#he is a gray character with so many shades

[growingstrong30]

Toriyama has really missed the opportunity of addressing Vegeta’s past during Frieza.

We have Granolah trying to get revenge from the Saiyans, that’s true. But what about someone coming exclusively for Vegeta?

We’ve seen Jaco already knew his name and who he was and decided to run away. Vegeta is just that scary.

And now he is one of the good guys. Even the Galactic Patrol gave him a medal as if he were not a homicidal man with far too many bodies on his account.

Imagine the drama that would unfold: he getting accountable for his own mistakes. He can’t really blame them for wanting revenge and he’s not one to ask for forgiveness. Goku would fight for his friend but he’s also getting strangled thoughts of what’s the right thing to do.

And what about his family? Bulma knows what he is capable of but his children?!! Are they paying the price for their father’s mistakes?

Also there’s a lot of drama regarding Frieza. We’ve seen Geets already feeling guilty for his wrongdoings. He knows a lot of them were orders from the purple lizard and if he refused he would have died right there on the spot but that’s the thing: he never refused. Sometimes he even went willingly to fulfill those orders. Heck, he would kill people just because it pleased him.

It would get us right into Vegeta’s most inner thoughts and certainly into a character development for the main cast as they are confronted with their own morals. He has such a rich and interesting story that it’s a shame is not being addressed.

[necer0s]

One of the things that’s fascinating about Superboy to me as a shameless powerscaler is that he’s like. Right on the edge of being too powerful. There’s a line between characters that can be active heroes and beings that are so powerful as to basically be gods, who have to be shuffled off to their own corners of canon and only show up for really big cosmic threats so as to not break the plausibility of the setting. Superman stays out of Gotham, Silver Surfer stays out in space, Jean Gray dies if she goes full Phoenix. Kon should be in that category, but no one at DC pays enough attention to him to realize it.

Can you imagine? A character who is basically Jean Gray and Superman combined, but no one ever thinks about it because he wears silly shades and a leather jacket and his telekinesis has a minor range limitation that he’s outgrowing. If you seriously introduced a character like that, the idea of them being an oft-ignored minor character would be laughable.

And yet, somehow Kon sneaks in under the radar! At least part of it is the Kryptonian powerset, obviously. Between the various members of the Superfam and the many copies and parodies across different settings, we get used to treating all those very powerful abilities as one thing, so it doesn’t feel like as big a deal to add all of them onto one other power, especially when Tactile Telekinesis is often forgotten or underused by writers who can’t manage inventive power use.

But what it all adds up to is one of the most powerful characters in DC canon, with a huge amount of room to grow, being consistently treated as a minor sidekick. It’s truly wild.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Lesson 4: "Do Black People Blush?" Bringing brown complexions to life

Inspired by this ask

So, do Black people blush?

We are human beans 🤣! Blood rushes through our veins! This isn't just a nonblack misconception either; I know plenty of Black people who think we don't blush. Stop saying that shit. It's not true! If you thought this at any point, I'm glad you learned, TAKE THIS L IN SILENCE! I am sparing you the indignity of saying this out loud, ever! 🙏🏾

Jokes aside, the actual issue usually lies with the depiction or description. Depending on our skin tone, most of us aren’t going to turn ‘bright pink’ with a blush (if you write that in your y/n or roleplaying fics, that’s an easy way to negate a good amount of your potential Black audience). Think of a cherry coke- how you still see the tint of red in it, but it’s still brown? Like that.

One way to dodge this in writing is to say “flushed”, or “ears/cheeks became hot”. This is describing the physical action of blushing, without having to describe the color of someone’s face. If you’re really nervous about not writing us correctly via blushing… there you go!

Colorism

Okay. So this is something I’ll likely do its own lesson on, because there’s no way I could encapsulate it into one little blurb and I’m not going to try! After asking the internet an admittedly confusing question 😅, one thing I was able to reaffirm is that people have different opinions on what ‘dark’/’darker’ skin tones mean. People recognize that different cultural upbringings and contexts will change what that means! And that’s good- that an important part of the larger conversation!

However, I want everyone to understand that you don’t have to be Black to be dark/’darker’ skinned- you can be Black and very pale! We discussed that in the last lesson! There’s no ‘singular point of brown-ness’ that designates a Black person as ‘Black’- there’s an entire sociological conversation behind that!

My point is, this isn’t a ‘oh Black people OVERALL aren’t depicted blushing properly’- because there are ‘lighter’ skinned Black people that wouldn’t suffer as much from this particular issue.

Blushes and Undertones

Three Links for Tips on Medium to Deep Skintones

Different complexions are going to require different colors, there's not a 'one fits all' option. However! What we want to do for deeper brown complexions is to focus on BOLDER, not lighter! Putting light pink or a white person’s ‘nude’ on our skin will often make us look ashy and undercolored. And we don’t like looking ashy.

"It looks like they're ashy!"

What do we mean when we say this about a piece? Well, worse case scenario, it looks like this:

This was NOT one of KD’s better days, and he was thoroughly mocked for this. He got more than enough money for lotion! Anyway, when we say that your art looks ‘ashy’, it means that it feels like the skin of your Black character is gray, or dead. Like a corpse. We don’t look like that unless things are dire.

In fan and professional art, you can sometimes find people user a grey undertone for deeper shades of brown on Black people: NO! We are NOT grey! We are not pitch! Many skin shades of brown can be found based in the oranges and the reds. Based on lighting and depth of complexion, you might even have to go into the blues and purple to capture the brown you’re seeking.

I’m begging us to stop desaturating the browns we use. We can see the difference. It’s usually one of those ‘White Man Painted Brown’ techniques I discussed before; an attempt to ‘make a character Black’ without really committing to it because the brown skin tone ‘doesn’t look good’ to the artist. Brown is beautiful! Commit to brown! Commit to the full design!

Put in the work to create the brown you need!

While this is a traditional art piece (follow Ellie Mandy Art, a Black creator), I want you to notice how she incorporated many colors to create the deep brown for her piece.

-8:05 for the list of paints

-8:05-17:29 for the process

She used black, yes, but it was nowhere near the base color. She incorporated blues and reds and other browns to capture that depth. It wasn’t ‘toss in a bunch of black or grey to get the brown darker’. (SKIP TO THE END TO SEE HOW GOOD THIS PIECE IS, BTW. I felt like I was in the presence of a master watching her do this, fr. We gotta pay artists more.)

I want to use this model as an example to show that while we might get very dark, we're still not 'pitch black'. You can see the flat of the black of their clothes versus their deep complexion. They're not the same!

Even if your character's complexion is very deep brown into black, you still need to incorporate ‘life’ into them (if that makes sense). And you know what? Even if you want to describe your characters as having ‘black’ skin, that’s fine, but there are still other ways to do it- obsidian, the night sky, velvet. Find a way to romanticize our skin (there’s an entire conversation about how ‘black’ is used in a negative connotation in language and storytelling, and we’re ALSO going to have that conversation later!)

A Real Simple Way (i.e. how I do it)

I tried, but I cannot find my skin tones palette link anymore. I’m sorry! But, it’s been essential to my character design. If you don’t ever buy anything else, I would HIGHLY suggest investing in a skin tones palette for your art program.

Everyone say hello to Philia, my OC! I’m used to drawing her, so I’m going to use her as an example. Now remember, I am still an amateur! But this is how I do it!

Admittedly, I do the one on the left when I'm feeling lazy, but more often I'll take the time to do the one on the right. Now here’s the thing- I’m not actually blending the red into the brown. This is on a whole different layer. What I’m actually doing is adding to and fading the color until it’s at a color that I feel is natural. There's definitely an easier, smarter way to do this, but that’s what I like to do- I like to see the stages slowly until I’m comfortable.

You have to mess around and practice; see what looks good and what doesn't. Go into the reds, the oranges, the pinks and observe how it looks- I may go through multiple before I settle on one. It’s really just a matter of getting used to drawing Black skin tones and how they look in different lighting. This one's not perfect for sure.

Resources

Here are some really good posts and Youtube videos on how both to paint skin, and to add blush tones. And remember, as per my usual, the best way to learn how the draw and paint Black people is to follow and learn from Black artists! Another good idea might be looking into Black makeup and Black SFX makeup artists. As people that work with skin on a regular basis, they would be a good place to study what colors can and should be used on different skin colors as a whole.

ami0amii

Likelihood Art

Tiara Anderson

Proko

Sinix

Ross Draws

In summary, focus on bolder colors, be willing to test until you get what you need, and practice! All you can do to get better is to practice! And as always: it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[ichorai]

weave ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; there was a rose in his hand, you realized. white, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. but it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for lucy gray. you would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. you’d also brought something for your tribute.

words ; 6.8k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury, lucky flickerman is a close family friend of reader's, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; there will be a fourth part loosely following the events of the movie (obv tweaked for the fic!)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

It was humiliating, how nervous he was. Reaping day. The Plinth prize was just a whisper away—he could nearly taste it: phantom traces of rich chocolate and edible gold on his dry tongue.

The day before the exams, you’d pulled him into the library for one last study session. You whispered that you would botch one of your papers for him—he certainly needed the Plinth prize more than you. And though he knew that you’d be far more deserving of it (your grades were near impeccable, and impossible for him to try and compete with), he also knew that his pride wouldn’t ever recover from such a blow.

Because how could he face you after that? Knowing that he was… inferior?

And so he told you not to squander your own achievements for him—that he’d figure something out. You spared him a hesitant look, before turning back to your books. 

Now that the exams were over and done with, Coriolanus briefly wondered if you went ahead and botched it anyway. An irrational sort of anger flared within his chest. Did you think you were better than him? That he was your charity case?

But all those terrible thoughts—the nastiness sweltering in his chest for days after the exams—dissolved almost immediately after seeing you. 

You met him in front of the academy, your dress a lovely shade of crimson, angular at your shoulders but tapering down into flowing ripples below your waist. Like fire, almost. You were glowing, he was sure of it, with the way the sun illuminated only the best of your features—the slope of your nose, the curling of your lips, the glimmer in your eyes. 

“Coriolanus,” you greeted with faux formality, tilting your head to the side. He was wearing his dress shirt again—the very one you watched Tigris mend and sew and tinker many, many times. Pinned to his waistcoat was another red rose, matching the shade of your own attire. 

He mirrored you, sweeping into a low bow and brandishing another rose out of seemingly nowhere. “For you, darling. Grandma’am said she could spare it—special occasion and all.”

“Oh, don’t call me that,” you said, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous pet name. It was what your parents called each other when they thought nobody was around to hear it—it made you feel old. “And tell Grandma’am thank you. It’s beautiful.”

He smiled, stepping forward to slot the rose behind your ear. “Ready for your Plinth prize?” he asked, fingers lingering by your face, thumb stroking down your jaw.

You sucked in a breath. “I don’t think it’s going to be what either of us expect.” 

There was a brief pause. Coriolanus’ eyes narrowed. Had you botched your exams for him? 

With a pointed glance to the academy halls, you nudged him forward. “Come on. Everyone’s already inside. Clemmie keeps asking for you.”

The two of you made your way in, weaving between red-uniformed academy students (the ones who weren’t at the very top) and professors. Behind another set of double doors were where all the top-ranking students were mingling. Sipping on bubbling glasses of colorful drinks, picking off delicate foods from ceramic plates. 

While Snow was stolen away from you by a few other classmate acquaintances, Sejanus was the first to greet you, shaking your hand enthusiastically. His palms were sweating. You didn’t quite mind. “Congratulations on finishing exams, Y/N. I know how hard you’ve been studying.”

You flashed him a genuine smile. “Congrats to you, too. I’m surprised you’re here at all, actually. I know how you feel about the reaping.”

His expression faltered. “Ma made me come. Moral support for my friends, and all.”

Ma. The word sounded foreign and heavy on the tongue. Unfamiliar… but rather inviting. Homely, in a way. Despite your initial silence, you managed to recover just fine. In a lowered voice, you whispered to him, “Well, my mother thinks it’s a rather dreadful affair. A waste of potential talent, sending children to their deaths, she says. I can’t help but agree with her. Father thinks it’s necessary, though.”

Sejanus pursed his lips. No doubt questioning the necessity of watching the people he knew from his childhood in the district getting brutally murdered. It looked like he was going to say something else, but before he could, Arachne’s high-pitched voice cut through the two of you. You grimaced, catching Coriolanus’ eyes as he stood right behind her. Judging by his mildly annoyed countenance, he wasn’t having a very good time chatting to her, either.

“Spill it, Sejanus,” she demanded in a prissy tone. “Who won the prize?”

The dark curls on Sejanus’ head shook as he silently scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m not going to ruin my father’s big day. No one here actually likes him but they do love his money… you know what that’s like, don’t you, Arachne?”

Her nose wrinkled in part-contempt, part-disgust. “Funny,” she deadpanned. 

Coriolanus stepped around her so he could curl an arm over your waist. “We all know who’s going to win it, anyway.” His grip squeezed over the smooth fabric of your dress. 

Arachne rolled her eyes and marched away, off to find someone else to bother. 

Left with just the two of you, Sejanus dipped his head and muttered, “Look, I know you guys have had high hopes for this but… there’s no prize. Not anymore.”

There was a terse pause. Your head reared back incredulously, searching Sejanus’ expression for any signs of fibbing. Then you looked to Coriolanus, eyes wide. 

“What?” he asked, words sharp, looking almost offended.

“I’m so sorry—”

Before Sejanus could finish his sentence, loud trumpets echoed throughout the hall and all the students began making their way to the plush velvet seats laid out in front of the podium. Coriolanus’ hand slipped away from you, balling into a tight, pale fist. You sat down first, Sejanus going on your right, Coriolanus to your left. Clemensia was on his other side, flashing you an attractive smile. You couldn’t find it in you to smile back.

If there was no prize, what were they going to dole out instead? A free holiday, all expenses paid? A new television? A pair of fuzzy socks?

Your rather prickly thoughts were interrupted when a woman stepped up behind the podium. She was dressed in lavish plum robes, intricate beige patterns weaving through the threads. From afar, it looked like there was flesh stitched onto the fabric. Her hair was greyed and a calculated sort of haphazard. One of her eyes was beady and blue, the other dark and large, almost eclipsing any of the white bits. 

She tapped the microphone once, earning herself a buzz of feedback, and tittered with unnerving laughter. Volumnia Gaul was what she introduced herself as. Her voice was low and gravelly. When she went on to say that she was the head gamemaker, your and Coriolanus' heads both snapped to Sejanus, but his gaze was fixed onto the ground, face grim.

After a bit more faddering about the future, Dr. Gaul introduced the creator of the games and dean of the academy—Casca Highbottom. He sauntered forward from somewhere within the seats, mind very clearly addled with a drug of some sorts. Morphling, you’d wager.

“I can’t believe they still allow him to speak in public,” Clemensia said to Coriolanus amusedly. He didn’t spare her a response.

He dragged on his little speech, as if he took pleasure in dangling the golden carrot in front of the donkey. Your hands twitched in an antsy fashion, and you neatly folded them over your lap.

“My own twenty-four top prospects. All waiting to hear the results of your hard studying in this prestigious institution, eager to know who’s won that Plinth prize, no doubt. And a golden future, with it.” He catered forward with a slurred laugh. “However… I’m here to tell you all that there’s been a change this year.”

Murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Coriolanus’ chin lifted higher, back straightening.

“One last assignment to prove your worth,” Highbottom continued on. He began to pace back and forth, reminiscent to that of a caged tiger. “The esteemed citizens of the Capitol simply aren’t watching anymore. And if the games are to continue at all, there must be an audience, no?”

More murmuring. Your eyes narrowed. Twenty-four top students… twenty-four tributes… 

Oh, no.

You sucked in a quiet, barely noticeable inhale with the realization. It was enough for Coriolanus’ eyes to land on you, but you were staring at Sejanus, as if trying to get him to hear your thoughts. 

Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me we won’t have to play a hand in such a barbaric game.

“Head gamemaker Dr. Gaul has stepped in to… incentivize patriotic values with her own unique flair, starting with you. The Plinth prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.” 

For a moment, Highbottom’s gaze drifted over to you. Somewhere behind you, you could hear Arachne’s affronted, “Excuse me?”

You weren’t quite sure why she was upset. It’s not like she had a chance with the prize if it were grade-based.

“Instead, it will be decided by who is the best mentor in the hunger games.”

Your jaw clenched. Clemensia appeared bewildered. Coriolanus looked shaken. Sejanus was visibly distraught.

“As the reaping begins, I will allocate each one of the top twenty-four Capitol students a district tribute. A figure behind the scenes—one who must persuade them to perform for the cameras.”

This was met by a barrage of questions and protests from the students. Highbottom waved most of them away.

“Your role is to turn these children into spectacles. Not survivors… victory in the games is only one of the considerations. Your entire future rests on this last project.”

It was a terrible thing to imagine. Two dozen district lives in exchange for a bit of cruel entertainment for the Capitol. You were never fond of it, but you kept quiet on the matter because you had the luxury of turning your head away. Turning the television off and straying away from such brutalities. 

But now that you were being forced to look—no, more than that—you were being forced to pull strings, it was altogether a nauseating thought.

“Oh, and I must warn you… anyone caught cheating to give their tributes an unfair advantage…” Highbottom’s spectacled eyes swept over the lot of students. “Well, they’d just have no future at all.”

More trumpets rang throughout the hall. 

The Dean clapped his hands together. “Here we go! Let the reaping ceremony begin!”

Two large screens hanging over the podium lit up for the first district—a tall boy on the left, a sallow-faced girl on the right. Dean Highbottom began to list off student names as mentors. 

To none of your surprise, Sejanus got the male tribute from district two. Coriolanus shot him a thinly-veiled, wry smile over your shoulder. “You got the pick of the litter.”

Sejanus refused to meet his gaze. “You forget… I’m part of the litter.”

On the names rattled—districts three, four, five, six, and seven all passing by in a blur. 

Juno Phipps was called out for district eight’s male tribute. She sat somewhere behind you, and you could hear her puff a sigh of disappointment.

Then your name came straight after. 

Your head snapped from Highbottom to the screen, eyes widening. 

Wovey, her name was. She was a small little thing—you could see her frail, skeletal figure even through a grainy screen from afar. The striped dress she wore was patchy and frayed, darkened with soot and dirt. How old was she? She was probably one of the youngest tributes yet—you’d guess that she was barely thirteen, maybe even twelve. Something in your stomach jolted. Momentarily, you’d forgotten that this little girl was meant to be your school project.

District eight. The textiles sector. You blinked at the screen and shifted uncomfortably in your expensive-tailored dress—a dress that very likely came from the very same district. 

Highbottom called out names for the next district. Clemensia was pleased with her large, burly tribute from the eleventh district. Coriolanus was yet to be mentioned. You glanced over at him, before reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t look at you, but squeezed your palm in what you read to be silent gratitude.

And finally—with only one tribute left, Highbottom coughed out what sounded to be a laugh. “The runt girl from district twelve… she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

The grip he had on your hand tightened until it was bordering on painful. You said nothing about it. Highbottom had always been a grouchy man, but he seemed to have a fixation on making Coriolanus’ life as tormentable as possible. 

Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the screen in fascination when a woman sauntered out from the ranks. Her hair was dark and curly, unruly in a way that suited her perfectly. Upon further scrutiny, you noticed small wildflowers woven through the strands, limp with time. She wore makeup, which wasn’t something you often saw in tributes. A deep blue eyeshadow and slightly-smudged rouge on her cheeks and lips. But what really caught your attention, however, was the dress she was wearing. It was a startling contrast to her name—with its bright, colorful ruffles on her skirt, the front of her corset bearing lovely details of flowers and vines. 

She was beautiful.

“What is that dress?” sneered Arachne, in an obvious attempt to rile Coriolanus up. “Is she some sort of clown?”

But suddenly, Lucy Gray stepped out of her path towards the stage and grabbed a girl to her right. Or, more accurately, the girl’s collar. She promptly dropped something down her dress and hurried off. Screams erupted from the screen as the girl writhed with terror, screaming for someone to, “Get it out! Get it out!”

Coriolanus stood abruptly, letting your hand go. You hadn’t noticed just how much feeling you’d lost in your arm, and gingerly shook it back to life.

The grainy screen showed a small snake skitter out of the bottom of her dress. 

When Lucy Gray finally made it up on the stage, she was harshly struck across the face by district twelve’s mayor. The blow made her head crack to the side and she went tumbling down. You frowned, but couldn’t take your eyes away. 

It took two peacekeepers to haul the furious mayor away. You mutely realized that the girl was the mayor’s daughter. 

Lucy Gray laid there, face aching. 

And then—singing. A small voice from within the crowd. Five seconds later, another joined. And another, and another. Even through the screen, when Lucy Gray tilted her bruised face up and struggled back onto her feet, you could see the pain in her eyes. Was that her family singing for her?

The woman made her way to the microphone. She began to sing with a quivering lip. Her voice was soft and smooth, silken to your ears.

“She’s singing?” Arachne commented in a pinched tone. “Is she out of her mind?”

“Shut up, Arachne,” you turned to snap at her. She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat, but didn’t say anything else, to your relief.

Coriolanus watched the screen with unsettled eyes. A million thoughts rushed through his mind at once. Most unpleasant, many rageful, some curious. 

And to bring her singing to a sudden halt, Lucy Gray screamed into the microphone. 

“YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!” 

The students burst into laughter, incredulous gasps, and scandalized murmurs. Coriolanus glanced around. He met your eyes, and you gave him half an amused smile. His tribute knew how to put on a show, that was for sure. 

He smiled back, and turned to the screen once more.

Lucy Gray lowered herself into a deep bow for the audience. District and Capitol alike. 

What an intriguing girl, you thought.

“She’s mentally ill,” Arachne buzzed. 

It took every bit of your willpower not to turn around and strike her across the face. But you thought back to the furious mayor, and of the little girl you were supposed to mentor, and kept your hands folded neatly over your lap.

You found yourself at the Snow penthouse that night. There was nothing to study, not anymore, so you lounged on a rickety chair and watched Tigris sew together pieces of blue fabric. She wanted to make you a dress, and though you had more than enough of your own, you couldn’t ever say no to her. Being around her took your mind off of the games, even for just a few minutes.

Coriolanus, however, was pacing back and forth in front of the two of you. Muttering angrily under his breath, nose twitching with disdain.

“He’s sabotaging us. That girl’s never going to win the games,” he hissed, plucking the rose off of his waistcoat and tugging at its petals. They fluttered down to the floor. “You saw her, didn’t you? She’s underfed. Unstable.”

Pot, meet kettle. 

You pursed your lips. “Highbottom said you’re meant to make a performance out of them. It isn’t just about winning.”

“Everything is about winning!” he asserted, carding a frustrated hand through his flaxen tresses. “If not the games, then the crowd. And Lucy Gray won’t survive a minute inside that arena.”

You sighed. Little Wovey didn’t seem too likely to survive, either. She wasn’t a fighter by any means. Maybe she was a fast runner? 

“So that means we have to make every second before then count.” Coriolanus reached out to cup your face, and you leaned into his touch, kissing his palm. Tigris shot the two of you a side glance and smiled to herself.

“What’re you planning?” you asked. 

“I’ll make her sing again,” he said, sounding so sure of himself.

This made Tigris’ brows cinch together. “I wouldn’t sing a note for you if I was her. I wouldn’t do anything at all… not unless I knew I could trust you.”

Coriolanus regarded his cousin with a cynical stare. “She’s district, Tigris. She knows we hate her and she wants us dead. How am I supposed to get her to trust me?”

“We?” you echoed, shaking your head. “I don’t hate her. I don’t even know her. Do you?”

“I—”

You lifted up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “Do you know her, Coriolanus?”

His jaw set with a click. You had your answer.

“How can you hate someone you don’t know? Look, you don’t have to like her. Just convince her that you do.” You crossed your arms, thinking of the little girl you were meant to mentor. It was going to be hard to like her, anyway, knowing that she was going to die soon. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached.

Tigris nodded emphatically. She paused her needlework and looked up at her cousin. “Imagine it was your name they pulled, and you were ripped from your home. I’d just want to know if somebody still cared about me out here. Don’t discount her just because she’s district, Coryo. You might have more in common with her than you think.”

Coriolanus plucked the last rose petal from the stem. You watched him with soft eyes, before drawing yourself up to your feet. 

“I think it’s time I head home. My family’s got dinner with the Flickermans tomorrow.” You placed a limp hand on his jaw and kissed his cheek, then drifted down to kiss his shoulder. He smelled distinctly of roses—a fresh sort of musk.

Just as you were about to pull away, he rested his hands on your forearms, rooting you to the same spot. “We should greet them at the station. Show them that they can trust us.”

You searched his face for genuinity. It wasn’t an entirely terrible idea.

“You sure?” you asked. It wasn’t a secret just how uncomfortable Coriolanus was around district folk.

“Yeah. We can… get ahead of the other students. You’re way more approachable than me, anyway. Maybe they’ll like you more,” Snow offered. A part of you wondered what he’d do if you said no. 

The thought of meeting your assigned tribute made your stomach do somersaults. Finally, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station, then?” 

Snow smiled in a charming manner. He dipped forward to slant his lips over yours, and you melted into his touch, almost forgetting that Tigris was there—until she made a noise of disgust and told the two of you, “Eugh! Do that somewhere else, please!”

Coriolanus was there before you, sticking out like a sore thumb in his academy red against the cold, rusted metals of the train cars. You wore a dark coat over your uniform, trying to look a little more discreet. 

“Are they here yet?” you asked, steps quickening to him. He took your hand and squeezed.

“Anytime now.”

The two of you stood shoulder-to-shoulder as you waited, exchanging light conversation. There was a rose in his hand, you realized. White, just like the one he gave to you when he first met your parents. But it wasn’t for you, since he had yet to hand it over— you figured it was for Lucy Gray. You would’ve thought it was sweet of him, if only you hadn’t been aware of his motivations to gain her trust. Still, you’d be a hypocrite if you criticized him for it. You’d also brought something for your tribute. 

A juice box. Grape. Still cold, beading with condensation.

You wondered if they had juice boxes out in district eight.

Another train rolled to a grueling halt to the track on your left. The cars were due for a good scrubbing, you thought. They were absurdly filthy—you weren’t even sure what its original color was meant to be.

Peacekeepers stepped up, disregarding the two of you, and began yanking the doors open. There were disgruntled noises coming from inside, and a few minutes later, the grey soldiers were pulling out the tributes.

You searched through the small crowd frantically. The boy from 11th—Reaper, you recalled his name was—caught your eye and just about snarled. You tried your best to ignore him.

When you found the little girl, little Wovey, you slipped away from Coriolanus and stepped forward. In your peripheral vision, you spotted him moving towards Lucy Gray.

Wovey was staring at a particularly uninteresting spot on the ground. She had her skinny arms wound around her midriff as if she was cold, despite the warm temperature that morning. When your shadow fell over her, her large, tearful eyes slid up to meet yours. 

“Hello, Wovey,” you whispered in what you hoped was a welcoming, not-at-all-intimidating voice. You told her your name, making sure to enunciate the syllables slowly, so she’d have no problem repeating it back. She didn’t, but perhaps she would later. “I’m your mentor.”

“Mender?” Her voice quaked.

“Mentor. I’ll be helping you in the arena, during the game. Here, I have something for you.” You reached inside your coat, eyeing the peacekeepers warily. Either they didn’t notice, or they were just pretending not to. You wondered how many of them knew your father. “Do you guys have juice boxes back where you live?”

You held out the cold little box for her to take. She blinked at it warily.

“It’s grape,” you said.

She reached out and took it from you. You offered her a gentle smile, and she mirrored you with a shy grin. 

“Can I share it?” she croaked. Wovey looked back at the male tribute from the same district—Bobbin. Were they friends?

“Of course, sweetheart,” you said warmly. 

Sweetheart? Where’d that come from?

The peacekeepers began rounding up the tributes, shoving them in the direction of a truck. You dipped your head at one of the grey soldiers as he took Wovey’s arm.

“Be gentle with her,” you told the peacekeeper. He met you with a stoic expression, but nodded once, before urging Wovey onward.

It was hard to tear your eyes away from her, but you forced yourself to do so, bounding towards Coriolanus and—

“Lucy Gray,” you greeted, just before saying your own name as you moved to stand beside Snow. Her dress looked even brighter in person, even if it was caked in filth. “I hope Coriolanus hasn’t scared you off yet.”

“Who’s this?” she asked, her dark eyes flitting from Snow to you. “Another mentor?”

“Mmh. Not yours though. I’m dedicated to the little girl from district eight,” you replied. 

There was something in her eyes that softened. 

“You’ll take care of her?” she asked.

You exchanged an uncertain glance with Coriolanus. “I’ll try my best to. Just like my boyfriend here for you.”

“Boyfriend, huh? Y’all make an attractive couple, that’s for sure.” Lucy Gray smiled, wide and genuine. It faded instantaneously once she spotted a peacekeeper approaching. She plucked the rose from Coriolanus’ unsuspecting hands. “Well… good luck with that.”

The soldier grabbed her by the arm and shoved her into the direction of the car.

Coriolanus stepped forward. “Wait, no—I, hey, I’d like to escort my tribute—”

They all ignored him. You pursed your lips, before following behind two of the soldiers, peeking around the bend. The truck’s doors were wide open for you to slip into. Snow met your eyes when you beckoned him over.

“We can sneak in,” you whispered. “When they’re not looking.”

“Are you insane? We don’t know where they’re going!” he responded in a lowered voice, taking your arm, not unsimilar to how the peacekeepers grabbed the tributes. “I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“They won’t hurt me,” you told him. It didn’t dawn on you that Coriolanus was referring to the district tributes, not the peacekeepers. Quick and chaste, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “You coming?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. He blew out a frustrated breath, before letting you go and giving you the green light by motioning for you to get a move on. Nerves peaking with adrenaline, you glanced around again, satisfied that no peacekeepers were looking, and rushed into the truck. You felt Coriolanus’ chest brush against your back as he hurried in after you.

You hid in the shadows of the trucks’ slants just as the peacekeepers slammed it shut. A victorious smile stretched your lips thin. You made it.

Oh, your father was going to murder you. Snow first, maybe, and then you. Your mother would probably find the situation all too funny. Though, as you found all the tributes’ eyes locked on you and Coriolanus, you realized that it probably wasn’t funny at all, not in the slightest.

“Hello,” you said in an awfully wavering voice. Coriolanus echoed your sentiment, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

“What’s the matter, pretty boy?” Reaper asked him with a scowl. “You in the wrong cage?”

“No,” he responded with a minute shrug. “This cage is delightful.”

The truck practically swayed as Reaper stormed closer to him. You instinctively grabbed his forearm, pulling him back. But clearly not quick enough, seeing as Reaper grabbed the lapels of Snow’s academy uniform, shoving him up against the wall with a loud thud. Coriolanus let out an oomf with the impact, blinking sudden white stars out of his vision. 

“I’ll kill you right now!” Reaper hissed. 

“He’ll do it, too,” warned Dill. The girl from his same district. “Reaper killed a peacekeeper back in eleven.”

“I say we kill them both!” another tribute from somewhere behind sneered.

“I’m in. Nothing left to lose now.”

You stood frozen, afraid that one wrong move would send Reaper into a frenzy. Instead, you spoke calm and clear, “We’re here to help.” Your eyes found Lucy Gray’s, then traveled over to Wovey, squeezed in the corner. “We want to help you.”

Crossing her arms, Lucy Gray said, “Y’all got family back home? They’ll kill them if you hurt a hair on their pretty Capitol heads. Then you. ‘Sides… the blonde one’s my mentor. I might need him.”

One of the tributes from district four curled her lip in contempt. “How come you get one?”

“You all get one!” Snow told her, which earned him another enraged shove by Reaper.

She guffawed—Coral, yes, that was her name—with incredulity. “What, and we’re just supposed to believe you?”

“Why else would we get in here with you?” you said, exasperated. “We don’t even know where they’re taking you guys.”

Coral cocked a brow so high it nearly disappeared behind her choppy bangs. “Whose mentor are you?”

You limply waved your fingers at Wovey. “District eight’s girl.”

“So how come Skinny and Rainbow get special treatment? Why aren’t my mentors here?” Coral leaned down towards Lucy Gray in a taunting fashion, barely glancing over at Wovey.

Lucy Gray smiled, all toothy. “They just got inspired, I guess.”

A moment later, a loud rumbling came from outside the truck. Had they already arrived? There was a whir, and the whole truck began to tilt downward. The doors swung open and shocked gasps echoed throughout the metal cavern.

Reaper relinquished his grip on Snow to grab hold of Dill, and you launched yourself at Coriolanus, trying your best to grapple onto the grooves in the walls so you wouldn’t slip. Lucy Gray yelled as her foot slipped and she went toppling down—

You grabbed her hand, grunting with the combined weight of two people. Coriolanus’ grip on the wall slipped, and he bumped into you, causing your fingers to fumble.

The three of you went rolling down, out of the truck, back into the blinding sunlight. Your shoulder hit the ground hard, another sharp rock digging painfully into your back. That’d definitely bruise later. Disoriented, you dragged yourself up from the ground, frowning at the stinging sensation in your legs. Coriolanus was next to you the next second, grabbing at your face and arms, asking if you were alright. You nodded a few times, before pushing him away to see if the tributes were okay.

All of them were dizzy and aching, but other than that—seemed just fine. Or, as fine as they could be, given the circumstances.

Only then did you look around your surroundings. Metal fencing, dirt pen, discarded tires—Capitol citizens watching with wide, curious eyes. You caught sight of the Capitol Zoo’s insignia on an ice cream stand just past the fencing. 

“Ugh,” Coriolanus muttered, pale blonde hair properly tousled over his forehead. “What are all these people doing, staring at us? Don’t they have anything better to do? Don’t they have jobs? The children should be in school. It’s no wonder this country is in shambles.”

“The kids are on summer break, Coryo,” you deadpanned, shirking off your dark coat to give it a good dusting. 

Then, a familiar voice made your head snap towards the crowd.

Cameras. Mustache. Coin flip. 

“We’ll just give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath—I do have to admit I’m jealous of that big entrance! I’m Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, a man who needs no introduction.”

Oh, he certainly didn’t. He and your mother were tight-knit buddies when they went to school together, making the Flickermans good family friends. This was beyond embarrassing.

“Guess where I am today, folks! That’s right, the Capitol Zoo, where this year’s tributes will be held here, on display behind these bars for your viewing pleasure! That’s right, all twenty-four of them—” That was when he turned to point, and his eyes landed on you and Coriolanus. His words faltered. “What in Panem—is that academy rouge I see?”

You stiffly waved at the camera. Absent-mindedly, you passed a hand over your head to fix your hair. 

“Hey, Mr. Flickerman,” you called out with a grimace.

Lucky’s eyes bugged out of his head. He exclaimed your name in part-confusion, part-shock. “Hey, what’re you doing in there, kiddo? Who’s that dashing young man with you? We’re live!” He jutted a thumb back at the camera, its lens facing straight at you.

You spared him a stiff smile, eye twitching. Oh, your father was going to pop a blood vessel, you were sure.

“Uhm… well, uh—” The words caught in your throat and you lowered your voice so only Coriolanus could hear you. You had to ignore Lucky’s constant calls for your attention. “What do we do?”

His blue eyes, even paler in the bright sunlight, roamed over the onlookers. “We do what Highbottom told us to do,” he said, rolling his shoulders. He nudged you in the direction of Wovey, and began setting off for Lucy Gray. “We put on a show.”

You watched as the two, mentor and tribute, made their way to the fencing. As if there was a flip of a switch inside him, Coriolanus began to charm the onlookers and children, showing off his pearly whites, introducing himself and his rambunctious tribute. The children were enamoured with Lucy Gray, it seemed, judging by the way they bubbled over with questions about the snake, her colorful dress, her singing.

Lucky was having the time of his life interviewing them. If not for the current situation at hand—that being you trapped in a zoo enclosure—you would’ve laughed at his earnest excitement. Being a weatherman, a reporter, and an amateur-magician was apparently growing far too monotonous for someone with as large a personality as Lucretius Flickerman.

After much deliberation and cheek-biting, you turned and made your way toward Wovey, who was sitting down next to Bobbin on a tree stump. You noted the purple juice box, now crumpled and empty, discarded on the ground between them.

“Hey, guys,” you said, lowering down to one knee to speak to Wovey. “Do you want to go introduce yourself, sweetheart? Win over the Capitol citizens’ hearts?”

The young girl screwed up her face. Whether it was from shyness or distaste, you weren’t quite sure. Perhaps both. 

“I’ll be there with you. I promise,” you told her, holding your palm out for her to take.

Tentative, Wovey slipped off of the stump and clutched onto your hand. The two of you approached the barriers, with her nearly hiding behind you, clutching onto your coat.

Lucy Gray told the growing audience about her Covey family, a group of traveling musicians, and how she wasn’t actually from district twelve. Snow watched her with a somewhat proud, victorious expression. 

Lucky noticed you approaching, beckoning for the cameras to follow him as he made his way over to you. 

Quickly, he covered the top of the mic to lean forward and whisper, “Is the academy aware of what you’re doing?”

“No. Nobody told us not to, though.”

Lucky regarded you knowingly. “And does your father know about this little escapade of yours?”

“No,” you replied, frown-smiling. 

“Ooh. Good luck with that.” He spared you an amused wince. Then, he uncovered the microphone and gave the cameras another brilliant smile, introducing you with a flourish of his hands. “I’m here with a close personal friend of mine, Y/N L/N. And here we have their tribute, yes? Who might you be, young lady?”

You tried your best to encourage Wovey out of her shyness, going so far as to pat her shoulder and to gently push back the thin strands of hair falling in front of her face. She croaked out her name and her district, and Lucky asked her another myriad of overwhelming questions.

Whilst the crowd around the ever-charming Lucy Gray was watching her with curiosity and awe, the audience you were gathering looked upon Wovey with pity and something mildly akin to empathy.

There were perks to getting the youngest tribute, maybe. 

 She was telling them about how she liked to climb trees back in district eight. Yes, that’d be useful in the games. 

You looked over to see Coriolanus observing you with your tribute. He gave you a nod, perhaps a second too late. The man found himself wondering if he could somehow garner the crowd’s sympathy using Lucy Gray, too. How’d you manage to do that?

Before he could spare another thought on the matter, there was a dim buzzing coming from across the enclosure. A door opened, and four peacekeepers marched in.

“Looks like you’re going to get whisked away, kiddo,” Lucky told you, nodding behind. “Tell your mother I said hello. And make sure to take a nice, long shower before dinner tonight. Don’t want the smell of zoo hovering over my steak.”

You rolled your eyes as Lucky chuckled at his own quips, then looked down at Wovey with a far softer expression.

“I’ll be back. I’ll come back with more for you. Just hold on for me, okay?”

The frail girl nodded. She didn’t seem to want to let go of you, even when the peacekeepers began to semi-forcefully lead you away, out of the enclosure. Coriolanus wasn’t far behind, being manhandled far more aggressively than you were. 

The soldiers shoved you out the door and shut it with a heavy click of a lock, before marching off to the sides.

Coriolanus reached out for you, hands resting on your elbows. “How was it?”

“Could’ve gone worse.” You studied his features. There was a faint trace of dirt smudged across his jaw—no doubt acquired somewhere in the truck or when everyone came tumbling out. 

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer, until you shook your head and broke into a smile, accompanied by a breathy laugh.

“Lucky called you a dashing young man.”

“He’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, and tugged you along to start walking. “Do you think either of us have a chance? At winning?”

The smile melted off your expression, and you grew somber once more. “Well… anything can happen in the arena. We just need to be smart about it. Neither of our tributes are fighters.”

Coriolanus stared off into the distance, brows cinched, heavy with thought. 

“They’ll need to be,” he said. “Surviving isn’t enough. Not in these games.”

Your lips parted, wondering what in Panem he could mean by that. Did he really expect Lucy Gray to become a killer overnight? Or was he planning for her to do something else? He didn’t seem to notice your perturbed disposition, and kissed the side of your head. 

Just as Coriolanus walked you to your doorstep, you gripped his hands, and your tone suddenly became very serious.

“I just wanted to tell you—before Highbottom announced the mentoring change, I was sure one of us would win the Plinth prize. And, well, I was going to give you the money if it came to me because I definitely wouldn’t need it. But now, since there’s a good chance neither of us are getting it…”

Snow’s features twisted with evident dismay. 

You squeezed his hands with yours. “I can get my parents to pay your university tuition, if neither of us get that Plinth prize. Please, Coryo, don’t take this as charity. Take it because I care about you. I don’t want you to get caught up in… winning these games. Whatever you’re planning for Lucy Gray… I can’t see it being anything she’d be willing to do.”

It might’ve been a trick of light, but you could’ve sworn you saw an irksome glint flash across his eyes. He bitterly came to the conclusion that you probably did botch one of your exams for him—not that that mattered now. Besides, it was you offering money, not him begging for it. The placating thought made it easier for his features to slip into a reassuring, easy softness. 

“I appreciate the offer, I really do,” Snow said, cradling your face as if you were a fragile piece of china. Yet his touch felt bruising all the same. “But you shouldn’t worry. I don’t think Lucy Gray is going to win. Not on her own, at least. So I’m going to help her—and Highbottom is going to regret ever trying to make an enemy of me.”

He dipped forward, brushed a whisper of a kiss along your cheek, and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. 

And then he was gone.

[ozzgin]

I can't get your yakuza headcanons out of my mind, Daitou's got me in a chokehold and I'm not complaining, like--

in regards to that doodle you made to show height difference between reader and the boys [I love your art btw (●♡∀♡)] - I can't picture myself in reader's style, I'm currently going through my goth phase in my 20s lmao; picture a big bitch with tattoos and messy hair who's listening to nothing but 2000s hits and screamo bands - so I'd like to request a headcanon of how Daitou would react to a gender-neutral reader like this :D I also like to incorporate the idea of them once being in a famous band that he's a fan of! (sorry if this seems like a lot, I have a huge imagination hehe)

but if he's more into the cute and helpless type, I'll just walk my ass out the door and yeehaw my way into another yandere's arms ✌😔

That's on me for not drawing the reader inserts as cartoonish cinder blocks :') In truth I'm a little bit embarrassed seeing how many likes that doodle has gotten, it was something I put together in a hurry and the clothing was meant to be baggy, shapeless, with not too many folds for the sake of simplicity. I myself am more of a pilgrim goth, just to emphasize the randomness of the choice.

Drawing reader inserts always leaves me a little anxious. If I use a light shade of gray, will people think I'm excluding poc? Will plus sized readers feel like they've been disregarded? What about masculine readers? As someone who's demiromantic I always struggle taking appearance or gender into consideration, because to me it has no influence whatsoever. Which is hard to express when you want to offer blank slate visuals as an extra to the story.

What I'm trying to say is that all of my characters would like you for who you are. Sure, they find your looks cute, but it's not the defining reason. Maybe you have similar traits to them, maybe you're the complete opposite and they find it intriguing. You could be a buff man and Daitou would be just as grateful to have someone who isn't afraid of him. I usually stick to a female reader for bigger stories to avoid messing it up long term, but in the grand scheme of things it makes no difference. I always imagine reader to be a shapeless blob that provides the dialogue I need for the story mood. There's no concrete preference or type for any of my OCs. I mean, ideally you'd like them back and not hang them upside down above a BBQ pit but I feel these are sensible requirements (?).

And now for the actual headcanons since my ramble is over.

First encounter is comically awkward but for reasons you’re unaware of yet. You’re obviously used to people staring at you (more so in a country like Japan), so you were expecting the curious glance every now and then. On the other hand, being under scrutiny, from a man even more unusual looking than you at that, is odd. Mildly uncomfortable. You’re shifting yourself from one leg to another, hoping to be done with the introductions soon.

On his end, Daitou is anxiously fidgeting and trying his best to focus. He’s seen this face before and he can’t shake off the familiar feeling. Where the hell…He obviously can’t downright gawk at you, and he isn’t sure how to politely formulate a question. After several sheepish peeks, it finally dawns on him: weren’t you part of that band he really likes? No, what would the chances be? Then again, how many people out there would look exactly like you? Is it rude to ask? He has no idea. He resumes his mumbled description of the apartment and hands you the papers to be signed.

Back at his place, he finally digs through his merch and sprawls out the available clues. “I didn’t know you were into this kind of music”, Kazuya comments as he looks over the man’s shoulder. He’d come over to ask about the new tenant. “I’m pretty sure it’s them.” He concludes, confidently placing his index over a CD cover. “Huh? Who? The tenant?” Kazuya holds back his chuckle. “Why would a celebrity show up for a shady apartment offer? You’re tripping, man.”

“I’m sorry, this is getting ridiculous.” You finally exclaim, annoyed by the persistent stares of the now two men facing you. You’re standing in front of the apartment building, arms crossed, huffing at the tall scarred man and his blonde friend. “No, I’m sure of it. Even the tattoo is the same.” Daitou turns to whisper to Kazuya, oblivious to your complaints. In turn, Kazuya lightly elbows him, mouthing something about being rude. “Just ask them, man.” He adds, this time louder. “Ask me what??” You groan. “W-were you…um…in this band by any chance?” Daitou manages to blurt out, searching his pocket for the CD case and ceremoniously laying it under your eyes.

Ah. It finally clicks and you exhale, relieved. You confirm their suspicions and show them some backstage photos to solidify your claim. You ask Daitou if he wants an autograph or something, then swiftly scribble your signature on a piece of paper and hand it out to him. He holds it with a wide, childish grin. “You’re a weird one, you know? You could’ve just asked. I guess I didn’t expect to find a fan in the wild, especially here.” Daitou carefully folds the souvenir, eyes lidded with nostalgia. “Oh yes, it’s great. Drowns out the screams.”

[ch6sos]

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ teen!nanami headcanons

love my emo king so i decided to make headcanons for him because love himso sosooo MUCH <3 I am obsessed with nanami I am sorry guys for the amount of nanami but he is my beloved and my hyperfixation wooooooooooo

lmk if i should make an emo teen nanami as ur bf headcanon ill gladly do it sweetie pies

He is much quieter as a child and rarely speaks. I believe he will be more reserved as a teenager, not because he is shy, but because he dislikes talking to strangers. He is distant, but not unfriendly.

Haibara is the only person who is allowed in his room, and I do not make the rules. 

Owned an iPod/iPod touch (even though Nanami is the Samsung king) and he would stream his little emo bands.

As a teenager, he appears to be more immature and irrational, displaying difficulty in controlling his emotions sometimes. Despite his calm exterior, he is still a teenage boy so he has regular outbursts here and there.

HATED IT when he tried one of Shoko’s cigarettes; he most likely took one puff and began to cough as though he was going to die.

Sassy king who rolls his eyes and emo hair flips at least 7 times per second, 24/7.

“Nanami, can you do that thing?”

"Do not bother me at this time, Gojo." 

“OH MY GOD YOU DID IT.”

"What did I do."

"The hair flip thing... hahaha you need to cut your bangs."

"I prefer to keep it this way so I can focus on you with one eye and spare the other from seeing more of your face."

Haibara is an extrovert who encourages him to attend events and socialize with others. 

His backpack is tidy. His books are neatly organized, and his papers are not crammed together.

 He was forced to go to karaoke rooms with Shoko, Geto, Gojo, and Haibara, where he would sit and listen to them sing loudly.

"C'mon, Nanami... sing!" 

"..."

“Please?"

"..."

It turns out he was singing all along, albeit softly and quietly, while they sang along loudly to the screen lyrics.

He spaces out a lot when people talk to him because he just wants to go home.

Haibara is subtly affectionate towards him, wrapping his arm around his shoulder like many guys do. He doesn't push him off, but the other guy freezes and maintains some distance.

He once woke up from a nap and found himself wearing eyeliner, black nail polish, and eyeshadow. He immediately ran out to scold Gojo (it wasn't just him) (but he secretly liked it).

"Gojo, what the fuck is this?"

"This is your culture!" 

"Please refrain from touching me while I am sleeping."

“Hey! Who said it was only me?”

“Jesus Christ.”

Probably got a double helix piercing (that eventually healed when he became an adult) (sorry guys).

(Though he still has his earlobe piercings as an adult, he just never really wears earrings anymore. Though you can see the various holes.)

Geto accompanied him to get piercings, and despite feeling nervous at first, he ended up loving the experience and feeling badass.

"It feels good, right?"

"Oh, yeah, I suppose," he mumbled, trying to suppress a broad smile. As he arrived at his dorm, a dorky grin spread across his face. He stood in front of the mirror for several hours, hyping himself up.

Listens to My Chemical Romance, Nirvana, Van Halen, Metallica, Guns N' Roses, AC/DC, Linkin Park, Green Day, Foo Fighters, The Strokes, and Paramore. And more. :)

He would probably like gothic characters from cartoons or shows, like Raven from Teen Titans.

If you quietly make your way into his dorm room while he's listening to music, you'll catch him singing out the lyrics to his beloved emo songs. As the music moves him, he'll start air guitaring and air drumming with fervor. However, if he catches you witnessing his private performance, you'll see a flicker of embarrassment cross his face.

Gojo once tried to dye one of his hair strands purple or blue, but he failed. Instead of turning the strand the desired color, it only lightened his hair slightly, resulting in a lighter shade of blonde that looked like gray hair.

"Gojo, you made me look like a grandfather. I should've done it myself.”

"Looks great on you, Nanami! Fits you too since you kind of act like a grandpa.”

"Oh you, son of a—"

He secretly owns a Tamagotchi named Helena after remembering it is a My Chemical Romance song.

Wept when they split up.

Has secretly attended several concerts, raves, and gatherings, enjoying the kindness and energy of the events.

Has previously used an Ouija board with Gojo, Geto, and Haibara, and the "spirit" liked him.

He goes to the Japanese equivalent of a Hot Topic to get his clothes.

He smells earthy and musky because he is emo, and he probably has a cologne fragrance bottle shaped like a skull.

He rarely posted on MySpace, and when he did, it was only about his music and book reviews.

Likely wore a fake lip piercing, a silver skull necklace, and one of those spikey emo bracelets.

Read Scott Pilgrim comics for a while. 

He was not too dry, so he used emoticons like "-_-" "-.-" "._. ".-." "^_^"

In his spare time, he enjoys reading books about horror and mystery. 

Owned a black Nintendo DS and always handed it to Haibara so he could play with it. Was not upset when Haibara accidentally dropped it in the water, but was sad that he lost his Pokemon progress.

Never had a genuine crush on someone, though when he does he becomes shy and awkward around the person he has a crush on, often finding himself avoiding them like the plague. Whenever he catches sight of them, uncertainty clouds his mind, nerves all over the place.

Despite his efforts to suppress his feelings, they only seem to intensify. This is his first experience with a serious crush, and his initial reaction is to try to shake off the emotions, but he soon realizes that he can't - he's simply head over heels in love.

Whenever he sees them, he does a cute, dorky thing - he goes to his mirror, fixes his bangs, and hypes himself up. He sprayed more cologne than usual, coughed a little, and made sure his skull necklace, helix piercings, and slight eyeshadow looked good. He gives himself several minutes for a pep talk because he still gets so nervous.

He fidgets a lot, constantly finding ways to occupy his hands even when he appears outwardly calm. It's as if he can't help but engage in some form of repetitive movement, whether it's tapping his fingers, twirling a pen, or adjusting his sleeves.

He also stammers a bit sometimes especially when talking to someone he likes.

Talks to Haibara about how he feels most of the time. Out of everyone he trusts Haibara.

He draws on himself when he is bored. He intended to get a tattoo, so he drew on himself to see how it would look.

He has a journal, emphasizing that it's not a diary, where he writes down his emotions. He finds solace in jotting down his innermost feelings as he often struggles to express them verbally.

In his journal, not a diary, he vents a lot. He is frustrated with himself because he is so bad at expressing his emotions. When he wants to, he can't, and he just pushes people away, which he despises.

"Sometimes I wonder why. Why do I have to be like this? I do want to talk to people and express my emotions to them, but I could never. It genuinely scares me, and that is something I want to fix about myself."

Owns several band shirts and wears them to bed. When he is older, they're smaller on him. I wonder why.

When he's out with Haibara and the group, he always wears his headphones and drifts off while listening to music.

“NA-NA-MIIIII!”

*pretends not to hear gojo*

In the modern world, he would be the quiet student who consistently gets top grades, sits at the back of the class, and rarely participates.

When someone shares the same interests as him he tries not to look too excited but ultimately fails.

As a teenager, he adamantly refuses to pursue a romantic relationship but secretly desires one to fulfill his need for affection.

Thus, he spends his time reading romantic novels, gaining insights into how the male protagonists treat their significant others. This newfound knowledge inspires him to learn how to treat his future significant other.

Even though he is mature for his age, he sometimes wishes he had been raised differently. He genuinely feels like he is wasting his youth by not spending more time being a teenager.

Converse + Vans are his specialty and they’re all beat up.

He sees Geto as a fashion inspiration because he is another emo king.

When he's not in uniform, he enjoys wearing oversized, tucked-in T-shirts paired with sleek black pants and a studded belt. His fingers are adorned with multiple rings, and he complements this look with a sleek black watch.

He always spends an extra dollar to buy someone something from the vending machine. Need a soda? He gotcha.

He always seems to be munching on something, whether it's the crunch of Doritos or potato chips. However, he doesn't seem to have as much of a sweet tooth.

an emo king who deserves the world

a/n: i love my goat

[twst-drabbles]

Octavinelle 17

Summary: A stranger approaches you while you're relaxing on the beach. Your large seafolk don't really take to people just coming up to you all that well.

(My brain is all over the place again. Writing a little bit of everything. Have patience and enjoy the seafolk intimidating peeps with their large forms. I have written, so many words!)

That pocket dimension back home was a strange thing indeed. There wasn't really a surface to breach, nor was there a beach to lay on. It was just water in all directions, no matter how far one goes.

So, with the help of some potions and other magical things, you took the seafolk right into an odd beach that you're more than sure Crowley made somehow. You don't know how, but it had crow shape stones sitting on top of a boulder, so you know he did something.

Well, either way, this place was yours for the playing and the relaxing with.

As soon as you set up the towel and umbrella, all of the seafolk carefully set into the water before they all just dove in.

Azul sank deep into the water as soon as he morphed into his true form, just making bubbles with his lips while he sat there and enjoyed the sun.

Jade seemed to be carving into a raised rock in the water with his claw. He always seems to be busying himself with various little projects and hobbies. Likes to keep his hands busy when he can, for one reason or another.

And Floyd was, well, being Floyd. He was diving to the bottom and seems to be digging for things. Clams, sand-dollars, dead starfish. And just when you weren't paying attention to him, he threw wet sand and seaweed right at your knees.

You didn't exactly come to the beach for yourself to be perfectly honest. Sure, the waters are crystal clear and the weather was just perfect, but it was just one of those days where you simply want to bask in the sun, take in the sea-salt smell and listen to the waves as the seafolk played among themselves.

"Uh, hey! Excuse me," then, an unfamiliar voice interrupted your daydreaming. "Is this spot taken?"

A stranger has made there way here. In a place with clear signs that this was a private beach.

You gave a sigh and pushed yourself up.

"Yeah, spot's taken," you waved behind you, "might want to go elsewhere. It's a private beach."

"Wait, really? Well, can I stay? It's not like you anyone needs to know. You don't really need all this space to yourself right? See, it's my kid's birthday and I wanted to bring the family somewhere really special and--"

Then, there was a dual harsh clicking, right from the throats of Jade and Floyd as they crawled from the waters they were just splashing around in. Jade came to your right side, Floyd covered your left. Water dripped off of them both and right onto your skin.

"…holy--"

A hand landed gently dug its gray fingers into sand and your once guppy dragged himself out of the ever-deep ocean. Deliberately slow, both to not make the waves blanket you while you're relaxing under the shade and also to establish a presence.

You would scold him, but Azul's entirely too in character to really listen. He, Jade and Floyd. Look at them all. Jade was curling his large tail this was and that around your legs to truly make his size and length known. Floyd was grinning and looked three seconds away from slithering right up to this stranger and squeezing him just for the fun of it. And Azul…

Azul didn't do anything besides plop his chin on his folded hands, oh so politely lowering himself just to meet the gaze of this stranger who wandered into this spot snagged. His smile wasn't wide but it was there. Empty, not a shred of warmth in there, but charming to those that don't know him.

"My, I wasn't expecting a guest at all, especially not on this private part of the beach," without the water and layers of barrier to separate you all, Azul's voice was sharper than you're used to. Weird. "Had I known ahead of time that strangers were prone to just wandering into places they're not supposed to be, I would've prepared some entertainment."

Ah. He's angry. Just angry and annoyed. Doesn't see this person as any sort of threat or danger, otherwise there wouldn't be any words. There would only be odd masterfully manipulated waves as they avoid you, but drag this stranger under into the dark depths of the sea.

"Should I do the honors and receive this guest?" Jade gave a wide smile, baring his teeth, "I'll be sure to give them the warmest of welcomes."

"Oh come on, isn't it my turn this time?" Floyd clapped a hand on Jade's shoulder, "I'm sure this little slug could do with some squeezing."

"Stop that," you sighed out, kicking Jade's and Floyd's tail off of your legs. Ugh, they're all slimed up. You didn't get up, just lifted your head to look at the slowly retreating stranger, "Yeah, you might want to leave. Public beach is a ways down from here. Hope you can snag a spot for the birthday celebration."

"Thank you so much sorry to bother you have a nice day!" Apparently that was all the permission they needed to make a mad dash out of here. Well, as much one could dash on dry sand and sandals.

"Oh dear, they tripped," Jade noted, "should I help them up?"

"Jade," you warned.

"I'm joking, dear Caretaker," he injected a lot of fondness in that sentence.

But yeah, a joke. Sure.

"Alright, now then," Azul, let the facade drop and rolled his shoulders, not used to his true weight on land, "let's leave the Caretaker to their relaxing while we take a swim, shall we?"

"Huh?" Floyd, not in the mood, flopped over right over your thighs. You made a noise of discomfort, heavy as he was, but Floyd ignored you. "I don't wanna. I'm tired of just swimming and hunting."

"Really now, why must you be like this?" Azul sighed, tired of his antics, but then something caught his eye in the distance, "Would you say no to chasing boats?"

Now that caught his attention. "Oh? Where? Let me see."

"There, that red dot in the distance," Azul didn't finish before Floyd dragged himself back into the water. He speed off and soon was out of line of sight.

"Hmm, I wonder if they'll have anything interesting on their vessel," Jade follows after, a little slower.

"Azul," you called to him before he could sink back under, "come here."

Just his face alone was enough to give you all the shade you needed and more. He leaned in close, wanting to hear every word that comes out of you.

"Yes?"

"Make sure none of you get into legal trouble," because attempting to stop any all trouble all together was just not going to happen. May as well just settle for this instead so it doesn't go back to you.

Azul gave the softest of laughs. "Well, if that boat is so willing to risk fishing in protected waters, then they shouldn't be afraid of the consequences that may happen. Of what may lurk in the seas they treat as an untouched treasury."

"Azul."

"Fine fine, but I won't make promises."

Eh, that's enough for you. Trying is better than nothing.

[yumeka-sxf]

We finally get to see another side of Yuri this episode, outside of his Yor obsession (mostly). While I can't say this is one of my favorite chapters to be adapted, I definitely appreciate how it not only gives some needed character development to Yuri, but it creates good world-building for the series. As usual, Endo slips in social commentary without making it too preachy. And as usual, he shows how so much of what goes on in this world, as well as the characters' decisions and motives, are not black and white, good vs bad, but many shades of gray.

Nice to see Yor in that pretty burgundy color and Loid in a different sweater than his usual one!

I liked how they made the Bondman episode look like an old 70s anime - very nice touch!

Hopefully you stuck around after the end credits to see the anime versions of three omake chapters! They're all very cute, but one thing that must be addressed is...

Apparently someone on the anime team decided that too much skin is inappropriate for this very family friendly series 🤣Also interesting that they decided to animate all the omake chapters with that pastel look. Not sure why.

Since they're starting to adapt more of the omake chapters into the anime, and I know some of them break the 4th wall, I wonder if they'll ever animate those or just stick to the canon ones.

I like the two chapters that will be in next week's episode! Very excited for those 😁

In addition to the new episode, we also got a bunch of original illustrations that will be bonuses for when you buy the season 2 JP blu-rays!

Family photo with Bond (from the TOHO store)

My favorite - Twiyor date! ❤️ (from Rakuten)

Anya & Damian (from Animate)

And lastly, Loid & Anya (from Amazon JP)

Heh, these are the kinds of things that make people buy multiple copies of the same discs! Might have to search for the Bond photo and Twiyor ones on Mercari 😅

[dustofthedailylife]

Inked Farewells

→ Masterlist || → Taglist

Pairing: Alhaitham, Childe, Kaeya x (gn!) Reader

Summary: They get killed and someone else gives you the letter they left you.

Tags: Angst/No Comfort, Major Character Death (they die - no su!cide!), mentions of blood

A/N: Fun fact, I actually made myself straight-up cry with the Alhaitham part when I wrote it ;_;

ALHAITHAM

It was already late in the day and through the thick gray clouds, that had been hanging over the sky all day already, you could faintly make out the setting sun. For some unknown reason, you had been in quite an anxious mood all day so you just tried to stay busy to keep your mind occupied.

Just as you were about to sit down to read, someone rang your doorbell and asked for your attention. 

You expected it to be Alhaitham, considering how late it had already gotten. It was already way later than he’d usually come home from work. They must have kept him quite busy at the Akademiya today.

With a smile pulling at the corners of your lips you hurried to the door. But the person you found standing in front of it wasn’t Alhaitham. 

The picture that painted itself in front of your eyes instead was something you never wished to see. A pang in your chest ignited all the nerves in your body simultaneously and filled you with dread. 

Kaveh stood before you, his whole body trembling as he clutched an envelope tightly to his chest. His eyes were filled with a myriad of emotions, none of which were good. Tears threatened to spill from the corners of his eyes and his once-white shirt was now stained in a deep shade of crimson, along with his blood-soaked hands.

He helplessly scanned your face with a quivering bottom lip. Desperately searching your face for the words he wanted to express as if they were written there. But there was no need for him to say anything.

“He-” Kaveh began, choking on his own words and desperately holding back his own tears. “He wanted you t-to have this.”

With shaking hands, he handed you the envelope. The paper was equally stained with dried blood. Your name was written on it in an awfully familiar handwriting. Even and well-formed letters adorned the piece of paper. As you gazed at it in disbelief, your eyes began to fill with tears causing the letters to blur and become indistinguishable from one another.

“What happened?” You whispered, as you looked up at Kaveh, who harshly bit his lip as a silent tear streamed down his cheek. Deep down you already knew the answer, but you needed to hear it. To confirm it was the cold, hard truth.

“We were out on an expedition and–” Kaveh began before inhaling and exhaling shakily. “Suddenly we were surrounded by enemies –, I don’t remember what happened but there were so many… he sent me to get help while he fought alone, and I did but–” he paused as he swallowed thickly. “When I returned all the enemies were dead, but he– he had died as well.”

“This was the only thing he was holding in his hands. I believe he wrote it before he–” Kaveh pointed at the envelope in your hands before choking on his words once more with a quiet whimper.

You shook your head in denial, feeling how your bottom lip started to quiver and your chest became tighter. At that moment, as your knees gave away, and you dropped to the cold stone floor, all you could hear was your own heartbeat loudly thumping in your head and your own thoughts reciting a silent mantra over and over again.

No. No no no, this can’t be real.  

A wave of unbelievable grief washed over you, numbing your senses as you let out an anguished and pained scream. 

You clutched the envelope to your chest in despair hoping that the big, warm hands of Alhaitham would finally wake you from this nightmare. But you never woke, nor would you ever.

Because this wasn’t a dream. This was reality.

And the hands you longed for the most would never touch you again. The eyes you wanted to look at you were forever shut. And the voice you wished to hear had fallen silent for all eternity.

All you had left of him was the blood-stained letter you were holding in your hands at this very moment.

Between sobs, you shakily took it out of the envelope and started reading. Every word pierced your heart like dull knives, knowing it would be the last ones Alhaitham would ever address to you.

And the day he died, a part of you died with him.

To my Little Sprout, you always hated that nickname. However, I could never get enough of your reaction whenever I called you that. The way you always crinkled your nose and pouted always made my heart swell. It’s an image I have on my mind as of writing this right now as well. Anyway, as you know, I was never one for flowery words, so if you receive this letter, I’m dead. Please don’t blame Kaveh for my death. There was nothing he could have done to help or prevent it. I’ve lived a wonderful life and I have you to thank for that. You made every day worth living for and all I want to do with my remaining time now is address my last words to you. I die knowing I’ve been loved by you. That alone is more than I could have ever wished for. I want you to be happy and know that you made me the luckiest man alive.  Albi*. Please live a happy and peaceful life. I know you can. You’ve always been stronger than me. I love you. I always did and always will. Forever Yours Alhaitham

(*) "albi" translates to "my heart" in Arabic.

CHILDE

It was a cold and stormy day in Snezhnaya and a few snowflakes had begun to fall. The clouds were hanging low and colored the entire sky in a dirty gray hue. Not an unusual thing at this time of year.

You were waiting at home for Ajax to return from his mission. He didn’t mention where exactly he went. He just said it was a short business trip and assured you that he would be back by the end of the week.

It was now Sunday and you had spent the day getting everything ready for his return including buying ingredients for his favorite dish. You got everything prepared and all you needed to do now was wait for him to get here.

As you were lost in thought the sound of the doorbell cut through your thoughts and you excitedly hurried to the door, almost knocking a chair over on the way.

Expecting Ajax you donned the widest smile you could possibly muster before opening the door.

However, spotting who was actually standing in front of the door made goosebumps erupt on your skin and the cold air that wafted in from outside wasn’t the cause of it. A tall white-haired man with a long expensive looking coat stood in front of your door. The right half of his face was entirely covered by a black and blue mask.

You were certain you had seen him before and soon recognized him as some government official who directly answered to the Tsaritsa herself. You couldn’t think of a reason why he would show up at your doorstep all of a sudden. Perhaps he had mistaken your house for someone else’s?

“Good evening.” He spoke in a low, bassy voice.

“Good evening, sir. How may I help?” You asked reluctantly.

He asked for your name, grabbing into his coat in search of something causing you to be even more on your guard, than you had already been. Kept a close eye on the area where his hand disappeared into his coat. 

A gush of icy wind suddenly blew in your direction, pricking at your skin and causing you to shiver. Hugging your arms around your chest you watched how a few snowflakes got caught in the stranger’s hair.

He brought forth a blue envelope and looked at you with unwavering scrutiny. His presence was making you increasingly uneasy and as of now you still clue as to what he wanted. What was sure by now though, was that he definitely had the intention to ring your doorbell.

“Do you want to come in, sir?” you carefully inquired, stepping aside to gesture him in.

“No need. I don’t intend to stay for long.”

He glared down at the envelope in his hands before he redirected his gaze back at you with a still stern expression.

“Did he ever mention to you what his occupation was?” The stranger suddenly asked.

“N-no, never. He’s actually supposed to come home soon. So if you need anything from him I could –”

"No need.” He interrupted, pressing his lips together into a thin line, glancing at the envelope once more, before finally handing it to you.

He nodded once before turning around on his heel and walking away. He looked over his shoulder one final time before leaving your property, offering a brief “I’m sorry for your loss.” before disappearing into the snowstorm. 

The howling of the wind, the rustling of snow falling to the ground, and the pounding of your own heartbeat were the only things audible.

Your eyes fixated on the letter bearing your name written in the familiar penmanship of your boyfriend.

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, knowing deep down that this would be the last thing you would ever receive from him. These were his final words to you. Never again would he walk through this door with that warm, cheerful smile of his or wrap his arms lovingly around you from behind.

Never in your life had you felt so alone and lost as you did at this moment. Engulfed by a sense of desolation and hopelessness you dropped to your knees. Screaming out in anguish at the top of your lungs as tears streamed down your face was the last thing you actively remembered doing. The desolate, snowy landscape of your homeland muffled your agony and swallowed it whole, offering you no solace. No one was able to hear it. No one but you. Alone. 

My Love, there is something about me I had kept a secret all these years in order to keep you safe. Because the last thing I would ever wish for is bringing harm upon you. I will spare you the details of my occupation now as well for the same reason. But I just want you to know that I wasn’t just some ordinary toy seller. My occupation regularly involved dangerous missions. And if you receive this letter, it means one of these missions has successfully done its job. I will no longer be coming come to you, love. Please, do not look into the details of my passing. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. I love you so much it physically hurts and the only thing I regret is no longer being able to come home to you. Please live a happy and fulfilling life. Do me this favor. In Love Ajax

KAEYA

As you were making your way back home from work, a member of the Knights of Favonius called out your name. With his hand raised and entirely breathless from the chase, he relayed a message from Jean herself - he informed you that she urgently wished to speak with you at the Headquarters.

Naturally, you wondered what the Knights could possibly want from you, so you promptly headed to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters after a brief stop at your home to change your clothes and set your bag down.

Weirdly enough Kaeya wasn't home yet either. You assumed he must be at the meeting as well and that was probably the reason you were being called to the Headquarters in the first place.

To your surprise, when you arrived at the Headquarters there seemed to be a huge turmoil in front of the building and many people were shouting something. But you couldn’t quite make out what all the ruckus was about.

You caught sight of Jean at the top of the stairs as you got closer. The moment her eyes met yours a knot of anxiety twisted inside of your chest. Her facial expression was unlike anything you had ever seen and made all your neck hairs stand on end. 

With a nod she motioned for you to follow her into her office. You wordlessly complied, slowly making your way through the crowd. All eyes were fixed on you and you couldn’t help but feel even more uneasy than you already had prior.

What in Celestia had happened here and how exactly were you involved in all this? You weren’t a Knight of Favonius after all.

Jean shut the door behind you and almost immediately asked you to sit down. Her furrowed eyebrows and her solemn expression further increased the unease you felt.

You slowly sunk down onto the chair in front of her desk, your eyes nervously fixed on her. You weren’t sure what you were doing here and why Kaeya wasn’t here either. You had expected to find him here since he hadn’t been at home either.

Jean was standing in front of one of the bookshelves in the room with her back facing you and her arms crossed over her chest and looking like she was ringing for words.

“Are we waiting for Kaeya?” you inquired seeing as she didn’t make any moves to start talking on her own any time soon.

“Kaeya won’t come,” she replied curtly with a low voice, grabbing an envelope from the shelf in front of her.

“What do you mean?” You asked in confusion.

“What I mean is…” Jean inhaled and exhaled deeply before turning around to face you. Her eyes looked puffy and red. Tears glistened in their corners that she quickly tried to blink away to put her brave face back on. “Kaeya won’t come, because… because he won’t come back at all.”

A single tear rolled down Jean’s cheek and even though she wiped it away quickly, but it was too late. You saw. As you looked at her it was beginning to dawn on you what she was getting at. You understood what all the ruckus in front of the headquarter was about, why everyone fell silent when you passed them, and why the courier had been so eager to find you. And also – why Kaeya hadn’t been home yet.

You slumped further into the chair, your eyes widened in shock, your hand covering your open mouth. You felt like you were about to pass out and Jean seemed to sense it. She softly called out your name and walked over to you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“We found this letter addressed to you on his desk,” she explained, placing the letter in your hand with a sad smile. “The Abyss Order, they –”

“Please, Jean. I-I don’t want to know.” You quickly raised your hand in order to shut her up. You didn’t want to know how it happened. Your heart weighed heavy enough knowing it did. And just knowing that they found this letter on his desk meant he knew it was about to happen.

Why did he never speak to you about it?

With trembling hands, you broke the seal on the back of the envelope to take the letter out that was written in his beautiful penmanship. You could tell by just looking at it that he had taken his time to address these last words to you.

And through broken sobs and with tears streaming down your face you started reading.

To my precious snowflake, Jean will probably be giving you this letter, tell her I’m sorry for burdening her with that. I’m addressing this letter to you because I know what you’re going to think. Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he talk to me? The answer is simple, my love. I knew this day would come sooner or later and I didn’t want to burden you, scare you or make you unhappy if I told you about it. I didn’t wish to taint what we had with this and instead just enjoy every minute I was allowed to spend with you to the fullest. Hey, don’t miss me too much, okay? But who am I kidding? Of course, you will. It’s me after all. Thank you for allowing me into your heart and giving my lost soul a place to call home. You are the greatest thing that ever happened to me. I will forever love you. In Love Kaeya

Do not repost, copy, translate or edit - © dustofthedailylife || reblogs, comments, and asks about Genshin or my fics are always greatly appreciated and motivate me! Maple dividers are mine - do not copy.

[lilimalia]

WHAT WE NEVER HAD // zhongli

SYNOPSIS... the lantern rite festival was always the most glorious season of festivity. And yet, the god of geo found no happiness in his heart roaming his nation. If only he had a person to share with him a sprinkle of the festive spirit....

CHARACTERS... zhongli/morax, childe, guizhong, streetward rambler, cloud retainer, traveller/aether, paimon,

DISCLAIMERS... angst, no comfort, female reader, short series, spoilers for Guizhong's story , lunar new year's special !

BARISTA'S INTEL... sorry to all the lumine travellers! please enjoy the first "official post" and a happy lunar new year's to those who celebrate! chúc mừng năm mới <3.

TAG LIST... @sizure , @imma-too-many-fandoms , @yle-xar

CAFE TUNE... Heather // Conan Gray !

“Paimon votes we visit Xiangling!” the giddy floating fairy cheers, bobbing up and down as her blonde-haired companion nodded in agreement.

Turning her head, her eyes landed upon the silhouette of a brunette man, his attention solely focused on the eccentric storyteller in front of him.

“Eh? Zhongli? What a pleasant surprise meeting you here!” the fairy alludes, companion following alongside as she approached the man.

“Come one, come all, allow me to forward you a special tale for this years Lantern Rite, abundant and glorious as always!” The storyteller speaks, hands motioning the pair in as his eyes begin to glow with pride.

“Listen closely now, for this tale is one you won’t ever hear anywhere else! A speciality for my audience” the man grins, winking sidewise at the blonde traveler, motioning him in for a seat alongside the brunette, who merely nods politely before redirecting his attention.

“Listen closely… for our story begins before the age of war…”

Dainty gray eyes laid upon his figure. So divine, so prim and proper, fingers grasped gracefully around a stone cup of tea as he conversed with the two ladies.

Morax he went by, god of mora, Archon of Geo. Cloud Retainer, the women with red rimmed glasses. And Guizhong, the refined goddess of dust, so elegantly did she sit, reflecting the man in front of her. His eyes gazed so… Lovingly. She held his undivided attention, lips curling into a saccharine smile irreplaceable by any.

“Y/n? Who do suppose is correct Goddess of the Forge?” she calls. Her voice so tauntingly pristine as her grey eyes shifted towards yours.

“Hm? Ah, forgive me… It seems I was dazed. Could you restate the question?” you call. Your own voice slightly breaking, pitching off into a unsettled tone.

It was so mocking. How her figure was so respected, so desirably faultless. Both in brain and brawn… Your own stained with battle scars, body tainted with the wounds of the steel, whilst hers was untouched, silk smooth, faultless. All the things you weren’t.

“Ah, no worries! I had simply inquired about your opinion on my design. Our dear Cloud Retainer here seems to think hers is superior…” Her eyes are so beautiful…

It wasn’t fair… How you both shared the same hue of gray for eyes. Yet somehow hers shined so much brighter compared to yours, so bleak and dull like iron ore.

“Hm… This design… It needs some tweaks, but I do believe that Cloud Retainer’s design is superior within this field…” you murmur, eyes gazing upon the blueprints that laid out in front of you.

“Is that so? Morax! You are righteous… Who do you believe withholds the superior model?” Guizhong questions.

Righteous?... Was she… Mocking you? Questioning your values? Your judgment?

“Upon inspection… I do believe that your design is superior Guizhong”, his eyes are so thoughtful, filled with the beautiful waterlike goldens and browns. His eyes narrow, concealing his bright colored eyes like the lakes that adorn themself atop the mountains.

Ah… As you inspect closer… It’s true his judgment is impeccable. And yours, at fault.

Guizhong giggles in glee, shiny gray eyes, the ones that were the exact same shade as your own, reflected so much pure light. Like white iron ore… in every way. She was better.

You watch as he smiles, playing along with her child like joy. His eyes bubbling with happiness, spirit so moved by her own.

He never looks at you that way… Perhaps he never will…

Cloud Retainer stands behind you, concealing her worry for your state as she watches your own hues dim down with envy, discouragement that you failed to fully tuck away.

The day Guizhong was lost. You saw as he retreated away, you saw the scars she left on him. You heard too, the cries he echoed out in the solitude of the mountains.

You watched her soul slowly slip away, body loosening at the lack of character to withhold it. You never knew what it was that plagued you with such sinful cruelty. But… watching her die, perish in front of you, your own body and mind helpless to save her. You could only feel the slightest bit of regret. Regret that you hadn’t saved her.

When you could have.

Instead you watched by the sidelines, watched as he gazed at her so lovingly, mind and body relaxed around her presence, whilst not once, did he ever glance your way.

That night… When the Goddess of Dust had perished, you fled. Fled away to the mortal realm, locked away in an Adepti contraption. War was at brew; you could feel it. You knew of the harm that would come to you when it did, the pain and hopelessness that would plague your mind if ever you were to succumb to the desires of evil divines that would ask for your aid in battle. 

Goddess of the Forge.

That was your name. Sealed away in stone.

“Many blacksmiths and warriors alike pray to the Goddess of the Forge for the finest of ores and the best of the best in the weapons they wield. Many adventures that come from this nation of Geo have commonly shared the goal of searching for where she lays… However, never found she was…” the storyteller murmurs, hand stretching out to flicker his fan as he gazed over it darkly.

“But of course! This is merely a tale! Who knows if this “Goddess of the Forge” really does exist!” He coughs awkwardly, shivering at the intense gaze that was being radiated from the brunette man in front of him.

“Indeed… What a pleasant story sir…” he mumbles, face solemn. Eye's blanking out in a distant sorrow. His mind drifting off into an unknown world.

A women walks by the station of the storyteller, gray eyes empty and uninviting. She glances at the brunette man, stuck in his own land of thought, as she hides away from view.

It’s been decades. And yet his memory haunts your every waking step. A scar on your body that will never heal yet comes back to haunt you with the acknowledgement of its story. Succumbing you into a void.

It’s so selfish. How all those years ago you could have saved her. You were there weren’t you? Just a couple fields away picking glaze lilies for him, it wasn’t her… Goddess of Dust, that you were thinking about. Not even when she had laid unmoving in front of you and all the others. Not even when the guilt recked your insides knowing you were just a few sprints away from her; could have saved her.

It was him, his milky golden eyes, his proper figure, so collected.

It was never you on his mind, always her. Always Goddess of Dust, always the prettier, shiny, ore. And perhaps it was why you had left, fleeing in agony and regret. It hurt how his eyes were only ever on hers, how they shared fleeting touches, when you were his forever best friend. Always by his side to guide him in battles and spars.

She was everything you could only dream to be...

The night you had left… You had fled to the far breeches of Liyue, residing in a self-inflicted encagement, meant to trap away the deadliest of monsters.

Whether or not he had truly cared for you, shed tears for you, you never were there to see it...

SPECIAL BREWS... Goddess of the Forge // I found that the irony in reader being the Goddess of the Forge compared to Dust which is a much lighter title compared nicely to her dynamic, I do hope I was able to highlight this aspect well... (Haha get it, irony, forge?...)

White Iron ore // Using this comparison felt very natural and more in depth, I found it easier to be able to relay the emotions of the story to the reader by using a similarity, after all, it's salt to the wound for those who have felt incompetent to someone before

BARISTA'S INQUIREMENT... Would you reader's like if I made a gender neutral and male Y/n version? If so please do ask! Part two will be out soon.

word count. 1220

Tag list form !

Part I // Next

©-FUTURIST... Please do not plagiarize, themes are edited by me, reblogs allowed, do not repost on any other platform!!

Banner credits: @veauwa

[thedarkdisgrace]

This is my thread from twitter on Dazai’s promise to Oda, how I believe Dazai tries to keep that promise & Dazai’s interactions with the PM + why Oda last words were what they were. I kinda had written this in response to some particular claims over there. Mostly around Dazai returning to the mafia.

Not gonna lie, this might be long for some, I actually cut out alot lol I kinda got carried away. These are just my interpretations, take them as you will. I also didn’t edit this from twitter so, sorry if there are spelling mistakes lol

I want to start out by saying that if you are viewing BSD in a “everything is either black or white” lens, I feel you are missing the entire point of BSD & a major theme. This story is entirely morally gray & every character is a different shade of gray.

There is no pure good or pure evil within BSD, even if some characters might get close to the extreme of one side or the other. Now, going into the rest of this with that mindset let’s start with EXACTLY what Oda said to Dazai.

“Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right & wrong but… saving others is just a bit more wonderful.” The Dark Era.

Oda is essentially saying that “sides” don’t matter, what matters is him choosing to be a good person. THAT is what Dazai promises to Oda. His promise is to become a good person. That is the goal he works towards everyday. Oda didn’t make him promise to leave the mafia.

It makes no difference what /side/ Dazai is on or who he interacts with. No matter where Dazai is or who he is with it doesn't change HOW he chooses to approach the world. As long as Dazai continues to do whatever good he can, to work towards being a better person, he is keeping

his promise to Oda. His interactions with the mafia or the people within it don’t affect the fact he is still choosing to try to be better everyday (which again, is keeping his promise). Whatever the mafia does is separate from Dazai even if he is interacting with the members.

Hell, even if Dazai ends up in the PM again with the upcoming trade, it doesn’t negate all the progress he made NOR does it break his promise. Dazai isn’t /completely/ different BUT he /is/ different than he was back then. His perceptions have changed, whether he admits it or not

That won’t change if he goes back. He will continue to be different if he had to rejoin the mafia. He’s fully capable of keeping his promise even then. There are all different levels & types of “doing good”. Dazai is still capable of doing good in the mafia, just not in the same-

exact ways he can in the ADA but all the organization's play important roles in protecting the city. People seem to forget that even the mafia members are mostly morally gray, they still have the capacity to do good, even if they also do bad. Chuuya is a good example as he has-

saved the entire city a minimum of twice, he loves his city & would give his life to protect it. On a smaller scale, Kouyou agreed to assist Dazai in getting Kyoka free from the PM & the government. Plus don’t forget Oda himself was a mafia member & ex assassin yet many describe-

him as a good person. Besides, the ADA has needed the PMs help countless times at this point, the ADA would’ve been screwed without them. Point is, Dazai can continue to chose to be a better person no matter what organization he’s with or whom he chooses to interact with.

His individual journey is up to him, but if he continues doing better that’s all that matters. But since I know people will disagree about what that promise means, let’s get to the root of WHY Dazai’s promise to Oda was to choose to become a good person.

So, why were Oda’s last words what they were? As we all know Oda was similar to Dazai in some ways when he was younger. As a child assassin, he was pretty much disconnected from the world around him emotionally & just going through the motions until Natsume came along.

Natsume gave Oda the book he had been looking for, the last installment of his favorite series. Reading that book is the key moment that altered Oda’s path. In Oda’s own words, “the world I’d known before completely changed. Before that all I had was killing.” The Dark Era.

But the copy Natsume provided was missing specific pages around why the assassin character in the book stopped killing, Natsume obviously did this on purpose. Before providing Oda with the last book, Natsume had told him “Then you write what happens next”.

Oda decides to take those words to heart later on & write about why the assassin stopped killing himself. This is where one of the most important lines is.

Oda says “I decided to write it myself. I would become a novelist & write a story about why the man stopped killing. But to become a novelist, I needed to sincerely know what it meant to live. So I stopped killing.” The Dark Era.

Oda admits here that he hadn’t really lived, hadn’t known what it /meant/ to live. To experience life in the way most people do. This is where he & Dazai connect. Neither of them had really lived & they couldn’t see a reason to do so.

Oda even says in the Untold Origins light novel, “I don’t need forgiveness. There is no forgiveness in this world. There is only retaliation- revenge against those who betray you.”

That was Oda’s mentality before but then Oda makes his choice to stop killing.

It’s only then that he starts to actually truly interact with the world around him & the people in it. /Especially/ the people. He starts to help people & through doing so he begins to understand living. Oda says he continued to think about one particular line from the novel-

“People live to save themselves. It’s something they realize right before they die.”

Oda believes Natsume knew he was an assassin. That he gave him the book with the torn out pages & that singular line left untouched to tell Oda to save himself. I believe Oda is right.

Natsume wanted Oda to save himself. As for exactly why Natsume did so, I couldn’t say as of right now.

But why is all that important?

Well, because that’s what Oda ends up telling Dazai with his last words.

Yes, Oda tells Dazai to become a good person, those are the words he uses & that is Dazai’s promise to him. But the message beneath the words themselves? /Save yourself./ Oda is telling Dazai the same thing Natsume told him. /Save yourself./

Oda wanted Dazai to save himself. He tells Dazai to become a good person, to save people, because that’s how he, himself, found an understanding of living. It’s how he experienced living for the first time & how he was trying to save himself a well.

He encourages Dazai to follow the path he did because they are similar & saving others was the only thing Oda could see that worked. & Dazai listens /because/ he knows Oda actually walked that path himself.

Oda would not care who Dazai associates with or where he goes as long as Dazai continues to try to save himself. To keep trying to be a better person for his own sake as well as others. Again, I repeat the line Oda kept coming back to. “People live to save themselves”.

So, if Dazai was hanging out with Chuuya (or anyone else in the PM or in the dark) or even started dating Chuuya, as long as Dazai continues working to save himself & saving others, Oda would be happy for him.

Dazai is also pretty clear with how he feels about Chuuya, given he never calls him ‘ex partner’ he only ever calls him his partner. I think what he says at the end of the lovecraft fight is an accurate description, “we’re enemies of the bad guys.”

Regardless of sides, their relationship hasn’t changed, they’ve proven that 3 times over already, & I doubt it will. Sides don’t matter because they’ve always only been themselves with each other. Dazai has still kept up trying to be better since reuniting with Chuuya,

That’s not going to change if he spends more time with Chuuya. Dazai is his own person & is more than capable of continuing to keep his promise no matter where he ends up or who he’s with.

Not to mention every single time Dazai & Chuuya have worked together again, it was for a good purpose. To save Kyu & prevent another Guild attack, Chuuya fought a dragon to save the city (without even talking about the plan beforehand) & with no guarantee Dazai would be alive

(aside their soulmate thing where they always know) & now they worked together to defeat Fyodor to save the world (hopefully saved it). So, obviously being close to Chuuya again hasn’t changed Dazai’s goals & he is still keeping his promise.

But tbh, at this point, I don’t think his promise is the /only/ thing keeping Dazai in the light & trying to become a better person anymore. Dazai in DA says “You were right, Odasaku. It’s certainly wonderful to be on the side that saves others. If you plan on living, that is.”

While Oda was right when he told Dazai being on the side of light wouldn’t be able to fix his loneliness, it’s clear by now Dazai sees the value in being there & he understands why Oda told him what he did. I think through the ADA, he has found more & more reasons to keep going.

In conclusion, Oda simply wanted Dazai to save himself by choosing to become a better person. Dazai is his own person & is more than capable of keeping his promise to Oda no matter where he is & who he’s interacting with.

BSD is a morally gray story & all the characters are various levels of gray, pretending the mafia is /all/ bad is just objectively incorrect given all they’ve done for the city.

Chuuya & Dazai’s relationship is one built on unyielding trust & his presence in Dazai’s life isn’t gonna affect Dazai choosing to be better everyday. It already hasn’t changed anything since they’ve ben working together again. I doubt his presence would ever change it.

Reminder to everyone, these are my interpretations & opinions. Take what you want from it, if you made it this far thank you for reading. i hope you guys liked it.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Sleep with one eye open

Written for the @steddiemicrofic challenge, February 2024 edition

Prompt: egde, 509 words

Rated: M

Tags: Post S4; sleep paralysis; monsters, nightmares; canon character death; monster Eddie Munson; Kas!Eddie Munson; body horror; blood and gore; biting; open ending

It starts as always, on the edge between sleeping and waking. 

One moment, Steve drifts on the first tendrils of dreams. The next, he plummets back into his body, eyes wide open in the dark of his bedroom. Every fiber of his being is on alert, every instinct screaming, but he can't move. 

Another one, then. 

He's had them for as long as he can remember, these waking nightmares. The only thing that keeps changing is the monster.

When he was a kid, it was a gangly shadow with no face and too many limbs. As he learned about the horrors lurking under Hawkins, it became a hulking beast with claws and a flowered maw. 

He's understood long ago that it's all in his head. The best thing he can do is keep calm, even as his heart tries to crawl out of his heaving chest. It will keep its distance then, just lurking in the corner of the room.

He's good at it. 

And then spring break happened and the monster morphed into something else again.

Ever since the day he stumbled through the portal, dragging a wailing Dustin behind him, his monster has taken a new shape. 

He was only a figure at the far end of the room at first. Steve still recognized him, even with the changes. 

Dark curls matted with blood haloing a sickly pale face. Clothes torn to shreds. Graying skin hanging from the festering hole in his jaw. 

Steve kept calm, drawing and releasing one breath at a time, telling himself that this wasn't real. He wasn't really here, just a figment of his grief and guilt. He fell back asleep to glinting black eyes watching him. 

He has been back almost every night since then. 

And he's been coming closer. 

This time, when Steve's eyes fly open, he is perched directly on top of him. Clawed hands bracketing his face, too-long legs straddling his thighs. The smell of the other place hits him like a bucket of rot and decay. 

Breathe. 

Relax.

The monster tilts its head, lips peeling back in a bizarre mockery of the smile he knew. Its hair falls around him like a curtain as it leans in. 

Relax, it's not real. 

One of those hands reaches out to run down his face, along the curve of his jaw. Its touch is cold and clammy and almost tender. 

It's not him. 

Except, he can pretend, if he wants to … right? 

Pretend those eyes are just a shade lighter, dark brown and warm instead of dead, black pits. 

Pretend the noise bubbling from that throat is a rumbly chuckle rather than a snarl. 

Pretend he doesn't see the fangs in that mouth as it leans down to nuzzle at his pulse. 

He's good at pretending. 

So good that the growl it lets out as it sinks its fangs into his flesh sounds a bit like words, even. 

“Miss me, big boy?” 

As Steve's world turns red, he begins to suspect that this may be no dream after all.

Listen, he doesn’t kill him. He just takes him to the UD and keeps him as his personal chew toy or whatever, it's fiiiine!

[sagethegaywitch]

Dimensions: Heartslabyul

Male reader

TW: choking, yandere behavior, memory erasing

Genre: yandere

The story will take place in Wonderland, the one from the original “Alice In Wonderland” that the Heartslabyul dorm is based on.  As the overblot eats away at the characters, they start to resemble and act more like the Disney characters they are based on.  The reader will be called Y/N and Alice.

f/c = favorite color

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You groan as you feel the sun on your eyelids, forcing you awake.  You blink open your eyes and rub the sleep out of them as you sit up from your lying position.  You look around you and find yourself in the middle of a large garden.  Around you are rows of white rose bushes that are then surrounded by hedges that lead into a maze.  You can’t seem to remember how you got here, and you feel like this place looks a little too familiar.  The more you think about it, the more your head hurts, so you decide to brush it off and worry about it later.  You push yourself up from the ground and brush off your outfit, which you only now realize is a Victorian white dress shirt paired with a light blue vest and black pants.  You feel a bit uncomfortable in the outfit, like you know you were wearing something else earlier.  Not wanting to deal with a headache, you ignore the nagging feeling and try to find a way out of this maze.

As you take in more of your surroundings, you can see a tea table set up in the farthest corner of the rose garden, and you decide to approach it since someone must be coming around soon to eat what appears to be fresh food and hot tea sitting on the table.  The table appears very long, but there are only two red cushioned chairs on each side and one at the head of the table.  Its surface is covered in a red tablecloth and a black and white checkered table runner is draped down the middle of the table.  In front of each seat is a black table setter and a set of white porcelain plates plus a small porcelain tea cup with red rose designs.  Along the middle of the table are towers of small pastries and finger sandwiches, and multiple pots of tea with cream and sugar containers nearby.  You can feel your stomach growl, but you’re too polite to eat someone else’s food without their permission.  You decide to rest in one of the chairs until someone comes along, and you don’t have to wait long because you soon hear frantic voices yelling at each other.

In a panic, you hide yourself under the table, lifting up the tablecloth a bit to see two boys, both dressed in white dress shirts with vests that match the markings on their cheeks.  The orange haired boy who had a red heart on his left eye wore a red vest decorated with hearts of a darker red shade, while the dark blue haired boy who had a black spade on his right eye wore a black vest with gray spades.  They appeared to be bickering as they splattered red paint from the buckets they held on the white roses that decorated gardens with large brushes, yelling at each other that it was all the other’s fault.

“It’s all your fault we’re on rose painting duty, Deuce!” the orange haired boy scowls.

The boy named Deuce just grunts, “Let’s just get this over with already, Ace.”

The duo continued down the rows of roses making crude comments at each other. When they eventually finished painting the white roses a bright red color, they panted and rested on the floor for a bit. Their conversation appeared to have calmed down a bit as they enjoyed some casual talk, but they’re startled into a standing position when another orange haired male who has a red diamond on his right eye appears from one of the maze’s many entrances/exits.

“Have you guys seen Alice around here?  He was supposed to be reading in the library, but now I can’t find him,” the diamond male asks.

Ace and Deuce look at each other before looking at the newcomer and shake their heads.

“Alright, thanks.  Riddle will be coming around soon so you better clean this mess up,” he says before disappearing in the maze again.

The duo quickly pick up their paint buckets and rush out of the maze, arguing the whole way out.  You sigh in relief, glad not to have been caught, but you nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a hand land on your shoulder.  You turn around to see a green haired male with a black clover on his left eye and glasses look at you with a surprised look on his face.

“Alice?  What are you doing here?  You’re supposed to be in the library,” he asks you as he quickly places down the tart he was holding to spin you around and rest both of his hands on your shoulders.

“Ummm,” you mumble, trying to think of an excuse.

“Were you just excited for your first official unbirthday party?” the other asks, a relaxed smile forming on his lips.

Not trusting your mouth, you just nod and hope he doesn’t question you further.  He offers a small laugh at your shy behavior and offers you the seat at the head of the table.  He promises to be back with the rest of the party members in a bit, and gives you a head pat before he departs.

If you were confused earlier, you’re definitely bewildered now.  These people seem to know you, but you have no memory of them.  You felt a sense of familiarity when you first saw them, and their names did ring a vague bell, but you just don’t know where you know them from.  You’re drawn from your thoughts when you hear fanfare in the distance and the sound of stomping feet getting closer to where you are.  You look at the entrance of the maze closest to the table and you see all four of the males you saw earlier walking toward the table with a shorter red haired male inside the little square they formed.  The newcomer has a black heart surrounding his right eye and he holds a black heart staff with red and black designs (Riddle will be wearing his overblot outfit, I’m just too lazy to describe it).  The red haired male walks over to where you’re sitting and gives you a very menacing glare which has you jumping out of his seat and trying to scramble away, only for you to be jerked back and fall into his lap.

“Where do you think you’re going, Alice?” he asks, resting his chin on your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You’re so confused as you freeze on instinct, somehow knowing that you do not want to disagree with this person.  The other people gather around the table, the green haired male on your right along with Deuce and the orange haired boy on your left along with Ace.

“Darling, you’re missing your bow,” the one holding you says as he rearranges you on his lap so your back is now resting against the armrest with your legs draped over his lap.  “You know how strict I am about the dress code.”

“I’m sorry?” you apologize, being more concerned with how you ended up in this situation than about a missing bow.

“Trey?” he asks, and the green haired male stands up and approaches you two before handing the red haired boy a black ribbon.

Without any words, the boy ties the ribbon into your hair, gently combing through your locks before sighing in contentment.  You watch him as he looks around the table, the other boys waiting for some kind of que as he scans the garden.

“Red roses, no chestnut tarts, and no coffee, this will do nicely.  I commence this unbirthday to begin!” the red haired boy declares.

The others cheer as they’re allowed to feast on the small treats and drink the hot tea while enjoying each other's company.  You feel left out as they talk about nonsense like a disappearing cat or hedgehog croquet, but you’re startled to attention when the boy whose lap you still sit on offers you a bite of the tart he was eating.

“Here, it’s your favorite.  I made sure that Trey baked it for today,” he smiles at you as he lifts his fork to your mouth.

You try to reach for the fork to feed yourself, but he “tsks” and pulls is away before guiding it to your mouth again.  This time, you hesitantly eat the sweet tart off the fork and chew it slowly to savor the texture and sweetness.

“Got it!” the orange haired male exclaims as he holds up his phone.  “Look at this Riddle!”

“Cater, what have we said about phones at the table?” Riddle, who you realize is the one babying you at the moment, sighs before looking at Cater’s phone.

On the screen of the phone is a picture of Riddle feeding you the bite of tart.  You can see the fear in your eyes reflecting in the image, but you can also see Riddle’s adoring eyes as he focuses on your reaction.  You watch as Cater shows the rest of the table the image, and you can feel your cheeks heat up as they call you “cute” and “adorable”.  The rest of the tea party was filled with these boys offering you small bites of the desserts and sandwiches coupled with quick sips of the sweet tea.  After the food was eaten, the boys chattered for a bit as they cleaned up the table, and when they all stood up to leave, you thought it would be an excellent time to try and escape.  When Riddle was busy helping Trey collect the plates, you slowly crept away from the table, only to let out a startled yelp when you feel arms around your waist and your feet leave the ground.

“Where do you think you’re going, Alice?” Ace laughs as he returns you to the ground, his hands lingering on your waist.

You stutter as you try to come up with an excuse, but Deuce slides up beside Ace and saves you from answering.

“Remember?  You promised to play croquet with us in the afternoon!” Deuce smiles before dragging you and Ace away from the tea party and through the hedge maze.

You can vaguely hear Riddle yell at you guys to stay clean and return on time for dinner, but you're quickly led through the confusing twists and turns of the maze.  You try to memorize how many times you turn left and right, but you quickly lose count after the first couple.  You’re a bit dizzy by the time you arrive at your destination, and you gaze upon the grassy clearing that has two wooden racks in the corner.  The duo pulls you over to the racks and they casually hand you a f/c flamingo and hedge as they each pick one that matches their own hair color.  You gently release your hold on the flamingo’s legs and set it upright as it just looks at you questioningly, and you bring the hedgehog closer to your face, holding it by its scruff.  The creature quickly curls into itself, peering at you with curious eyes, and you look over at Ace and Deuce snickering at your behavior.

“I thought we were playing croquet?” you ask as you hold the hedgehog in your hands.

“We are.  Did you forget how to play?” Ace teases before approaching you and grabbing the flamingo by the ankles and handing him back to you.

You hesitantly take the rigidly straight animal as Deuce places his hedgehog on the ground and demonstrates how to use the flamingo as a croquet mallet and hits the hedgehog through the metal loops on the ground.

“We can just practice hitting the hedgehogs through the hoops if you want,” Deuce comments as Ace prepares to hit his hedgehog.

You nod, not familiar with the rules of the game, but when it’s your turn, you quickly apologize to the animals before placing the hedgehog on the ground.  You hit the hedgehog lightly with the flamingo and Ace chuckles as the hedgehog rolls slowly a few inches before stopping.

“Your hand placement is all wrong,” Deuce tells you before coming up behind you to adjust your hands.

He brings you closer to where you hedgehog rolled to and helps you properly hit it through the nearest loop.  He offers encouragement as you all continue to practice hitting the hedgehogs, and even Ace has to give you some credit that you’ve improved a bit.  After at least an hour of this odd game, in the distance, you can hear a bell ringing, and Ace and Deuce panic a bit saying you’re going to be late as they quickly return the croquet items to their respective racks.  They grab your hand again as they drag you through one of the maze entrances, and after a bit of running, you arrive at the front of a huge castle, decorated with hearts and bricks colored black, white, and red.  It's a bit of an eyesore, but everything here is so brightly and oddly colored so you're not even surprised anymore.

The duo lead you inside, fixing your hair and outfit before guiding you to a large dining room.  The is a curvy shape, looking more like an art installation than a table, and it is piled high with a feast.  From different meats to a variety of vegetables, the food looks like it could feed more than the six people who now sit at the table.  Similar to the tea party, Riddle makes you sit on his lap again as the meal commences, and he does personally feed you a little bit of everything of the surprisingly delicious and flavorful food.  Once again, the boys talk about bizarre things like a jabberwocky and singing flowers, but they also ask how your day has been going.  You think now would be a great time to tell them about your memory issues.  You hope they are as trustworthy as they act.

“Who won the croquet game?” Cater asks as he takes a quick picture of his plate before shoving some mashed potatoes in his mouth.

“Alice’s a little rusty so we just shot them through the hoops,” Ace responds, taking a sip of the sparkling cider in his cup.

“No, I actually forgot,” you interrupt, now a bit shy.  “I’ve forgotten a lot of things actually.”

This causes the table to pause, everyone stops eating and stares at you.

“What do you mean by that?” Trey asks, intertwining his fingers and resting his chin on his hands.

“When I woke up from my nap, I didn’t remember how I got there.  I didn’t recognize any of you guys, but I didn't want to be rude toward your hospitality,” you explain truthfully.

Riddle hums, and you can feel it vibrate in his chest, and he moves a couple strands of your hair out of your face.

“Well, we do have a pesky little creature running around.  Maybe he gave you a memory erasing potion to make you forget about us,” Riddle tells you, adjusting the black bow he tied into your hair earlier.  “We’re your friends, and we only want what’s best for you.”

The way he says those words has your skin crawling, but who else can you trust in this world.  They’ve been so nice to you, feeding you and playing with you, how could you ever reject them?  You nod and thank them for all they’ve done, and you say you hope to regain your memories soon so you can remember all the great times you have spent together.  The rest of dinner continues smoothly, and you're full and a bit sleepy by the time dessert comes out.  You manage to take a few bites of a creamy pudding, but you let out a yawn that has the rest of the table cooing.

“My, my, isn’t someone sleepy,” Riddle mocks before helping you out of his lap.

You can only give him a sleepy nod as he begins to guide you out of the dining room.  The rest of the boys wish you a good night as you leave, and you can only sleepily follow Riddle down a winding hallway.  The interior of the castle is mostly black and white checkered with red rose and heart details, and it has oddly shaped doors with bright colors that don’t match the overall color scheme.  You’re led to a short door, and Riddle has to help you duck under the frame, but the room inside is much more spacious.  The only thing you care about at the moment is getting under the covers of the bed, and once Riddle tucks you in, you pass out, barely feeling the gentle kiss he leaves on your forehead.

~

You slept soundly for a couple of hours, but a loud noise at your window causes you to bolt upright in your bed.  In a panicked frenzy, you look around the room for what could have possibly made that noise.  As your eyes land on the window, you can see two gray paws urgently pounding on the glass.  You hesitantly get out of bed, carefully watching the window as you can now see the paws are attached to a gray cat with blue flames in its ears.  This land is filled with many unfamiliar creatures, so you stop in front of the window but don’t make a move to open it.

“Human!  Let me in!” the cat whines, pausing his banging as he sees you come nearer.

“W-Who are you?” you ask, trying to find a name for the familiar looking animal.

“It’s me, Grim!  We need to get you out of here, they’re crazy!” Grim exclaims, continuing to pound on the glass.

The name Grim rings a bell and you can vaguely remember the cat from your past, but you can’t pinpoint from where.  He seems really invested in getting in and he seems to know you, so he might have the answers that you're looking for.  You unlatch the hook on the window and Grim rushes in before slamming and locking the window.  You watch as he closes the curtains before jumping onto your shoulder, the presence there feeling comfortable and familiar.

“We need to leave,” Grim tells you, his tail twitching as his eyes scan the room.  "They've been chasing me around all day!"

“Why?  Who?  What’s wrong?” you ask, confused by the creature’s frantic behavior.

“Don’t you understand!  They’re trying to keep you here!  We need to defeat the overblots and find Crowley!” he responds urgently.

“Overblots?  Crowley?” you question, turning to look at the cat.

Grim pauses and looks in your eyes, wondering why you’re acting this way, “You know...big scary inky monsters and our birdbrained Headmage?”

You shake your head slowly as Grim’s jaw drops, “Do you even know who I am?”

“You’re Grim,” you respond.

“But you didn’t know until I told you!”  Grim cries as he jumps off your shoulder and starts pacing the floor.  “Do you even know your name!”

“I’m Alice,” you tell him, crouching down to his level.

Grim deadpans and stares right at you in disbelief, “Your name is Y/N, you’re a human who goes to Night Raven College.”

Suddenly, the fog in your mind clears when your name leaves Grim’s mouth, and all your memories flood back into your head.  You remember Night Raven College and all of your friends from the different dorms.  And, most importantly, you remember the school-wide overblot and the Heartslabyul mirror shattering, drawing you inside the dorm’s realm.

“Oh my gosh!  I remember now!” you declare as you grab your head.  “We need to get out of here.”

“I’m glad you finally agree,” Grim smiles as he hops back onto your shoulder and you begin to walk to the door of your room.

You’re about to throw the door open when it's suddenly opened from the other end.

"Alice, are you alright?  We heard you talking to someone," Trey asks as he and Cater, dressed in their pajamas, step into your room.

Grin makes a desperate attempt to hide himself, but Cater quickly points out his disappearing pitchfork tail as he dives under your bed.  Cater quickly grabs the tail and holds up the helpless cat as Trey moves you behind him protectively.

"We've been looking for you all day, you little rascal," Cater mocks as he moves to leave the room, taking a helpless Grim with him.

Of course Grim tried to fit back, and he almost managed to free himself by breathing blue fire, but a heart shaped collar snaps around his neck before he was able to burn anyone.

"I believe that is enough ruckus for one evening," Riddle's voice carries throughout the room as he stands menacingly in the doorway.

Grim looks at you with pleading eyes, and you quickly intervene, pushing past Trey and grabbing Grim from Carter's arms.

"Alice, what do you think you're doing?" Riddle questions, stalking closer to you as you slowly walk backwards.

You hesitate, but you can't stop yourself as you say, "My name is Y/N, I'm not Alice."

Everyone in the room pauses, and it's so silent you could hear a pin drop.  Trey and Cater glance at Riddle who has a frown on his face, but his frown slowly grows into a tight smile as he lets out a small chuckle, somehow scaring you more than his upset face from earlier.

"Luckily for us, your memory got erased by the Dark Mirror when you fell here. But since you've rediscovered yourself, I guess we'll just have to do it again," Riddle says, starting to pace towards you.  "You can either return as our Alice willingly or forcefully."

You're pushed against the wall as Riddle reaches into his pocket and retrieves a glass bottle with a label that says "Drink Me.". The liquid sparkles in the dim lighting, but it's bright coloring makes it look unnatural and threatening.  You quickly scan your surroundings as the three begin to close in on you, pressing you further to the wall.

"Come on, Alice, don't fight this," Trey reassures, speaking in a gentle voice as if talking to a wounded animal.

"Yeah, you're meant to be our Alice," Cater adds with a sick smile.

"Yes, only ours," Riddle says, standing over you, much too close for your comfort.

Rashly, you make a quick dash under Riddle's arm, elbowing Cater away as you make a mad run for the door.  You race down the hallway, trying to recall the way back to the entrance.  However, each time you think you recognize where you are, the hallway distorts and becomes something unfamiliar again.  You rush blindly down the twisting halls as the trio's voice and footsteps get louder behind you.

"Hey!  Watch out!" Grim suddenly exclaims as you bump into a firm chest.

"Alice, what's going on?" Deuce asks as he helps you steady yourself.  "What are you running from?"

"Probably this little critter.  Aren't you the one that Riddle wanted us to hunt down?" Ace comments as he holds Grim by his scruff.

"Let him go!" you exclaim as you try to reach for Grim, but Deuce holds you back.

"So you remember, don't you?" Deuce asks, his eyes darkening as you shrink under his harsh stare and Ace frowns at the news.

"I'm sorry, Alice, but we have to report this to Riddle," Ace tells you as he and Deuce start to guide you back toward the direction you were running from.

You can see Riddle, Trey, and Cater round the corner at the end of the hallway, and they quickly start to run towards you when they spot you with Deuce and Ace.  Not wanting to lose your memories again, you manage to stomp on Deuce's foot, causing him to yelp in surprise and pain, and you snatched Grim from a shocked Ace before attempting to escape again.  You're stopped by cold metal clamping around your neck, blocking your airway.  You fall to your knees as you choke and gag, the collar pressing tighter against your throat. You start to see stars as Riddle crouches down and tips your head up so you can see his satisfied smirk as your vision fades to black.

~

You feel the soft blanket wrapped around you before you even realize you're awake.  Your throat feels dried and your head is pounding.  You open your eyes to find an empty and dimly lit room with some very interesting decorations.  The black and white color scheme hurts your eyes, so you have to look away from the wallpaper.  Only when you turn your head is when you notice a glass of water on your nightstand.  You gladly gulp down the refreshing liquid and rub your throat to soothe the ache you still feel, and you're surprised as your fingers trace over bandages that loosely wrap around your entire neck.  You can't remember what happened, so you slowly unwrap the clean bandages and feel a nasty scar that digs into the flesh of your neck.  It circles around your whole throat, but the wound seems mostly healed.  Suddenly a knock at the door almost causes you to jump out of bed as a group of five entered the room.

"Alice, darling, you're awake," a red haired male exclaims as he rushes to your side and sits beside you.

"Riddle?" you ask, your foggy memory causing you to doubt yourself.

He gives you a soft smile and nods as you turn to the others.  They all smile when they see your eyes light up in recognition at their faces, and they know that the potion only erased what needed to go.

"What happened?" you question as the others sit around on your bed.

"Some monster snuck in and attacked you in the middle of the night," Cater explains, complete with dramatic hand motions.

"But don't worry your pretty little head about it, we already took care of that creature," Trey adds as Cater nods along.

"Luckily for you, I was here to protect you," Ace says proudly, puffing out his chest.

Deuce quickly elbows his friend, "We.  Luckily, we were there to protect you.  It was a group effort."

"Anyways, we're so glad your safe and feeling better," Riddle interrupts before a fight can ensue.  "Plus we even brought a gift for you."

You watch as Riddle pulls out a small red box from his pocket and passes it to you.  You pull off the ribbon and open the box to see a black choker with a golden emblem that matches the one on their armbands. You lift it up to your neck and Riddle helps you fasten it in the back. You let your fingers trace over the smooth and cool gold before looking back at the group.

"Well?  How do I look?" you joke as you showcase your neck and the choker that perfectly covers the scar.

You get a chorus of agreement that it suits you and you look lovely, but after their praises stop, they all lean together to wrap you in a group hug.

"Welcome home, Alice."

[littlejuicebox]

Give peace a chance, let the fear you have fall away

-----

Chapter number: Seven Word count: 3.6K Themes: BG3, slow burn, original female character x astarion, dialogue heavy, canon adjacent behavior, angst, anxiety, trauma, fluff aka smut with a plot, Astarion has a foot fetish? Masterlist: Click here. Song inspiration: "Say Yes to Heaven" - Lana Del Rey Notes: This got steamy. First time writing a full-on sexy scene so hope it was okay. Rating: Mature 18+ / smut

-----

When Astarion and Wren stumbled through the opening of the ranger’s tent, they were both a mess of stifled laughter and raging lust. The vampire practically pounced on the half-elf woman from behind, his hands gripping at her breasts before quickly wandering downward, suddenly in predator mode and quite eager to explore other parts of her body. The little bird giggled and spun to face the rogue before she grabbed his wrists and extracted herself from his aggressive embrace, planting a soft kiss on his cold lips in the process. “Hold on… let’s get comfortable.”

The woman dropped to her knees, followed by the rogue, and took a few minutes to build her nest. The pillows Wren had scattered around her tent were rearranged, a few quilts were spread around to serve as ground cover, and her prized fur blanket, which she’d proudly pulled out of a dropped shipping crate along the Risen Road, served as the top layer to the bed she’d made for them. Both the rogue and the ranger had advanced dark vision, though only shades of gray... not good enough for the archer.

Wren found an amber jar and whispered a cleric spell, infusing the item with light that cast a warm, soft glow around them. Astarion found himself absently wondering if her mother had taught her that as he watched her readjust the tent with a mixture of confusion and fascination. She draped a handkerchief over the jar to dim it and placed the makeshift light in the corner of the tent. Then, the little bird smiled at the rogue, eyes still hooded, and pupils blown from the inhalants they’d consumed minutes ago. “Now… where were we.”

Astarion was, once again, entirely thrown. Wren approached this much differently than he or his past marks ever did; she seemed determined to romanticize and soften everything. He was used to unbridled lust and aggressive sexual encounters; setting and timing didn’t ever matter. Quick romps in an alleyway, in the dungeon, or in a bed that had seen the same lines and moves used on many of his marks… that was his area of expertise. The softness she’d just shown in readying a literal love nest suddenly made him quite nervous and flooded him with so many emotions that he couldn’t sort through fast enough.

Anxiety, guilt, fear, frustration... it all hit him at once. This was different territory and the rogue realized with a sinking feeling in his chest that his scripts, crafted over decades, didn’t apply here. They wouldn’t work; she’d see right through them. His confident, predatory nature slipped from his grasp and left behind a nervous, unsure elven man. The little bird pulled him towards her, moving forward to close to gap between them, her brows lifting and scrunching together as she watched his eyes.

The anxiety must have shown on his face — damn his eyes that Wren said “portrayed all manner of emotion" just moments ago. Astarion had spent several decades crafting a mask that seemed to fall from his face anytime she stared at him. In any other situation, with any other person, he would’ve simply shoved his feelings aside and performed. He’d been actually enjoying himself, until now, when things took a drastic plunge toward vulnerability. Suddenly everything felt much less like the games he'd grown accustomed to playing and too… real.

“Is everything okay, Star?” Wren whispered, the new nickname falling out of her mouth as if it was the only name she’d ever called him.

Astarion’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He’d only ever been referred to by his first name or “spawn” for as long as he could remember. The rogue, of course, had called many lovers any number of nicknames, mostly because he didn’t want to remember their actual monikers, but no one had ever bestowed one upon him until this moment. Another pang of anxiety and guilt. Was he still just toying with her? Or was she toying with him, in a way he could not see? Should he back out now, before it was too late?

“I… well, darling, frankly I’m not quite sure how to do things this way.” He admitted, with no small amount of shame; the damn Druidic herbs had him acting way too honestly for his liking. “Wren… I don’t know what it is that you want from me or what role it is I'm meant to play here."

“I want to make love to you.” Wren responded softly, as if the answer were quite simple and clear to her. “I want to learn your body... and I’d like for you to learn mine. I don’t want you to play any role; I just want you to be you.”

Astarion still wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but something about the earnestness of her voice and the softness of her gaze mixed with the inhibition-limiting druidic herbs pulled him closer to her. He was used to being dominant and in control during all his previous encounters; everything was quick, rote, and to the point… almost surgical. He’d always been the one approaching his victims, luring them to their demise, leading the encounter the entire time and preventing it from ever going off-script. The vampire knew sex and he knew it very well. But making love? Well, that was simply a concept he hadn’t deigned to consider.

“Do you trust me?” Wren asked, as she grabbed the vampire’s hand, lifting it to her lips and kissing the knuckle, echoing something he’d done on impulse the night prior.

The silver haired elf's heart fluttered at the tender touch. He felt the strange sensation that was standing on some sort of precipice; part of him wanted to jump while the other part begged he stay back. The vampire swallowed. “No…” He whispered, once again entirely too truthful. 'Damn these herbs.' He watched Wren’s face fall for a moment, the disappointment in her eyes almost too much for him to withstand. “But… I want to.”

At this clumsy confession, Wren beamed and -- 'gods above and below' --- she looked beautiful. The light from the jar cast her in a warm, near-angelic glow. The edges of her hair displayed their highlights, a beautiful burgundy halo around her. Astarion was entranced, positively engulfed in a spell of emotion. He took in a deep, shuttering breath, trying to steady his nerves; his eyes slammed shut. “I… Darling, I’m sorry, I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

Wren was still smiling a soft, drug-hazed smile. She took hold of his other hand, which had been in his lap, anxiously toying with the leather of his trousers. “We can go slow. You can keep your eyes closed if you want.”

The vampire could barely bring himself to nod. And then Wren’s lips were on his in a soft, tender kiss. She brought his hands to either side of her face as she moved herself closer. A gentle press of Astarion's legs on either side signaled him to shift them slightly so that the ranger could position herself between him, her knees bent and straddled over his thighs. Her hands came to the sides of his face, mirroring his own, as she pressed berry-stained lips into his pale ones. Wren was so close to him in that tent, so focused on only him; he could feel her energy radiating towards him in comforting waves, easing his mind, if only slightly.

“What would you like for me to do?” Her voice was soft and almost sounded far-away, the medicinals slowly climbing towards their peak effect. Astarion swallowed again. He wasn’t used to being asked such questions and asking for what he wanted seemed to require great effort. His request came out in a shaking, nearly breathless whisper. “M-my ears… I do quite like when you touch them.”

The female ranger obliged, lithe fingers tracing their way to the vampire’s ears, toying with the lobes at first before drawing up to trace the pointed pinnas. The soft sounds Wren’s movements pulled from Astarion lit her desire aflame and she felt her own arousal bursting at the seams while witnessing his response.

The half-elf felt she could sit and do this forever just to listen the beautiful noises he made and watch the way his face lit up in pleasure. His lips parted slightly to purr in response to her ministrations and Wren felt her heart glow. Her lips moved to the left side of the rogue’s face and trailed kisses along his jaw, before her tongue found its way to his sensitive lobe. The silver-haired elf bucked his hips and let out a soft, strangle moan as her tongue brushed against his ear, his growing arousal was straining against his trousers and just brushing against Wren’s still-clothed pelvis as she wrapped her legs around him.

Astarion began to move now, eyes still closed, basking in the sensations that sent ripples of enjoyment through him. He gained just enough confidence to flutter his eyes open and let his pale hands drift slowly down to the neckline of Wren’s chemise, long fingers grazing against the silken fabric. The little bird pulled away from Astarion’s ear and locked eyes with him for a moment, enveloping his lips in another soft kiss before granting the rogue what he’d silently been asking for and shrugging her arms out of the chemise, baring her breasts.

The elf’s eyes moved to take in the pale globes of skin presented before him. Wren’s freckles fell in constellations along her collar bone and dense patches down her chest, but sparse few could be found on her breasts; the contrast was striking. Her nipples were little buds on teardrop-shaped breasts, practically begging for his tongue to engulf them. Astarion answered their desperate plea and pressed forward, wrapping the nub in his mouth, sucking gently, almost experimentally. One hand came to her other breast while its twin found its way to her back, pressing her body into him. Wren let out a soft gasp and bucked her hips, rubbing her arousal into the vampire’s. Astarion pressed his hips forward again to greet hers, and soon they were caught in a pleasurable grind, both parties still inhibited by the layers of fabric that covered their loins.

They stayed like this for several minutes, stimulating one another with timed, rhythmic movements. Wren’s hands found their way to silver curls and took hold, still brushing her hands occasionally against his ears, as the vampire slowly teased his tongue from first one nipple, then the other. She was keening in delight, her chest heaving as she continued to grind her pelvis towards Astarion’s, desperate for more contact.

The hem of Wren’s chemise had now ridden up and pooled itself around her waist, exposing barren legs and a glimpse of damp undergarment to the pale elf. Astarion traced his hands over the soft skin of her thighs and Wren moaned as his agile hands found that sensitive bundle of nerves at her groin and gave an exploratory slip against it. The vampire smiled with some semblance of arrogance and pride that he could rip such a pretty noise from the ranger’s mouth. His tongue traced from her nipple up to the crook of her collarbone, where the elf placed feather light kisses before trailing his way up to her neck and grazing his teeth along the sensitive flesh.

“Would you like a drink?” The ranger asked, voice breathless and hushed but laced with eagerness, as she tilted her head to the side in an effort to allow better access.

Astarion didn’t need further coaxing to delve his fangs into her tempting flesh. The warmth of her life force encapsulated his tongue, thick ropes of warm, comforting deliciousness sliding down his throat. He drank deeply as Wren keened beneath him, still grinding into his arousal and almost whimpering in his hands. His eyes fluttered closed as he reveled in her addictive taste of sunshine and warmth, riding the high of the sweet spice of cinnamon tingling his tongue as the intoxicants in her blood flooded into his stomach, adding to his own haze. The straining in his trousers was becoming insufferable, his length practically imploring him for release.

It was obvious Wren was growing quite excited. Her pupils were blown wide, chest heaving in anticipation, and the pink flush along her breasts was flooding up her neck and pouring onto her cheeks. She tentatively placed her hands on either side of Astarion’s shirt and tugged up, hands asking for permission to grasp at the skin underneath.

Astarion froze for a moment. His face pulled back from where it had finished his indulgence on her blood and had begun attentively covering the marks in affectionate tongue laps. Scarlet eyes locked onto hers, studying her, searching for an answer in her eyes. 'What does she want from me, truly?'

Wren could tell he was unsure, that his body was responding to the pleasure, but some part of his mind still had not taken the plunge. She grabbed his hand and placed it on her heaving chest, where the excited beating of her heart thumped beneath the surface.

“Let me show you.” She whispered, before closing her own eyes and opening her mind to the vampire. And there he saw it. Astarion saw her affection for him, how she compared him to a fox in her mind; mischievous and sly but also endearing and loyal. He saw her desire for him, how her body was drawn to his like a moth to a flame and lit up by the slightest of touches. He also saw her trust; how she never doubted he would have her back in every battle and had faith the rogue would never overindulge on her neck. He saw her gratitude for her restored vision, and all the little things he’d done for her like repairing her pack and gifting her the nightdress that was now barely covering her beautiful body.

But, somehow shockingly yet perhaps most of all, Astarion saw her protective instinct. He watched how she reacted to the Gur without second thought when he threatened to take the vampire away from her, how she kept eyes on him from the periphery of every fight to make sure he would be okay, all the expertly placed arrows that downed foes he hadn’t even realized were at his back, and all the moments she’d defended him to the other campmates when they’d brought their concerns about his vampirism to her. It was all so excitingly raw and vulnerable. It stoked the flames inside him, igniting the fire within his body and his groin to an even greater degree than he thought possible and suddenly his need for Wren outweighed his trepidation.

Astarion was spurned forward by intense emotion and lunged to kiss the woman, tongue plunging into parted lips. He broke away for just a moment, ripping his shirt up and over his head. Wren’s hands were on his chest and back in an instant, grazing over rippled muscle as they dragged their way down to his trousers, tugging desperately at the waistband. Her fingers had traced down the scars on his back, sending tingles through his spine; he was shocked to find that he didn’t rip away from her touch.

The rogue pulled himself from their entangled web of limbs before tugging at the leather of his bottoms, releasing his arousal from the confines of clothing and tossing his pants into the corner of the tent. His eyes locked on hers and he grasped at her hips with a soft, "up," motioning her to stand on her knees. The little ranger obeyed his command, and Astarion grabbed the silken hem of her chemise, dragging it along her body and over her head. He tugged at her arousal-slicked briefs, dropping them down to pool at the base of her thighs before placing a hand on her chest and pressing her backward into the nest of pillows and blankets, quickly removing her underwear and tossing them aside.

She was panting beneath him, her hair splayed in pools of brown and burgundy, eyes alight with excitement. He stared down at his little treat, drinking in the view of her body, utterly exposed before him. It was clear, even in her armor, that Wren was pear-shaped… but the barren view was quite a sight to behold. His eyes greedily traced the contours of her hips and the plush but firm shape of her thighs. He grabbed one of her legs and lifted it to him, one hand sliding along her slit to tease the nub at the apex of her sex. Then, the vampire slowly trailed kisses along her calf and down the arch of her foot before taking two tiny toes into his mouth and sucking.

Wren began wriggling beneath him, soft moans of excitement from the new dual stimulation causing arousal to drip from her. The ranger bucked her hips up towards his fingers, her eyes glued to the attention he was paying to her dainty feet. Astarion withdrew his tongue from her foot, a drugged, contented smile crossing his lips. “You are quite the surprise, you know. And you surprise me again and again.” He whispered before lowering Wren’s leg and then grabbing her arm, a gentle tug beckoning her to sit up. He was aching with need at this point, desperate to sheath himself within the ranger.

Astarion sat back and brought Wren to him. They were face to face; her legs straddled over his once more. Her thighs were slick with desire and the heat of her sex was pressed against his member, practically begging to bury him inside. The ranger lifted herself slightly and with a small roll of her hips, positioned Astarion at her entrance. Then she began the slow, torturous descent around his cock, her eyes widening, and head thrown back as she took him to the hilt. It was all Astarion could do not to buck forward and instead simply allow the half-elf to take him in at her own pace; the tight grip around his arousal had nearly been enough to shoot him over the edge as she dropped to engulf him completely. A frantic, strangled moan escaped his lips as she took the last few inches, and he was finally enveloped in her tightness.

Wren took a deep breath in and then moved to place her forehead against Astarion’s. Her eyes were locked onto the vampire’s as she began to ride him with slow and precise rolls of her hips. It was nearly maddening, the leisurely, determined pace she set. He felt every ripple of her insides against his cock and nearly lost himself every time she slowly unsheathed his length from her, just to begin the torturous decent once more. The pale elf took hold of her ample bottom, his hands supporting her movements and gripping into the sumptuous flesh. Wren was moaning in pleasure now, her hands on either of Astarion’s shoulders, using him for leverage as she sawed her body back and forth along his length. They were caught in the spell of one another’s gaze, a bubble of pleasure building around them, desperate to burst.

Soon enough, Wren picked up the pace, and Astarion could feel her urgency building, the greedy tightness gripping at his member. One of his hands came to the ranger's hardened nipple and pinched it, earning him a delicious groan. He lowered his hand to her groin and found that sensitive little nub of nerves. “Sing for me, little bird.”

And she did. Deft fingers caught her clit between them and applied friction as she continued to frantically roll her hips on top of him. One of her hands came to Astarion’s and re-positioned it just slightly, the new angle she desired causing her to rear her head back and go wild. She grabbed onto the back of his neck, fingers gripping into silver curls as her eyes moved back to the rogue's. Astarion was entranced in the raw vulnerability she lay before him, his cock aching at the site of the pouty desperation splayed across her face. She was emitting a near-constant smattering of praises, keening, and moans as the bubble of pressure and pleasure climbed towards its breaking point, imploring for release. “Yes, Star, yes. Oh gods.”

Wren's pace became more and more panicked, her body tensing itself into an arch, like a bow pulled taut. The couple were both panting heavily from exertion, and Astarion watched as the ranger practically fell apart in his lap, a beautiful writhing bundle of sweaty, freckled sinew. The bubble burst and Wren found her release with a delighted squeal, her body shuddering around him. The wild, uninhibited sounds of the woman's climax tipped Astarion over the edge and he pushed his hips forward, groaning into her shoulder as his body ebbed with glorious pleasure and warm seed spilled itself into her depths.

“Mm… that was quite a delicious site.” Astarion murmured as both of them rode the aftershocks of their pleasure and the final influences of the Druidic herbs.

Wren murmured her agreement, still straddling the rogue but paused to catch her breath. Finally, she pulled away and lay down, motioning the rogue to lay beside her. The ranger covered them both in her prized fur blanket, now coated with the slickness of their lovemaking in some spots. Her lips found his shoulder, where she pressed a warm kiss. “Goodnight, Star.”

“Good night, little bird.” Astarion responded, his hand moving to brush stands of hair from her face before he closed his own eyes. The herbs and exertion beckoned the vampire into a trance quite quickly after Wren, the two of them still a tangle of limbs and nakedness as the bog sang them a lullaby.

Dawn would break, and in turn, so would the spell they'd covered one another in that evening. But, if just for the night, Astarion felt something he’d never known in over 200 years… peace.

[sophie-looks-at-stuff]

Some Modern Aemond Headcanons:

Hey y'all! So the votes were pretty close, but by a slim majority it looks like one post per character was the winner! 🥳 I also just have too many ideas for certain characters! So I'm going to start with my favorite, the man, the myth the legend, Aemond himself. My internet is going to be a little spotty for the next few days, since I'm going to be moving, but stay with me! I'll get them all on here at some point :)

He has a big black/gray great dane named Vhagar. I saw someone else say he’d have a great dane, and I totally agree!

He experimented with different colors for his false eye, blue, green, maybe even the signature Targaryen lavender. But ultimately he settles with the sapphire blue stone. It’s different, and makes him feel badass, but also a little pretty :)

Mans is the embodiment of dark academia, from style to work ethic. He’d be a double major in philosophy, and history. Maybe a minor in business, just in case Aegon somehow convinces Alicent and Viserys to give him the family business instead him. He’d still be the CFO or something, but CEO does have a better ring to it…

He'd get his own apartment as soon as possible. He doesn't like having roommates all up in his business. He refused to stay in a dorm room with a total stranger, so he and Aegon teamed up for once to convince Alicent to let them do an apartment together instead. But after a year or so, Aemond needed his own space… Aegon isn’t exactly neat and tidy sometimes. 

Speaking of his apartment, I think Aemond would be pretty minimalist. He doesn't super love clutter. But his office might be the one exception. Since he's a double major with a minor, he's got a lot of textbooks, and novels lying around. Unlike Helaena, he's not a collector, or a huge fan of nic nacs. But he does have his posh tea, and I think he'd have a small collection of about 3 or 4 daggers.

It would be interesting to see him with an s/o that is a collector, he'd probably end up designating a part of his house to them for all their little things. He could handle a small corner or bookshelf, but it grows on him overtime. And he gets secretly a little excited every time they bring something new home. "Hey look what I got at the antique store today!" "Add it to the shelf love :)"

Definitely a smoker. He knows it’s a bad habit, but he’s not super driven to quit either. It’s a stress reliever, and it gives him something to do while thinking. Helps him process stuff. (also it’s just kind of hot to think of Aemond with a leather coat and a cigarette, plus that motorcycle I mentioned earlier…) 

Black is his favorite color/shade, at least for clothing and interior decorating. But ever since he was a kid he's had a thing for blue, a deep ocean, sapphire blue. That's probably why he settles on the blue sapphire for his eye.

Modern boyfriend Aemond would be a secret romantic I think. He didn't really have many girlfriends if any in high school. He'd have had his first kiss and all that, but they weren't really on his radar. Part of me thinks Aemond would be with someone a slightly more extroverted than himself. They would get him out of the house a little more, even if it's just to take Vhagar for a longer evening walk than usual.

I think one of his love languages would be gift giving. He can be a little closed off sometimes, so when words seem to fail him, he'd find a way through gifts. They'd range from a bouquet of your favorite flowers, to a private dinner at the nicest restaurant in town. You saw a dress, or top you liked online? It would be nicely wrapped in a box on your bed within the next couple days.

He needs someone with patience. He's insecure about his eye sometimes, (not all the time, cause I feel like he has some days where he's totally feeling it). He might take a while to let down some walls, but when he does, you can read him like a book. You see him squint a little at something his brother said? You know he's annoyed and wants to change the subject.

Looovvessss dark chocolate. More particularly though, he loves chocolate covered espresso beans. It's his snack when studying.

He runs cold, he has an extra layer with him at all times. Sometimes it's a sweater under his leather jacket, or a scarf Alicent made him tucked into his bag.

[downundergarfield]

Dude, the day I finally get ahold of that Sniper ass… anyway… please a sniper x f!reader who is also pretty introverted and the two start hanging out together in private bc she cannot stand how loud the other mercs be sometimes. Thank you <3

That sounds so sweet, dear anon. This is what I managed to compose:

Sniper × F!reader they start hanging out together because they can't stand how noisy everyone else is.

Friday afternoon. The sun was covered with clouds and the whole day was flooded with a hundred shades of gray. A sticky feeling of some kind of fatigue and sadness hung heavily on your shoulders. You looked at the bustling mercenaries who were preparing for some kind of holiday or party. The Soldier shouted something commanding at the others, the Scout shouted something in response. Everyone was fussing and the noise made your head spin. You sighed after looking at it and went to a place familiar to you, and only to you. Along the way, Pyro stuck to you, they asked where you were going, mumbling something worriedly. You said you wanted to be alone and Pyro understood that.

A small library. The mercenaries could not boast of a special zeal for reading, there were not many books on this. Shelves, too, but they served more as the walls of a small maze. There was no light in the room. Because no one is sitting here, why conduct electricity here?

You sat down between the shelves, sighing heavily. You took out a flashlight, a favorite book and were able to enjoy quiet solitude in this dusty remote room. There was almost no noise, except that the rain was drumming on the glass. When did it start? Apparently the weather is also not up to the festivities. Calm and quiet. Even your head almost doesn't hurt.

You were already beginning to nod off, when your rest was interrupted by a sound on the left. You looked there, peering fearfully into the darkness. A tall, stooped figure stood in the thick black darkness. Hastily grabbing a flashlight, you shone it in its direction. The light fell on the scarlet shirt. There was a hoarse little moan.

"-aagh, not in the eyes, mate!"

He was covering his blinded eyes with his hands. Oh, thank God, it's just the Sniper.

"what are you doing here?"

You whispered, looking at the lanky man.

"that's what I 'ave to ask ya"

He rubbed his blinded eyes and then put his glasses back on.

You raised one eyebrow.

"- I'm taking a break from these goons. Too much noise."

He chuckled.

"-surprised. 'm also hiding from these wanka's."

Silence reigned. You shone on his body without getting into his eyes. He was looking at you through reflective glasses. An awkward pause. Damn, what else can you say?

"-sit down?"

You nod, he carefully sits down next to you, looking into the empty darkness of the library.

"-often here?"

You nod.

"- when they start making noise."

"-same."

You're both at a loss for words. But it's nice for you to realize that you're not the only one. Not one quiet guy. He pauses, looks at you in this light lantern light and slowly leans closer. You can smell tobacco and fresh wood.

"what are you reading?"

You don't immediately gather your words and tell him about the contents of the book, about the characters, about your favorite story from there. He smiles softly, listening to you attentively. You don't raise your voice, speak softly, and he answers you no less softly. Here his hoarse raspy voice feels really cozy. It's like hanging out with a cool uncle.

"- This is quite interestin', also have something to tell...."

He tells you about the things he has seen, and you respond. Once you philosophize. Once you discuss others. Gently laugh it off, chuckling softly. And then be silent again.

Comfort warms you and you do not notice how you are leaning on his shoulder. He shudders and is ready to swear that an army of goosebumps ran over his skin. But he didn't object. The sound of the rain lulled, and the warmth from his body warmed. You didn't even notice how you fell asleep, having knocked out the flashlight. You will wake up later when the sun hits your eyes. The Sniper will be right there, sleeping on one of the bookshelves. One thing will catch your attention. His vest covers you. How cute.