#and doesn’t endanger only himself

[hurlumerlu]

more seriously what really gets me is how much Yok knows you should never date a cop

[kqutie]

“You know you didn’t have to kiss her to give her your blessing, right?”

—Athena to Hermes, probably

haha! here you go, my lovely (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

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Hermes giggles to himself, trying to ignore the soft blush on his cheeks. He watches you fondly from high above, laying on his stomach in a bed of clouds with his feet in the air, kicking away as his hands hold up his chin. 

“You know you didn’t have to kiss her to give her your blessing, right?” Athena materialises beside him, standing in her tall, proud height. 

“I don’t know~” Hermes sing-songs, grinning widely at the narrowed look his half-sister gives him from beneath the shadow of her helmet.

“No, you didn’t,” Athena rolls her eyes and sighs, looking down as you silently talk with some strangely coloured animals that Hermes must have allowed onto the island with you. Hermes finally laughs aloud, finding her irritation amusing. 

“Maybe so, but what’s the fun in that?~” 

“This isn’t about fun, Hermes,” Athena sighs exasperatedly, rubbing at her temples through her helmet whilst avoiding the sight of the messenger God’s cheeky smile, “Your actions could very well have endangered Odysseus and her,” 

“But she is under my protection now,” Hermes’ grin doesn’t falter, confident in his ability to protect you by warding off any enemy, “ease up, darling~” Hermes coos, flying up in his front-laying position so that his head was level with Athena’s and he could look her in the eye with just a slight tilt of his head. “And there isn’t a chance I’ll let any danger come to her,” Hermes looks down at you fondly once again as Athena huffs. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of her to this extent already,”

“There’s no question about it!” Hermes giggles and throws his arms up in a gleeful cheer, righting himself vertically, before turning his full attention onto Athena. The goddess of wisdom is, somewhat, taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour, there was almost a threat hidden in his glowing eyes, “I’ve already given her my blessing, after all. Whoever dares harm her from now on will be answering to me,” 

“But why?” Athena presses, always one to ask for an explanation; her mind simply can’t comprehend how capricious Hermes’ actions are, “Because she’s a great traveller from another world? Can it only be that?”

“Why can’t it ‘only’ be that?” Hermes tilts his head coyly, playing with her reasoning. 

“Because you kissed her—” 

Hermes laughs with his full body, clutching at his stomach as his knees tuck up and curl him into a compressed ball of laughter, “You’re always so serious~” Hermes whips the tears from his eyes. 

“Answer me!” 

“Alright alright! Don’t get your subligar in a twist~” Athena gives him an unamused look, growing all the more irritated when he has to suppress a giggle once more, “I admit, the fair maiden has very kissable-looking lips, I just couldn’t resist stealing a taste~”

Athena splutters, “Wha—?!”

“She’s also very cute and very delicious,” Hermes smirks to himself as he slowly traces his lips with his tongue. His eyes look distant as he remembers the softness and sweetness of you, “My~ I’ve never tasted something so sweet before. But shush!” Athena watches in shock as Hermes puts a finger to his lips in a hushing motion, “Don’t tell Dionysus! He might get jealous when he finds out I’ve found something tastier than his grapes and wine,” 

Hermes giggles as Athena rolls her eyes. 

“Just don’t harass the poor girl,” Athena looks at you with sympathy. 

“I’m afraid I can’t make such promises, darling~” Hermes smirks to himself, “now that I’ve had a taste, I simply can’t get enough!” 

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a/n : I'M JUST A HERMES SIMP, OKAY?! DON'T JUDGE ME! I DIDN'T MEAN TO WRITE 500 WORDS OF THIS!

taglist : @bluepanda08 @doodle-with-rhy @sunshinedaisy21 @jolixtreesunn @ellaprime7 @marcelemry @nishayuro @hijinkxy @kerosene-demon @windrosesrasta

[bellherald]

Dressrosa was incredibly important for a number of reasons—obvious ones include the formation of the Grand Fleet, the abolishment of the Warlords, and the downfall of Joker and the underworld imploding. But it was also important for reasons more personal to Luffy. It directly validated the timeskip, showing not only that it was necessary but it worked.

You know how Luffy has to chase people down to make them accept his friendship and kinda forces himself on people. I find it fundamentally intriguing that instead of Luffy extending the hand first it was LAW who reached out. He was not thinking of it that way but Law unironically was unlike so many people by doing that and I think that he really played himself so hard there. We know Luffy hates being alone more than anything and often he’s the one chasing down the people he likes to make sure he has his nakama. Then here’s the awesome guy who saved his life and didn’t need anything coming back two years later asking to be friends. Luffy already thought he was a cool dude, he introduces Law to his crew as someone who saved his life just like Jinbe. Luffy introduces him in the same category as a beloved friend and future crewmate before the alliance was even offered.

Not just that, but so often Luffy’s people try to run away to protect him and only endanger themselves(Nami, Vivi, Robin, Usopp kinda, and especially Ace in this moment.) He has to actively fight to be able to help them because Luffy knows he is a strong fighter and can help beat up his problems. But Law asked for his help. Law came to him knowing he’s strong and can help fight his problems.

Luffy had all his specialist boy neurons activate there LMFAO

Ace and Law both isolate themselves from their crews in order to chase down revenge. They’re both on a collision course that will result in them caught and dead. Ace and Law don’t want anyone else involved. Both come across the Straw Hats by chance while pursuing that vengeance—Law doesn’t see Luffy as someone who needs protecting but instead a peer, an equal. He asks for an alliance to take down an emperor. I don’t think Luffy cared which emperor beyond it not being Shanks. Law was asking for help here and Luffy could clock that no matter how he tried to dress it up.

Flash forward to Dressrosa. Law is face to face with his enemy and loses. He loses hard directly in front of Luffy. Luffy is once again locked behind a seastone prison as Law gets taken away just like Ace was. Having to cross an island to reach him again and drag him out of his situation. Luffy refuses to leave him be, ignoring the protests from a chained up Ace/Law and going to fight this battle even if he wants to be left alone. He’s going to be there this time when the fight happens and he’s going to win.

We find out both Law and Ace faced discrimination for their birth, that people thought the world was better off dead and they were angry boys struggling in a world that hated them. They’re seeking revenge for loved one that got killed by a brother (whitebeard sons, donquioxte brothers). They don’t want other people to die for the sake of it and tried to isolate because of it. Luffy doesn’t let Law get away though, refusing to break the alliance and literally dragging him along.

Luffy couldn’t save Ace. Luffy could save Law. Gear 4th being how Luffy took down Doflamingo and the fact that he saved his clan this time directly validated the entire time skip by showing us exactly what Luffy trained for all that time. The power to protect his nakama. Timeskip Luffy could’ve saved Ace but he only existed in the first place because he couldn’t.

Luffy took on everyone’s burden and wills onto his own shoulders. There’s a reason no one died in Dressrosa, it was to show exactly what those two years have lead to. Things are different now. Luffy isn’t weak anymore. The world won against Luffy before—but not now, not this time.

Dressrosa was a turning point that the whole globe took notice of and now the Straw Hats are not only back but they’re going to change everything, whether the world is ready or not.

[bella-goths-wife]

I imagine Vees pet would see how Val treats Angel and try to help him when she can, like calming Val down from his tantrums or playing something to help Angel himself if he is going through a panic attack.

Vs pet trying to help angel

Warnings: Valentino, SA mentions, panic attacks, abusive relationships

You’ve seen how Val treats his workers, and while you hate seeing it you know there is nothing you can do to stop it

You know your place as the assistant, you may receive nicer treatment from the Vs than any other demon but that doesn’t change who’s in charge

But there’s something about the way that angel is treated that really makes your stomach turn

The obsession that Val carries for angel, and the excessive cruelty towards him makes you feel physically ill

You do your best to distract Val from angel, but you have to be subtle or else your entire plan fails

You’ll respond to vals affection despite your uncomfortably feelings when he touches you, you know he doesn’t want to touch you in a sexual way but he’s not been platonically affection with anyone in so long that he’s forgotten how to touch someone without a sexual undertone

You’ll use your calming tricks on Val whenever you see him becoming irritated with angel dust, but sometimes even that doesn’t work

Sometimes there is no stopping Valentino’s rage from coming out, no matter how happy your affection makes him or how calm your ability is

So he will eventually blow up if the circumstances are too bad to fix, and angel will be caught in the crossfires

After Valentino is finished with his abuse, he usually leaves to get a drink and expects you to join him

But sometimes you don’t, you’ll look down as the bruised and battered angel dust and you can’t find yourself cruel enough to ignore him

You’ll treat his wounds and you’ll use you ability to create the same humming and heartbeat sound you use on Val to calm him on angel

You think that angel is too out of it or too panicked to remember who is doing this for him, but he remembers

You figured it out after you had a particularly stressful day with the Vs controlling behaviour and you hid out in a dressing room

You crumpled to the floor and cried your heart out as panic and anxiety filled your chest

You gripped your own hair painfully as your rocked back and forth to try and soothe yourself, but all you could focus on was how much you despised what you did

You despised vox’s commands of cruelty to others, you despised velvette’s infantilising and insulting words she spat in your direction because you weren’t being a ‘good pet’ and you despised that you could still feel vals touch on you and all you wanted to do was scrub your skin clean

As you cried and hurt yourself by yanking on your hair, you felt yourself being pulled into someone’s chest fluff and four arms wrapping around you

Angel shushed you as you cried and he rocked you back and forth in an attempt to soothe you the same way you had soothed him

You cried for hours into his chest as he shushed you and rubbed your back in a sympathetic manner

When you finally looked up at him, he mustered up a small smile as he wiped the tears from your eyes

“You remind me of my sister” he said quietly as he laid your head back onto his chest “too kind in a world that’s got cruelty in every corner, too naive for your own good”

After that night, there was a mutual understanding between you and angel dust

He looked out for you, and you looked out for him

But subtly of course

You don’t even want to imagine what the Vs would do if they found out you had formed a friendship outside of them

But you knew that them knowing would only endanger angel dust and gain you a punishment

Let me know what you think :)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 7: Lightning and Rust]

A/N: Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), babies and parenthood, blood and violence, character deaths, I really cannot summarize this chapter you just gotta experience it, I'll pray for you 🙏

Word count: 6.8k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

You’re curled up in bed with a velvet pouch of hot stones that have gone cold, bloody rags bunched between your thighs, trying desperately to sleep, and outside a storm is brewing over Blackwater Bay and bringing with it dark skies and strikes of lightning that stalk ever-closer. Through the open window, the air tasting like late-summer rain, you can hear Helaena and the maids corralling the children back into the Red Keep. They are laughing because nobody is dead yet, not even the ailing and absent King Viserys, not even doomed little Luke Strong.

Aemond lets himself into your chambers and stands over your bed, staring down at you with some combination of annoyance and concern. You have failed him. You were not where he wanted you to be. “Why weren’t you at the beach?” Playing with your niece and nephews, collecting your seashells.

“Because women are cursed.”

Aemond smiles, perhaps a bit relieved; he has his answer. “And you more than any of them, because you’re so wicked.”

“Maester Orwyle says I can’t have more milk of the poppy for two hours.”

“Then we must listen to him. It is a powerful remedy, and we cannot endanger you.” He takes off his boots and climbs into bed, lying behind you, one hand following the curve of your waist to settle on your lower belly. “I can relax the muscles. It might ease your suffering.”

Right now? “Oh no, no, you don’t want to do that,” you warn him. “It’s very messy.”

“You think I’m afraid of your blood?” Aemond says, amused. “Everything we’re built of is the same.” He lifts the hem of your silk nightgown and reaches underneath the nest of rags, sliding there in the coppery wetness as you inhale sharply, startled but not unwilling. When Aemond removes his hand, the carnage he is stained with is bright crimson but dotted with clots. Then he licks the blood from his fingers and paints his tongue red. You can’t keep the shock from your face. Aemond grins, wets his hand again, draws a heart on your left cheek just beneath your eye. You laugh and pretend to try to shove him away.

“You’re deranged, you’re a monster—”

“Let me help you,” Aemond whispers, nuzzling blood from his lips into your silver hair. “Let me take your pain away like you quiet mine.”

And you surrender to him like you always do—worn down, overpowered, intoxicated, bewitched, seduced, perhaps all at once—and as Aemond’s hand works and the gory metallic ether of blood fills both of your lungs, the cramps dissolve into nothingness and then build to desire, and you’re opening your thighs for him and the rags are whisked away, unnecessary, forgotten, and now there is blood on the bedsheets and your fingers are twisting into the pillows strewn around you, and it doesn’t feel shameful at all anymore, because what is blood if not made from the same minerals as coins and blades and ocean and ash, and what is lust if not a fire that burns the constraints of the world away?

You kiss him as you come, moaning into his bloodstained mouth, biting his lower lip, and if the careless pressure of your teeth makes him bleed then that’s just more iron and copper and steel to add to the molten sea you are marooned in, more magma, more rust. “Enough,” you gasp when the last of the waves have passed and you are emptied and too sensitive, and Aemond knows to listen. Then you reach for Aemond’s trousers, where you can see he is hard. You are abruptly and ruinously exhausted—you struggle to keep your eyes open—but it feels wrong to not take care of him in return.

It shouldn’t take long, he’s already flushed, he’s already dripping sweat—

“No need,” Aemond says, gently stopping your hands. And as you burrow into the pillows and your eyes dip closed, your skin and hair still splattered with red, he slips away silently so you can sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t want to leave you,” Jace says, knowing that he has to anyway. “Either of you.”

You are nursing the baby in a chair by the fireplace; you needed a change of scenery from the bed. The upholstery is pale blue velvet. The blanket the baby is swathed in is embroidered with pine trees and foxes, and far beyond your skill; Lady Caro made it. She is nearly as gifted with a needle as Helaena. On the walls of the bedchamber you share with your husband are mosaics you’ve pieced together over the past nine months here at the modest castle of Heart’s Home in a cold, remote corner of the Vale. The fractured faces look in on you like curious gazes through clear windows: Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, Jaehaera, Maelor, Mother, Criston. You aren’t any closer to them now, but you feel like you are. The world seems softer, warmer, smaller.

You smile as you ghost a fingerprint over the baby’s faint dark eyebrows. He’s half-asleep as he suckles, hushed and content and entirely helpless. He has Jace’s coloring, but something about the shape of his eyes reminds you of Aegon. “We’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“I think he looks a lot like Luke,” Jace says, admiring the baby. He’s standing with one arm draped over the back of your chair and the flickering firelight from the hearth on his face, turning his skin from snow to sunstone. “And Joffrey. His face is rounder than mine.”

“Have you been to the Eyrie to see them since the war began?” Joffrey, Rhaena, Rhaenyra’s young white-haired sons Aegon and Viserys.

Jace shakes his head. “I never wanted to be away from you for longer than necessary. I didn’t want to risk being spotted and revealing where they’ve been hidden. And I didn’t know what to say.” About us, about our marriage, about our baby.

“You should visit them, Jace. I would visit Helaena and her children if I could.” You leave out the others intentionally; Helaena is your only sibling that Jace considers blameless. You miss Aegon and Daeron just as much, but in the solitude of your own heart—in the stillness, in the silence—you aren’t sure if you want to see Aemond again. You don’t know if he will be soft with you, or vengeful or cold, or if he has filled the void of your absence with a lover, something that you cannot think about without your stomach lurching and your skull aching, and so you put him out of your mind as much as you can and stay here with the baby instead.

Jace rests a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, then strokes your cheek. He says, meaning the baby: “We’ll have to get him his own egg.”

“I hope he won’t inherit my affliction,” you murmur somberly. “I hope he’ll have a dragon someday.” Without them, we are powerless. Without them, we aren’t real Targaryens.

“Maybe there’s something you need to do first.”

You look up at Jace, not understanding.

“I’ve spent a lot of time considering what inspires a dragon to bond to someone,” he says. And you think, feeling a fleeting stab of betrayal before you stitch the wound closed with invisible thread: Because you’ve been helping the Blacks search for riders. “It seems that each creature has their own preferences. Meleys favored women who were spirited and highly intelligent. Dreamfyre has chosen two riders, both gentle, shy, and fond of animals. Seasmoke bonded to two sons of Corlys Velaryon with similar temperaments, agreeable and charismatic, Quicksilver to a father and son who were both considered weak and died young. Caraxes seems to have an affinity for warriors.” It does not escape you that Jace neglects to mention Vhagar, as if through his silence he can make the beast and her rider vanish. “And Vermithor…” Jace offers you a small, sympathetic smile, remembering that you once wanted him. “The Bronze Fury bonds to riders who are imposing in body and ambitious in spirit. And I suspect he only likes men.”

“So it was always hopeless,” you say gloomily. You recall the miniature Vermithor that Aegon once carved for you out of oak wood. You hope that Aegon is still alive somewhere, scarred but lying in wait, always underestimated, always so much deeper than he seems, an ocean that Mother and Father mistook for a puddle, messy and marginal and inconvenient.

“I believe dragons often gravitate towards riders who are mirrors of themselves. Even Vermax, he is…” Jace considers this. “He’s proud, and he’s clever, but he’s not as formidable as he imagines himself to be.”

“Like you,” you say before you can stop to consider whether Jace will be offended by it, and he gives you an amused smirk. The baby has stopped nursing and fallen asleep; you fix the bodice of your gown and cradle him against you. There are maids to take him when you’re tired, and Jace loves holding him, and Lady Caro steals him away often, but right now you don’t want your freedom. You don’t want your mind to be untethered and to wander to all the places you’re not supposed to be.

Jace continues: “What I mean is, perhaps there is some quality you must cultivate within yourself before the beast you are meant to have judges you worthy.”

“Hardly any unclaimed dragons are left now.” Then you tease: “Do you suggest I become quiet and timid so Grey Ghost will like me?”

Jace laughs. “No, I fear that’s a lost cause, princess. You could never be timid.”

You are intrigued. “Then what am I?”

“I think you’re hungry,” Jace decides. “I think you always want more.”

“I never wanted that many things.” Aemond. My family to be safe. And I wanted Vermithor.

“Every line that is drawn, every place you’re told not to go or act you’re not supposed to do, you insist upon overreaching.”

Is that why Aemond and I were so drawn to each other? you think doubtfully. Because it was forbidden? Because it horrified people who climbed high enough to live alongside Targaryens but could never understand them?

“I think Meleys would have been a good match for you,” Jace says after a while. “If she hadn’t already been claimed by Grandmother.”

“And now the Red Queen is dead.” Like Arrax, and Moondancer, and Seasmoke, and probably Sunfyre too. How many dragons will be left when this is over? How many Targaryens? You clutch the baby closer to you; he stirs in his sleep, tiny fingers grasping at nothing. “What sort of rider does Silverwing favor? What could this illiterate drunk Ulf the White possibly have in common with Good Queen Alysanne?”

Jace snickers. “That’s a good question. I’ve been ruminating on it. My theory is that since Silverwing was never ridden into battle, and has always been relatively docile and accustomed to living peacefully near humans, she was attracted to Ulf’s…how to describe it? His lack of military prowess. Or, alternatively, once Vermithor was claimed Silverwing was very, very lonely.”

You smile, and then it dies. It must be indescribably painful to be separated from one’s mate after a century together. Unsurvivable, even. “Can Silverwing fight, do you think?”

Jace heaves a sigh and shrugs. “I’m not sure if either of them can. Ulf will try, at least. Hopefully it won’t come to that, and Vermithor is enough to protect King’s Landing. Hugh Hammer is an inexperienced rider, but he’s brave and he’s committed. Each time I see him he’s better than he was before.”

Hugh Hammer is a bastard blacksmith, but he has more power in this war than I do. Ulf the White is an idiot and a drunk, but he’s a true Targaryen and I’m not. You rock your sleeping child in your arms, quieting the voices that flutter in your skull like bat wings. You kiss his wisps of dark curls and breathe in his warmth and newness and blood that is interwoven with yours.

“You could learn how to hate your own kind and claim the Cannibal,” Jace jokes.

You chuckle. “I don’t hate anyone.” Not here, not now.

Lady Caro arrives in the doorway carrying a tray of cinnamon tea. “I have come offering a trade,” she says, grinning, and shuffles excitedly across the room. She sets the tray down on the table by your chair and holds out her hands. Reluctantly, you surrender the baby. Lady Caro coos and beams at him as you and Jace sip cinnamon tea, sweet and loosing steam like morning mist into the air. “Surely by now you’ve made the logical decision to name him in my honor.”

“Carolei would be a very strange thing to call a boy,” Jace says.

“Caroson,” she jests.

You add: “Carogon. Carocaerys.”

“Awful!” Jace says, laughing.

“Have you been feeding the baby again?” Lady Caro scolds you. “We have wetnurses for that.”

“They get him all night. I want time with him too.”

“You’re barely even producing any milk. You’d make for a terrible goat.”

“Then I’ll nurse him for as long as I can.”

“You’ll end up with pitiful floppy breasts like mine.”

“Isn’t this what they’re for? Nourishing children, not being gawked at and tugged on by some man?”

Lady Caro turns to Jace, exasperated. “She has some disease. She can’t listen to anyone.”

He smiles. “She’s an untamable beast, I’m afraid. Burns up anyone who makes the attempt.”

Lord Corbray walks in, and nestled in his ancient arthritic hands is a sword in a sheath. There is a large heart-shaped ruby in the hilt. “Prince Jacaerys, I cannot begin to tell you what an honor it has been not only to host you and the princess here in our humble castle, but also to have a future king of the Seven Kingdoms born within our walls.”

Jace stands up straighter, as his mother would want him to. He’ll never look like the heir to the throne, like a Targaryen, but he can act like one. “We continue to be grateful for your hospitality.”

“To commemorate this happy occasion, I wish to gift you a cherished heirloom of my house. This is Lady Forlorn, made of Valyrian steel. She came to House Corbray over a century ago, and now I bequeath her to you. I hope she will aid you in your victory in this unjust war, and that all the realm will soon be at peace and under competent rulership.”

Jace looks at you uneasily; you pretend to be preoccupied drinking your tea. You ignore Lord Corbray’s slight against the Greens. You don’t have much choice, and you’ve had plenty of practice. Jace takes Lady Forlorn from Lord Corbray and unsheathes her, studying his reflection in the cold smoke-colored grey of the blade. His face is grave. Now he feels the weight on his shoulders of being not just a prince, an heir, a soldier, and a husband, but a father as well, something he himself never had in a way that was truthful and pure. You are alarmed to see tears gleaming in his dark eyes.

“Jace?” you say, touching his arm.

He regains his composure. “Thank you, Lord Corbray. I will treasure Lady Forlorn, and I will endeavor to always use her wisely.”

Lord Corbray smiles fondly at the slumbering baby in Lady Caro’s arms. Across the Riverlands, their sole surviving child, Jessamyn, is in hiding with her husband and children. At Lady Caro’s insistence, they fled from the Mallisters’ castle at Seagard in case Aemond and Vhagar descend upon it. He is still burning. A monster? you think. “I assume you’ve named your firstborn?”

You and Jace exchange a glance. You haven’t yet; you are afraid to discuss it with each other. There are so many possibilities—Targaryen or Velaryon or Strong—and none seem to be without some unspoken allegiance or condemnation. There are so few guiltless names left. But you think you know what Jace would choose if he dared to speak it aloud.

“We should name him after Luke,” you say. A boy, an innocent. A victim of a horrific accident that started this war.

Jace is surprised, but there is relief in his face too. “Lucerys?” he says, trying it out. Then he is solemn again. “It feels wrong to use the exact same name. Like I’m trying to replace him.”

“Lucerion,” Lady Caro suggests, still holding the baby. “It sounds like a prince’s name. It sounds like a king’s.”

Jace attaches Lady Forlorn to his belt and then takes the baby, obviously against Lady Caro’s will. “Lucerion,” Jace murmurs, smiling down at his son who is stirring awake and beginning to whimper. “Is that your name? Is that what we’ll call you?”

“Perhaps Luca for short,” you say from your chair, feeling drained and like you need to lie down. You’ll have to change your rags again soon, or you’ll bleed through them.

“Luca, the littlest dragon,” Jace proclaims, touching his fingertip to the baby’s puggish nose. Then he turns to you. “Did you have a nickname as a child? I always did and still do, of course. And Luke…” Jace trails off, thinking of his dead brother, murdered by yours.

You see your red bat traveling around the board; you feel the warmth of blood on your cheek. “They called me Red.”

“Red?” Jace is baffled. “Like the color?”

“There was a game we played when we were young, and my piece…” You close your eyes, not wanting to remember, not wanting to feel the weight of their absence. “It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago.” And you fear that Jace will hear the evasiveness in your voice and ask you more questions; but he is absorbed with the baby, and he has already forgotten.

Two days later Jace and Vermax fly south to King’s Landing, and you and Luca are left in the care of the Corbrays and the maids and the ghosts that haunt the drafty stone corridors of Heart’s Home, soldiers killed in the Riverlands and the Reach, women and children burned and starved, bones devoured by dragons, generations of names forgotten.

Sometimes you giggle with Lady Caro as you drink cinnamon tea in the Great Hall. Sometimes you stand in the castle rookery listening to the ravens caw and stare out into the cold mist of the mountains, wondering what is happening in the world outside. And sometimes you have Luca nestled in your arms and walk with him around your bedchamber, introducing him to the faces of the people you left in your old life, when you were called Red and you believed you could be someone like Visenya. But you never mention Aemond, and not just because there are no mosaics of him on the wall.

You wouldn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t know where to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~

You learn Jace is back when he climbs into bed just as you are drifting off one night, silver moonlight spilling in through the glass of the window, his body folding into you, his arm skating over your waist to find your hand and weave his fingers through yours. Two months have passed since he left, moons that grow full and then vanish, milk that dries up and blood that ceases flowing and rebuilds inside you for the next child, if there will be one, when there will be one. Luca is sleeping in his own room with his maids and wetnurses. Jace’s curls tickle your throat as he nuzzles into you as if he wants to disappear.

He says: “The littlest dragon is much bigger than I remember.”

“How was Helaena?”

“Troubled, as is to be expected, but in good health. Jaehaera and Maelor are well too. King’s Landing is cold some days now. I think they’ll have snow soon. The taxes, the riots, the stockpiling of food as the Reach and the Riverlands burn…it’s a disaster. Mother is desperate. She misses Luke, I think. And Baela, and Daemon. She’s lost so much weight I barely recognized her. But she was very, very happy to hear about Luca. Hopefully she can meet him soon. Although we’ll have to be careful traveling with him while he’s so small, we’ll have to ensure he’s warm enough.”

Winter is coming, you think, remembering Cregan Stark’s army under the protection of Daemon and Caraxes. “Did you see Rhaena and the boys at the Eyrie?”

“I did,” Jace admits, as if it was a fraught experience.

“And what happened?”

“Rhaena called me a traitor.”

“For marrying and fathering a son with me?”

“No, that she understands,” Jace says. “But it is treason to love you.”

You turn around to look at him in the shadows, in the moonlight. “You told her?”

“She could tell. I cannot hide it. I am a glass jar and you and Luca are the butterflies inside.” And Jace kisses you softly, his fingers hooked beneath your chin, his flesh coming alive again after so long away: managing and conciliating, lifting Rhaenyra’s spirits, pawing through the heaps of bastards in King’s Landing for dragonriders, flying on Vermax through storms and snow.

When you kiss Jace back, when your hands go to his chest and his jaw and his face, when you open his tunic so you can feel the heat of his skin underneath, you are aware that parts of you are waking up again as well. There is a dull but definite ache of lust beginning to bloom like a blood drop soaking into white cotton.

“Are you…” Jace begins. “Do you think you’re healed enough, I mean…have you stopped bleeding?”

You hesitate. “I have.” You think of your first time with him and how painful it was, the sensation of burning, of tearing, and you can only assume it will be worse now. “But I’m rather terrified too.”

“No, no, don’t be afraid,” Jace whispers, he pleads, running his fingers through your long unbound hair. “We don’t have to do that. I won’t hurt you. I’ll wait for as long as you want.” His dark eyes travel down the white nightgown that clings to your body, your breasts, your belly, and then lower. “Can I…can I try something?”

“Try what?” you ask, bewildered. Then as Jace begins to push the hem of your nightgown up over your hips to your waist, you grin and kiss him again in the dim celestial light, cool night air rushing up over your bare legs, blood surging through your arteries to where he bends low to taste you once—a long, slow, tentative drag of the tongue—and then moans quietly and pushes your thighs further apart so he can bury himself there and lick, suck, swallow down your clear mineral wetness as it pools for him.

Something isn’t quite right—not enough pressure, not the ideal angle—but it’s exquisite to be reacquainted with this side of yourself, to know you can feel this way again, insatiable and desired. When you reach to touch Jace, there is a moment when you are startled to find dark curly hair in place of silk-smooth silver, and there is a ghost in the room like a voyeur watching, and you think dazedly: If Aemond knew about this, would he kill me?

“There,” you gasp, jolting as your husband stumbles upon the perfect place and rhythm. “Jace, right there…”

He listens, he is groaning with desperation for you, and you roll into a climax that is brief and sharp and a little painful, but good. Instead of being extinguished, you are a kindled flame. You turn over, straddle Jace, and unfasten his trousers. You begin kissing your way down his belly, nipping at him, your palm kneading his hardness, and you know he wants you but for some reason when you go to take him in your mouth, he pushes you away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jace says, alarmed.

“I know. I want to.”

“No, seriously. Stop.”

You look at him, wounded, rejected. “Jace, I’m not doing this out of obligation. I enjoy it.”

He is staring at the wall. “I just…for you to…I’m sorry, it just feels wrong.”

“I can do things you believe are only for whores and still be your wife.”

“Shh,” he says, and his voice is gentle but his face is pained. You think of something Criston once told you when you were collecting bones from the Godswood of the Red Keep: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. Are you cursed to disappoint people, to repulse them, to be eternally misunderstood? “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?”

Jace gets out of bed and fetches a small wooden box he must have brought into the room with him when you were still half-asleep. He opens the box, debates whether to reach in, decides against it and passes you the whole box instead. “I asked the castle maester to procure some while I was away…”

You squeal with delight when you see what’s inside: three black and white bats the same breed as Sapphire was, large fanlike ears and wiggling noses and small black eyes that peer curiously up at you. When you offer them your open palms, they immediately scramble into them.

“I hope they’re good ones.” Jace chuckles nervously. “I don’t really know what makes a bat suitable or not.”

“They’re perfect,” you say, smiling. “I’ll build them a roost. I’ll introduce them to Luca.”

Yet you cannot stop yourself from thinking: Aemond wouldn’t have cared if I was still bleeding.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are snuggled up with Luca in your chair by the fire, cool midday light—the color of steel, smoke, rainclouds, ash—streaming in through the windows. The baby’s eyes have turned dark like Jace’s, and his curls grow longer. He is only half-awake and blinking drowsily, his diminutive hands clasping your fingers. He doesn’t cry often, but he doesn’t smile either. Lady Caro believes he already has the temperament of a good king, a calmness, a graveness. She says: How improper would it be for him to be full of complaints or cheerfulness, the way the world is right now? No, he ought to be serious. He ought to be grateful he’s not starving or being roasted alive.

“I have some new friends,” you whisper to the baby like a secret or a myth. “They’re asleep right now. They sleep all day, kind of like you do. But then at night they come alive and they’re free, and they fly around like hawks or dragons.”

You speak for Luca, a soft bird-trill of a voice: “What are their names?”

“Good question,” you say, smiling. “Iris, Shark, and Flood. And you’ll meet them soon.” Your eyes go to the mosaics on the walls. Jace hasn’t asked you to take them down, but he doesn’t acknowledge them either, except for the mosaic you made of him that hangs by the headboard of the bed. He beams at that one and calls it fine work. “You’ll meet the people I grew up with too. Aegon will make you wood carvings. Helaena will sew you blankets. Daeron will take you on adventures. Jaehaera and Maelor will play games with you. And Mother and Criston will love you because you won’t be like me. You’ll be sweet-tempered and honorable, and when you’re old enough you’ll have a dragon to help protect us with.”

There is a knock on the doorframe; one of Luca’s wetnurses has arrived to feed him. You regret that you can’t anymore. Lady Caro was right; you’d be a terrible goat or cow or yak.

“Princess,” the wetnurse says, curtsying before she takes the baby from you. You watch her leave with him for his own bedchamber—Lady Caro has already filled it with toys and children’s books—and as soon as they are out of sight, the darkness of your losses creeps back in like spiders scurrying down the corridors of your veins and arteries, like rust growing over steel. Then you hear the rumbling of voices downstairs in the Great Hall.

You stand and swish in your gown—one of the Vale’s anemic colors, a faint dusky rose—through the hallway and down the spiral staircase of the tower. In the belly of the castle, the commotion is louder, and you sweep into the Great Hall to find men gathered around the table closest to the roaring hearth, Lord Corbray and his knights and the maester, and Lady Caro too looking on anxiously. Jace is holding a piece of parchment in his hands, presumably just delivered by a raven. He shakes his head as he reads it. Outside, snow is falling.

Lady Caro is saying: “Well you’ll have to tell her. Oh, the poor dear, as if everything else isn’t bad enough. And only the gods know where Aemond is, he hasn’t been spotted in the Riverlands for days…” Then she spies you and shoos Lord Corbray and his men from the room. They bow to you as they depart, swift little bobs of the head. They have to; you are now both the wife and mother of future kings.

“Jace?” you say when the Great Hall is empty except for the two of you and Lady Caro.

Jace’s face is stricken. Lady Forlorn hangs from his belt. The letter is still clutched in his left hand; the right grips the hilt of his Valyrian steel sword. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” you ask, immediately horrified. Aegon dead of his burns, Daeron killed in battle, Mother executed for treason, Aemond…? “What happened?”

“You have to believe that I had no idea about any of this, I never would have given Hugh the order if I’d been there, or let Mother do it—”

“Jace, please tell me.”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond??

Instead, Jace says absurdly: “It’s Helaena.”

You stare at him. “Helaena isn’t a warrior.”

“No,” he agrees. “But she got to Dreamfyre somehow and tried to escape the city.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

That’s impossible. She wouldn’t leave Mother and the children. “No, she couldn’t have, she—”

“She took flight,” Jace insists. “And my mother sent Hugh Hammer after her on Vermithor.”

Vermithor was supposed to be mine, you think numbly. “And Helaena, she…she was…?”

Jace is trying to keep his voice steady; his dark eyes gleam, begging you not to hate him. “Dreamfyre attacked when Vermithor flew close to her. She wasn’t an especially aggressive dragon, but she was large and formidable, and she fought to defend her own life and that of her rider. Vermithor ripped out her throat, though Hugh was burned to death in the saddle. Then Vermithor flew eastward, and no one knows where he is now. Dreamfyre crashed to the earth, and Helaena with her. Their bodies were found on the beach outside the Red Keep.”

She can’t be dead. She never hurt anyone. She just wanted to be with her creatures and her family. She embroidered my blankets with red bats, she put ladybugs into my open palms. “Why would Helaena try to run, why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

You think nonsensically, as you have no way of knowing this: Because she was trying to stop something terrible from happening. “I told you to give her more freedom. And that freedom allowed her to sneak away to the Dragonpit.”

Jace reaches for you. “This isn’t your fault—”

“All of it is my fault!” you shout at him, and Lady Caro shrinks away and covers her mouth with her hands. “If I’d had Vermithor, the Greens would have been unstoppable! And Rhaenyra never would have tried to claim the throne, and Aemond wouldn’t have been sent to Storm’s End, and Luke and Jaehaerys and Baela wouldn’t have died, and Aegon wouldn’t have been burned, and Aemond wouldn’t be destroying the Riverlands, and Helaena would still be alive, but instead I’ve always been useless!”

“You aren’t useless,” Jace pleads.

“Not normal enough to be a good wife or daughter, not extraordinary enough to have a dragon!”

Again, Jace tries to touch you, to soothe you. “Please don’t—”

You fling his hands away. “What was our marriage for if not to stop this from happening?! To end the dying, to protect the people we have left?” You whirl away from him and flee from the Great Hall, the castle, yourself. Behind you, Lady Caro is comforting Jace with soft tenderness you’ve never been capable of.

“Let her go, my prince,” she is counselling. “Give her a moment to grieve…”

You throw open the first door you pass and trudge out into the snow, no fox fur coat, bare feet. The cold stings and then your skin goes numb and it doesn’t bother you anymore. The icy mountain wind tears at your hair, flowing in long waves like the women of the Vale wear it, delicate and feminine, pretty and powerless. Tears cascade down your face; currents of red magma scorch your throat. When you close your eyes, you see the yellow butterfly that was once Helaena’s game piece.

She never hurt anyone. She never did anything wrong.

Now you are under the shadows of the soaring pine trees, their green needles so thick you cannot see the grey of the sky.

She never met Luca.

You gaze up into the branches, covered with tufts of white snow and icicles like fangs, and you have the overwhelming, ravenous feeling that you need to go home. You don’t belong in the Vale. The Vale almost killed you when you were a child, Aemond’s hands shoving you into a rushing stream freckled with ice.

And then all at once—like you’ve been hit, like you’ve been stabbed with a blade—you are flying high above the castle and the wind is raking over your cheeks, but it is not your face but Aemond’s, half-blind and half-scarred, torrential red waves of a sea of blood in his skull.

He’s here, he’s here—

And if he’s able to see through your eyes that you are outside in the forest…

The castle!!!

You bolt through the trees back towards Heart’s Home, your bare feet leaving tracks in the fresh powdery snow that is nearly up to your knees, and you stumble out of the shadows just as Vhagar soars overhead and unleashes her flames on the castle, wood burning, stones collapsing, people inside shrieking as they incinerate. You’re screaming for Aemond to stop, but he does not hear you and he does not see you either, he is high above in a place you’ve never been and never will be, he is flying, and he is hearing only devastation and he is breathing in its dark, intoxicating smoke, and as Vhagar swoops by the stable and it bursts into an inferno—horses galloping loose and engulfed in fire, dead but not knowing it yet—you run into the crumbling castle.

“Jace?!” you shout, but the air is full of smoke and the sounds of wood cracking and stones caving in are deafening. You feel blindly for the spiral staircase that leads up to the tower where your and Luca’s bedchambers are located. From the part of the castle that was once the Great Hall, you can hear Lord Corbray and Lady Caro screaming as their skin blisters and sloughs away and their flesh is cooked and their bones are charred black, and when the flames reach their lungs the screams go quiet. You cannot think about them. You don’t have any time; you must think of Luca and Jace. “Jace!” you bellow through the smoke.

And then there is a weak reply: “Here.”

You follow it into the stairwell. Parts of the wall have been blasted away; you can see the pine forest outside, the cold barren sky, the Mountains of the Moon. Jace is halfway up the steps, slumped against the fractured wall and pinned there by stones that have rained down on his legs. His bones must be broken; his face is bloodless and his curls matted to his forehead by sweat. His right hand fumbles futilely for the hilt of Lady Forlorn. Now, dimly, you can hear Luca crying.

Jace rasps as he stares vacantly up at you: “I tried to get to him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jace, I can do it.”

“I love you.”

“I’ll be right back.”

You climb over him and chase Luca’s wails up the staircase. Vhagar is back, and the ruins of the castle tremble when she roars, and you feel the heat of her flames radiating up through the floor. You lose your footing and clamber up the last few steps on your hands and knees, then manage to stand again and careen into Luca’s room. Half the roof has collapsed; a wetnurse is sprawled on the floor and half-buried in fallen stones, blood hemorrhaging out of her mouth and ears. You grab the baby out of his cradle and quickly bundle him in his blanket patterned with blue dragonflies. His tiny hands grasp at your face and your hair as you rush back down the spiral staircase to help Jace. Smoke needles your eyes; you and Luca are both coughing as you try to clear your lungs.

You reach Jace and kneel beside him, holding Luca in your left arm and using your right to try to roll the stones off Jace’s legs, but he’s not helping you.

“Jace, please, we have to go now,” you say, but when you look at his face he’s not there. His dark eyes are glassy, his chest doesn’t rise and fall with the tide of air.

He’s gone, you think. Like Father, Luke, Jaehaerys, Baela, Rhaenys, Helaena. And you are struck by an excruciating pang of fondness for Jace more forceful than anything you ever felt for him when he was alive, and you cannot leave him here. He was your husband, he was Luca’s father. And he loved you. He must have. He said it over and over again.

“Jace?” you sob. But outside Vhagar is still flying—the gales churned up by her wings gust into the jagged holes in the castle walls—and she could be coming back, she could be returning to burn you, and Jace is dead but the baby is still alive.

You clutch Luca to you as he cries and you race down the steps, following the smoke-filled, twisted passageway. The heat is suffocating, the sounds of a dying castle engulfing, Heart’s Home turned into a graveyard, into a shattered skeleton, charred and cursed like Harrenhal. You crash through the door at the base of the stairwell and into the ground level of the castle, and you are almost out—

Something ignites, something explodes, and stones from the castle wall you are feeling your way along rip out of their centuries-old mortar and collide with you. Your ribs crack, you are thrown to the floor, but even as you scream and claw your way out of the rubble you don’t let go of the baby. You force yourself upright and stagger with Luca towards a gaping chasm where there was once a wall. There is a tremor like an earthquake. Outside, Vhagar must be landing.

Now you are in the snow again, bare feet and a gown covered with soot and wreckage. The baby isn’t crying anymore. When you glance down at the blanket he is swaddled in, the white space between the blue dots of dragonflies is turning red with blood.

Blood?

You can’t look. You can’t allow yourself to feel it; it will consume you until there is nothing left. The last vestiges of the castle are crumpling. Across the field, Vhagar is devouring Vermax’s small, broken corpse, crushing his bones in her massive, monstrous jaws.

Blood??

Aemond’s footsteps are behind you, crunching in the snow. His cloak cracks in the frigid wind like the sails of a ship. His words are full of dark, euphoric, lethal triumph, a high like nothing he’s ever known, not even when he claimed Vhagar, not even what he imagined he would feel on your wedding day when you’d be bound to each other with fire and blood in the tradition of Old Valyria. “I said I would find you, and I did.”

You hear your own voice as if from a very far distance, lightning strikes miles away but moving closer. “You killed him.”

Aemond is puzzled. You are supposed to be happy. You are saved, you are home. “Killed who?”

“He’s dead, and there will never be another. Not like this one. Jace was his father, but Jace is gone. You killed him too.”

And you turn to face him, and Aemond sees what you are holding in your arms, and only then does he understand.

[meo-eiru]

heyy!! here I am with some more thoughts, this time about Elias.

honestly, for some reason, he seems like a very lonely person to me. you mentioned his will to change himself (and go to extreme lengths in that); also his almost paranoid fear of darling leaving him, (delete all of your contacts except for him, etc) – usually such level of jealousy is a sign of very low self-esteem. dunno if it's true, I just had a feeling that he's super insecure deep down. (he's afraid to look bad in our eyes, remember? to an unhealthy extent.)

and he's so empty. so beautiful on the outside, but so so empty. he loves you, he exists for you, isn't that enough? it isn't. you can't feel genuine affection for someone just because they look good. and Elias knows that! he's actually self conscious (unlike some elf with big tatas), but he can't offer you anything else, which must make him feel even more insecure, because deep down he knows that he won't be able to keep you by his side forever.

actually that will of his to go to extreme lengths for us is pretty frightening. how toxic it can be? depends on the darling! because if you are a normal person, you'd be patient with him, change him, and have a happy ever after and all those boring things. but what if Elias happens to fall in love with an unreasonable and possessive monster?

I feel like he'd go very well with a darling who's yandere for him too. and a stereotypical one at that, who'd want to keep him by their side like a pretty doll. get it? not a life partner, not even a human. a doll, a pretty thing to take care of. they would choose pretty clothes for him, brush his hair, but at the end of the day, he's nothing more but a pretty thing, an object.

I really like the doll metaphor for Elias. (I'm a huge doll lover, I ever have one of that super expensive bjd) dolls are beautiful, but aren't alive. they can't be someone you'd open your heart to; under their shiny porcelain skin, they're hollow.

unlike Silas, Elias is a more tragic character in my eyes. he's willing to carve his bones to whatever shape you desire, because if he isn't validated and noticed by you, he has no value. and you (if you are a normal person) will grow tired and bored of him, sooner or later. he wants to be loved, when there's pretty much nothing to love in him.

unlike Silas, his love can ruin only himself.

(I swear it's not like I want to see him suffer in particular. I'm open to all kinds of despair, pain and sadness, whether it yan's or darling's!)

(also I tried to find his colour scheme, but all I found was you mention his hair, so it's just how I think he looks like.)

DHDKDHDKYS NOT ONLY IS YOUR ANALYZES AMAZING YOU ALSO DREW ELIAS??? AND HOW DID YOU GET HIS COLOR SCHEME SO RIGHT???

I love you thank you god I love asks like yours.

You’re very on point, Elias is like a pretty doll. Beautiful on the outside but completely empty inside, and that beauty is the only thing that gives him any kind of worth. He’s aware of this more than anyone.

He’s not rich, he doesn’t have an amazingly successful career, no hobbies, no specialities, no interests. He’s extremely pathetic and all he can do is pitifully attempt to pull you down to his level.

That’s why committing self harm comes so easily to him even if he doesn’t yearn for it. Endangering himself, his only value, his body, is the only way he can keep you with him. He doesn’t have any power over you he can use against you. He only has this disgustingly and pathetically beautiful body.

He wants to be loved by you, he wants you to be obsessed with him as much as he is with you, but deep down he knows he doesn’t have any qualities that could deserve such love. That is why he leans into his appearance so hard, since the moment he was born that face of his was the only thing that gave him any sort of value.

If you find any part of him ugly he’ll have no choice but to try to fix it even if it completely ruins him. Because he thinks that’s the only way for him to keep your eyes on him. He’s just through and through pathetic. Extremely pitiful.

He would indeed roll well with a yandere reader who treats him like a living doll. Because Elias wants to be values by you, even if it means getting stripped of the little sense of identity he had. He wants you to keep your eyes on him and see him as an object who exists for your satisfaction. Because at the end of the day that is what he is. An empty shell who was unfortunate enough to be born with the ability to love.

Elias’ existence can’t handle his own love. He’ll start breaking from inside out like a doll under pressure. That’s why he needs your reassurance, he needs you to reaffirm his worth. He can’t exist for himself so he needs to exist for you. He might be a beautiful shell of a human but he too can have some sort of value if he’s being used like a tool by you.

But watching you also makes him feel extremely jealous and frustrated. Because you have everything he doesn’t have. You have hobbies, things you enjoy, things you do for yourself, people who stay with you not for your outer shell but for who you are inside. Everything Elias never had and never will.

That’s why he tries so hard to ruin your relationships and threaten you to stay with him, to keep you at his level like a pathetic bug. Because you’re not like him. You can abandon him any day of the week and continue your life like you lost nothing, but Elias isn’t like that. If he loses you he truly will have nothing left.

So please love him, ruin him, break him, treat him right, use him, make him feel alive, give him some sort of value. Please be kind to Elias. He needs you more than anyone on this world

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

The Yandere Dark-Horse Survivor °°°°°

The Dark Horse Survivor who happens to survive with a group as the world descends into undead chaos. Crying at the back of the group as the unspoken leaders take down storming zombies. When you happen to join or be saved by one of them, all you know is that Hale is the only one whining about endangering themselves with a bigger group. You plan to ignore him but the whining of his just never stops.

“Alright I think our best plan of action is through these back allies.”

“Hmph and you plan to go through the town square with all of us? You might as well just be ringing the dinner bell.”

“Which is why we’re going to use the trash lids for shields.”

“Yeah and offer our deliciously unguarded calves?!”

“Hale. Please just let him finish.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who is at one point or another cornered by a zombie and no one is free to help him. The group is split, fighting off zombies with their different circumstances. Hale is all alone and for once since this apocalypse has began he’s forced to finally fight for his own life. 

“NO! NO! Someone save me! I don’t want to die!”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who by the time you and the rest of the group can get to him is covered in blood and surrounded by the mutilated bodies of the zombies who cornered him. He’s stuck in a trance continuously smashing the remaining mush of  bodies with an axe as though they were still relentlessly reaching for his living flesh. It doesn’t matter if it’s you or one of the other leaders but someone snaps him out of it. Finally able to stop bringing the axe down, he shakes with wide eyes.

“They were going to kill me….I would’ve been dead if I didn’t–”

He’s still shaken as the group barely makes it to a string of vehicles, figured unfit to drive he gets put in the smaller car with you. There you find the urge to comfort him to some degree whether it’s to quiet the silence or because you felt sympathy for the man finally coming to grips with the new world.

“You have to remember, they aren’t people anymore.”

“....”

“They’re nothing but another animal in the wild. When it comes down to it, it’s a fight for who’s the most eager to survive. Today that was you…you should be proud of yourself for that.”

“.....”

“....”

“...thanks…”

“Anytime.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s suddenly a lot quietter. Where he’d usually whine about the conditions of the temporary shelter, he offers to keep watch at night. Suddenly he’s asking for some weapons from whoever’s going on a supply run. Along with actually conversating with the group.

“Then she took the ketchup and threw it all over him…she was great.”

“I'm sure I’ve lost my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah he’s the one who took me axe throwing; turns out that’s what saved my life in the end.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor that actually has your back now. Proving himself to be a valuable member of the team and someone you actually begin to trust.

“You know Hale when I first met you I took you for a wet blanket who wasn’t going to last a month.”

“Oh, how generous I thought you were a blood sucking parasite with how much of our stash you were eating.”

“Hm I guess first impressions aren’t everything. Unless you are still a wet-blanket disguising yourself as someone cooler?”

“Ah, but you are a still a bloodsucking parasite I just don’t think it’s food you’re takin’.”

“Really then what am I taking now?”

“My common sense. My heart....I’ll tell you later, seems like dinner’s ready.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s skill level makes a complete 180. From someone who couldn’t manage to keep his head cool, he’s able to storm entire buildings and make it out unscathed. Its something not everyone notices but the leader does and they are unnerved by it. Weird tensions start to grow as the Dark-Horse Survivor starts acting more on his own; taking full advantage of this newfound skill. Too bad for the leader who notices his technique and strength aren’t the only things he’s begun to use.

“Hale where the heck have you been?!”

“Out. You’re not my mom. Hey (Y/n), got you a little somethin’.”

“Wow Hale I didn’t think I’d ever see that again! Thank you so much! I’m going share with the little ones.”

“Hale. You went in the mall?!”

“I did.”

“Hale, that is a restricted area! No one is supposed to go there!”

“Well I did. Cry about it.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s pulling away from the group more and more. And the only reason he seems to stay with the group is you. Everyone seems to know it too. The time the rest of the group spends maintaining the shelter or sorting and counting food Hale spends working out trying new ways to kill zombies…brutally. The Dark-Horse Survivor that is the first to escalate his methods to the living. 

“Look we don’t want any trouble just–”

“Give me your food—SHCK!”

“Hale!?”

“He had a gun to (Y/n)’s head. There was no room for negotiating. Come on (Y/n) let’s wash that disgusting blood off you.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s tired of the group and as the journey continues tired of following you follow after them. He’ll wait for the perfect opportunity to take the most food, the best vehicle, the guns and then point the barrel of his gun in the direction of the group. The Dark-Horse Survivor who apathetically shoots at the feet of the children when the leader takes a step forward.

“Come on we’re leaving, (Y/n).”

“I’m not going with you!”

“Do you want to kill these kids? Get in the RV.”

“....”

“LET’S GO!”

“...sorry everyone…”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who isn’t bothered by your tears. You’ll get over it. The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s already gotten a lock on the collection of weapons he’d stolen, taken your knives or anything you had to defend yourself. Instructing you to stay in the RV while he shakes every place and every person down for any extra supplies. Forcing you to be a witness to the atrocities he’s completely numb to. 

“You didn’t have to take their food, we have plenty!”

“Don’t tell me you like having the same thing every night? You’ll be thanking me when you’re actually getting the protein you need. When we stop I’ll let you organize.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who only softens when he’s forcing cuddling you into his chest. Squeezing you so close, you’re practically apart of him. He whispers in your ears about his perfect paradise in a world as terrible as this.

“You, me, a fortified home that automatically guts all who threaten you…a place where I can be certain you’ll never be ruined by anything else again.”

The Dark Horse Survivor who became that way because he's fully embraced what he wants and his only focus now is his and your survival….everyone else can burn for all he cares.

Kofi → Here

Masterlist → Here

Commissions → Here

[revelboo]

You have single-handedly made me start reading the IDW comics. Now I'm snuggled in a blanket and munching snacks as I read.

The IDW comics are so good- they were what inspired me to start writing back in the day on FFN and made me realize I loved writing stories. Megatron’s spotlight was what first swayed me to sympathize with the Decepticons

Everything Is Alright Pt 82

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Aware of your fingertips lazily stroking through his spark and of you, all of you, cradled within it, it’s so achingly vulnerable it’s almost terrifying. Because he’s willingly given you the ability to completely destroy him and can only trust that you won’t. Chasing after you as you sift through his memories, unable to keep anything hidden. Every shameful thing he’s ever done seen and known. Seeing all of him and not recoiling from his truths. And seeing his past through you? It’s almost too much as he tangles himself more firmly in you, letting you taste how poisonous he is if it’s what you need.

• Shuddering, it’s a strange feeling of disconnect. Aware of lying on him, fingers sliding through the warmth of his spark. Also aware of drowning in his memories, overwhelmed even as you reach for more, trying to understand him. To know him. Sometimes vicious, petty, clever, and conceited. Longing for a place to belong, acceptance and home. Afraid to trust, to love because it can hurt him. Cheek resting on your outstretched arm, you’re aware of the door opening. Of Soundwave hesitating, shoulders easing even as his servos tremble.

• Hands shaking as those eyes stare at him, fingers dabbling in Starscream’s spark. Feeling like a trespasser as the Seeker’s lips part, head back and frame straining. Even now, even so close, he can barely feel your mind you’re so entangled in Starscream, his mind hiding yours. Do you hate him for what he did? Can you understand that it was the only way forward? That it wasn’t what either of you wanted, but it was necessary? Wants to reach for you, but doesn’t dare. Not while you’re connected to Starscream’s spark, doesn’t want to know the Seeker any deeper than he already does. That little glimpse he’d gotten while inside you had been wholly unexpected, that pain and worry so consuming. He doesn’t want to sympathize with him. Doesn’t want to really know him.

• Lip lifting, he knows Soundwave is there the minute you do. Can feel how confused your thoughts are about the communications officer, resenting that you care for him despite everything he’s done, hurting because his betrayal is still so raw to you. That you still want to reach for him even though he set you in Megatron’s path and endangered both of you. And feels when you withdraw from him, trying to hide that uncertainty and pain as your fingers pull away and he loses you. Servos sliding against your spine as he moves the panel back in place, hiding his spark away and head turning to glare at Soundwave. “Didn’t play out quite how you wanted, did it?” He snarls, hand curling protectively around you. Because that must have been his game. Eliminate him and replace him.

• Breathless at the loss of connection, you lean against Starscream’s hand and look up at Soundwave. Wishing it was easier to tell what he was thinking as he stares down at you. But Soundwave’s silent as Starscream sits up, keeping you cradled to him. You’d felt Starscream’s conviction that Soundwave had betrayed you both, but you don’t want to believe it. Really, do you know him any better than you’d known Star? The time you’ve spent with them both so brief. Remembering the brush of his mind against yours when he’d been inside you, there’s been no conniving, no thought of manipulation. Just a consuming need that was almost frightening in its desperation. A loneliness that had echoed through you, familiar.

• No longer shrouded in the Seeker’s spark, he can feel you again and that ache around his spark only grows worse instead of better. Alive and well, but unsure if you trust him anymore. Wanting to, but hurt by what he’d done. And he wants to reach for you so badly it hurts, to stroke your cheek and reassure himself that you’re really okay. You’re whole and safe. Even if he’s broken everything so thoroughly he can never hope to fix it. “Tell me why,” you say, the Seeker’s wings lifting in frustration and Soundwave can’t believe you’re still willing to reach out to him. To give him a chance to explain. Cautiously giving him your trust even after he’d already broken it.

Previous

Next

[dinarosie]

Re-Reading Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire: Snape’s Moment of Unyielding Bravery

The scene I want to highlight in The Goblet of Fire is one that carries so much weight, and each time I re-read it, the gravity of the moment only increases. Imagine the setting: the hospital wing. It’s packed with people—Cornelius Fudge, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, Bill and Molly Weasley, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. All eyes are on Snape as he steps forward, pulls up his sleeve, and reveals the Dark Mark burned into his skin.

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too.

Let that sink in. Snape isn’t just showing a Mark; he’s exposing the deepest, darkest secret of his life. He’s standing in front of his students, his colleagues, and—let’s not forget—Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, and he’s admitting something most people would bury forever.

What makes this even more remarkable is that the choice to do this wasn’t something Dumbledore told him to make. This isn’t part of some grand plan discussed beforehand. Snape makes this decision on his own, in the moment, fully aware of how it will tarnish him in the eyes of others. Why?

Because Snape understands the stakes. Fudge’s denial of Voldemort’s return endangers the entire wizarding world. By exposing the Dark Mark on his arm, Snape hopes to convince Fudge to take Voldemort’s return seriously. His goal is clear: to push the Ministry into taking precautionary measures and preparing the wizarding community for the battle ahead.

And then there’s this haunting line:

“…We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.”

What Snape doesn’t say, but what we understand, is that he knows he’s facing the exact same fate. When Snape goes back to Voldemort, he knows he’ll be met with pain, torture, and humiliation and even death. Where Karkaroff sees only a way out, Snape sees his duty—a stark contrast that underscores Snape’s resolve.

Here’s what makes this even more powerful: Snape is so determined to convince Fudge that he uses the suffering he knows awaits him as evidence. He stands there, knowing that returning to Voldemort will mean enduring unbearable torture, and he uses that as proof of Voldemort’s return. Snape essentially says, “I know what’s coming for me, and I’m still standing here to tell you the truth.”

Then we reach the next turning point in this scene:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

Look at Dumbledore’s approach here. He’s cautious, almost hesitant. This is a sharp contrast to Half-Blood Prince, where Dumbledore gives Snape direct orders about killing him. Here, Dumbledore knows exactly what he’s asking of Snape: to return to Voldemort, to put himself in unimaginable danger.

And Snape’s response?

“I am.”

That’s it. Two words. No hesitation, no complaint. J.K. Rowling describes him as pale, his cold, dark eyes glittering strangely. Dumbledore, too, is described as watching Snape leave with a trace of apprehension on his face. Both of them know that Snape might not come back. Both of them know he’s walking into the lion’s den. And yet, Snape doesn’t waver.

This moment is a masterclass in bravery, but it also completely dismantles the argument that Snape’s good deeds are purely motivated by guilt over Lily or his promise to Dumbledore.

This scene also shows us that the promise Snape made to Dumbledore after Lily’s death wasn’t just about protecting Harry. It was about choosing a side. Snape made the decision to fight against Voldemort, no matter the cost. From that moment on, he dedicated himself to sabotaging the Dark Lord’s plans, enduring unspeakable pain and danger in the process.

And let’s not overlook this: Snape doesn’t just fight when Harry is in danger. He fights Voldemort at every opportunity because he knows it’s the right thing to do. He does it not because of guilt or obligation, but because his own moral compass demands it.

This scene in The Goblet of Fire encapsulates everything that makes Snape such a complex, fascinating character. It’s raw, vulnerable, and incredibly brave. Snape isn’t perfect—far from it—but this moment proves that he is so much more than the sum of his flaws. He’s a man who chooses to stand and fight, even when it means sacrificing everything.

[sweetkpopmusings]

mingyu best friend headcanons <3

a/n: posting his bestie headcanons next as requested !! mingyu is my babygirl and whenever i think about him i just want to gently hold him and give him a lil kiss on the forehead <3 he is absolutely the best of friends to the people he loves :,-) what a precious boy ! pics not mine~

content: fluff | wc: 0.8k | warnings: none! | pairing: bestfriend!mingyu x gn!reader | requests: open

mingyu’s the kind of friend you can’t remember your life without

not only because he has become so embedded into your support system, but also because you immediately went from not knowing each other to being the best of friends

your first impression was “how does this man look like a greek god” and, after having a brief conversation with him, you realized “this is my golden retriever and i will protect him at all costs”

mingyu is the silliest, most precious, dorkiest, loving guy

obviously you can’t be around him without him breaking something and/or endangering his life

so you watch out for when he drops things, runs into things, trips over himself, etc

for his birthday, you bought him a first aid kit that you decorated so it matched his style

it’s 100% his favorite thing in the world, so naturally, he has to have someone else carry it for him whenever he leaves his place so it doesn’t get lost <3333 

he refuses to use supplies from any other first aid kit because “it would be disrespectful to y/n” :,-)

somehow, when it comes to you being clumsy, he's got cat-like reflexes ???

if you stumble a little bit, his hand automatically balances you before you realize you could've fallen

whenever your phone slips out of your hand, he catches it and then laughs at you for having butterfingers 

if seventeen sees this happen they will be completely dumbfounded because how is MINGYU not the klutz in this situation

you assure them he is still the clumsiest person alive and recount, in detail, how he bumped his head on a wall while laughing, dropped his phone while holding his head, and spilled his drink while reaching for his phone...all within 45 seconds

cut to the members crying from laughter and mingyu whining because “y/n is exaggerating!!!!!!!” 

like this is just a classic situation of mingyu trying to roast you but ending up roasting himself lmao

laughing with mingyu is the best thing in the entire world !!!

sometimes you two just make eye contact and he starts giggling which makes you laugh which makes him laugh harder which turns into both of you silently cracking up with tears streaming down your faces

and the rest of the people hanging out with you are like ???? neither of you said a single word ??? nothing funny happened ??? are you two okay ???

the answer to that is no we’re clearly losing our minds but also yeah we’re totally fine LOL

he loves to annoy you

very big fan of the whole “i’m not touching you” bit while pointing his finger alarmingly close to you

if you try to ignore him, he’s going to do everything in his power to get you to notice him

he’s sighing, clearing his throat, calling your name, exclaiming “OH MY GOD WHAT WAS THAT?!” just to get you to turn your head

every time, it ends one of two ways

you turn your head and he smiles victoriously, no longer annoying you because he got your attention and can now talk your ear off about whatever silly thought was in his head

OR

you ignore him for so long his finger/arm starts cramping and he whines about being in pain and won’t stop whining until you acknowledge his pain 

even if you just say “gyu, put your arm down so the cramping stops”

he’s over! the! moon! because “awwwwwww so you DO care about me???” 

mingyu’s such a big baby but he's YOUR big baby i love him so much 

despite his puppy-like nature, he is also your #1 protector

if anyone hurts your feelings, he is on attack dog mode as soon as all of your tears have been wiped <33

he will NOT let ANYONE make fun of you. like you’re HIS bestie and only HE can do that >:-(

one time hoshi took an impression of you a little too far and BOY did mingyu give him an earful

poor hoshi was apologizing to you for WEEKS after

mingyu would’ve had hoshi doing your laundry for months as reparations but you promised him it actually wasn’t even that bad like you just didn’t like how hoshi imitated your voice but according to mingyu “it’s the principle of it all >:-(“

he will do anything and everything in his power to reduce your stress and take care of you when you’re feeling less than your best <333

low on energy? mingyu’s coming over to clean your place for you!

have a massive to-do list before you go on a trip? mingyu has divided the tasks between you two so you can finish everything in enough time to get some rest before you leave!

truly he’ll put everything aside to make sure you’re okay :-(((

overall, mingyu is the most dependable, heartfelt, and hilarious best friend to have :,,,,-) 

if you tell him this, it will feed his ego and he will bring it up constantly LOL 

don’t worry though–he tells you all the time how you are a rock for him and that he loves you so so much and that his life has become a million, billion, trillion times better since you entered it <3

he’s just so endearing please give me a mingyu to protect and be protected by PLEASE!!!

[jiangfamilytherapist]

The difference between JC and WWX is not really the difference between selfishness and selflessness, so much as it is between the scopes of their altruism. Basically, Jiang Cheng is acutely aware of his own limits and feels the need to protect those closest to him—his family, his sect—rather than try to help acquaintances and strangers at the direct risk of those closest to him. Jiang Cheng doesn’t think that the Wen remnants deserve torture and death, but to get involved on their behalf would be politically dangerous for so recently decimated a sect. Saving strangers could endanger his surviving family and the disciples under his charge. His position as clan leader comes with power but also significant constraints.

WWX makes the same calculation and finds that since he is NOT the sect leader, he can intervene on behalf of the Wens and ultimately endanger only himself. WWX asked to be cast out of the Jiang clan to protect the Jiangs, and JC accepted his resignation for exactly the same reason… to protect the Jiangs. Because no matter what, JC has to put duty first. Jiang Cheng’s frustration is that Wei Wuxian refuses to stay under the umbrella of his protection, and goes where he cannot follow.

Does that mean JC is entirely selfless? Of course not. I’ll get into JC’s various self-sabotaging actions later, but for now let’s leave it at this: after he becomes sect leader, all of his choices are constrained by that deeply ingrained obligation.

[junkdrawerfan]

I know it’s for the angst and maybe it’s a thing in canon cause comic books. But if the batfamily are just human — Just straight 100% human — then they cannot hide their injuries.

A sprained ankle, once sprained, is easier to sprain. A bruised rib can turn into a fractured rib. A cut can get infected. A bruise can be hiding internal bleeding. All injuries, if ignored, can get worse.

First off. Just to clarify. The reality of the situation is that our very fun fleshy human characters just cannot be getting as hurt as frequently as they do in fics. In the comics, Bruce getting bruised ribs is a sign he is not taking care of himself and is being reckless and dangerous after Jason’s death. This might have changed in modern comics (that’s dumb. Batman doesn’t get hurt because he’s skilled and prepared. If they’ve changed that for shock or vibes, it’s stupid.) but it just can’t be true. The human body doesn’t heal that fast. There is no “magnify the sun to heal faster” tech for the batfamily. It’s one thing if Bruce used magic so they could insta-heal. But he doesn’t like magic either!

Bruised ribs and sprained ankles which seem “not that bad” in a lot of fics can keep a professional athlete from practice for weeks if not months. Let’s not even get into how it can affect a professional during the actual game/race/event.

The batfamily — who must be operating at peak physical fitness and pushing their bodies to the physical limit on top of the rigorous training/working out they do to enhance their skills — must 1) treat their bodies intelligently, 2) have some kind of rest day system so their bodies don’t shut down from the stress and 3) treat every injury seriously and timely to avoid exasperation and unnecessary healing time.

I get its comic books. I get Damian has such perfect awareness of his body he can shift his organs (ew.) to avoid being fatally stabbed. He’s still just a guy! They’re all just guys in super cool futuristic body armor and some neat gadgets.

(Side note: That body armor has gotta have some kind of kinetic dispersion system like Black Panther’s to keep the bruises minimal. Which means that body armor has to be good at stopping knives and guns from piercing the human flesh underneath. Which means that body armor cannot have any obvious flaws or weaknesses like only the cape is bulletproof and short shorts revealing the femeral artery!

(What I mean is maybe Dick and Jason had some like flesh colored armor leggings. Please let me live in delusion!)

Plus there has to be under layers. The color pattern top might be spandex or some kind of colored Kevlar-like fabric, but there must be special under garments, jock straps, compression shorts, ankle and wrist wraps. Something! Just Kevlar against bare skin would be impossible. Think of the rash! The sweat!There must be some kind of sweat-slicking layer or something that keeps you cool while you exert yourself running around a massive city like Gotham*. Otherwise they’d pass out from overheating!)

And since they’re just guys, when they get injured it is a big deal! They cannot hide their injuries, especially if they’re working with others. Injuries mean physical limitations which means your teammates have to pick up the slack. If your teammates don’t know they have to pick up the slack, not only are you endangering yourself but you are endangering your teammates.

And no matter how frustratingly emotionally constipated the bats are, no way are they choosing to risk their friends and family welfare for the sake of pride.

Think about it:

If you have mobility issues then you’re on sidewalk duty? Youre walking or motorcycle. Either way you’re off rooftops until you can safely grapple without pulling some stitches on your side or exasperating the ache in your upper back.

If you hide it and then you lose your gripe on your grapple because you have a full body flinch from pulling something and your teammates have to catch you or you die. Well that’s stupid. That’s a stupid way to die. No ego is worth that stupid death.

If you’re not sleeping which means your reaction time is sloppy** then you’re just not patrolling. There is plenty of work that doesn’t require the bats to be fighting around the city. The detective work can be done at a desk looking through camera footage, tracking down informants or victims or witnesses, or just mining the web for info. Plus paperwork, gadget maintenance, and the other fussy work that happens when you don’t have a company dedicated to maintaining your status of superhero like Ironman does.

All I’m saying is I know the cool part is the swinging and the patrolling and the fighting. Having an injury — a serious one with bone and blood — sounds cool and adds tension. Hell hiding an injury sounds like something they would do because they’re emotionally stunted idiots who don’t want to be a burden on their loved ones, right?

But they’re Bats! They’re effective, efficient, smart. They are human with human limits that can keep up with Supers and Flashes and Themyscirans. But to do that, they have to be managing their human limits intelligently.

TLDR: The BatFam cannot be getting injured that frequently or hiding injuries from teammates — the family or otherwise — without becoming massive liabilities in the field which would make their jobs nearly impossible to complete at the level of excellence they must do to keep up with the rest of the superhero community.

——

* By the way, Gotham is a city with a population of 10 million. For reference, NYC has 8 million people. Gotham also has enough land to have entire city blocks permanently unoccupied. Think about that! If NYC had a plot of land unoccupied, it would be built up into housing and business space immediately because space is a hot commodity in a city of 8M! How much fucking space does Gotham have!!!

** Yes you can survive without any sleep up to 30 days but that’s because by day 30 your organs shut down. Lack of sleep starts costing you as soon as 36 hours without sleep. They have to be sleeping a full 8-10 hours (or more because again they’re moving so much!) at some point to keep up. If they have insomnia then maybe they take something to go to sleep like a special bat-ambien.

[milkamel]

Hello there^^

This is my first time asking since I've followed you and I need to know... (This is a "What if..." btw)

What if PV regains his memories but doesn't leave SM and continues to stay with him, how would SM react to that?

I know this is a stupid question, but yeah...

Hiii!! Happy to receive an ask from you, welcomeee! XD

Anyway don’t worry it’s not stupid and an interesting scenario to think about- I have been considering this “what if” too

I feel like if PV regains his memories he’d try to talk to Shadow Milk about it and tell him the truth, resolve everything through conversation and not a fight or aggression. It doesn’t feel right to lie and Smilk’s bound to find out eventually, hiding that would only result in the worse outcome. But no matter what, Shadow Milk would probably be hostile and upset about it, he doesn’t know what to expect from PV. He knows Healer, sure, but not true Pure Vanilla and what he’s going to do.

But of course Pure Vanilla will try to be nice and reason with the beast, reminding him of the good times they spent with him as a Healer, the things they shared and how nice Smilk was with him. Of course it didn’t erase all the unpleasant parts and a literal kidnapping but PV immediately forgave once he saw how lonely Smilk was. He’d try to convince Smilk to leave with him, to save the Earthbread from DE and reason with the other beasts and he’d ask to become actual friends, after all, Smilk is very powerful and PV genuinely likes him but…

Shadow Milk would definitely refuse, he’d think it’s all a trick, a scheme. Why would he suddenly agree to help him after such a reveal? Why let PV out of the spire and endanger himself? Their relationship would reset to stage one and Smilk would build the walls around himself again. But PV wouldn’t give up, he saw a glimpse of something vulnerable and soft in Shadow Milk and he wouldn’t leave without convincing him to go with him no matter how much the other hated it (also cause he’s on a different continent lol there’s no way PV can find a way to get there lol)

Also hey Smilk now has his soul jam, functioning and resonating!! I wonder what he’d do…

[thatanimeramenchick]

Hi! I’m new and wanted to ask if it’s alright you you could do something for Yander Lucifer?(Hazbin?) if not that’s alright!

Yandere Lucifer Headcannons

Ah, no problem, I’ve been waiting for this one. Out of all of the guys on this show, he is my personal favorite. I have suddenly become a fan of short kings. Also, hope you have fun on this personal little hell spawn known as Tumblr.

I feel like his character very much would be in line with soft yandere content. Despite being Lucifer himself, he comes off as very gentle and affectionate, wanting the best for those he loves, even if it means doing things that make them unhappy. He just wants what’s best for you. Or at least he thinks he does.

He also comes off to me as someone who is afraid to get too close to people out of fear of either disappointing them or hurting himself. Before making up with Charlie, he doesn’t talk with her much, seems to be internally clinging to the memories of the family he once had, and views most if not all of his citizens as too far gone to salvage. If he found himself with feelings for someone, I see him trying to push the object of his affection away, until something happens that causes his feelings to spiral out of control. This could be fear the of you being corrupted or permanently endangered; it’s something that pushes him over the edge to acting on the feelings he been trying so hard to push away.

Some of this manifests in being overprotective. He can present this as being a reasonable stance considering how dangerous hell actually is. Besides the typical problems of sinners running rampant and demons trying to trick you into deals, there are also angelic weapons floating around hell that you could be killed by even when it’s not extermination day. The idea of losing someone he cares for deeply in such a permanent manner is horrifying to him. He’d rather upset you by having you locked away by force than have you tainted by hell.

Has a jealous side, as can be seen with how he interacts with Alastor. Even as the king of hell, he can be quite insecure with his relationships considering his separation from Lilith and estrangement with Charlie. He can easily see other friendships in your life as competition, depending on who they are and how much time they want to spend with you. While he isn’t against the idea of you having any companions ever, he frowns on you spending too much time with them. Besides, they’re literally citizens of hell, why would you even want to be associate with them?

Tends to pamper you. He may have you trapped in a bubble, but he wants it to be pleasant for you. Anything that you wish that is within his power to grant he will do so happily. Your imagination is the only thing limiting you when you’re with him. Well, that and whatever restrictions have been placed on you to keep you “safe.”

Showing repeated frustration at his treatment, especially if you are being particularly passionate with shouting and tears, will leave him depressed. While he’ll try to hide it from you, in private there may be long bouts of self disgust and guilt. If you are lucky enough to find out about this and you’re particularly emotionally intelligent, you may be able to work this to your advantage. It’s your best shot at escaping him, as you’re definitely not going to be overpowering him any time soon and probably aren’t going to be able to outsmart him.

[gay-dorito-dust]

resending the req :)

can I have a thing of sylus and zayne visiting uni student reader who has been staying at the library for long hours and late into the night? been stuck in library jail as of late n just need a lil smth QwQ

Late night studies at the local library wasn’t uncommon for you, needing to get as much information from text books compacted to a easily rememberable format to put down in your notebooks, just so you could have an opportunity to -hopefully- pass your fucking exams.

However you had seemingly lost track of time as soon enough it was dark outside and your phone was being blown up by text messages from Sylus that dated back hours ago. Your phone had been put on silent and you were too busy studying to even notice the text notifications piling up in the slightest.

You internally winced. You knew that Sylus wasn’t a fan of being ignored and most likely had sent Mephisto to check up on you for the reason of your inactivity. As though struck by the god of prophecy himself, you heard a familiar birds cawing, followed by a metallic tapping against glass that made you perk up towards one of the windows across from you; only to see a pair of glowing red eyes peering back at you with its head tilted to the side almost quizzically.

‘Mephisto?’ You asked silently but before you could figure out how far Sylus must be if Mephisto was already here, a hand clasped on your shoulder and pulled you away from your table and into his strong arms and chest. ‘You’ve overstayed your welcome again kitten.’ A voice purred in your ear and it didn’t need no explanation that it belonged to Sylus himself, who was smirking at you once you pulled away from his embrace.

‘Sylus?’

He smirk widens. ‘Someone was ignoring my texts for textbooks, so I got Mephisto to see what was so important you were actively avoiding me.’ He says as he looked over your pile of books and scattered notes before looking back at you and noticing how worse for wear you looked. ‘Did you eat or drink today?’ He asks honestly but the silence that followed his question hung heavily in the air only gave him the answer he needed as he huffs.

‘Come along sweetie, it’s time you let yourself have a break and allow me to make you something to apprise that hunger you’ve been ignoring all day.’ Sylus gently flicks your forehead, making your wince, before kissing it and whispering, ‘you’ve done enough for today, the world isn’t going to grow legs and leave the moment you shift your gaze elsewhere, and besides you’ll do fine in the exams my smart little cookie.’ He then pulls away to start putting your things back into your bag in an calm and organised manor.

‘How do you know that I’ll be okay?’ You asked, holding your hand out to take your bag off of his hands after he’d finished packing away everything. Sylus swats your hand away and keeps a hold of your bag on his shoulder just as his other hand intertwines your fingers as he pull you out of the library, where a car was waiting outside for you. ‘You’re my smart cookie, there’s no possible way you’d fail.’ He replies confidently.

‘And if I fail?’

Sylus looks to you and boops you on the nose with his own and he leaned in close to your face. ‘Doesn’t change that fact that you are smart in your own right darling, now let’s go home and watch your favourite show and eat dinner then finish off with desert as a treat for all your hard work.’

Zayne knew by the time on his phone and how dark it had become outside that you had forgotten that the passage of time exists as you stayed overtime at the library.

He also was certain that you didn’t allow yourself mandatory breaks either as you often forgot to do so most times without reminders in the form of his texts. He knew how much the exams meant to you but he wasn’t about to allow you to neglect your own health and safety -especially when it got as dark as it did- for them. He wouldn’t allow you to endanger your health nor wellbeing for grades.

After making you a generous amount of food to eat, Zayne grabbed his coat, his keys and left your shared living space and heads to his car before driving off towards the library to pick you up, he’d be damned if he lets you walk home at this time of night.

You were half asleep and were about to use your notebook as a makeshift pillow. You didn’t know what time it was but what you weren’t expecting was to look out a nearby window and be met with seemingly never ending darkness. ‘Was it really nighttime already? That can’t be, let me check my- ow.’ You grimaced as you looked at your phone, it was indeed nighttime and not only that you had gotten several texts from Zayne reminding you to eat, drink and take mandatory breaks; to which you’ve completely ignored and had been running on nothing but the need to get this revision done and over with the entire day.

You didn’t have much time to respond to Zayne’s previous texts before a new one popped up:

Zayne ❄️: I’m coming to pick you up, it’s too dark to be walking home at this time. I’ve been made you some food to eat at home as I know you’ve been occupied by your studies to do so.

You hated how well Zayne knew you but were extremely grateful that he wasn’t annoyed with your habits as of late due to your stress over the exams. You also knew he didn’t condone your lack of eating, sleeping and drinking but you also get on his ass for exactly the same thing when he overworked himself in the hospital, he’s one of the best they had and you’d couldn’t allow him to ignore his own needs and you knew that he wouldn’t let you forgot your either.

And with that you quickly started packing up all your belongings and shoving them back into your bag before playing on your phone for a good while, only for it to be cut short when spotting Zayne stood at the entrance of the library from the corner and immediately perked up. ‘Zayne.’ You said as you ran towards him and gave him a massive hug that he reciprocated with his own as he rubs your back soothingly.

‘You’ve not eaten nor taken any breaks have you at all today?’ He asks and you flinch because of course that’s the first thing he asks.

‘I got a little too deep in studying that by the time I looked up from my notebook it was already nightfall.’ You admitted to him and you heard him sigh before pressing a kiss to your forehead. ‘Well it’s a good thing I’ve made you something at home in preparation for this outcome.’ Zayne said in response as he began to guide you out of the library and towards his car parked out front. ‘You’ve done enough hard work for today, allow your body to rest and put your mind at ease for you’ll do well in the exam.’ He adds.

‘What if I fail.’ You asked, scared of that being the outcome.

Zayne moved in front of you, holding your face between his hands as he smiles softly. ‘Then you’ve tried your best and that is more than enough, no need to beat yourself up about results that are yet to come.’ He then kissed your forehead and drove you both back home where you were well fed and fell asleep almost instantly afterwards.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Spoiled Brat Child Reader | Platonic Yandere Twisted Wonderland

“You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my mom!”

It’s alarming for a child to be brought to a world completely different from their own

It’s just as alarming when that child is good at getting what they want

“Aren’t I generous–”

“This is it? What are you some poor old featherduster? Is this really all you can do for the child you practically abducted with your weirdo mirror ceremony un-believable.”

You fit right in at NRC

Stomping your foot and pointing your little gloved fingers 

You have way too much ease when it comes to confronting your seniors

Already surviving and rumored to have started Overeblots

Gathering rows of thralls friends that take it upon themselves to be the big brothers you need try and instill some disciplines

And oddly enough the ones to do it first surprisingly  are those at Scarabia

“Oh (Y/n)! Look at you in your little Scarabia clothes, it looks so good on you.”

“Hmph no it doesn’t I look poor. I wanna wear something else!”

“But you do look cute, promise!”

“I don’t care! Something else!”

“...(Y/n)...”

“Shut up you shouldn’t get to talk to me, servant!”

“(Y/N)!? Apologize!”

It’s really bad at first when rotations have you staying with them

Kalim like so many others is enamored by your cuteness and is usually at your whim

But the minute you take it too far with Jamil especially after his Overblot

Before the Overblot Jamil would just try to hypnotize you or play into your bossy attitude

He’s already watching an overgrown child so why not bratty one too

After his overblot though the guilt from endangering little you has him oddly quiet when you take your jabs at him too far

It’s Kalim who steps up

Doing something he didn’t even do when Jamil had plots to take over the dorm

Get Mad

“(Y/N) THIS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT OKAY! JAMIL DOES SO MUCH FOR YOU AND YOU ARE BEING SO UNGRATEFUL! YOU NEED TO APOLOGIZE NOW.”

The dorm is absolutely quiet

As you nervously shuffle your feet

The thing about being bratty and spoiled is that you almost never get corrected 

Like ever 

So when one of your most avid spoilers turns around to lay down the law

It’s surprising

So surprising you just might cry

“I….I….I…Waaahhahhhhh!!! I’sorry Jamil! Sorry! Sorry! I love you still! Sorry don’t be mad at me!”

Crying into Jamil’s jacket for an hour or two before you’re sleeping 

Kalim is silently crying to himself as he’s certain you’ll never smile at him again

But he doesn’t plan to apologize either he doesn’t feel sorry for defending Jamil

He just hopes he can stand his ground

Jamil on the other hand is beyond amused

It doesn’t really hurt him when a child who stomps and whines about trivial things starts making fun of him

Even having just survived his Overblot he knows it’s nothing but hot air 

He already knows you like him because despite being a 'servant' you’ll follow him around to tell him about something silly Grim did

But the way Kalim actually spoke some sense into you suprises him a lot

He was just going to quickly hypnotize you to listen when he glared at you 

But this was so much better

It ended with you clinging to him promising you’ll behave and that you are grateful for him

“I really really really am, Jamil!”

“I know.”

“I really really really really am!”

“I know Habibi, sleep please.”

“Okay….only if you stay with me though.”

Come next morning you’ll shyly greet Kalim hiding behind Grim or Jamil 

Until its time for you to draw something for him while you sit a little bit closer

“Here…”

“Oh uh thank you.”

“It’s…a picture of us…Me and carpet drew it to uh…apologize for misbehaving. Do you…forgive me?”

“......”

“Kalim?”

“Waahaahha! Oh (Y/n) you’re a sweet angel yes I do!”

Kalim’s unbelievably happy and Jamil is so so prideful 

He is the one taking you hand-in-hand while you apologize for some of the more heinous things you’ve said or done

“I–er–well I…”

“Out with it, (Y/n).”

“O..okay. I’m sorry Ruggie for calling you poor.”

“Wow I didn’t think you’d ever do something like that. Are you sick?”

“I actually really like dandelions too…I tried one after I saw you trying it.”

“....(Y/n)! If you don’t mind being poor you can come home with me next break.”

“Really–”

“Ah-ah no you don’t.”

For this Crowely suddenly is much more willing to give the dorm a bit more leeway when it comes to taking care of you

But if the other dorms have anything to say about it that won’t be the case for long