addition, he threatens to talk to the press himself, which makes Minou somewhat concerned to put it lightly.

[terry-perry]

Smile Through Your Fear and Sorrow

Pairings: Ex!Steve Rogers x Odinsdottir!Reader, Steve x Peggy (implied, but can also be open to interpretation)

Genres: Angst, songfic? (more of a story inspired by listening to a song multiple times), Family fic

A/N: Another AU for my popular AU. Basically a "What If...?" scenario where Steve and Odinsdottir break up because he stayed in 1945. However, he returns sooner than what we saw in Endgame. And not alone...

Inspired by ABBA's "Angel Eyes," as well as Charlie Chaplin's "Smile."

Enjoy the angst!

"No!"

"Yes!"

It was the talk of New Asgard now. Last night had been such drama.

"Last night, I took a stroll along the waters, and I saw him with this new woman! They looked very happy together."

Thor narrowed his eyes at the two women discussing this so openly at the bakery like this was entertaining gossip.

"You should've seen the way he looked at her. Absolutely spine-chilling!"

"Was it anything like how he'd look at the princess?"

"Oh no! This was even more intense!"

He had half a mind to lift up his hood and let his intimidating presence put a stop to their conversation. He had more important matters to attend to though. He turned back to the pastries displayed in front of him and pointed at the sweet bread he knew she loved. He hoped it would lift up her spirits for at least a moment.

Yes, it was true. Steve was not only back but has returned with another woman. They ran into him in New York after everything. It was not only a surprise to learn that he was back, but was with somebody else. Apparently, this was someone from his past that he brought back with him after returning the Infinity Stones. Someone he just couldn't be without.

Thor wanted so much to confront them, to at least talk to this woman about how she better be careful. This was all just a game to Steve. Everything might be lovely now, but it won't be long until there's trouble in paradise after realizing who he truly is. She'll be deceived by his charms and be forced to pay the price when the time comes.

Thor thought Y/N would think so so. He thought she might be hurt by Steve's sudden return, but she maintained that everything was fine. In fact, she kept going on with how happy she was for them.

Then the siblings decided to host a lovely gathering to help celebrate Mid-Summer. They invited their Midgardian companions who were very excited to help enjoy this celebration of light, fertility, and music. Even though Steve came and brought along his new female friend, Y/N kept insisting it was all right. Everything did seem to be okay at first, with everyone distracted by all the fun. Bonfires, traditional music, and the burning of corn dollies to celebrate the brightest time of the year were wonderful ways to forget about all worries.

Then last night happened.

On the third and final night of Mid-Summer, the new couple took the opportunity to announce their engagement. That was when Thor witnessed it. It was only for a brief moment, but he managed to spot the tears springing into her eyes and her lips trembling.

A dull, hollow feeling filled his chest as he saw her. Then, a flicker of light appeared. He saw her with a smile and a fresh face, which was nothing like the broken look he just saw. The split second of changing energy was too quick for everyone else to notice as they were in the midst of congratulating the newly engaged couple. He was the only one worried about what she would think, and he finally saw that everything wasn't okay.

Try as she might, Thor finally saw how not-okay Y/N actually was.

To Be Continued...