#and usually holding hands with / interacting with a child self

[ever-go-on]

i really love how cuteosphere on twt depicts interactions with your multiples and i find it very charming and i really want to do something like that except every time i try to portray my interactions through art the mood and style is very different. i guess im not really a brain bunnies guy. im a lots of conflicted arguing impulses guy + sometimes children are there

[nikkento-writes]

Babysitter - Part 1

Pairing: dad!Toji x babysitter!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: age gap (reader is 21, Toji is in his 30s), language, cheating, smut – PIV sex (doggy style), breeding kink, daddy kink

Summary: You're hired to babysit little Megumi for the summer, but you end up taking care of his father, Toji, as well.

Author’s Notes: This is repost from my old blog! I initially got this as a request and it became my first Toji fic ever, and certainly not my last lol. I'm posting this again because I actually wrote a Part 2, check it out! Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

You stand in front of a quaint house, checking your watch for the time. It’s been almost ten minutes now since you knocked, no answer. You gave the number from the listing a call, still nothing. Rolling your eyes, you take a seat on the steps leading to the door, waiting.

It’s the summer before you head back to university for your senior year. In an attempt to make some extra cash, you took a job as a babysitter through local ads in the paper. The first two clients were completely normal; this one is already leaving a bad taste in your mouth. 

Fifteen minutes have passed. You try once more, pounding on the door with your fist as loud as you can. Heel turned, ready to leave, it suddenly swings open, revealing a muscular man with black hair, glaring at you. “What the fuck do you want?” 

You step back, startled by his intimidating presence. Stuttering, you answer, “I’m the babysitter.”

He continues to stare at you, eyes following your body up and down, studying it. “Babysitter?”

Before you can explain any further, you hear a car rolling into the driveway. A woman in professional attire steps out quickly. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” She rushes towards you, holding her hand out to shake yours. “We spoke on the phone. I got stuck in traffic, I’m so sorry.”

You smile at her. “It’s okay.”

She faces the man, expression switching from cheery to dreary in an instant. “Toji, where is Megumi?”

He scratches his head. “Huh?”

“Megumi. Our child.”

He sighs. “Right. Uh, I’ll go get him.” 

While he’s gone, the woman pulls you aside, speaking in a hushed voice. “That’s Toji, my husband and Megumi’s father. Unfortunately, he’s a complete deadbeat. That’s why I want to hire you. I started my new job and I need someone to take care of Megumi while I’m gone during the day.”

She swallows hard, blinking to fight off oncoming tears. “I have no one. I’ve been shunned by my family, my husband doesn’t give a shit about ours, and I’m all alone trying to give Megumi a good life. I know this is a lot to ask, but I’m desperate. This is just until I can save enough money to hire a full-time nanny.”

She grips onto your wrist with both her hands, begging for help. Truthfully, it’s a lot to unravel, more drama than you anticipated. But the anguish in her eyes tugs at your heartstrings. Plus, knowing it’s temporary doesn’t make it seem so difficult. How bad can it be? “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Relief washes over her. “Oh thank god. Thank you. Thank you. Let’s go inside and I can give you a tour.” She leads you through the entrance, removing her shoes as you follow her. “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Sure.”

“Toji is home most of the day, but he’s always couped up in his room, doing god knows what. Just leave a meal or two outside his door twice a day. That should be enough.”

“Huh?!” 

She glances at you with a nervous smile on her face. “Yeah. I told you, he’s good for nothing.”

You don’t respond while you maneuver through the house, barely paying attention while she shows you around. It almost sounds like you’ll be babysitting two children…

~~~

The first two weeks of your new job go by smoothly. Megumi is an adorable baby; he’s almost two-years-old with hair as black as his father’s. While he never really smiles, he doesn’t cry either, expression usually stern, unless he needs a diaper change. He’s self-sufficient, always immersed by his own toys until it’s time to eat. Overall, he’s easy. 

Toji, on the other hand, is another story. 

You follow his wife’s instructions, leaving two meals outside his door, breakfast and lunch. And this asshole has the audacity to critique it! The bread wasn’t toasted enough. The eggs were too runny. There wasn’t enough seasoning on the meat. All this criticism while each plate is licked clean, not a crumb to spot. He’s never even uttered a simple thank you. 

But what he lacks in social skills or personality, he makes up for in his physique. In between meals, he works out in the living room lifting weights, doing push-ups, sit-ups, and pull-ups at the frame of the door. It lasts for over an hour, and by the end of it, he’s shirtless, dripping with sweat. You’ve done everything in your power to avoid staring but it doesn’t prevent your mind from conjuring all types of lewd thoughts about him. You’re ashamed to admit that he is physically attractive, only because everything else about him is utter trash. Still, it doesn’t hurt to look, right?

On the third week, there’s a shift in energy between you two. When he isn’t working out or going out to meet with his sketchy friends, he’s usually couped up in his bedroom, ignoring you and Megumi. This morning, he actually joins you in the kitchen. You stare blankly at him, stunned by his sudden appearance. Megumi is unfazed by his father as he tries to pull your wrist towards him to get a spoonful of mushed up peas. 

When he catches you, Toji glares. “What?”

“Um, nothing. Just surprised to see you here.” You clear your throat, focusing back on the baby. 

He rolls his eyes. “This is my house. I can do whatever I want.”

“Yes, of course. Sir.”

For some reason, this triggers him. He stands up abruptly, stepping to you, leaning his face towards yours. The scar on the corner of his lip twitches when he gives you a wicked grin. “That’s right. I’m in charge here.”

You flinch from him, scared, maybe even slightly aroused. He’s intense, that’s for sure. But part of you finds it exhilarating to be in his presence. 

Megumi whines for more food, to which Toji grabs the utensil from your hands to start feeding him. “Damn kid, he’s hungry all the fucking time.”

You sit up in your seat, regaining your composure. “You shouldn’t curse in front of children.”

He faces you, chuckling. “Curse? Seriously? What are you, five?”

You cross your arms, answering, “I’m twenty-one.”

“Interesting.” There’s that naughty smirk again, as if he’s thinking something obscene in that twisted head of his. And while you should be turned off, you’re not. You squeeze your legs together, pussy throbbing between your thighs. And of course, he notices this. He must, because he leans forward, lips grazing your ear, whispering, “Come by my room whenever Megumi is taking his nap. That’s an order.”

~~~

This is bad. Very, very bad. 

You're supposed to be better than this. Clearly, you aren’t, because you’re currently getting railed by your employer’s husband while his child sleeps peacefully in the next room.

“Fuck, this pussy is tight,” he groans, pumping his thick cock in and out of you. You’re bent over the edge of the bed, his hips smacking against your ass as he thrusts into you. He’s got a tight grip on your hips, nails digging into your flesh, pounding away at your greedy pussy, absolutely drenched with arousal and lube. Your face is sticky with perspiration, pillow soaked with sweat and drool. It’s a fucking mess, but it doesn’t matter, because all you can think about is Toji fucking you until you’re seeing stars. Until your head is empty and nothing but his fat cock is occupying your thoughts.

“God, you’re squeezing me so fucking hard, princess. You gonna come again?”

You nod erratically, reaching your fingers to your clit. He smacks it away, doing it himself, his thumb flicking against your swollen bud. “Fucking come on my cock then. Make it nice and creamy for me, got it?”

His cock is buried deep inside you, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you unravel, gushing around him once more. You’ve lost count on how many orgasms you’ve had in this short amount of time. 

After your climax, he doesn’t pull out, fucking you even rougher. Your body is pliant around him, yielding to his every touch like putty. You’ve lost control of yourself, completely enraptured in the intense pleasure he surrounds you with. 

He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips brushed to your ear. “I’m gonna knock you up. Give Megumi a little brother or sister. Would you like that?” He’s crazy. Completely unhinged. Absolutely fucking psycho. 

“Fuck yes, I want that,” you moan. “Give it to me, daddy. Breed me.” 

And apparently, so are you. 

“Oh fuck yeah, take my fucking cum then,” he growls. The bed creaks violently below you, his backshots brutal and frantic now, cock desperate for release. “I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant. Make you mine.”

He shoots his hot load inside you, stuffing you full of his cum. He doesn’t stop until he’s fucked it deeper into your pussy, watching with that sexy look on his face as his creamy cum leaks out of your slit.

Lifting you up to lay comfortably on the bed, he rolls beside you, kissing you sloppily until Megumi’s whimpers blare through the baby monitor, indicating that he’s awake. Toji laughs, smacking your ass as you crawl over him to return to your real job. 

~~~

You spend the remainder of your summer employed at the Fushiguro household until you have to go back to school. You and Toji continue to fuck each other silly every day that you’re working. 

The day before you leave for college, you say your goodbyes to the family. Megumi’s mom, who remains blissfully unaware of your sins, hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much for all your help. I’ve finally saved enough money to afford a full-time nanny, so we’ll be fine.” 

“It was my pleasure. I had a lot of fun. With Megumi,” you clarify, avoiding Toji’s gaze as he watches from the kitchen. 

“Seriously. You’re a good person. I hope you know that.” She smiles, truly grateful. “And thank you for taking care of my good for nothing husband too.”

As the guilt of this dirty, filthy secret eats away at you, Toji stares at you from across the room, smirking. 

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 4

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: a striptease?, female masturbation, hints at incest/sexual abuse, mentions of killing, he fingers you at the dinner table, public humiliation aplenty

A/N: I made it exactly *checks clipboard* three parts without smut

The garment bag is composed of the finest fabric you’ve ever seen. Your pulse hammers at the thought of whatever might lay within — what could Feyd-Rautha have possibly chosen for you? You eye his usual all black garb.

Zipper cool to the touch, you glide it open, pushing aside the garment bag to reveal your present. Bile rises to your throat at the same time you feel a familiar swoop of desire in your stomach, a summation of your relationship with Feyd-Rautha so far.

The dress — if it could even be called that — shimmers seductively, black, and somehow inlaid with thousands of glittering beads. Two slim straps keep it secured, dangling, from the hanger. And there’s remarkably not much else to comment on: the straps descend daringly low, barely enough to cover your decency.

A belt encircles the middle of the dress loosely, and you can only imagine how it would withstand even the slightest of breezes without exposing you. You swallow, deliberating.

“Where is the rest?”

Feyd-Rautha reclines back in the chair. “Wife, why would I disguise your beauty with useless fabric? It would only pale in comparison.”

“I hardly believe this is acceptable dinner attire,” you point out, surprised at the coolness in your tone.

“It’s rude to refuse a gift,” Feyd-Rautha says. “Will you deny me the pleasures of gifting my wife for the first time?”

You bite your tongue to keep from lashing out. Fine, if that’s how he wanted to play.

Clearly this was his retaliation for your bold behavior, you just hadn’t expected it to come so swiftly after his arrival, or in the form of public humiliation. Normally you wouldn’t dare wear such an affront to fashion, or your sensibilities.

“Very well. I would be remiss to…deny you.” You look to Asha, who has presided over the entire interaction with wide eyes. With a smile, you say, “I would like you to undress me now.”

Her mouth opens, then snaps closed.

The upper level of the antechamber positions you higher than Feyd-Rautha, whose dark eyes have taken on the delighted glint of someone encountering a worthy opponent in the arena. Asha nervously obeys your command as you hold your arms out to your sides, allowing her to undo the difficult laces of your dress. The only sound in the room is the sound of it pooling at your feet.

“I hardly think my husband’s generous gift will allow for underclothes,” you laugh. Asha then begins removing your thin chemise from over your head. She tugs it up over her arms and your breasts slip from the fabric, leaving you entirely naked in the glow of the black sun.

Desire unfurls between your legs. You don’t even have to glance at Feyd-Rautha to know that he is fully captivated by your performance, at the sight of your naked form. In any other situation you might’ve been ashamed of your nudity; the curves you found unseemly, or the dimples of cellulite in the soft flesh of your thighs and ass.

But, beholden by the na-Baron, you were resplendent.

“The dress now, please,” you order Asha, voice breezy and carefree.

Feyd-Rautha’s gaze bores into you, sears your skin like its own personal brand. You loathe to admit that you’re actually enjoying this. Your thighs are slick with revel in your own cleverness, in wresting the control from the man determined to wield it over you.

Asha covers you with the dress, laying it gently over you — nipples hardened and skin flushed with self-admiration, in satisfaction of capturing Feyd-Rautha’s attention so wholly.

Asha moves to fasten the belt next but is interrupted. “Let me,” the na-Baron orders.

Which unspoken, is understood as: leave us. Your friend ducks her head and disappears from the antechamber. You silently thank her for closing the door behind her.

Feyd-Rautha approaches you slowly, measured in his movements. A predator reconsidering its prey.

So then why are you so eager for him to devour you?

He stands infuriatingly close to you without actually touching you, absurdly concerned with the so-called belt hanging at your waist. It vexes you that he refuses to meet your eyes, refuses to give you what you so ardently seek.

“I should strip this from you. Tear this dress from you with my teeth and bind your wrists,” he says, tugging at the belt, agonizingly composed, his breath fanning your face. “Show you exactly what you deserve for pulling a stunt like that.”

His fingers are deft as they fasten the belt. He doesn’t touch you once.

“Did you not like it?” You ask, breathless.

His proximity intoxicates you, takes you by the hand and leads you into a fathomless darkness. And yet he won’t look at you, won’t touch you, just turns simply on his heel of his boot and says over his shoulder, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

The smoldering shower water blasts between the blades of your shoulders, sluices over you and scathes your aching flesh. But it’s not enough, not a fit replacement for touch, for his touch.

Your fingers slip between your thighs and find your pleading cunt. A breathy noise escapes you, and you begin pumping your hand, no time for the attention you usually afford yourself — you’re desperate to rid yourself of this feeling, wash it away in the drain and pretend it never existed. Your release comes fast, insipid, and once your legs have stopped shaking with the effort of your touch, you wrench off the water.

And there you stand, cold and wet, cunt swollen and certainly not satisfied, but at least you can direct your thoughts from —

You slam your fist against the shower wall. Pain, leftover from Feyd-Rautha’s boot, quivers through you like a bow across the string of an instrument. How dare you let yourself become so entangled in him, in his game, in his inescapable command. You are a fool.

Quickly you towel yourself off and step back into the sorry excuse for a dress, warding off any traitorous thoughts belonging to Feyd-Rautha. You have no clue when dinner actually is but you won’t be caught shivering and spent. You apply a simple, dark makeup and leave your hair untouched, determined to set yourself separate from the rest of the Harkonnens in attendance.

And when the scents of food and the clatter of guests float through the antechamber, you take it upon yourself to join the others. You follow the din of a party, a sound you are accustomed to from your time on Caladan, and traipse into the Great Hall to find it already engaged.

The long table usually void of company is brimming with noblemen and women dressed in various shades of blacks and whites, and every single one of them turns and stares at your entrance.

Not even the strictest training can prevent the flood of embarrassment through you. It’s so prominent and all-encompassing that your entire body goes rigid with fear.

“Ah, the Lady Y/N,” a booming voice calls. “How lovely of you to join us at last.”

At the opposite end of the impossibly long Hall, the Baron lifts from the table on his suspensors and effectively stamps out any fleeting hope you had of going quietly into the night. Or perhaps dying on the spot. He hadn’t given you enough time to decide which.

“Come, take your place at my side so that you might meet your court and feast with them on this splendid occasion,” the Baron says.

Surprisingly, your limbs do work, and you somehow carry yourself past the leering eyes in your scanty dress and sit upon the only empty chair at the table. If you weren’t so completely mortified, you might’ve taken the time to glare daggers at the man beside you; Feyd-Rautha lounged regally at the right hand of the Baron. To your utter displeasure, he looked disgustingly wonderful in a dark tunic and pants, his lips reddened by the wine.

It looked a lot like blood.

“I apologize, your Baron, I had no intentions of causing a scene or demeaning your gracious invitation.”

The Baron eats in a ferocious manner best likened to a savage beast, wild and without abandon. Repulsion churns in your belly as you are forced to watch, doing your best to mask your horror as he gulps down his food in large, greedy mouthfuls. A smudge of sauce graces the corner of his unsightly mouth.

“There is no need for apologies, Lady Y/N, as long as it does not happen twice. No court is ever won over by a careless Baroness,” he says icily.

“Where were you?” Rabban asks next.

Rabban sits to the left of the Baron and across from you, fixing you with a glowering look. It’s not lost on you that he is already tormented by this, demoted to the less favorable side of the table in favor for his wicked brother, who replicates Rabban’s probing glare, no traces of awareness that he had been the exact reason for your tardiness.

“We met initially in the salon to give you time to appear. Tell us, where were you, wife? What demands did you have grander than this celebration of our upcoming union?”

Your molars might grind into dust by the end of the evening, if you survive it. You smile sweetly at him. “I suppose I was preoccupied with preparations, na-Baron. Your…gift is not easy to slip into alone.”

“However taxing, you look splendid,” the Baron says. He drains the rest of his goblet. One massive hand descends on Feyd-Rautha’s thigh, strangely intimate. “Nephew, will you fetch me more wine?”

Feyd-Rautha’s face storms over. “We have servants for that, Uncle. Besides, have Rabban do it for you. This banquet is for my benefit, after all, I should be allowed to enjoy it.”

The Baron studies him critically then, more sober than you thought possible. “Very well. Rabban?”

The mountainous man snatches the goblet from his uncle and vanishes to find a servant. You’re prompted to heap some of the food on your plate then, disconcerted by the lingering hand of the Baron and Feyd-Rautha’s obvious resentment.

Dinner passes without a hitch, your tardiness smoothed over by your status as the future Baroness. A small grace for such a tremendous burden.

You entertain the guests with stories of Arrakis and spice production, fielding their endless questions with as much charm and elegance as you can muster. And, frankly, it’s not as horribly daunting or tedious as you feared it to be.

The last course is coming to an end when a man strides up to the Baron with an expression of self-importance. He’s dressed similarly to the other Harkonnen guards but there’s something different about him — where the Harkonnens you know are arrogant about their strength, he hides it well. You immediately start to eavesdrop.

“The Emperor needs you for an urgent matter,” the strange man whispers into the Baron’s ear.

The Baron nods as if he’s been expecting this, and then without a word abandons his feast and glides after the man.

Feyd-Rautha had been surveying the party when you ask him, “What urgent matter?”

He sips his wine. “I don’t know.”

Ha, you think, he had been eavesdropping too. You frown. “He didn’t tell you?”

“My uncle does not tell me everything,” Feyd-Rautha replies. There’s a trace of anger in his voice, but it’s difficult to tell whether it’s pointed at you or the Baron.

Either way, this irritates you. You decide to provoke the beast. “What, like you don’t tell me when our engagement dinner is?”

Feyd-Rautha’s gaze cuts to you. “You’re upset.”

“Yes I’m upset,” you hiss. “I thought I warned you not to humiliate me again. Tonight was inexcusable, you filthy —”

“Ah, careful, wife. You must mind your words before our court. And my oafish brother.” He indicates Rabban with a slight incline of his head. You spot the older Harkonnen approaching with quite the entourage and you scowl. “Don’t make that face. Remember, this is a joyous occasion.”

“How could I forget?” You mutter miserably.

At your side, Feyd-Rautha is a study in beauty. Not in the classical sense, of course, but that of something devastatingly cruel and dangerous, the glint of a newly sharpened blade or the ocean during a storm. Breathtaking, in both senses. Unwittingly, you trace the slope of his brow, his handsome nose, the cushion of his plush lips, and you feel the familiar flicker of attraction.

“Where were you?” Feyd-Rautha asks without looking at you, still watching the party.

“Hm?” Did he know you were studying him? “What did you say?”

“I asked where you were. Before.”

“Oh.” There’s something in his voice that suggests that he knows exactly what you were doing. Your moment in the shower emerges unbidden in your mind, of your hand between your legs and his name in your mouth. You answer as flippant as possible, “I was waiting for you.”

Feyd-Rautha finally sets down his goblet. Rabban is taking his time returning, regaling his entourage with an undoubtedly riveting story, so the na-Baron must feel secure in your privacy.

“You forget that those are my quarters too, wife, and the walls are very thin.”

Shame creeps up your throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, is that right?” Feyd-Rautha grabs the bottom of your chair and pulls you closer to him. Any outside observer would simply think you’re having a regular conversation, which you suppose is the point, but there’s nothing regular about the way he slides his hand across your thigh and dips down to your heat. “Then I didn’t hear you touching yourself, whimpering and pleading for me? For my fingers? My cock?”

“I thought I was —”

“Alone?” He clicks his tongue. “If you didn’t intend for me to hear, then should I not give you exactly what you were begging for?”

It’s only too easy for him to nudge your dress aside and acquaint himself with your cunt, slide his fingers along your swollen lips and tease your entrance. You inhale sharply, without permission. He takes that as an invitation to delve a finger into your slick cunt.

“Feyd —”

“Tell me you don’t want it.”

You swallow, throat working. Rabban is finishing his story, evident by his boisterous laugh and then beckoning his entourage to the table. Feyd-Rautha keeps one finger inside you, unmoving, a sensation unfolding within you that you certainly won’t be able to ignore.

The rest of his hand cups between your thighs, a reminder to you, as long as you yield to him.

“Just say the words, and I won’t,” Feyd-Rautha says, his lips on the shell of your ear.

You’re frozen in indecision. When Rabban rejoins you, you’re sure that Feyd-Rautha will revoke his teasing hand. But instead he rocks his palm against you and drives his finger, then another, deeper inside you with dizzying ferocity.

You grip the edges of the chair, the force of his fingers cleaving through you, invoking a wave of pleasure that ripples throughout your body. It takes everything in you not to cry out.

“Brother, you remember my friends,” Rabban says. His cheeks are reddened by the spice-laden alcohol and he is oblivious to what’s occurring underneath the table. “Uriens and Ze’ev.”

Feyd-Rautha says smoothly, “Of course.”

“Uriens, Ze’ev, this is the Lady Y/N,” Rabban introduces you. He indicates each friend in turn — Uriens, a man of notable stature but a blank gaze, and Ze’ev, slightly smaller and sporting a sneer.

You dip your head and hope it’s enough to count as a greeting. You don’t trust your voice, not with Feyd-Rautha’s ministrations. Your cunt pulses with each one, clamping down on him, even the slightest of withdrawals enough to ruin you. Fortunately for you, or not, Feyd-Rautha shows no interest in stopping, curling his fingers in and out of you with agonizing precision.

“We wanted to speak to you about tomorrow, actually,” Uriens says.

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes narrow. “What about it?”

“What —oh! What’s tomorrow?” You ask. As soon as you speak, Feyd-Rautha pushes another finger in to join the others, spurring your body to jerk in response. You suppress a shudder.

Uriens, Ze’ev, and Rabban look too intent to notice your falter. Uriens explains, albeit with less enthusiasm, “We want to partake.”

Feyd-Rautha’s jaw flexes. His pace slows as he considers this request, and it’s almost more torturous than his persistent thrusts.

“No,” he finally says.

Rabban’s face darkens with anger. “Why not?”

“Traditionally those who partake do so because they are interested in the hand of the wife.” His tone veers dangerously close to a growl. “Are you telling me that you wish to take her from me?”

Uriens eyes widen. “No, na-Baron, we —”

“We understand the ceremony is purely customary. We ask only for a chance to partake in the revelry,” Ze’ev cuts in.

“There is no killing,” Feyd-Rautha says.

Uriens and Ze’ev nod. “Yes, na-Baron.”

“Then I don’t see why you shouldn’t partake.”

You bite back a moan as Feyd-Rautha then resumes his ministrations. You ask, “What’s tomorrow?”

You’re impressed that you manage to keep your voice even.

The Harkonnens exchange glances as if they’re reluctant to answer you. The slight one, Ze’ev, says, “Dessid aperr. The Crucible.”

“It doesn’t concern you,” Feyd-Rautha says.

Your indignation overcomes your pleasure, and you glare at him. “It does if my hand in marriage is being fought over.”

“The Crucible is a ceremony dating back to Emperor Shakkad the Wise,” Uriens eagerly says, jumping to please you. “When a Harkonnnen of noble standing is to be wed, they will engage in a battle against the other noblemen for the hand of the bride. To ensure that the strongest bonds are forged.”

Feyd-Rautha pumps his hand violently against you, and you feel your orgasm building. You grip the chair even harder. “I would like to partake.”

“The brides are not permitted to watch,” Uriens says. Rabban and Ze’ev both glare at him.

“I don’t want to watch. I want to fight.”

“Absolutely not,” Feyd-Rautha rasps.

“Why not?” You ask. You hope the breathy sound of your voice comes across as petulant and not aroused.

Rabban answers, “That’s how it’s always been.”

Feyd-Rautha glances at you. He must know that you’re close, can feel it in the way that you clamp around him. “Wife, is that what you want? Tell me.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammer.

He says, “Tell me that you want it.”

“I want it,” you breathe out, both of you aware of what he’s actually referencing.

More words form on your tongue but you’re unable to say it — your pleasure mounts as Feyd-Rautha buries his fingers inside you with swift finality and your orgasm seizes you. It’s white-hot and dazzling as it tears through you, walls contracting, his fingers stroking you to the end. A shudder racks through you.

Pulse hammering and your thighs trembling, Feyd-Rautha withdraws his fingers. He rises abruptly to his feet. Horror dawns on you as he then pushes his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean. Without so much as glancing back at you, Feyd-Rautha says, “Very well. Don’t be late this time.”

You stare after him. The aftershocks of your orgasm rumble through you — you can’t believe that he just did that then left you to deal with the aftermath. Uriens and Ze’ev stare at you in equal parts confusion and shock, while Rabban sneers at you, seemingly more aware than you thought.

You clear your throat. “Well, that’s been settled.”

“Something has been settled,” Rabban replies. His expression is nearly impossible to read, but the comment makes your cheeks heat up.

“You hold considerable sway over the na-Baron,” Ze’ev says.

You stand, smoothing down your dress and trying to maintain some semblance of composure. It’s difficult when your thighs are still slick, the memory of his fingers imprinted in your mind.

“I will be the na-Baroness,” you remind Ze’ev. “I hold considerable sway over everyone here.”

And with that you leave without excusing yourself, feeling the burn of their gazes on your back. It’s suddenly too warm in the Great Hall for you, the sweaty, lingering bodies suffocating. You’re not quite sure where you’re going. Certainly not after Feyd-Rautha. Though you can’t stop the way that your heart skips hopefully when you feel a hand grab your arm.

“What are you doing?” Asha hisses, spinning you around. “The party isn’t over.”

Post-orgasm clarity is eluding you. You shake your head. “I know, but —”

“Also, what was that shit earlier?” Asha asks. She adjusts her hold on a tray laden with champagne glasses. “There was some weird tension in that room. Don’t involve me in your weird — whatever, with the na-Baron again. Do you hear me?”

You nod stupidly, although you’re not entirely sure it’s a promise you can make.

Asha studies you. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “But I’m going to retire to my quarters. Can you cover for me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Asha says, obviously not convinced.

You huff out a breath. “I’m going to need the rest if I’m participating in the Crucible tomorrow.”

Asha nearly drops the serving tray. “The what?”

“I’ve been invited,” you say, which is also a lie.

“What?” Asha presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “What is wrong with you, Y/N?”

To avoid her gaze, you take to scanning the party. You know perfectly well what’s wrong with you and you’re searching for his face even now, despite the fact that he’s the last person you want to see. You sigh. “I wish I could tell you.”

Part 5

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123

[twst-drabbles]

A choice!

I love the pet au Silver/caretaker cuteness, what does it look like in sanctuary au?

Or

How do the Dia Boys act around silver in the sanctuary au after all the drama?

Diasomnia 5

Summary: You witness a few precious moments between the now grown familiars and Silver.

(Originally was going to choose just Silver but ideas come in and eventually this Silver focused piece ended up becoming like this. Sooo here you go!!)

Lilia, lately, has been touching Silver's face. Hold it just to squish his cheeks like he was still a cherubic child, poking and pinching the wrinkles that formed between his brows over the years, and just patting it whenever his hands could reach, clean or not.

"You grew older," you heard him say only once, during a moment you know you weren't meant to intrude upon, "you have more wrinkles than me now."

It was almost impossible to take him seriously when Lilia's in that small bat form of his, but his words weighed all that same, even if you weren't the the recipient of them.

"I'm not that old," there was humor in Silver's tone in comparison to Lilia's rather quiet self, "I still have many years left to spend."

You're very sure that Lilia knows you've heard, otherwise why would he start squeezing your own face whenever the two of you would pass by each other.

Sebek was of a different variety, as he always is. For one, you couldn't have missed his interactions with Silver even if you tried. He could be quiet, but whenever Sebek experiences anything emotionally complicated, he'd clam up, then explode. It's a continuous pattern, even when he's training with Silver.

Such a moment happened when Sebek managed to knock Silver's practice sword out of his hands. You were setting water on the tree stump near them when Sebek clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow. By this point, he'd usually be glowing, gloating, or correcting any perceived wrongs he spotted. Fast learner, that Sebek.

…but no, instead, Sebek's face turned sour, frustrated.

"…your grip weakened," Sebek managed to push past his clenched jaw, "how long as it been like this?"

Silver looked to you, as if you had any say in this. You just nodded, just in case.

"For a while, now, actually," Silver stretched out his hands, and you looked away from the ring finger that refuses to rise all the way with the rest of them. "I was… impatient, for a time. So much so that I tore something in my hand, and it hasn't been the same since. I can still train with you, though. It doesn't bring me pain. Though, I suppose I'm not as fluid as I was before."

When you heard Sebek take a deep breath in, you knew to cover your ears and simply walk away. All you heard was "Humans like you should take better care--!" before you went to the kitchen. You'll make a little snack for you, Silver and Sebek to munch on. Sebek will grumble about not letting him help you make them, but he'll inhale them all the same.

And Malleus was… well you can't quite say he's being himself. You can't say that about any of the others either. Malleus has always had an odd grasp of time, mind wandering off for hours at a time as he wanders about.

He and Silver are similar in that way, you've noticed, hours slipping right through their fingers even though they never mean to, especially when they don't want to.

"Your spells have gotten worse," Malleus said suddenly, just as you were about to drift off into a nap, "They're more frequent, and last longer now. I can't begin to imagine how much this must frighten you."

Silver's awake now, it seems. You can hear him shuffling on the grass behind you. You didn't get up. You kept your eyes closed and let Malleus's shade you from the sun.

"…I don't fear it as much as I used to. If anything, I worry about all the time I've lost. It's worrying, and frustrating." Silver gave a breathy laugh, keeping quiet probably because he thought you were still sleeping. "I wouldn't worry about me. It doesn't look like it, but I am getting better. It's only been two hours, compared to the previous six."

Mm-hmm. He's improved so much that you two have been talking about him moving back home. Of course, you'll always keep his bedroom clean anytime he wants to come over again. You like his company.

"Is that so?" You heard an extra weight settle around you. You took a peek and saw a long, black-scaled dragon tail loosely circling around both you and Silver. "Then, I should endeavor to help, both you and myself, if only not to waste the time I have left."

…it's fine to let yourself sleep just a little bit, right? Just a small nap, and afterwards you'll get up and take a walk around.

[sleepingdeath-light]

his smile ; 18+

kinktober bonus entry

pairing ; kagaya ubuyashiki x cis female!reader insert x amane ubuyashiki

fandom ; demon slayer

masterlists ; fandom | kinktober | ao3

content ; breeding kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of pregnancy, soft sex

note ; first bonus entry of the month done! unsure of my characterisation here as i’ve never written for these characters before, but this was still quite fun to write lol ^^

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

When you’d originally opened up to your lovers about your desire to be pregnant despite your love for the quintuplets, you honestly hadn’t expected it to land you in this situation.

Amane is sat right behind you, still dressed in her silken nightclothes with her white hair tied back in its usual style, so close that you can feel the faint heat radiating off of her body as she holds you. Her lips are pressed gently against your bare shoulder, slowly peppering wet kisses against your skin and whispering earnest words of praise and reassurance in between each one, every so often pausing to address your husband before turning her attention back to you. Her arms are wrapped loosely around your waist, with one of her hands firmly holding onto your hip to help you keep up the pace you set earlier while the other alternates between reassuringly caressing one of your thighs and dipping between them to lazily play with your clit to push you that bit closer to climax. She calls you ‘beautiful’ and assures you that you’re ‘an amazing mother’ between kisses, her tone just firm enough to chase away any potential lingering feelings of self consciousness or doubt plaguing your mind, and you swear you feel your heart skip a beat in response.

Kagaya is laying beneath you, with his pale skin flushed such a beautiful shade of pink and his black hair spread out about his head like a halo, and you’re sure he’s never looked quite so ethereal. His elegant hands are trembling slightly as he reaches upwards, one hand stopping at your thigh to gently squeeze it while the other trails higher to caress your cheek with such tenderness that it steals the very air from your lungs and leaves your head spinning with adoration and need. His lightly kiss-swollen lips are curved upwards into his usual smile, parting every so often to let out a soft gasp or quiet moan or to whisper the exact words of praise or encouragement that you needed to hear (seemingly just as observant as ever even in the throes of passion) — shifting between compliments about your appearance that have you averting your gaze, praise about how good you feel around him and how amazingly you’re doing which has your pace stuttering and your pussy throbbing, and earnest comments about your future children that has your vision blurring and your heart stammering even as his calm voice breaks and cracks over the words.

Between the two of them, it doesn’t take very long at all before you’re sent careening over the edge of climax — only kept quiet and upright by Amane’s quick thinking as she tightened her grip around your waist, pulling you back towards her chest, and firmly clamped her hand around your mouth to muffle the sounds you were too cock drunk to bite back on your own. Barely lucid enough to recall your own name — or, well, anything beyond the feeling of being filled with Kagaya’s cum as he’s pushed to his own climax by the feeling of your pussy clenching and fluttering around his cock — until you’re gently coaxed back down from your high by your wife’s grounding touches and your husband’s sweet words.

And though you’re surrounded by them and their love, and you’re far too spent to do anything but lay back and let your spouses pamper you, your mind can’t help but linger on a single thought as your loves happily discuss your future child together.

You hope they have his smile.

[ashestoashes7]

8. “Who did this to you?” with neil and aaron? 💜

who did this to you? - ao3 version

Aaron had a hand-shaped bruise wrapped around his wrist. Neil shouldn't be the one asking hard questions.

cw: implied/referenced child abuse

Aaron Minyard was no stranger to bruises. Being a backliner on a Class 1 Exy team known for their willingness to fight opponents and each other meant an errant elbow was never a surprise, but this particular circumstance hadn’t happened in a while.

The purple wrapping around his wrist wasn’t the result of a particularly unruly stick check or a pair of handcuffs, but he wished it was. If either was the case, the probability of Andrew seeking an early morning murder charge would be lower. Probably.

Aaron tilted his arm to catch the bright area of the broken streetlight and made out the shape of the warped handprint encircling his wrist. Familiar, he thought. And then, Andrew can never know.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. The other student-athletes at Palmetto had never been their biggest fans and this wasn’t the first time Aaron had a less-than-pleasant interaction with one of them. This was just the first time they got physical. First didn’t mean last, but Aaron could hope.

The knuckles on his other hand were swollen from his retaliation, but that wouldn’t be enough for Andrew. Whatever ‘some number of strikes and you’re out’ policy PSU was operating on wouldn’t be good forever. Aaron had yet to get ahold of the most recently revised version, but he doubted Andrew’s response would be by the book.

Andrew didn’t take kindly to hands being laid on Aaron and had never been known for his subtlety. His warnings were broken bones or a blade spilling rivulets of red onto his adversary’s shirt. While effective, the source of the wounds could easily be pointed out and punished which was the very circumstance Aaron was trying to avoid. Andrew didn’t do subtle things and Aaron wasn’t willing to lose him over something like this. Not again.

Besides, he had it handled. Matt had been more than willing to show him a few self-defense moves when he expressed interest, and Aaron was a quick study. Darius’s broken nose would be evidence of Matt’s successful stint as a teacher once he gathered up the courage and the excuses to get it checked out.

Though upon first glance the mark was similar, the imprint wrapped around the skin of his wrist was nothing like his mother’s. Her hand was smaller.

He pressed down lightly and winced at the dull ache that arose. It wouldn’t be enjoyable to deal with, but no one would ever have to know. Despite what most of the Foxes would say if asked, Aaron was a good secret keeper when he wanted to be. Aaron had cared about Katelyn too much to do her the disservice of pushing her aside harshly enough that there was no chance Andrew would know of her. But Andrew found out and eventually their deal snapped like the broken ends of a pencil Andrew tossed at his head while studying.

Sometimes, he wondered if in a world where Aaron had not broken it first Andrew's shadow would have been the final piece to shatter their deal. After a longer than usual period of watching the natural light of Betsy’s room rather than catch physical proof of his twin’s ephemeral dissatisfaction, he had almost asked Andrew that very question—Aaron or Neil—but he didn’t want to know the answer.

Andrew might not hate Josten the way his tone around such words would imply, but Aaron could do it for him. Mutual loathing was their preferred and silently agreed upon situation which was why when Josten trailed out in full running gear Aaron didn’t spare him more than a glance.

What a shame Josten couldn’t say the same.

Josten didn’t speak at first, but his worn-in shoes came to a halt only a few feet from the piece of pavement Aaron was directing his gaze at. The cracks and scuff marks could only hold his attention for so long before Josten’s lack of movement edged him even closer to intolerable than usual.

“Go away,” Aaron said, too exhausted to come up with something more poignant.

A shadow fell over his sitting form. When Aaron moved to place his hands behind his back to force himself up, Josten caught his wrist gently. His thumb traced over the marks distinctly shaped like fingers and something dangerous lay beneath his tone. “Who did this to you?”

“Wrong twin,” Aaron critiqued, pulling his arm free with more force than necessary.

“Aaron,” Josten stated, unimpressed. “What happened?”

Aaron stood up and met Josten’s emotionless blue eyes with an entirely warranted mound of surprise. “Like you care.”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t.” Josten tapped his foot on the ground as if he had the right to be impatient. By all means Josten could continue ahead and never speak to him again. Aaron would be immensely grateful, had even suggested the option many times to his face and whatever messenger pigeon came bearing Josten’s words. Aaron wasn’t blocking his path or magically removing his ability to run but upon hearing that Josten just frowned. “Give me a name.”

Aaron rolled his eyes and laughed humorlessly. “What? So you can kill him?”

“Him,” Josten repeated, eyes still locked in a one-sided staring battle with Aaron’s wrist.

A Palmetto Fox midnight conversation was never predictable, but Aaron had somehow managed to forget that when dealing with Neil ‘son of a mobster’ Josten murder was very firmly not off the table. “You can’t just kill people!”

Josten looked at him like he was stupid and asked, with genuine intrigue, “What does it matter if I don’t get caught?”

Aaron considered him for a long moment, a thousand words shuffling across his tongue, but couldn’t find anything to appropriately convey his incredulity. It was almost sweet in a morbid sort of way. The presence of such a despicable thought told Aaron the past week spent surviving off almost only energy drinks and whatever protein-filled monstrosity Kevin shoved in his hands once his taste buds had fucked off was truly screwing with him. He could deal with that later. Josten was a much more present and bloodthirsty issue.

“I have it handled,” Aaron said. To his immense dissatisfaction, Josten still didn’t leave. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Andrew you pretended to care if he ever finds out. I’m sure your lies will be appreciated elsewhere. Very far from here. You’ll need some practice if you think that’s fooling anyone.”

Josten’s eyebrows scrunched up making him look almost confused. “You think I’m pretending to care out of some sort of supposed obligation?”

“I can play Exy with a few bruises, no need to have a little freakout. I’m fine—see, that’s what those words actually mean. Andrew currently tolerates you for reasons beyond my comprehension, but he isn’t about to buy you a cheap plastic ring for feigned concern. I’m calling it as I see it, and I don’t want to look at your face any more than I already have to. Fuck off!”

“I’m not pretending.” Josten tilted his head slightly, not rising to Aaron’s attempts at driving him off. “If you let me take care of it, it won’t happen again.”

“What do you mean by again? And cut the movie villain shit it just sounds weird. Wait I thought you were stalking Kevin and he hasn’t bothered—”

“So I’m right.” Josten snapped his fingers and nodded to himself. “Darius Smith. Baseball—” Josten’s face contorted like he had encountered a bad smell “—pitcher. Six feet even. Brown hair. Green eyes.”

“That’s creepy,” Aaron said, but he didn’t deny it.

Josten started walking off, calculations swirling behind his eyes when Aaron realized the gravity of what Josten was planning out. What he had just inadvertently sent Josten out to do. Could he be charged for conspiracy to commit murder over this? Was this coercion? Josten would probably find some way to talk at least one of them out of chains for the sake of Exy, but would it be Aaron?

This was the moment when he was supposed to call Wymack or campus security or someone who would be inclined and able to stop Andrew’s menace from committing what at the very least would be a minor felony. But Josten already knew who it was and Aaron didn’t really feel like chasing after him.

If Aaron got Josten in containment—knowing the FBI they’d pull some shit like that—Kevin would be a mess and Andrew would be insufferable. Again.

Aaron was the first person Darius had taken a swing at, there was no guarantee he would be the last. He watched Josten walk away and felt the weight of his silence like handcuffs covering up the remains of blood spatter he would never really be able to regret. Next could be Nicky or Andrew or, as the man had threatened before Aaron broke his nose, Katelyn. Josten might just prove himself useful after all.

“No killing!” Aaron called out before the man steadily vanishing into darkness could go out of hearing range.

“Maiming?” Josten shot back, voice loud enough Aaron winced. He couldn’t tell because of a conglomeration of factors that could be summed up to lighting and distance, but the fucker was probably smiling.

“What? Are you planning to give him a stern talking to?” Aaron wasn’t sure which option would be preferable.

Whenever he was given cause for anger—a strange thing to think of in Aaron's favor rather than wielded against him—Josten was vicious. Removing his filter created a different beast entirely. Josten always went for the throat, words or a borrowed blade would strive for the same typically disastrous outcome.

Aaron should be horrified; he didn't know what to think about all the ways in which he wasn't. Violence wasn't endearing, it was a fact.

Josten shrugged emphatically enough that Aaron could see it. Then, he held up his hand in the air. It took a few moments for Aaron to realize his fingers were crossed. “No promises!”

“Asshole,” Aaron murmured under his breath.

He was thankful there was no one around to make the egregious and mistaken claim that he sounded almost fond. Aaron said Josten’s name again, drenched it in as much loathing as he could muster, and then let it vanish into the night air.

It wouldn’t be the first time Josten proved himself a liar.

The next morning, Darius Smith was not in his Hal seat or mingling around about the edges of the room. He wasn’t in the hallway or lurking within a doorway. Darius Smith was abruptly gone, and Aaron knew why.

It seemed the most prolific of liars could dabble in honesty once in a while for unpredictability’s sake. That was the only reason Aaron dared to consider.

When the professor landed on ‘Darius Smith’ in the attendance record Aaron didn’t say a word. The clock ticked on closer to the start time, and no familiar flower awaited him through the small windowpane placed in the entrance. His suspicions were confirmed when moments before the bell the empty seat in his physical chemistry class was filled by a redhead who had vehemently sworn off any iteration of the subject.

Neil met Aaron’s eyes immediately and with an intensity that wouldn’t be out of place speckled in blood. He drew a finger across his neck slowly and took enjoyment in Aaron’s brief hesitancy to return his enthusiasm

Andrew didn’t have taste by any means, but perhaps Neil wasn’t the worst person he could have chosen. Second worst, perhaps.

No, that was too generous. Definitely the worst. Andrew would probably agree with that, and might have even said it in their weird pseudo-flirting that sounded more like threats than foreplay. In Aaron’s voice. Oh f—

Aaron was not going to head down that particular train of thought. That momentary lapse in judgment would never leave the secrecy of his head.

“I hate you,” Aaron reminded them both.

Neil’s eyes lit up like it was the greatest compliment Aaron could have ever offered him. “We should do this more often.”

“No. If I wanted a terminal annoyance, I’d ask Nicky about how Erik finds all of his games. Or Kevin about the Greco-Roman wars.”

“I did that once,” Neil said, mouth downturned in remembrance.

“I know.”

Neil peered at him curiously. “You know, you’re not so bad.”

“Wrong twin,” Aaron reminded him.

Neil’s face turned into a mockup of a glare and he pushed out of his seat sharply, interrupting the lecturer’s chalk etchings with a high-pitched squeal. “Numbers shouldn’t work like that.”

Aaron stuck his foot out so Neil tripped as he moved to shuffle by him. Neil caught himself on the edge of Aaron’s desk and not-so-incidentally tipped over his pencil case.

Neil flipped him off once he reached the doorway in plain view of the rest of the class. Aaron stared pointedly forward until Neil gave up and the wave of whispers commenced.

Aaron would rather jump out of a moving car than call them anything close to friends.

[worriedvision]

Being a single parent - Al-Haitham

Gender neutral reader, reader and Al-haitham have a child together. Angst here, no deaths but a breakup is here. Reader is a medical doctor, and works from home (basically the patients go to their home).

--

When you had your baby with Al-Haitham, you had been pleasantly surprised by the fact your boyfriend was becoming more approachable - well, at least towards you and your child. At the start of the life of having a child, Al-Haitham was cherishing it. The moments he had time to be with you and your child, when it wasn't too busy at work.

Inevitably, however, an emergency had breached the peacefulness. He had to get back to work, and you were struggling to get your patients seen to at once while keeping an eye on your child. When your boyfriend is home, he's not as attentive - turning his earpiece on so he couldn't hear your baby screaming and the complaints of your patients not exercising any patience. When you call out asking for him to please keep an eye on your child while you see patients, he pretends he didn't hear you while he continues to read. The first time he did this, you thought he simply had a horrible day at work, but unfortunately this was your norm now.

Truth be told, it somehow felt like he was more difficult to look after than your child. He would roll his eyes when you ask him if he can look after your child more often while you arrange time slots for patients, saying his job is more important than yours before walking out of the door. It felt like you were intruding in his space, and your child was upset to sense this as well. You note how your child stops cooing when the door opens, almost as if the child knew your boyfriend didn't want to hear a pin drop once he got home.

It got to the point that you had to move out, leaving him. He doesn't even bat an eye, holding out his hand for your copy of his keys, before returning to his book reading. Thankfully, you had your bags packed - and Tighnari was more than happy to help you carry your bags to Gandarva ville.

You continue your work as a stay-at-home doctor, and it was going well - your child was more like it's usual self, now as vocal as you'd expect a child to be. Your patients were more than happy for your child to be in the same room, understanding you were now operating as a single parent. Tighnari was kind enough to offer you one of the spare rooms, under the condition that he would eventually begin to get rent from you.

It was going well, until someone found out about your childs father.

--

Al-Haitham had a few enemies, some people that wanted something only he could offer. Nothing he had was going to be given out with a 'pretty please', and he wasn't going to personally gain from these people. Kaveh had moved back in, struggling to live by himself, and Al-Haitham thought he would just be the usual roommate he was.

"How's the baby?" Kaveh asks, Al-Haitham shrugging. "...I was told by-"

"My family business is none of yours." He curtly replies, hearing a knock on the door before going to answer it. To his confusion, there's nobody there.

The person who had knocked wanted mora from Al-Haitham, knowing he had plenty of it, and they were not too kind to stay away from those who he may cherish. When they hear about Al-Haitham having a baby, they decide to eavesdrop on any conversation that mentions this. Through this, they discover who you are and the fact you operate from the same place you live. A sinister smirk on their face, they decide to look for you.

--

Your first interaction with this individual was none out of the ordinary. A typical patient, someone who happened to be especially prone to falling over. Carrying out your usual tests, you note their sight flickering over to your baby before darkening for a moment.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I have to keep an eye on my little gremlin. I can take them away if it bothers you." You rub the back of your neck, the patient shaking their head and smiling.

"It's nothing - your child was silent."

They leave after paying for their appointment, and you can't shake off the feeling they are after your baby. Picking up your baby, you head over to Tighnari before explaining the situation. He nods in understanding, gesturing for you to come into his house as Cyno just so happens to be there.

--

Al-Haitham lands up getting contacted regarding the suspicious individual. He rolls his eyes when he's being informed that this mora-grabbing person he had several conversations with was making more empty threats until Cyno stomps on his foot.

"They targeted your child and your ex." Cyno cuts through, Alhaitham processing the news. "Do a favour for me, next time look around before you discuss your child so openly."

"I haven't spoken about the child." Alhaitham refutes.

"What a catch you are, Alhaitham." Kavehs huffs from his room. "Your poor ex deserves a better father than you."

"Well, they moved out on their own accord." Alhaitham bickers back. "I don't have time to-"

"You impregnated _, so sorry but you really should." Kavehs growls.

"...How is _?" Alhaitham asks

"They're safe." Cyno replies. "Stay out of their life. You've done enough as is."

--

[jolieblack]

Jolie’s notes on

The Lion’s Mane (Sherlock & co podcast)

Oh, this case made me so happy. 🦁🪼⛴️

Sweet domesticity in Baker Street, then a client ringing the bell bringing a dramatic case… This is another ACD story with quite striking hidden horror. You don’t really think much about the state of the body when you read it, but when you really start thinking about it, it is horrific. And off they go, our heroes, to solve another mystery and right another wrong.

Heroes with a pension plan, of course. Because of course Mariana would have set that up for them all. I love how this show keeps finding modern ways of showing how well Mrs Hudson cares for those two crazy boys.

Heroes who drink tea with marshmallows, too. Sherlock being a big petulant child about those cracked me up.

Loved Maud‘s early reference to tentacles, too. 🦑

Archie being able to sense when people are sad. 🥹

The non-consensual bathroom sharing made me laugh, too, but can people PLEASE just stop making fun of men who sit down to wee? Housewives and cleaning staff all over the world would be so much happier if all men just did.

"It‘s a trolley stuck in a wall." 😂 Trust Jonk to turn absolutely everything into a rant against the rich. 😝

And then they’re off.

Loved this modern version of "Holmes and Watson get on another train for a case", and John waxing poetic about the countryside by night. I have looked out of the window of a night train at the starry sky in the not too distant past myself, so this scene struck a particular chord. But I‘d just love to see more of this reflective, quiet John. He hides him too well usually.

And talking of beautiful, evocative mental images, the moment when Fjara rises out of the sea mist gave me absolute goosebumps. A sight that makes even Sherlock Holmes go "oh my word" must be a sight indeed. And all that with just voices and music. Amazing work.

I also loved how the mythical aspect kinda crept in slowly but unstoppably, and I spent the longest time wondering why Maud had mentioned none of it. In retrospect, of course there was zero reason why she would have. I kinda forgot that Sherlock Holmes stories love playing with our fears of the supernatural, only to supply a completely natural explanation in the end. But that’s quite an achievement in itself! Well played, Joel.

I’m quite happy with the solution as such, too. The original story has always been a little fantastical, that the waters of the British Channel should contain one single organism who could inflict such damage on a human being. But the combination of Lion’s Mane burns, chemical burns, previous fistfight with probably head trauma and quite possibly also a touch of the Martini effect together could totally do it. I’m glad Ian Murdoch survived, btw, I thought he was going to be the third corpse.

I also really appreciated the Lion/Liona throwback to Rache/Rachel in Study in Pink (which seems to confirm to me that we have seen Study in Pink already and it won’t come back).

And the accents! I loooooved the accents. I think they’re a major part of the reason why I listened to this case three or four times before I even managed to pause the flow to take these notes.

Jonk was really taking cringe to a whole new level in his interactions with the locals, though. This is really a part of Watson’s character that they entirely made up for this adaptation and while Paul plays it to perfection, it never sits quite right with me. I’m glad John was his kind and sensitive self with Maud though.

Sherlock wading in rock pools with his trousers rolled up is a mental image that will stay with me for a long while. Check out this lovely art by @noodles-and-tea

"Sexy murderous sea demons?" - "Very, very unlikely." 😂

"We‘re cutting the engine *and* the conversation." & "You are not a priority." 😂

Poor John, nobody wants to hold his hand…

THE JELLYFISH

There’s a reason why the scene with the submarine submersible has inspired a lot of fantastic fanart. I’ll just let these speak for themselves:

Behold the Lion’s Mane by @starfruitsomething

Lion’s Mane by @abstractfrog

The Lion’s Mane Part 3 by @sealbug

The Lion’s Mane by @reibub

Lion’s Mane Comic by @abstractfrog

I’m so glad they went and found Fitzi McPherson in the end, too. I didn’t expect that and it was a lovely touch.

I may also be a tiny bit obsessed with Sherlock competently handling boats. Very happy to see this several times in this story.

All in all, pure enjoyment this time around. Story, atmosphere, humour, acting, straight As all around for the entire team. More, please!

[bigskydreaming]

Something sublimely fucked up but deeply interesting about the idea that Dick Grayson, a child vigilante enmeshed in constant violence from an early age, was like "I actually could've grown up to be a healthy adult even despite all that, probably. The REAL issue for me was how deeply entrenched I became in expectations that were heaped on me from way earlier than I should have been seen as someone people NEEDED to be reliable in certain ways in order for they themselves to function and heal."

Because to me, this also goes hand in hand with the less explored avenue of Robin the child hero who stood for something to all the kids and disenfranchised in Gotham (like Jason and Steph and Duke), while people are more likely to acknowledge the expectations heaped on him as one of the youngest original leaders of teams and groups of heroes. Since there is no way to separate Robin being embedded in a life of constant violence AS the very thing that gave so many child victims of Gotham's violence and supervillains a sense of empowerment - which led to certain expectations and needs placed upon Dick as a symbol for them.....

BUT, because Dick himself is so rarely interacted with by those characters in this vein - meaning we so rarely see Dick credited with being a symbol to a lot of Gotham's kids as the original Robin, and instead this is often assigned to Jason or later Robins - its understandable and even likely that Dick has never really unpacked or examined the idea that there's no way to separate his childhood-interaction-with-violence from the idea of himself as a symbol of hope and empowerment for childhood victims of violence.

Instead, he's USUALLY only interacted with the idea of him having been hurt by the expectations heaped on him as a leader in the cape community, and in the Batfam itself....so that's where his focus is, and he's like "I'm actually totally fine with having been fighting supervillains since I was nine, that was never my problem." Completely unironically.

Dick Grayson, Self-Aware King of Lacking Self-Awareness, makes total sense (IMO) in holding these two beliefs up at the same time.....BECAUSE there's that disconnect for him, due to the fact that despite being a symbol who had expectations heaped on him from an early age in MULTIPLE respects......he's only ever really interacted with people acknowledging those expectations in the sense of him as a leader. And that's why I'm so big about wanting to see more acknowledgment within the text (canon or fanon) of the original Robin serving as a symbol of empowerment and hope for Gotham's children, and the inevitable responsibilities and expectations laden upon the IDEA of the first Robin.....

In ways that he'll never actually delve into without more characters actually raising to his face the fact that like. He meant something to THEM, specifically, even back then.

I think centering that awareness could unlock so many new interesting angles of character development for him, and reframe so much about his early time as Robin.....and Gotham's view of the first Robin. Not to mention their view of who the first Robin became (its always been a bit ambiguous and even contradictory here, in terms of how canon claims Nightwing is regarded, but I headcanon that most people either know or at least strongly suspect that Nightwing was the original Robin, now all grown up).

Also, in the latter vein, I really wish there was more exploration of the idea that some people in Gotham - other than Gordon and a few supervillains - knew or at least wondered if Dick!Bats might not have been the actual original Batman, but maybe the Grown Up Boy Wonder instead. I'm fascinated by the idea that Gotham knows its Bats and Birds well enough that they all have an opinion (or contradicting opinions) on when Batman has been replaced or has an understudy stepping in, and when and where other people are Simply Incorrect about who was under the cowl or mask that time THEY personally met Batman or one of the Batgirls or the Robins.

(Like each generation of Gothamites has their own Robin and like Gen-X Gothamites are like no that was OUR Robin who did that, meaning Dick, and Jason's generation are like OH TRY AND TAKE CREDIT FOR OUR ROBIN WILL YA - imagined Jersey accent is extremely necessary here - and Tim's generation are like Please that was clearly OUR Robin and meanwhile all of the Robins past and present are more prone to prioritizing Trolling over Self-Pride and so while undercover or not in their vigilante personas, they shameless stir up shit and muddy the waters in ways that aren't actually aimed at promoting their own personal Robin Agenda but just generalized chaos. Its more fun if nobody but them has any idea which Robin actually did what and they're just like mwahahahaha, MOAR CONFUSION, MOAR CONFUSION).

Cass, judging from the sidelines: You are all deeply strange.

Steph: *leaping into the chaos to muddy the claims of which Batgirl did what on behalf of her Robin brethren* ORLY?

Cass: TRAITOR!

Steph: MY ONLY ALLEGIANCE IS TO CHAOS!

[knightofthenewrepublic]

Percy would have worked with Octavian, but the Augur never gave him a chance

(or Why Octavian's actions weren’t justified)

As people spend more and more time critically examining the Riordanvese (often to a fault, it must be said) one of the most common revisionist arguments is to try and absolve the mortal villains of the consequences of their action; usually by exaggerating their motivations. That includes the argument that Octavian was so quick to war partially because he was treated poorly by the Greeks. Particularly by Percy Jackson. 

But does that actually hold up?

People will argue that Octavian was not evil, because attacking Camp Halfblood was justified from his perspective; he thought they had broken a truce with New Rome and attacked it. And that would be a fair argument, IF that was the only bad thing Octavian had done, or even the worst thing. It wasn’t. And Octavian had begun trying to trigger conflict well before that. Percy, on the other hand, did his best to prevent it.

The first scene where Percy meets Octavian, is also the first time we see his sinister side. And that is of course when he tries to blackmail Hazel into supporting him for Praetor.

Now there is an aspect of the context of this scene that I think a lot of people overlook; their ages. Octavian is 18, or near enough, and Hazel is 13. This is a guy old enough to vote, (the only one of them who isn’t a child soldier) blackmailing a girl too young to get a learner’s permit. Just before this, Percy says Octavian reminds him of someone; which is obviously a reference to Luke Castellan. This type of nearly grooming behavior would have really reinforced that impression; which explains Percy’s hostile reaction to it.

Percy slipped his hand into his pocket, and grabbed his pen. This guy was blackmailing Hazel. That was obvious. One sign from Hazel, and Percy was ready to bust out Riptide and see how Octavian liked being at the end of a blade.

But Percy keeps these urges internal. He doesn’t voice his anger, and doesn’t give any visible reaction. The other two keep talking like he’s not there. This is a pretty good demonstration of Percy’s hard won self control; on his first day at Camp Half-Blood he doused Clarisse with toilet water for less, without even meaning to.

The next interaction he has with Octavian isn’t much better.

“Recruit,” he [Octavian] asked, “do you have any credentials? Letters of reference?” Percy shifted. “Letters? Um, no.” Octavian wrinkled his nose. Unfair! Hazel wanted to shout. Percy had carried a goddess into camp. What better recommendation could you want? But Octavian’s family had been sending kids to camp for over a century. He loved reminding recruits that they were less important than he was.  “No letters,” Octavian said regretfully. “Will any legionnaires stand for him?”

Now just asking this question is obviously standard practice, so Octavian isn’t wrong for that. It’s his condescending reaction that is the unsubtle putdown.

But then things come to a head very quickly, when that night’s game of capture the flag ends in a visit from the god Mars, and the command he delivers; a quest to retrieve the legion Eagle, and free Death.

Now what’s really important here is that, while people often think of Leo attacking Camp Jupiter as the point where Octavian turned against the heroes, THIS is the actual point. THIS is where he goes from being a nuisance to being an antagonist.

It starts in the Senate meeting the next day, when Percy tries to make sense of the situation:

“This Giant, the son of Gaea--he’s the one who defeated your forces thirty years ago. I’m sure of it. Now he’s sitting up there in Alaska with a chained death god, and all your old equipment. He's mustering his armies and sending them south to attack this camp.”

Percy is just repeating what Mars literally told them the night before. Octavian’s reasonable reaction to this is:

“Really?” Octavian said. “You seem to know a lot about our enemy’s plans, Percy Jackson.”

Him, and everyone else who was conscious at the end of the war games.

In spite of being almost outright accused of treason, Percy still keeps his cool. This shows a lot of growth on his part, compared to where he was in the second book of the previous series:

This was so completely unfair, I told Tantalus to go chase a donut, which didn’t help his mood.

After a bit more discussion, Octavian makes his move. First he gets in another insult. 

“Mars has clearly chosen the least likely candidates for this quest. Perhaps it is because he considers them the most expendable.”

And then he argues that the senate should not give any of the support that would normally be given to a quest. The odds of them succeeding are already so low; better to use their resources to protect the camp.

It’s pretty easy for us, the readers, to overlook what a dick move this really is. Of course WE know that the heroes are going to come back alive; but in universe, there is nothing to guarantee that. Even a small magical trinket could be the difference between life and death. And Octavian is trying to deny them that.

This could be understandable, if there was any sincerity to it. A sad but necessary sacrifice for the greater good, to protect the camp. But after arguing that all their resources have to be saved for the battle, Octavian proceeds to do nothing with them. When the giant’s army arrives, the legion simply marches out and fights them with conventional ranks and swords. Aside from a few roman scorpions (large crossbows), no specialized weapons are brought out, no magical items are used, they didn’t even build a wall or a trench. So there was no real reason not to give them anything; even if he sincerely believed the quest was doomed, that was all the more reason to help. The right magical tool might have at least given them the chance to get back alive. Depriving the questers served no purpose other than to make them fail.

You can also see this, in the fact that all Octavian’s stated reasons don’t actually win over the senate. 

The senators’ eyes moved back and forth between Octavian and Reyna, watching the test of wills. Reyna straightened in her chair. “Very well,” she said tightly. We shall put it to a vote.”

No one gives their support to Octavian before this. The senators are waiting to follow the person they see as more powerful, not the argument that was more convincing.

As for motivations, there is only one that Octavian could have; with the election just days away, he wants to prevent a rival for the praetorship.

Is the fulfillment of an epic quest a silly basis for entrusting someone with supreme executive power? Yes, in the real world, it is. But demigods don’t live in the real world; and in their world, everything revolves around quests. Quests drive every important event in the series, and are the ultimate standard by which the skill and power of a demigod are demonstrated. As Annabeth puts it in TLT:

“At camp you train and train. And that’s all cool and everything, but the real world is where the monsters are. That’s where you learn whether you’re any good or not.”

If Percy returns from a land that wiped out half a legion of demigods, with the long lost legion Eagle, the mob that is Rome will raise him up on the fanciest shield they can find. And Octavian isn’t the only one who has put that together. The very next chapter sees Reyna tell Percy that he could stand for praetor if he succeeds; and we are reminded several times that Octavian is far more politically savvy than she is. If she’s put it together, you can bet that he has.

But going back to the senate meeting itself; we see another example of Percy choosing not to start a conflict with Octavian, even when he seems to be trying to get him killed. Instead, he focuses on the important issues:

Frank jumped to his feet. Before he could start a fight, Percy said, “Fine! No problem. but at least give us transportation.”

Percy is more concerned about succeeding in saving the camp than satisfying any grudges. Octavian is more interested in how many insults he can fit into one meeting.

“A boat!” Octavian turned to the senators. “The son of Neptune wants a boat. Sea travel has never been the Roman way, but he isn’t much of a Roman!”

(The insult proves to be quite a hypocritical one in BOO, when Octavian has boats built to surround Camp Half-Blood.)

Octavian’s next attempt to start a conflict with Percy is slightly more subtle.

They were only halfway across the forum when someone called, “Jackson!” Percy turned and saw Octavian jogging toward them.  “What do you want ?” Percy asked. Octavian smiled. “Already decided I’m your enemy? That’s a rash choice Percy. I’m a loyal Roman.” Frank snarled. “You backstabbing, slimy–” Both Percy and Hazel had to restrain him.

Why is Octavian talking about being enemies? It doesn’t say Percy asked angrily, or Percy growled, or Percy glared at him. It’s a very dramatic reaction.

And Percy has done nothing to suggest that he wants to be Octavian’s enemy. Sure he has grown to dislike the augur, as most people would with someone who insults them and blackmails children:

Nico put his finger to his lips. Suddenly all the lares went silent. Some looked alarmed, like their mouths had been glued together. Percy wished he had that power over certain living people . . . like Octavian, for instance.

But he’s been keeping those critical thoughts to himself. He even avoided arguing in the senate meeting so as not to escalate things. The worst thing he’s done was knocking Octavian out during capture-the-flag which was both a perfectly fair move and a good strategy. Hardly something to base a feud on.

Most likely, this is a freudian slip on Octavian’s part. He’s already started to see Percy as an enemy, for no other reason than he might be a rival. That, or it’s an attempt at gaslighting Percy into thinking he somehow provoked Octavian into trying to get him killed. In any case, the augur hardly seems unhappy to see him, and the two legionnaires at his side, go off to their deaths.

Octavian smiled wickedly. “The last person she [Reyna] had a private talk with was Jason Grace. And that was the last time I ever saw him. Good luck and goodbye, Percy Jackson.”

If he’s happy to see them go, he’s certainly not happy when they come back alive. 

The look on Octavian’s face was priceless. the centurion stared at Percy with shock, then outrage. Then, when his own troops started to cheer, he had no choice except to join the shouting: “Rome! Rome!”

Not the appropriate reaction when Percy is saving the city, not to mention Octavian’s own life. The auger doesn’t have a single kind word to say.

The Roman symbols burned into Percy’s arm: a trident, SPQR, and a single stripe. It felt like someone was pressing a hot iron into his skin, but Percy managed not to scream. Octavian embraced him and whispered, “I hope it hurt.”

Just before this, Octavian kills a teddy bear and reads the future from it, announcing:

good omens for the coming year–Fortuna would bless them!

It has been suggested that Octavian actually had a very different vision at this moment; that he saw the Argo II opening fire on New Rome, and kept that to himself, but turned against Percy and the other Greeks because of that. This doesn’t seem likely. It would serve his purposes better to share that information; and he would have seen that vision in front of hundreds of demigods hardwired to notice small details, none of whom notice him having any visible reaction to it. Besides which, this can’t be the point when he turns on Percy, since he’s already been trying to sabotage him for most of the book.

Now if there is some big conflict between Percy and Octavian, this is the time for Percy to win it decisively. To use his new power and authority to put the auger in his place.

But Percy doesn’t do that.

“Why should we trust these Greeks?” Octavian was saying. He’d been pacing the senate floor for five minutes, going on and on, trying to counter what Percy had told them about Juno’s plan and the Prophecy of Seven.

Rather than simply steamroll over the discussion, and try to use his authority to silence any opposition, Percy allows Octavian a reasonable amount of time to air his concerns, before finally stepping in with his counter argument.

When Percy lays out the details of why they must join the Greeks, Octavian never comes up with a logical counter argument. Instead, when a messenger reports the Argo II has been spotted, he resorts to paranoid rambling.

“Praetors!” The messenger cried. “What are your orders?” Octavian [who is not a praetor] shot to his feet. “You have to ask?” His face was red with rage. He was strangling his teddy bear. “The omens are horrible! This is a trick, a deception. Beware Greeks bearing gifts!” He jabbed a finger at Percy. “His friends are attacking in a warship. He has led them here. We must attack!”

Yesterday when he last read the entrails, Octavian said the omens were good. Now, they’re suddenly horrible. That pretty well justifies Percy’s growing disregard for Octavian’s auguries.

Not only that; he is accusing Percy of treachery, while at the same time suggesting they attack a ship that can be seen bearing a white flag.

And this is before a single shot has been fired on New Rome. That false-flag attack by Gaea can not be the inciting incident for Octavian’s hostility to the Greeks. Not if what he wanted to do before it happened is the same as what he wanted to do after it happened. The attack is just what incentives the rest of the camp to support him.

The last interaction between Percy and Octavian is pretty much the first two chapters of MOA, where Octavian does his best to offend the Greeks.

“You’re letting these intruders into the camp!”

When Reyna orders Octavian to go make a sacrifice to the gods, Percy adds:

“Good idea. Go burn your bears Octavian.”

An insulting way to put it; but no more so than calling the Greek ambassadors (including a Roman praetor and Percy’s own girlfriend) “intruders.” And no more harsh than the insults Octavian has used for legionnaires below himself, like Frank and Hazel. And Percy has been given enough reason not to trust Octavian’s auguries any more than he trusts him.

The last exchange between them is about the praetorship:

Octavian snorted. “Which means we have three praetors! The rules clearly state we can only have two! “On the bright side,” Percy said, “both Jason and I outrank you, Octavian. So we can both tell you to shut up.” Octavian turned as purple as a Roman T-shirt. Jason gave Percy a fist bump.

I can only imagine how long Jason has been waiting for someone to say that to Octavian. It has been suggested this is an abuse of power on Percy’s part, but there is no reason to think so. They are surrounded by the senior officers of the legion, some of whom will be on Octavian's side, and no one raises an objection. And it's not like Octavian actually treats it like an order.

“I’ll step aside for Jason,” Percy said easily. “It’s no biggie.” “No biggie?” Octavian choked. “The praetorship of Rome is no biggie?”

No need to go into detail about how the rest of the series goes. Gaea triggers a war between the Greeks and Romans, and Octavian walks right into it. There is no reason to think he was working for her; but he was plainly looking for an excuse to start hostilities.

[emotionalmessss]

Weird request, but would you be willing to take a shot at a Dabi headcannon list where the reader's family was friends with the Todoroki family, so he knew her before the fire when she was still a little girl?

A/N: ou, I'll definitely give this one a shot. I took a different approach with this one, so I hope I answered alright. :) I haven't written in months, so I'm kinda rusty and completely ran with this, sorry.

Warnings: slight spoilers for season six of MHA

Touya, despite being an energetic kid, was shy when you first started coming around the Todoroki household. 

At first, he would stay hidden and watch you play with his siblings down in the courtyard, opting to observe you through the balcony railing. Or he’d be too focused on training his Quirk in another room.

He never really said all the much to you, only a few words here and there, but that didn’t stop you from trying to interact with him.

As Fuyumi tosses a ball at Natsuo, you spot Touya out of the corner of your eye, who leans back against one of the wooden support beams and observes. 

You couldn’t help but grin when you notice him, turning to give him your full attention, and trying to beckon him over with a frantic wave of your hand. 

“Touya! Come join us!” You call out towards him, your bright smile never fading as you urged him to play. 

Touya glances over at the sound of your voice, his hand tucked inside the pockets of his pants. Averting his eyes and drawing his lips into a thin line, as he contemplates your offer. For a moment, that stubborn look of his fades, and it looks as though he’s about to concede, but at the last minute, he pushes himself off the wooden beam and retreats upstairs. 

Your smile faded slightly and your shoulders slump in response to his denial, but your innocent self quickly shakes off the sting of rejection. He probably just wants to train, you think to yourself. 

Eventually, as you started to come around the house more often, Touya slowly found himself getting more comfortable around you. 

He started talking to you more than he usually did, and rejecting less of your offers to come and play. Oddly enough, whenever you were around, his entire focus was on you.

You could say that this was just innocent child curiosity, but it was something different. The faint blush and quick aversion of his eyes whenever you caught him looking at you, how he occasionally asked Rei when you’d be at the house again, and how excited he got when he’d offer to show you his Quirk.

He loved to innocently tease you, and tell you all about his plans in surpassing All Might, and becoming the Number One Hero. He would go on and on about it, since you were one of the few people who encouraged him and his goals.

Touya’s head immediately poked out of his bedroom when he heard the front door open and close, followed by the familiar sound of your voice. Less than a second later, he quickly makes his way over to the front entrance with an excited bounce in his step. 

“C’mon, I wanna show you something cool!” His voice taking on a higher pitch, laced with a sense of urgency. He grins and grabs ahold of your hand, barely giving you enough time to take off your shoes before he’s tugging you down the hallway and into his room. 

Your eyes widen in pure awe as he holds up his hand, a bright flame flickering around his closed fists. “That’s so cool! You’re amazing!” 

A prideful smile spreads across his face at your response, which fills him up with a sense of satisfaction. There’s also a weird feeling that builds up in his stomach, one that he’s completely unfamiliar with. 

“You really think so?!” He questions, almost like he’s not used to this type of reaction. His smile widens and the heel of his right foot digs into the flooring when you nod.

His eyes shift from you to his fiery fist, and then back to you again. That look on your face, along with your praise causes Touya to completely ignore the gnawing heat that his Quirk produces — one that his body is ill equipped at handling. 

Years after the incident, now taking on the persona of Dabi, joining the League, and vowing revenge on Endeavor. The bitter reminders of being tossed aside like trash, the constant rejection, and being deemed a failure, all brewed beneath his aloof demeanour. 

That hatred wasn’t solely directed at his father, oh no, it stretched to that perfect little masterpiece. That fucking brat, nothing but a puppet.

But, deep beneath his hateful and resentful thoughts, there was one thought that occupied his mind more than he would’ve liked. You.

It would be a lie to say that Dabi didn’t try to get you out of his head, but it rarely seemed to work out in his favour. He would always tell himself that you didn’t matter and that he’s a kid anymore. After all, Touya Todoroki died. 

But getting someone like you out of his head was harder than he imagined. Even after everything, he could still see your beaming smile, and hear your innocent words of encouragement. 

Thoughts of you even started to distract him during his business with the League, especially when he was out searching for new recruits. Every time he noticed someone that looked even a tiny bit like you, his stomach would instantly knot up. Anxiety? Anticipation? Who knew. 

Whenever the League’s activities would venture a little too close to where you lived (again, why did he remember this?) he’d purposely hang back a bit, his impassive expression giving away none of his inner turmoil. 

[anotheroceanid]

Deleted Scene from Chapter 4

Because I don't think I'll manage to finish chapter five for this weekend, so at least I'll post something. It was meant to take place between one of Percy's interaction with Medea, it's a flashback from when she met Circe in the events of SoM.

I might use it in a different chapter, or rewrite it, btw, enjoy lol

Percy had met her aunt a few years ago… Not, not a few. Thirteen at the time, freshly out of seventh grade. Not much older than her sons, an impressionable child still lost in the new world she had been thrown at, to whom Circe had offered a place. A safe place, far from gods, far from danger.

Circe spoke of things Percy would much later comprehend. More than often, Percy caught herself thinking about each of them.

Percy knew, even at an early age, which being part of the hunt wouldn’t have worked for her. She either would fumble that bad, or someone would fumble it for her. She never felt any call to it, unless she considered the all-consuming terror the war struck her with. However… What would’ve been of her life, and the world, had she accepted to stay in Aeaea with Circe? 

‘You and your friend, ‘The sorceress had said, a voice so soothing that it silenced all the “Danger" alarms beeping inside her head, ‘both of you have a natural inclination for magic. I might be biassed, but there is something about those whose line comes from the sea.’

With the little discernment her brain managed to do against Circe's voice, Percy frowned, ‘Annabeth is a daughter of Athena.’ 

Circe giggled as if she had been delighted by a baby’s first world.

‘She is, indeed.’ Circe agreed, fixing the golden stephane in Percy’s hair, amusedly tilting her head to the side, as if she had seen something curious. ‘My aunt Metis, her grandmother, was rather tricky.’

‘Your aunt?’ Percy echoed, widening her eyes as she turned from the mirror to stare directly at Circe's face, with wonder on her eyes. She scanned through the woman's face, looking for anything that her best friend might've shared with her. ‘You are Annabeth's cousin.’

‘Aren't we all, in a way?’ Circe used her hands to kindly turn Percy toward the mirror again, where she stared at a much more gracious girl than herself. Some pleased entity inside of Percy smiled at the sight; the girl in the mirror was gorgeous. The more Percy looked at that girl, the more she liked her. 

Circe had dressed her in a soft linen dress, embroidered with golden motifs across the blue fabric, making Percy’s thirteen years old self feel like she was in Disneyland having a princess makeover. Just better. She had never worn something so nice, and usually thought herself not made for vanity. 

Percy thought of Silena Beauregard, the Aphrodite girl who was nice to everyone, and who recently decided she wanted to befriend Percy and ever since has been trying to dress her up. Looking at that girl in the mirror, whose lashes fluttered every time she blinked, Percy wondered if it wouldn't be nice to look like that all the time. 

In a spoken lullaby, Circe kept talking, ‘My mother, Perseis, married Helios, her cousin. They had me, my sister Pasiphae, and our younger brothers, Aeetes and Perses. Pasiphae married Zeus’ son, Minos, and I suppose you know how the story went.’

Percy's face got red like a boiled tomato. ‘The Minotaur is your nephew?’ The Minotaur is Annabeth's cousin? Was an equally urgent question hanging on her mind. 

‘We are all cousins.’ Circe repeated, brushing a lock of Percy's hair. ‘I shall not hold it against you, I tend to stand by my fellow females, so I couldn't care less about what you did to him. I did dislike that brother of yours, though. A matter of principles.’ As she spoke, Percy noticed the guinea pigs getting anxious in their cage. Staring at them, she blinked a few times. ‘Don't look at them.’

For some reason, before Percy could rationalise the words, her neck had already moved, and she looked into the mirror again. She smiled at the pretty girl, with the golden skin, liquorice curls and sea green eyes. She was so pretty, like the girls in Aphrodite’s cabin. Percy wanted so much to be that girl; she didn't seem to have any problem at all going on in her life.

Then, she frowned again. ‘But Athena was born from Zeus's head.’

A glimpse of madness crossed Circe's green eyes, and Percy only recognised it because she had seen it before. In herself. A cold ran down her spine. She looked at the girl, straight into her eyes, and suddenly she was afraid of all that beauty. Still, she couldn't stop gazing at her.

‘Indeed.’ Circe hummed as she regained her composure. ‘There was this prophecy, a prophecy that said a son of Metis would do to Zeus what Zeus did to his own father. So, before his son could embrace his prophecy, Zeus embraced the wickedness he inherited from the Crooked One. He swallowed my aunt Metis, who was already pregnant. That's, sweetie, is how Athena came to be.’

Percy remained in silence for a second, not sure about what to think. She wasn't new to the gods being cruel, but…She thought that they were at least above cannibalism. Wasn't that the reason Tantalus got punished in the first place?

‘There is nothing the gods fear more than the possibility of ending up like the titans.’ Circe spoke, rather darkly, sending a cold down Percy's spine. Circe's finger caressed the curve of Percy's cheek, and she couldn't help but notice how inhumanly sharp those were. Like talons. Then, she brought both hands to Percy's uncovered shoulders and almost dug those nails in the flesh. ‘The day will come, it's been promised, that someone will come. The children of Kronos have always been destined to whiter.’

Percy remained silent for a second, then grit her teeth as if that had been a particular offence against her. ‘My father is a child of Kronos.’

‘He is, do you worry?’

‘He’s my dad.’ Percy wanted to scream, but her voice felt so tame and melodic, almost like Circe's. The sorceress smiled and Percy swallowed hard. ‘I think I should go after Annabeth, I…’ Again, that was too sweet to be Percy's voice.

‘Nice try, but not quite enough.’ Circe mumbled, ‘Listed to the wisdom of someone who had parents who'd tear down the world for her: you'd be better off without him. And your friend? I've seen how Athena turns against her favourites. She is the goddess of wisdom, and her greatest wisdom so far is knowing her father will love her much more as a mirror of himself. She bears his pride like a crown. Do you want to become like her? A mirror your father can look into to stroke his ego?’ Percy opened her lips to answer, but Circe was faster than her, ‘In that camp, you're both mere tools. Here, I can bring the better out of two thriving girls. Stay here, with me. You have the two things that wake the worst in the gods. Think of Helen of Sparta, the power she had, all she could've been…’

Percy remained silent and for a moment allowed herself to indulge with the fantasy of living on that island for the rest of her days, feeling as beautiful and special as she did in that moment. However, how could that be correct? 

‘I'm just me…’ She mumbled, ‘And I have my mom, I cannot just abandon her.’

‘Your mom won't live forever, Percy Jackson.’ Circe caressed Percy's curls and then her cheeks, in an almost maternal way. Percy didn't like that; she already had a mom.

Petulant, she snapped, ‘She'll probably live longer than me.’

Circe's eyes turned sad. ‘We, daughters, can’t help but dream about it… Think about it, Percy. Look in the mirror, feel the storm in the tip of your fingers. You're flicking a glimpse of who you'll be. Trust me you don't want to flourish in display for the gods to see, do you?’

The guinea pigs screamed, and Percy turned again to them, trying to remember something that had been hazed by Circe's presence. Something that Chiron had said. Strangely, something extremely specific about pigs. ‘I…’

‘They'll waste all your potential.’ She argued, now rather passionately. ‘Glory is a prize awarded to boys… Hercules, Dionysus, Asclepius. I do not offer you glory; I offer you freedom you'll never know otherwise. Let gods and titans feast on themselves. Don't be their pawn. Live up to your name, Persephone.’

Percy never knew what she would've answered, for a second later Annabeth had stormed into that room and the next thing Percy knows is that she is stealing a pirate's ship.

[teufelsabbiss]

Story-idea: de-aged OG!SQQ

(eventual Liu Qingge/Yue Qingyuan/Shen Qingqiu)

Can't be the only one who'd love to see a de-aged, amnesiac Shen Qingqiu bite someone's hand out of possessive over-protectiveness, because they dared to threaten (or just touch) Yue Qingyuan. Especially if most of the other peak lords see this.

Anyway, this is what sparked this story idea.

Shen Qingqiu hasn't been well for a while already and then gets into a big argument during a peak lord meeting, which causes him to suffer a qi-deviation. He ends up de-aged to his 12 or 13 year old self and only remembers what happened up to that point.

And holy shit, this is very clearly the opposite of a spoiled rich kid. He's malnourished, neglected and possibly mistreated. He also clearly speaks (and curses) like a street urchin. It's a pretty big shock to his fellow peak lords.

Except for Yue Qingyuan, who immediately tries shielding him from the others. Which isn't going too well at first, seeing how tall, strong men usually spell danger to Shen Jiu. Some of the others try with the best of intentions to get a hold of him to prevent more harm, like him tripping off the rainbow bridge or having an even worse qi-deviation etc. But naturally he's trying to run away from everyone who does. It gets very chaotic, until Yue Qingyuan draws Xuan Su an inch out of its sheath and stops any further shenanigans.

After that, Shen Jiu has a good look at his face and recognizes him as the adult Qi-ge. That Shen Jiu is still wearing (and tripping over) his own too big robes makes it easier for him to believe that he somehow de-aged. Then he pretty much hides in Yue Qingyuan's embrace.

Everyone always questioned why the sect leader is so partial toward Shen Qingqiu and how they first met. Now, with how they interact, they strongly suspect the two grew up together. Which means everyone realizes that Yue Qingyuan is likely a former street child as well. Contrary to Yue Qingyuan's expectations this actually makes them more appreciative of his accomplishments and friendship.

But now Mu Qingfang has to make sure drawing Xuan Su didn't cause lingering damage. Which in turn makes Shen Qingqiu question what's wrong. He's only getting an abridged version, but that's already enough for extreme concern and vile curses against Yue Qingyuan's shizun. Everyone is really shocked and baffled how much he actually cares about the person he usually couldn't even speak five phrases to before flying off the handle.

As for Shen Qingqiu, his qi-deviation was severe. No one can say for sure whether the de-aging will revert back or is permanent. For the time being it's best to assume it's the latter. He has to completely start over with his cultivation. And here comes the next big surprise for the others – Shen Qingqiu has outstanding talent. No wonder he was so salty about his comparably mediocre abilities before...

He can't perform his peak lord duties until he trained up to it again. Qing Jing is run by teachers, hallmasters and occasionally the other peak lords. There are no new disciples accepted and Shen Qingqiu is re-tracing and re-learning most things from his personal library. Most of the time he is on Qiong Ding, partly because he wants to be close to Qi-ge and partly because Yue Qingyuan is too worried to leave him alone on Qing Jing. It's also awesome for both to just enjoy being together without the misunderstandings and resentment poisoning them. Finally everything seems to go well.

Shen Qingqiu can't help admiring his Qi-ge. He's become so much more attractive as an adult. He already was in love before, but now these feelings get a lot more pronounced over the years.

Then Liu Qingge decides to teach Shen Qingqiu proper fight etiquette and gets more than he bargained for. Because Shen Qingqiu unexpectedly develops feelings for him as well. Instead of a treacherous viper threatening to kill him, he now seemingly has a smitten troublesome gremlin hell-bent on future marriage to deal with. Hearing that Shen Qingqiu is exclusively into men is yet again flipping assumptions about him.

Shen Qingqiu is rather torn about having feelings for someone other than Qi-ge in the beginning. But then he decides he wants both! He has always been greedy, why stop now? It doesn't take much convincing for Yue Qingyuan to agree to marry him later. Liu Qingge is a harder nut to crack, but he's immortal and Shen Qingqiu will be soon again as well, so he's ready for a long courtship.

When Luo Binghe joins the sect, he's accepted into Qiong Ding. He and Shen Qingqiu have a complicated relationship. Luo Binghe is very confused and a bit intimidated by knowing this teenager, who is only a few years older than him, is a peak lord who had an accident. And Shen Qingqiu thinks Luo Binghe is too naive and a pushover who needs to learn to stand up for himself. His brand of tough love and help is sadly sparking feelings in Luo Binghe that will ultimately stay unrequited.

Shen Qingqiu's courtship of Liu Qingge naturally includes gifts. Among other things a trinket of some kind that alerts him should Liu Qingge be in trouble. He has to more or less be bullied into taking it with him into the Lingxi caves, but it ends up saving his life. Shen Qingqiu knows something bad happens the moment the qi-deviation starts and he can alert Yue Qingyuan to go in and help. This finally fully convinces Liu Qingge that the courting isn't a long-running ploy. He's more receptive to the courting after this, even though the whole situation is still very strange.

Sha Hualing attacks the sect and is pretty handily defeated in the three matches. Shen Qingqiu wins the first fight, Luo Binghe is eager to impress him and barges in to fight Sha Hualing. Since he's very well trained, he wins. Shen Qingqiu sent a message to Liu Qingge as soon as the attack happened and he rushes out of seclusion to arrive just in time to easily win the third match and, with the combined attack of the others, chase the rest of the demons away.

Shen Qingqiu is drawn into Luo Binghe's dream realm and aids him, thus inadvertently strengthening Luo Binghe's romantic feelings towards him. Shen Qingqiu has no idea this is the case.

Shen Qingqiu accompanies Liu Qingge on his hunts and missions quite often. It's good practice for Shen Qingqiu's duties and opportunity to get closer. Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge get more fond of each other as well during this time. This makes Shen Qingqiu stress over losing both at first, but once they reassure him they intend to marry him as well as each other, this is alright for him.

Years later, both Shen Qingqiu and Luo Binghe are attending the Immortal Alliance Conference. Binghe's seal breaks and a cultivator from another sect attacks Binghe upon seeing him. Shen Qingqiu by chance arrives and knocks the cultivator out from behind. After thinking of ways to get Binghe out and realizing there's no way this could work without others noticing that he's a demon and getting the wrong ideas, he urges Binghe to jump into the Endless Abyss. His main concern is not so much Luo Binghe staying alive, but keeping Qi-ge and Liu Qingge safe. He's sure that would be in jeopardy with the sect under scrutiny for harboring a demon and consequently being suspected of responsibility for sabotaging the conference. Eventually Binghe does as he says.

When Shen Qingqiu turns 20 or 21 he is ready to take charge of Qing Jing peak again. Soon after, he, Yue Qingyuan and Liu Qingge marry.

Binghe comes back after three years and intends to propose to Shen Qingqiu, only to find he's too late.

Obviously this could lead to more drama or even another addition to the marriage. But I personally am really fond of Binghe/Vinegar and him pining in vain, so...¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[sketch-guardian]

IMAGINE THE ANGEL STUDENTS WITH A MONSTERFUCKER MC (I don’t know if that’s the right word, this isn’t meant to be nsfw! But I’m talking about people who really like non humans and think they’re adorable and love everyone no matter their species! So sorry if that’s the wrong word, I don’t really interact with a lot of fanfics out of platonic child reader ones!!) AND LIKE MC WANTS TO GIVE THEM A LITTLE KISS WHILE THEYRE IN THEIR BIBLICALLY ACCURATE FORM, ESPECIALLY IF ANY OF THEM ARE INSECURE ABOUT IT, LIKE LITTLE REASSURANCE KISSES WHILE MC SAYS THEYRE BEAUTIFUL EVEN WITH THEIR SCARY APPEARANCE (SO SORRY IF THIS REQUEST MAKES YOU UNCOMFY, I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT.)

Don't worry, I understood what you meant☺so for this occasion, to make it clear that these headcanons are SFW, we'll use the term "monsterlover"✨(I like monsters, demons, angels, aliens and robots as well, so perhaps I can consider myself a monsterlover🤣). Also aw, it sounds like such a tender scenario💜I'll try to do my best with the headcanons💖(I should draw the New exchange students' true celestial forms sooner or later🤔but it's hard to find some free time to both draw and answer asks😖perhaps I should close the askbox for a few days in order to start the sketches, would that be okay?🙈):

"NEW EXCHANGE STUDENTS WITH A MONSTERLOVER MC DOTING ON THEM IN THEIR TRUE CELESTIAL FORM"

REMIEL

Remiel's true celestial form, as the Archangel of Hope, is quite intimidating to behold, in all its fearsome glory, it's quite majestic, standing around four meters tall, with her face completely obscured by a hood, a void filled with eyes, no mouth, with tufts of hair coming out from the shadows. Remiel, in that celestial form, wouldn't have legs, only torso and arms, instead of the lower limbs, black smoke would be visible from the bottom of her black robe. Remiel's torso would be open, resembling an exposed ribcage, with a bright silver spark inside, shimmering as if to represent hope amidst darkness. Remiel would have eight wings and hands with pointed talons, her weapon would also be a long scythe with a blade at both ends of the staff. Remiel wouldn't be able to speak in her Archangel form, she would only make otherworldly noises. The angel of death would be hesitant to show her true celestial form to MC, after all she would only use it for matters of life and death, she would know that for the human mind, her sight could be overwhelming to manage, however with some kind encouragement from MC, Remiel would change into her true celestial form, towering over MC, terrifying as ever, however her baby blue eyes would be innocent as always, showing she's still in there. Remiel would have to hold MC in her hands for them to reach her and, not being able to kiss, MC would stroke her wings or hair, to reassure her they aren't afraid, while Remiel would respond with a soft guttural noise, sounding almost like a whale, it would be her attempt to communicate her relief and fondness

NATHANIEL

Nathaniel in his true celestial form as the embodiment of Patience, becomes about two meters tall, with still six wings on his back and six arms floating, very thin pointed legs, arrows of blue light floating around him, slightly longer hair and a large mask covering half of Nathaniel's upper face, mostly hiding his several eyes. Nathaniel's weapon in that form is a bow and his form would be graceful, yet he would be able to land deadly punches with his six arms. Nathaniel would prefer not to show himself in his true celestial form, because usually he only transforms when he snaps, which is rare, it would be a bit difficult for Nathaniel to show his true self at will, however with a little insistence, he would sigh and warn MC not to be afraid, because while he might turn into a creature they might do not expect, it would still be him. Nathaniel, in his true celestial form, would cautiously lean closer to MC and nuzzle them, returning their caresses with his several arms, a little surprised by their lack of fear, but also relieved to be accepted for who he really is. Nathaniel's voice in his true celestial form would be more boomy and whispery

URIEL

Uriel's true celestial form as the embodiment of Justice would be rather powerful, buff and bulky, about three and a half meters tall, with jaws similar to those of a lion and half of her face covered by a helmet, obscuring her eyes, she would also have four muscular arms and four rather large thick wings. Uriel's armor would be even sturdier, her sword too and her hair would be longer and thicker, almost as a bright mane. Uriel isn't ashamed of her true celestial form, however she would suspect it could overwhelm MC and therefore she would ask MC if they're truly sure they want to come face to face with such a majestic being, there is a reason why angels say not to be afraid when they show themselves after all. After some convincing, Uriel would transform into her true celestial form and hesitantly lean towards MC, allowing herself to be examined by their hands, she would greatly appreciate their kisses and praises, basking in their affection and trying to cradle MC with caution, as if they were made of glass. Uriel needed to be careful in order to control her strength in her celestial form. The demonstration should happen, as in others' cases, in a fairly open environment, because Uriel's weight and size would risk accidentally breaking something

[natsuki-bakery]

⁎˚ ఎ JJBA Agere ໒ ˚⁎

can you do something with little dio! and cg vanilla ice if its smth you can do!! thank u sm :3

Dio Brando, the once-feared vampire overlord, now sat curled up on a plush velvet chair, no longer his intimidating self. He had regressed into a much younger, almost childlike version of himself, and his usual air of menace was replaced by wide, curious eyes and an innocent pout

Vanilla Ice, Dio’s ever-loyal servant, stood nearby, watching carefully, his normally stern face softened. He wasn’t used to seeing Dio like this, vulnerable and small. Yet, he treated his now regressed master with a tenderness few would ever imagine. Dio fidgeted, his small hands playing with the edge of his cape, his golden locks falling over his face. He looked up at Vanilla Ice with wide eyes, as if unsure of what to do or where he was

"Ice..." Dio said softly, his voice lacking the sharp, authoritative tone it usually carried. It was almost like a child calling for a parent

Vanilla Ice immediately knelt down beside Dio, keeping his movements slow and gentle, so as not to startle him. "Yes, my Lord?" Vanilla Ice’s voice was deep but calm, a far cry from his usual cold detachment

"I'm... tired.." Dio’s brows furrowed as he curled deeper into the chair, looking unsure of himself in this new state. His body felt unfamiliar, small, and he didn't like it, but he trusted Ice completely. "I don’t... like feeling sleepy.."

Vanilla Ice placed a reassuring hand on Dio’s shoulder, squeezing gently. "It’s alright, Lord Dio. You’re safe. Would you like me to help you rest ?"

Dio hesitated for a moment but then nodded, his eyes briefly reflecting the vulnerability he’d never let anyone see before. Ice, ever dutiful, gently lifted Dio from the chair, holding him as one might cradle a child. Dio, surprisingly, didn’t resist; his body instinctively relaxed against Vanilla Ice’s chest, and he closed his eyes as though this small act of kindness was a relief. Ice carried him over to the large bed draped in dark silk sheets. Laying Dio down gently, he made sure his master was comfortable, tucking him in carefully. Dio, still clutching the edge of his cape like a child holding a favorite blanket, murmured something softly under his breath

Vanilla Ice leaned closer, his face only inches from Dio’s. "What is it, my Lord ?"

Dio opened one eye, looking half-embarrassed but too tired to care much. "Stay... don’t go.."

A rare smile tugged at the corner of Vanilla Ice's lips. He had always been fiercely loyal, but now there was something more—something almost paternal in his care for Dio. "Of course, my Lord. I’m not going anywhere"

Vanilla Ice sat beside the bed, his large figure remaining vigilant as ever, but now with a warmth in his presence. He watched as Dio’s breathing slowed, the once-mighty vampire slipping into a peaceful sleep, his face free of the usual scowl, looking almost angelic.

If you're in the basic criteria , are DSMP fans, vivziep0p fans , h0tel/h3lluva b0ss fans, Owl h0use fans, St4r butterfly fans, Ghibli fans, ddlg/abdl blogs, nsfw/k!nk blogs, anti-agere blogs, or anti Christians/Christianity blogs : just dont interact !

[paikothecateater]

Alright, here's an elementary school Au.

6th grade: Denmark, Sweden, Toris.

5th grade:Norway, Switzerland.

4th grade: Eduard, Finland.

3th grade: ---

2th grade: ---

1th grade: Iceland, Hong Kong, Raivis, Liechtenstein.

Yes, I made all the numbers end in 'th' intentionally. It's called an awful sense of humour.

Personality wise this AU is slightly different to the main one.

The most obvious difference is Iceland.

He's not old enough to be sassy or mean at all. He's just a super shy kid who hides behind Norway whenever he can. He doesn't talk at all in front of the others. Whenever he wants to say something he always communicates through Norway or Hong Kong. He's a lot happier than his teenage self and absolutely loves Norway's best friend, Denmark, because he's the most positive and energetic person he knows.

Sweden is still a pretty intimidating kid, but he's actually just very protective of his friends. He's super smart too.

Norway is also pretty much the same, but he's a lot more big brother-ish here than normally. Iceland is a small child so Norway basically has to carry him around all the time to keep him from wandering off because he's about as sentient as a wet towel.

Finland is still super happy, but I thought I'd make his chaotic side a little more prominent here. He's a 4th grader. 4th graders are chaos.

Switzerland is Liechtenstein's protective older brother and Norway's only non-nordic school friend. He is much less scary and is generally pretty caring towards the little ones.

Hong Kong is much calmer. Iceland used to be absolutely terrified of him, but they eventually became inseparable. They're almost constantly holding hands because Hong Kong is always dragging Icey around. He's still like... A ball of sunshine, but he's nowhere near as chaotic. He's the only one who actually has a parental figure aka China.

I know the micronations aren't in this AU which might not sit right for some people, but I really couldn't find a good way to squeeze them in.

I also had a small issue coming up with plots because different grades don't usually interact all that much, so most of the content from this AU will take place after school.

Given that most of these nations don't actually have parental figures, it really only makes sense that they just kinda... Live alone. They're nations, most of them did grow up alone.

Hong Kong lives with China who doesn't mind checking on the others every now and again. I know I could technically give the other nations parents, but I also absolutely hate that, so I'm not doing it :) they're just unattended children yay! All the younger ones have older siblings who are more than capable of caring for them.

They mostly hang out in the house Norway and Iceland share.

Alright! Expect a mini fic soon!