#it’s almost like my imagination is my own worst enemy

[kay-bitch]

Hmm…I did the thing I was putting off and my anxiety dramatically decreased…surely these two things are not related….

[rinhaler]

As promised!!! Since I love your writing, I had this imagination spark while listening to Chase Atlantic's "HEAVEN AND BACK" song, oddly to say I associate Rin Itoshi in every CA songs. Basically could I request a steamy one-night stand of him meeting reader in a big crowded bar where Rin is likely a bass guitarist? Sounds cheesy of it but XD

GLAD U SAID BASS PLAYER MY BOYF PLAYS BASS 😭 sorry this took SO long to post but I hope u like it :3

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, alcohol consumption, (kinda fast) enemies to lovers, fingering, love bites, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess etc.), squirting.

words: 2.2k

It’s been years since you’ve been to a gig. Especially one like this, in a dingy dive bar for a barely known local band. The guitarist is a friend of your cousin’s. And she just about begged you to go.

The place is pretty packed and the music definitely isn’t the worst you’ve heard. In fact, you found yourself swaying your hips and tapping your toes along to the beat. As the night went on and on, you were surprised to find that they were actually good. Good enough to be searching for their latest single when they promoted it at the end of their set.

“Play nice please,” your cousin begs. “I really like him, and I think tonight might be the night.”

“I knew he wasn’t just a fucking friend.” you laugh. She crosses her arms across her chest as embarrassment surges through her, but you still decide to tease her. “You really needed me to help you get some dick?”

“Shut up!” she blushes. “You always have guys falling at your feet so I thought it might rub off on me.” she pouts.

You clear your throat when you notice the guy in question heading your way. She turns around, instantly, smoothing her hair down and putting on the highest, girliest voice she can muster. He seems interested enough without her needing your help, but you decide to stay a few extra seconds for moral support. She giggles at every sentence and smiles giddily whenever he speaks.

“Tone it down, you’re good.” you whisper in her ear before slinking away to the bar.

You signal for a drink, thankful for the low-cut top you’re wearing as everyone else seems to be instantly ignored in favour of you. There’s a scoff beside you, one you choose to ignore until he watches you receive your pint of beer.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask.

“No.” he responds. “I’m jealous of your drink, princess.”

“Excuse me, can you get this guy a beer too?” you yell. The bartender nods with a smile and quickly acquiesces. “Will that put a smile on your pretty face?”

He smirks but shakes his head as he ignores you. He thanks the bartender as he receives his own drink, the frothy head attaching itself to his lip before he licks it away. He grunts a little as he feels a passerby knock into the big black case on his back. It’s only then that you notice it, and pieces begin to fall into place.

“Oh fuck. You were in the band.” you smile excitedly as you angle your body to face him. “I wasn’t gonna come tonight but I’m glad I did.” you giggle as you pull up your phone to show the bands single saved in your music library.

“Thanks.” he nods. “Why did you come?”

“Uh my cousin is trying to fuck the guitarist.”

“You’re Ada’s cousin?” he asks, expression changing to one of slight annoyance. He takes another swig of his beer before elaborating. “Zantetsu hasn’t shut up about her and she’s always crashing our practices. I hope they get it over with, it’s getting in the way.”

“Oh you’re a serious musician. Gotcha.” you roll your eyes. “You know you play the most boring instrument out of everyone, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“Drummers are the hottest, guitars are the most iconic, everyone’s drawn to the singer. And then there’s… you. No one can even hear you over all of that, you know.”

He scoffs once again. You can tell he wants to fight you on it and fill your head with facts about his instrument of choice. But it’s almost like he already knows you and how stubborn you are. He could tell you anything he wants, but you’ll die on the hill you’ve decided to climb just to piss him off more.

“They’d sound like shit if it wasn’t for me.” he mumbles before taking another drink. “The bass is the most important part, you’re clueless. It’s like you’ve never listened to music in your life.”

“Clueless?” you repeat. “Besides, you’ve got a pretty face. I’m sure if your attitude wasn’t so rotten and you were the lead singer you’d be drowning in pussy.”

“I do alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You squint your eyes sceptically. There’s no doubt that he has the potential to pull a girl or two. And, admittedly, you’ve had one very hostile conversation with him. But you can tell from his sulky demeanour that any woman he has a chance with is likely scared off by his attitude.

He tries to ignore you for the remainder of his drink.

God, he tries.

But he’s overwhelmed by the desire to put you in your place.

“I—”

“There’s no way you’re getting girls.” you interrupt him immediately. “Like, no way. Maybe one or two, but you’re not doing better than the lead. He’s gorgeous and he’s the face of the band.”

His smile is wicked as he holds his near empty glass, swilling the golden liquid around the bottom before he puts it down on a coaster. “You really don’t get it, do you?” you’re a little taken aback as he bites his lip whilst looking at you from the corner of his eye.

His expression makes your heart beat a little faster. You find yourself shuffling in your seat as you see just how strikingly handsome he really is when he’s trying. And then it hits you, he’s trying. He’s showing you what he’s capable of and you’re falling for it. Even with the knowledge, it’s too late. All you can think about his that sharp jawline and striking stare.

“You know what they say about bass players.” he says quietly, but loud enough for you to hear. His barstool spins so he’s facing you. You take a sharp inhale as he slowly leans in towards you, the smell of beer on his pretty lips makes you heady and excited, waiting with bated breath for him to continue. “They’re good with their fingers.”

You can’t stifle a laugh as he pulls away, giggling like your cousin had been moments prior whilst flirting with the guitarist. It’s embarrassing, letting him see you reduced to this after trying to irritate him. You clear your throat and try to gain your composure.

“You’re disgusting.” you respond.

“Mmm, you want to find out though, so,” he shrugs, finishing the last dregs of his drink. “I’ll wait by the entrance for ten minutes, if you don’t come find me, I’ll leave without you.” he walks away without even looking at you.

You don’t get a chance to say a word before he seamlessly weaves through the crowd and out of sight. Without thinking, you’re already on your feet and checking the time.

Ten minutes.

You rush through the bar to find Ada, tapping on her shoulder to pull her attention away from Zantetsu. “I’m leaving. Seal the deal, please.” you wink. She nods, laughing as you kiss her cheek and rush towards the entrance.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you saw his face light up when he realised you were actually going to take him up on his offer. He plays it off, though, trying to appear cooler and more aloof as you approach him.

“It’s barely been two minutes.” he tells you.

“I’m not gonna let you hear the end of it if you’re all talk.” you smirk.

The minute he gets you inside of his apartment, you can’t keep your hands off each other. Your lips are on his in an instant, your breath stolen as he lifts you from the ground and encourages you to wrap your legs around his waist while he carries you into the kitchen.

He helps you out of the vest top you’re wearing when he sits you down on the counter so you’re down to your jeans and bra. You tilt your head as he peppers your neck in a combination of soft and sloppy kisses.

Your heels fall off without effort as you instinctively open your legs, rolling your hip against his clothed abs.

“My roommate is out,” he tells you quietly, still kissing you all over. You moan softly as he starts leaving soft bite marks across your skin. “He’s such a clean freak, he’d lose it if he knew—”

“It’s okay,” you giggle, you cup his face and direct him to kiss you again. “Help me get my jeans off.”

He wastes no time unbuttoning them and yanking down the zipper. He keeps his eyes on yours as he helps you shimmy out of the wide-legged jeans, smiling at you as you both hear them crumple on the ground.

“Gonna show me what a stud you are?” you ask, spreading your legs to reveal your dark, lewd panties. There’s a glint of amusement in his eye, which soon turns into a toothy grin as he runs his finger along the damp slit. “Fuck,”

“You’re soaking for me already, good girl.” he tells you. He begins to rub your clit over the lace covering your flesh, and you’re immediately putty in his hands. Your legs quiver slightly, and you rush to close them, but he pries them apart before leaning in to kiss you. “Keep them open for me.” he demands before slipping his tongue between your lips.

“Haah.. haaaah~!” you whimper, his featherlight ministrations seeming like magic as he continues to tease your clit.

“Fuck,” he grunts, fingers curling around the waistband of your panties before he begins to tug. “Off. Get them off.” he demands, ordering you to wiggle on the counter until he manages to peel them from your cunt and slip them down your legs. He distracts you with a kiss as he shoves them into the back pocket of his jeans.

Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as he resumes circling your now bare clit. Your face is picturesque, he thinks, as your eyes become heavy and your pants are more uncontrollable.

“Are you faking this to piss me off?” he wonders. You shake your head slowly. “You’re so sensitive…”

“S-Shut up,” you bite your lip before giggling. “Haven’t gotten any in a while.”

“Well we can’t have that. Better make up for lost time.” he grins, fingers traversing from your throbbing clit to your entrance. His jaw hangs low, moaning in faux sympathy as he starts to stretch you immediately with two fingers. “You’re so tight baby, takin’ me so well.” he tells you.

He doesn’t wait for a response before his head sinks to nestle in the crook of your neck as he assaults your skin with a cacophony moans and sucks, decorating your flesh with his name in a purple and blue masterpiece.  

Your cunt squelches as he presses his fingers deeper and deeper into your gooey interior, eagerly searching for your sweet spot and hellbent on targeting it. He hears you squeak, body almost falling limp with a particularly delicious curling of his fingers. You feel his smug expression against your pulse point, but instead of mocking you, his canines gently graze against it.

“She’s so loud for me, baby. Your sloppy little pussy loves me.” he breathes. You throw your head back as he continues to delve deeper and deeper until you can no longer fight off the urge to scream his name.

“FUCK, Rin!” you cry. “There! R-Right there!”

“There, princess?” he asks, though it’s rhetorical. He already knows what you want and what he needs to do. You’re happy you goaded him. But he’s happier to know he’s proving you wrong. “You’re squeezing so tight… won’t be able to play with your pussy or my bass if you break my fingers.”

“Sto- stop. Goddddd Rin I’m gonna c-um. Gonna cum!” you warn him, as if he didn’t already know. You wrap your arms around his neck in a needy display that makes you sick, but you don’t care enough to stop. He doesn’t mind, either. Making out with you passionately, swapping spit as drool dribbles and pools from each of your mouths. His lips remain connected to yours by a single string of spit as you break away to moan through your high.

He swallows them, though. Transfixed by the feeling and pride that you’re offering your prettiest sounds for him to devour while your legs quiver violently on either side of his hand.

You throw your head back as your pussy begins to squirt and douse his fingers. He doesn’t even flinch, immediately using his free hand to swipe across your clit to extend your pleasure and further the mess spurting from the apex of your thighs.

“She really likes me, baby.” he smirks at you, an expression so smarmy you’d punch him if he hadn’t made you feel so good. “You came so fast for me.”

“You’re welcome.” you giggle, leaning forward to kiss him. “I got what I came for so I’m gonna leave now.” you tell him as you pretend to free yourself of his hold. He shakes his head, lower lip tugged by his teeth as he tries to supress a smile.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. Nowhere near through with you yet.”

© 2024 rinhaler

[ox-imagines]

Tokyo Debunker as Romance Tropes

Feel free to ask me to write a longer imagine/oneshot for any of these!

Pt. 2 | Vagastrom

Pt. 1 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7

Alan - Bodyguard

Almost everywhere you go, you have a detail of bodyguards, protecting you from harm and prying eyes. As such, one of them is almost always with you to ensure your safety, and it’s often your personal favorite. Alan doesn’t even realize he’s your favorite, he just thinks it’s him because he’s the strongest and most vigilant. One night while he’s standing guard outside your door, you ask him to come in your room, insisting that it’s warmer there than in the hallway and at least he could sit while watching you. Reluctantly, he agrees. He starts to sit in a chair, but you grab his hand, tugging him gently over to sit on your bed while you slept. He still isn’t aware of your feelings for him, but now he’s got some of his own that he’s not quite sure what to do with.

“This is unprofessional… are you sure this is ok? Fine, you’re the boss…”

Sho - Enemies to Lovers

At first, Sho comes off as indifferent, directionless, and a bit cold. His attitude bothers you so much, but you’re given an assignment you’re partnered for. He’ll disagree with you about almost anything, but won’t even actually fight you on it, which is honestly worse. If he doesn’t like what you want to do, why doesn’t he suggest something he wants to do? His apathy brings out the worst in you and eventually he does snap, yelling back at you about how obnoxious it is to try and work with you and he wishes you’d just finish the assignment yourself if you didn’t actually want his input. The argument somehow ends in a very heated makeout session, after which he seems at least a little more invested and agreeable about how to do your assignment.

“Why should I give a fuck? Just do it yourself if you care so much instead of getting on my case for not caring! We can’t all be perfe- …oh. Shit, what, what are you doing…?”

Leo - Fake Relationship

Leo was kind of a friend of yours; you had a family wedding coming up and had recently led your family to believe you had a boyfriend, and unfortunately your other friends were busy that weekend. You asked Leo, and first he laughed at you, but then he decided it might be a good ‘marketing ploy’ to act like your boyfriend and promote himself to all the other wedding attendees. He acts caring around others but is still merciless towards you whenever you’re alone about how ‘funny’ it is you were so desperate you had to ask him of all people. He notices though that your family doesn’t seem to like you much, giving you underhanded compliments and sideways comments all night, and you take it like it’s nothing but he notices the way your eyes waver. It resonates with some part of him he thought he’d cut himself off from, and by the end of the night he’s not teasing you anymore and his arm around your waist feels a bit more sincere.

“I know your mom didn’t like the dress you picked, but for what it’s worth, I think you look good enough to even put on my SNS. I bet my followers would go crazy if I posted you looking like this.”

[hinakazino]

Royal Reverse Harem Plot Idea???

A little idea popped into my head...

Imagine being transferred into your favorite novel as the villainess. You'd only seen a couple official cover arts of her, and she shares the same name whilst also looking similar to you. So it is just completely crazy but not uncalled for, that no one can tell anything's changed.

You're betrothed to Gojo Satoru, crown prince of the Jujutsu Empire but of course he hates your guts. It's not like you can even blame him because from what you read. The villainess had basically bullied the female lead every chance she got and even tried to have her killed off.

You know that the villainess dies in the original plot, but you don't want to. What do you do then? You do your very best to right your wrongs and end up gaining an air of respect after a month or so. Alongside that, you try to stay on Satoru's good side out of everything because in the end of the plot he is the one who gets you killed.

(He hires Toji to take you out of course.) Nothing seems to be working however, so you soon decide on a divorce. As the villainess you do come from a high ranking noble family anyway so it shouldn't be hard to stay alive.

OR, that is what you thought before you realized another issue that soon became evident a year later. Despite all your effort to avoid all the 2nd male leads and important characters to the plot, it was like they were drawn to you.

At first you were fine with it because it meant that you wouldn't be forced into marriage so quickly. Your noble family unfortunately was big on arranged marriages but your "affairs" seemed to throw them off guard.

The big issue was that eventually these important characters grew an obsessive, almost Yandere-like love for you. Which you only began to notice too late, and rejection was not available.

The worst of them all? Sukuna Ryomen. Emperor of the Empire of Curses, Gojo Satoru's sworn enemy, and the only other being on this planet that can be called his equal.

You had to deal with others too of course, everyone seemed to have their own red flags. Choso would consistently stalk you, Toji didn't like the idea of you going outside, Yuki always wanted to be near you, Gojo was beginning to guilt trip you, Shoko believed you'd be safest with her, and Geto had attempted to kidnap you. The rest? You weren't fully sure.

All you did know was that out of everyone, Sukuna Ryomen was clearly the craziest because he succeeded in kidnapping you. Now you're known as the damsel in distress stolen to another kingdom, with a reward amount higher than anyone can count issued by the crown prince himself.

Next: 1

© 2024 by Hinakazino, do not translate/edit/claim or use my work in any form.

[teyvathandymenclub]

Genshin Men - Pregnancy Reaction (P.2)

Story: You just announced your pregnancy to your partner.

Characters: Itto, Wriothesley, Ayato

TW: None

Notes: Tublr won´t let me upload the whole thing (it´s too long?), so I will post Ayato´s story later.

Itto - After you tell him the big news, his loud laugh almost makes you jump.

“Pregnant? With me?!” he suddenly asks out of nowhere.

“No, with your worst enemy.” you roll your eyes at his absurd question.

“How could you?!” Itto´s puppy eyes instantly fill with tears.

“I am just joking because you ask stupid questions.”

He quickly brushes his hair with his usual sass and pokes you in the arm. “I knew that you were joking the whole time. Can you imagine? Baby Oni running around causing chaos just like his father?” Itto laughs.

“Well, it is time to get prepared, because that part was true.”

“Wait, wait, wait! REALLY????” Itto grabs you and pushes his ear on your belly. “But I don't hear anything! Are you sure that the baby is there?”

“I am sure. It is just too soon to hear anything.” you laugh, but Itto interrupts you with the biggest kiss he ever gave you before he runs out the door yelling “I have to tell the boys! And Auntie Kuki! She will lose her mind!”.

In the next weeks, Itto keeps coming home with arms full of many different things for the baby. One day he came with a huge pregnancy pillow that in the end he kept using himself, so he had to buy another one for you. But the biggest joy brought him a baby carrier that he could strap on himself so he could take the baby to work. He was really upset when you told him that it was not a good idea.

Wriothesley - When you told him that you would stop by during work hours he immediately got nervous. It took a lot out of him to keep his composure so no one would suspect a thing. Is the Duke feeling bad? This type of news would spread at the speed of light across the whole fortress. His mind was occupied by your unexpected decision to visit him the whole day. Are you fed up with him working all the time? But he already warned you that sometimes he would not make it home… Wriothesley was even on high alert to not cross Sigewinne. She would immediately know that something was going on. Finally, a few minutes before your arrival, Wriothesley prepared a freshly brewed tea and your favorite cake. He certainly felt a little ridiculous when he asked one of his men to go up there just for a piece of cake. But for you? There is nothing he would not do.

“Wrio!” the echo of your voice fills the whole office.

“My dear!” he jumps out from his chair rushing down the stairs to meet you.

You hug tightly and after a longing kiss, you laugh.

“Fresh tea? Just for me?” you smile.

“Of course.” he smiles and offers you his hand. “Let´s have a seat.”

As you come upstairs, you spot your favorite cake on the table. “I am sorry that I made you nervous.”

“Why would you think that?” he asks innocently as he sits next to you on the sofa.

“You always do this. Every time you think that there is something wrong. You show me how amazing you are.”

“Are you implying that there are times when you do not think that I am amazing?”

You both laugh and after a few silent sips of the tea you rest your head on his arm.

“I need to tell you something.” you whisper.

His body immediately stiffs.

“Actually, I want to show you.” and you reach for your bag.

Wriothesley watches you silently. All he can hear is blood rushing through his veins. What is going on? He always has everything under control and this whole situation is new. Are you trying to leave him? He was on his own almost his whole life. This cannot happen. Not after he gave you his heart. He knew it. He was a fool for opening so much, people always hurt you…

“Wrio?”

He finds you sitting next to him again but now you are holding something.

“Are you ok? If you are not feeling well we can do this another time.” you try to read his face.

“No. No! I am fine.” he smiles. “Just a long day… So? What do we have here?” He points his finger on the small box.

“I don´t know.” you smile. “But you can look and find out.”

Wriothesley slowly opens the box. He frowns as he takes out the small plush wolf.

He looks at you with confusion. You can not help but smile so much it almost hurts. He looks back at the plush toy. It is so small. Small wolf. Small… Wolf… And it hits him.

“What do you think about growing our little pack…” but before you can finish whatever you wanted to say, he grabs you into a painfully tight hug. Afterward, he looks back at the toy and stares at it for some time. You know what is going through his mind. His family and his past flashed before his eyes. You did not say a word until you spotted silent tears coming down his cheeks.

“My love.” you reach for him and kiss him on the face after you dry his tears.

“Yes,” Wriothesley says.

“What do you mean?”

“Yes, I want to build our little pack with you.” he smiles at you knowing that he will do everything to be the best father under the sun.

[brain-amoeba]

i was sent this ask:

"Hello, you! can there be a headcannon where, (Scout, Sniper, demo, and my favorite Texan, engi) hugging S/o and the merc is like: “Oh no I’m in love with them” as their face is all red? And, S/o is sorta worried about them and asking “you good?” this scenario has been itching my brain for a few days lol

Anon jilly🦭🌺"

and i believe you may have forgotten to turn anon on when submitting the ask, so i still saw your url. out of respect for your anonymity, i will answer here instead of from the inbox, so hopefully it still finds you well! also i hope you don't mind i do a mini scenario for these as opposed to HCs, just to give yall a little more content :3

Mercs Getting a Big Ole Hug

Scout

-You two always had a strong bond, and a dynamic like childhood friends. It was always fun and games with Scout, and when the time came, he knew how to comfort you and be there for you albeit in his own clumsy and Scout-y way.

-It wasn't until he noticed the way the other Mercs looked at you did he start to see you as more than just a friend--he now became acutely aware of how soft your skin felt when it brushed up against his, the way your hair perfectly framed your face, every small detail about you, and he couldn't believe he never noticed any of this before.

-It was your day off, and as usual, you spent it with Scout. The two of you tired yourselves out playing catch outside, as well as other fun roughhousing typical of your other pastimes. While running for the ball, you tripped and fell forward, but Scout was quick enough to catch you, and held you in a tight embrace. You instinctively wrap your arms around his torso and bury your head in his chest. He maintains his grip on you, but his face is as red as his uniform--all of a sudden the outside air feels cramped and he's getting clammy. It was like getting hit with his own Atomizer: all the times he's admired every little thing about you coming together all at once to beat him over the head with the realization that he was in love with you.

-You finally let him go, looking up at him and yelping a bit in surprise. "Scout?! What happened to you? Should we go see Medic?!" You ask frantically, concern showing on your scrunched features as you took in Scout's seemingly-ill state. "N-Nah, I'm okay, really! More than that, actually...I feel amazin'." He gazed at you with a softness you hadn't yet seen before, but it sparked a warmth in your heart and your tummy that you didn't oppose.

Sniper

-Sniper wasn't exactly one for PDA, let alone physical touch. Just didn't tickle his fancy. But you, something about you gave Sniper the desire, for the first time in ages, to hold, touch, and generally be around someone of his own volition. But for some reason, he just couldn't find it in himself to act on those desires. Whether it be his own deeply-instilled professionalism or cowardice, he couldn't tell. Whatever it was, all he knew was him being afraid of scaring you off. So he did nothing. The minimal interactions with you now would suffice, and his imagination could do the rest.

-You weren't exactly having the best day. Just yesterday, you scuffed a one-on-one encounter with an enemy merc that cost your team the mission, and today's target practice was not kind to you either. You found yourself alone on the range, tears of frustration pooling in your [color] eyes as you trudged along to set up the target dummy Sniper once again. Overwhelmed by frustration, you found yourself hugging the Sniper dummy for even the slightest sense of comfort, dropping your rifle to the dust below with a thud. The real Sniper, who had volunteered to check on you, heard the sound of your rifle hitting the ground as he left the base. The impact immediately spiked his adrenaline and caused the worst thoughts to run through his mind. He quickened his pace, almost falling over in place once he beheld the scene. Sniper couldn't help but feel a tug on his heartstrings watching you embrace the dummy of him. A warm flush crept its way to his rugged features as he realized the depth of his feelings for you way-exceeded his expectations.

-It's now or never, he thought to himself, finally finding the courage to approach you. He put a large gloved hand on your shoulder, eliciting a fearful shriek from you. Your face reddened with embarrassment, stammering as you tried to come up with a good excuse for your behavior. Wordlessly, Sniper wrapped you up in a tight embrace which immediately soothed your worries. "Shhh. It's alright, roo. Don't cry, now." He spoke just above a whisper, and despite being there to comfort you, he himself was trembling with anxiety at what he's just done. When you finally gathered yourself and parted from the Aussie's embrace, your eyes widened. "Sniper! What's gotten into you?!" He looked down at you with a slight smile, as if it would conceal the way his heart pounded in his chest.

"You have, sheila."

Demoman

-He wasn't always drunk! Okay, maybe he was, but that didn't mean he was always unaware. He was especially aware of a certain little merc who always took him to bed, always got him water, and always made sure to wish him a goodnight, even when the rest left him to drink himself to oblivion. He thought of you very fondly, like a close friend more than just a colleague. You were the first of the bunch to ever show a genuine compassion for him and actually attempt to care for him even in his drunken state (and he knew that was no easy feat).

-It was another night like always, the rest of the team off taking care of their own business while Demo had some precious one-on-one time with his scrumpy, this time accompanied by you! And you were actually drinking with him! It was the weekend, after all, and you decided what the hell, why not, and let your hair down a little. While not nearly as intoxicated as your Scottish companion, you definitely felt the buzzy warmth of drunkenness sneaking up on you. You felt more bubbly, confident, and silly. You gazed upon Demo fondly as he slurred through stories of missions, both failures and successes.

-Right as he was getting to the story's climax, he raised his arms above his head for dramatic affect, and you impulsively leapt into them. "Awwe Tavichhh, I wuv when you tell stowiesss" you mumbled into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his torso as if he'd leave you any second. The sudden show of affection almost sobered Demo up a bit, but he quickly dropped his arms and returned your embrace. In his drunken state, the warmth of your body against his felt like fire, and he couldn't help but notice the way you fit perfectly into him. Demo soon grabbed your shoulders, moving you back to meet his gaze. The sudden serious look on his face sent a shiver down your spine. "D-demo! What's the matter?!" He took in your flushed face as if he were looking upon the Mona Lisa herself before finally speaking, "Oh it's nothin, lass. I just enjoy lookin' at ye."

Engineer

-You were lucky enough to get some time off when you were informed this go-round of contracts did not include you. To your surprise, they didn't include Engie, either. You discovered this when you bolted for the workshop in a panic as you realized your prized headphones were destroyed! You were about to go on a walk before fishing them from your backpack and soon met with the disappointment of your prized possession in tatters--wires frayed, and hanging down almost mockingly.

-As you busted through the double doors of Engineer's workshop, he jumped in surprise, nearly dropping his wrench. "Well howdy to yourself too, darlin'!" He regained his bearings and approached you with a chuckle. "What's got you in such a tizzy, hm?" You simply raised the broken pair of headphones up*, looking at him like a lost puppy. "M-my headphones are destroyeeeddd!" You whined. Engie, behind his goggles, looked at you with a twinge of pain in his eyes just from hearing how distraught you were. Though he was empathetic to your "loss", he couldn't help but admire how adorable you sounded when you whimpered, and got a bit of an ego-boost from how you immediately came to him for aid. Engie took the headphones from you, inspecting them closely as he set them down on a nearby workbench. "Y'know, dear, these might not be a lost cause...let's see what some good ole fashioned Texan ingenuity can do!" He assured you with a sly smile.

-You fidgeted nervously as you watched over his shoulder while he tinkered away on your poor headphones. "Can I get you somethin' to drink darlin'? Maybe some water?" Engineer didn't take his eyes off the headphones as he spoke, currently re-twisting and wrapping wires before getting to work on the broken frame of the device. "I'm okay, thank you, Engie..." Truthfully, you were just too nervous to take your eyes off of the headphones while Engineer repaired them. Of course, you trusted his skillful hand, but with them being such a meaningful item to you, you couldn't help but hover over his shoulder and watch. Suddenly, Engie spoke up again, this time with a command-- "Close your eyes, dear." Nervously, you did as you were told. Engineer turned to face you, gently placing the repaired headphones on your head. Your eyes shot open and hands immediately went up to feel the newly repaired device now muffling your hearing.

-Without a second thought, you pulled Engie into a tight embrace. "Engie, you're the best!! Thank you so much!" You exclaimed, nuzzling his chest a bit as the two of you embraced. His large gloved hand gently caressed your back, giving it a slight pat in response to your praise. While Engineer typically maintained a relaxed exterior, internally, he was practically melting. A proper southern gentleman such as himself couldn't be indecent in the presence of a lady, but the fog on his goggles and pink in his cheeks said otherwise. You pulled away, removing the headphones. You went to inspect them further, but the sight before you stopped you dead in your tracks. "Engie?! You feeling alright??" He looked like he was about to pass out--and he felt like it, too.

-Engineer simply nodded, placing his ivory-colored cowboy hat on your head in response.

*this is exactly what i envisioned for this scene btw

[turbulentscrawl]

Could I get an Aesop, Norton and Kevin with a S/O who gets turned into a hunter because they learned too much? Like. Their Significant other was always very enthusiastic about discovering secrets and stuff, and they started acting off because they discovered something BAD. And within a month or so. They moved officially to the hunter manor? 🙏

If that's too much, feel free to ignore or decline!

I put my own spin on this, i hope you don't mind! This is SFW but going under the cut because it plays into the horror aspect of the game. Also, I don't have the time to whip up a kevin header currently and don't have the patience to wait on posting this....so I'll get his made and added later!

Warnings: body horror, angst

The worst part of it all is that you can’t even remember the reason for it all.

You were a seeker, a searcher, always nosing into places and subjects you didn’t belong. You craved to know the world’s secrets and that included the manor’s. You spent long hours, days, weeks, investigating the manor’s records, the histories of its inhabitants, obtaining the aid of…some horrific woman. A veritable snake. She told you something. Something bad…. Something that ruined you from the inside out, necrosing its way through every cell.

The changes come slowly at first, and painfully. Your muscles and joints would ache. Your head would throb. Your bones would move on their own, shifting and stretching inside your tearing meat. You drowned in darkness, and suffocated in blinding lights. The worst moments of your life came to you again! Again! Again! Again! Again! Again! Again! Again! Again!

And when all the pain finally melted away, you were different. The friendly faces around you were once your enemies. Your own face was that of a lion, and the original of it staring back was the clueless lamb.

Aesop

-He showed little interest in your “search for answers.” He wants to understand everything better too, true, but even the detective sorts among you had found few answers. Orpheus, Alice, Naib…. No offense to you, of course, I’m just saying he wasn’t be holding his breath….

-But far be it from this recluse to stop you. He of all people understands what it means to hyperfocus on your work. Work is familiarity, truth, and on some level he can imagine how a tangled mystery might be as comfortable to you as a corpse is to him. They both reveal truths in indirect ways.

-Because of your busybody separation from one another during this time, he likely doesn’t notice the changes right away. He probably finds out from someone else about the aches and pains you’ve been having, the sweats, fever, and all without a match in the records to explain them away. People didn’t get sick in the manor, yet somehow you inexplicably were.

-Then you sleep. For days. You’re still enough that Aesop almost feels like he’s watching over one of his 'normal' patients, like he should be doing your makeup. He’s calm, but checks for your pulse and breathing a lot. That’s when he notices you crying in your sleep.

-And things only go downhill from there. Aesop is generally level-headed, but there’s something about your aura that begins to disturb him. He refuses to leave, to abandon you when something is obviously wrong, but you go more and more still under his watchful eyes. You stop breathing, your skin goes pallid, but blood is still hot in your veins—he gives your thumb a pinprick to be sure of it. Your pillow is always wet because you won’t stop silently crying.

-On a whim one day, he decides to check your eyes. He collapses to the ground when he realizes the sockets are empty and raw. He runs from your room then, and when Emily returns to investigate your body is gone.

-The next day, you return in perfect condition. Healthy, though confused, and with no memory of that last several weeks of pain. You both had a match the next day, and Aesop decided he would focus on protecting you above anything else.

-But the Hunter was new. Eerie, unspeaking, blind…and cried ceaselessly. Aesop was frozen in genuine fear when the other you lumbered by him, choking on pained sobs, perhaps in search of your old peace.

Norton

-He told you from the beginning that it was a bad idea. Norton was not an educated man but he had sense—and experience—enough to know when paranormal shit was not to be trifled with. He still had nightmares about that eye….

-But you went on ahead with your business anyway. He let you, albeit while watching his back a whole lot more. Isolating. Swallowing his dread. You remind him of his mistakes before you even make them.

-He doesn’t think much of your first symptoms. Norton gets sore sometimes, and feels ill. The Black Lung never did leave him, and some days he handles it worse than others. You have nothing like that, though, and after several days of persisting discomfort he remembers that fact and sends you to Emily. She’s as perplexed as him though, and that makes him feel even more nervous.

-He also doesn’t notice for a while that you’ve stopped talking about your search entirely. He asks you about it once, when he catches you staring at the wall in a daze, and feels like a knife pierces his lung when you say you don’t have the faintest clue what he’s talking about.

-He keeps catching you like that. Paralyzed in a particular spot. Watching things, unblinking. When you come to, you don’t remember what you were doing. Your memory starts go slip away like Luca’s does, but somehow it’s more severe. You remember who you are, who he is, but everything else is gone. Some evenings he practically has to spoon feed you dinner because the concept of silverware and food have escaped you.

-Paranoid of what it all means, Norton starts to stay with you at night. But he gets no sleep during those times because all night you moan in pain. When Norton wraps his arms around you for comfort, he wears he feels your muscles twisting and undulating under your skin.

-Norton does not remember the last time he’s screamed, but he did the day after you finally seemed better. After he finally started to relax again. He was decoding in the top floor of the hospital when he heard that familiar moaning coming from below. He freezes at the sound, and when he looks over his shoulder he sees a twisted, stretched figure crawling up through the gaping hole in the floor. He knows the hair, the voice, but nothing else is you.

-And he screams, backed up against the cipher like a cornered animal. Never in his life has he not tried to run for his life, but when this Hunter of you locks eyes with him he can’t. He can’t run from what he didn’t fight harder against. Even when facing Fool’s Gold—himself—he’s never felt so much like a failure.

Kevin

-He’s always known he lacks your foresight. Kevin can’t begin to suspect the truth of things like this place. The sprawling vastness of it, he doesn’t trust himself to comprehend the complexity, the darkness. But you? Well, even if this it all a bit eerie, he’s got faith in your intelligence.

-He plays closer attention to you than the other two. The second you start to look off, he tasks notice. He sees the obsession in your face, the dark bags under your eyes, the way your nose digs deeper into things than before. You become…pushier with people.

-Kevin suggests you take a break, but you wave him off. You’re onto something, you say, and just need a little more understanding before everything unravels. He doesn’t like that word. “Unravel.”

-Which is perhaps a premonition, because it’s a great word to describe what happens to you. When you’re awake—and you are awake for irrationally long hours—you seem positively mad. You whisper to yourself in words that don’t sound human. He catches “Hastur” among them a few times, and “Witch” but once again his own comprehension fails.

-And when you sleep, you scream. The fist few nights it happened, he and a few others came running from down the hall and roused you. You didn’t remember the terrors. Night after night it happened, the response dwindling until it was just Kevin abandoning his own sleep to help you from whatever was terrifying you in your sleep.

-Then, you stopped waking up. He tried everything! Water, those smelling salts Emily had. Nothing would wake you and you just kept screaming, screaming, screaming like you were being dissected in your bed. After three days of not sleeping himself, Kevin carried your thrashing form to the infirmary. He was horrified when Emily suggested restraining and gagging you, but he had no other ideas himself. He slept in the chair nearby for what felt like weeks.

-And one day it all stopped. Kevin woke up, cracked his stiff neck, and noticed you were gone from your restraints. Emily was as confused as he was, but before the panic could build you emerged from your own bedroom, right as rain.

-He pulled you aside and cried in your arms until he passed out himself.

-The next match, though, started his own series of nightmares. Only a few minutes in he heard that scream. That blood-curdling wail that had been seared into his memory. It paralyzed him, and everyone else, on the spot. And then the vestige of your suffering appeared. Dark, shivering, voice raw and pained. The new Hunter that rounded the corner was undeniably you, and Kevin was sure he’d never know another peaceful day again.

[spinjitsuburst]

I just saw that art u rbed to here from ur main and like while its an amazing peice of art its in own right MY EYES ZOOMED ONTO ONE ARMED LLOYD im so curious where that hc comes from if u wanna ramble abt scar and injury hcs id love to hear genuinelylike. I love scar hcs yeah

I'M SO SORRY THIS ASK TOOK SO LONG BUT OH MY GOD I LOVE TALKING ABOUT DESIGN AND SCAR HEADCANONS SO LIKE GHDFSGHKJFDG

generally i draw the ninja in a pretty vague "around or after crystalized but before DR" timeline so that's what i'm operating under with these headcanons

also i didn't draw zane here cuz android bodies confuse me and i also got. lazy hgkfdsghkjf but i'll do his someday

lloyd's 20~ and the other ninja are mid 20s~

FIRST UP MY FAVS

starting with lloyd i give him a dragon tail and oni horns, as well as pointed ears. he's got a semi-grunge/goth style so i usually draw him with piercings and stuff. he lost his arm during the events of hunted to me but i dont really have a set event in mind for it. his back was SUPER damaged during the sons of garmadon fight and sometimes has to wear a back brace, and his ankle flares up from time to time

jay kept a lot of his scars hidden for a while because they came from skybound (some of his worst injuries lingered from the timeline). not sure whether he's come clean to the ninja yet or not. the marks on his wrist and ankle are from vengestone cuffs on the ship (blame hat because they gave jay vengestone cuffs in bbnb and it broke my brain so my jay has them now). the wound on his side is from skybound as well. ironically his face scar is NOT from skybound, but he was blind in that eye after skybound and hid it from the team. the current scar is from a fight where an enemy sliced a knife up the side of his face, and his lightning reacted badly and struck him while also striking the enemy. he almost died it was NOT a fun day for anybody. also he's a trans man so top scars!!

nya's scars are fun, she obviously has the tiger widow venom scar from skybound (kai finds out about that one after it gets infected cuz she wasn't taking proper care of it after the timeline reset, and he was NOT happy about it) but she also has lichtenberg scars on her hand from a time jay was holding it and accidentally shocked her badly with his powers. he starts wearing gloves after this incident. she also, of course, still has the markings from her time merged with the sea. they glow blue when she uses her powers, and her eyes are more glowy now as well (she kinda looks like a cryptid)

kai's deceptively scrawny. he has basic muscles but he's super skinny, so a lot of people think he isn't as strong as the rest of the ninja. however he's CRAZY strong and has a solid core. He also has a bunch of scars all over his hands from his time as a blacksmith. They're mostly little burns and nicks, but there's one that stretches across his hand from when he accidentally grabbed a hot blade. he also has a lot of body hair

cole is chubby but INSANELY strong, even without super strength. he has a bunch of scars, especially on his arms, from being tanky and blocking blows with his body. most of his scars are ninja related, but he does have one on his leg from a dance accident. nothing major, but the scar stuck around. he also has his ghost scar that goes over his eye somewhat, causing his pupil to be an unnatural green

also a height chart for comparison! one day i'll do zane too but i got lazy. hard to figure out scars for a nindroid, but i imagine that under his plating, the side of his face will ALWAYS have glowing gold scars from the overlord, no matter how many times he makes a new body or tries to fix them

[mikeywayarchive]

My Chemical Romance bassist Mikey Way has a new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Comic with "anime inspired" art and a villain that goes back to the original '90s toys

By George Marston published June 24, 2024

Mikey Way is turning the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' greatest love into their worst enemy

Full article under the cut:

(Image credit: IDW Publishing)

My Chemical Romance is one of the most popular bands of the last 20 years, and in the time since their last official release, several of the group's multi-talented members have branched into comic storytelling - including bassist Mikey Way, whose latest comic is a short in the upcoming anthology comic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Black, White, and Green #2.

A veritable teen idol of his own thanks to My Chem's beloved presence in the punk and emo scene, Way is tapping into a deep-seated love of both the TMNT and their personal favorite food of pizza for a story that captures the youthful energy of the Turtles in a way that only someone who was there for their meteoric rise and pop culture presence could.

(Image credit: IDW Publishing)

"I was a massive Turtles fan as a kid! Being born in the '80s, wave one of Turtlemania hit when I was about eight years old, so safe to say I was all in," Way tells Newsarama. "My older brother was into the black & white comics early, so I was at least aware of the Turtles prior to that big boom, but my fandom really came alive with the original cartoon series." 

"Followed up by the Playmates toy line and then into the live action movie, it really checked every box imaginable for me," Way explains. "The characters and the world building had something for almost everyone. While I was initially into Michelangelo, (because of his name and the nunchucks) I grew into way more of a Raphael fan. He's got more layers as a character in my opinion."

(Image credit: IDW Publishing)

Way's brother is, of course, Gerard Way, singer of My Chemical Romance and founder of the DC imprint Young Animal, which published Mikey Way's first comic, Collapser, which was co-written by Shaun Simon with art by Ilias Kyriazis. For TMNT: Black, White, and Green, Way collaborated with artist Nikola Čižmešija and colorist Lee Loughridge, whose art you can see in the newly revealed pages from the story seen here.

"I love Nikola’s style so much!," Way says. "He has this fantastic anime inspired quality to his work, and it lends itself perfectly to a Ninja Turtles story. I was floored by his pencils and he was a pleasure to work with."

As for the content of the story itself, it all comes down to something that many fans of the TMNT probably love as much as the Turtles do themselves: pizza. Way brings in a classic villain, Pizza Face, who first appeared in the original TMNT toy line in 1990 as a villainous pizza chef, before being revived in the 2012 animated series as a mutated pizza blob.

(Image credit: IDW Publishing)

"I wanted to do a story that was an ode to '80s horror, with a nod to Candy Man or the urban legend of Bloody Mary," Way says of why he chose Pizza Face.

"The character of Pizza Face fascinated me as a kid, because he looked like the mascot on most Pizza boxes mixed with a 'Freddy' or 'Jason'," Way continues. "That mythology I created in my head as a kid really stuck with me. When the opportunity arose to write a Ninja Turtle story, it was literally the first thing that popped out of my head."

And yes, Mikey Way does have a favorite pizza place: 

"Star Tavern in Orange New Jersey. Hands down the greatest there is, in my opinion."

(Image credit: IDW Publishing)

Though Way's Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Green story is only eight pages, Way does plan more comics to come very soon - though he's not quite ready to say exactly what just yet.

"I feel like I have more stories that I want to tell," he hints. "At the risk of sounding vague, I would say one can expect an announcement of some sort very soon."

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Black, White, and Green #2 is on sale now.

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Four

It was still not yet dawn, and the world outside was shrouded in darkness. The fire that had roared in the hearth the night before had dwindled to mere ashes, leaving the room cold and filled with the faint scent of charred wood. The chill of the sea breeze blew in through the slightly ajar windows, carrying with it the sharp, salty air of Dragonstone.

Maera slowly opened her eyes, her body heavy and languid from the passions of the previous night. He had taken her two more times that night before she somehow made it to his bed, apparently making up for lost time. She found herself nestled against Aemond’s back, the solid, familiar warmth of him radiating through her like dragon fire, warding off the morning's chill. Her arm was draped over his side, her hand resting on his chest, where she could feel the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breath.

She could tell from the slow, even sound of his breathing that he remained asleep, a rare occurrence she had rarely witnessed in all their time together. Aemond was a man constantly vigilant, his mind always alert, even in the quietest of moments. To see him now, so deeply at rest, was something almost sacred to her.

Although she couldn’t see his face, Maera imagined the peaceful expression that might grace his features in this rare moment of calm. The one-eyed King, the kinslayer, lying in her embrace, held close by the woman who knew the best and worst of him, yet loved him still. Maera pressed herself closer to him, a slight smile curling on her lips as she savored this rare, tender moment of peace as long as she could before the day ahead demanded their attention.

A soft, almost hesitant knock at the door shattered the tranquility. Aemond shot awake instantly, his eye sharp and alert, fixed on the door with the intensity of a man always ready for battle. He glanced down, finding Maera still nestled beside him. The tension in his face softened, and he exhaled a breath as she smiled up at him, her eyes heavy with sleep.

His hand moved to her face, gently brushing away the brown and silver curls that had fallen across her cheek, sweeping them onto the pillow. He took a moment, simply studying her, his eye tracing every detail of her face as if he was trying to determine whether this was still part of a dream.

Another knock sounded at the door, and Aemond groaned in frustration, the peaceful moment between them shattered. He reluctantly called out for the person to enter, his voice laced with irritation. The door creaked open, and a maid crept in warily, her eyes wide with apprehension as she faced the king’s stern gaze. It looked as if Aemond was about to unleash his anger when he caught sight of the wailing baby in her arms.

At once, Maera sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Forgive me, my King, my Queen,” the maid stammered, her voice trembling slightly. “But Princess Aemara needs to be fed.”

A smile broke across Maera’s face, and she outstretched her arms toward the maid. “Yes, of course, bring her to me,” she said gently. The maid quickly made her way across the room before stopping just before the bed, her brows furrowed as she looked at the royal couple. Then she shook her head, as if reminding herself were she was and handed the child to the Queen. Maera cradled the squirming infant, whispering soothing words as she began to shush the squealing babe.

Aemond watched his wife, his previous irritation melting away as he observed her with a sense of awe. Maera, with practiced ease, adjusted their daughter in her arms, moving the sheet aside to expose her bare breast and helping Aemara latch on. She began to rock the baby gently, humming softly as the cries subsided and Aemara started to suckle.

The nursemaid lingered near the door, unsure of whether she should stay or leave. Aemond’s eye flicked to her, his expression turning cold once more as he shot her a withering glare. The flustered girl quickly curtsied, her face turning a shade paler. “I shall be just outside if you need anything,” she mumbled before hastily turning on her heel and stepping out of the room, leaving the small family alone.

As the door clicked shut, the room fell into a hushed calm once more. Aemond shifted closer, his gaze softening as he watched Maera tenderly care for their daughter. “She’s perfect,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the spell that had settled over them.

Before she could reply, the Queen’s face contorted in discomfort as she suddenly let out a sharp hiss of pain as the infant bit down on her nipple harshly. “Ow, Aemara,” she murmured with a soft chuckle, gently detaching the baby from her breast. The little princess fussed for a moment, her tiny mouth searching for sustenance, but Maera carefully repositioned her. “You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” she teased, helping Aemara latch onto the other breast. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as the baby settled down and began to suckle again.

The One-Eyed King, who had been watching closely, furrowed his brow with concern. “Does it hurt?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with an unusual softness.

Maera shrugged, offering him a small smile. “Only sometimes,” she admitted. “But it is nothing I cannot handle.” She brushed off the discomfort with a gentle laugh. “I don’t mind when it’s for her.”

Aemond hummed in response, his gaze shifting back to their daughter. He scooted closer, laying his head against Maera’s shoulder, and reached out to gently stroke Aemara’s soft, silver hair. His touch was light, almost reverent, as if he feared breaking the fragile moment. After a few seconds, he glanced up at his wife, his single violet eye filled with a rare tenderness. “You’re a good mother,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

Maera’s heart swelled at his words. She looked down at him, her smile deepening as she leaned forward to place a firm, loving kiss on his forehead. She lingered there for a moment, closing her eyes as she breathed in the familiar scent of him—fire, leather, and dragon smoke. The warmth of his skin beneath her lips, combined with the quiet, intimate moment they shared, filled her with a profound sense of contentment.

They stayed like that for a while, nestled together as the early morning light began to filter through the windows, the world outside stirring to life. As she sat up straight and looked down at her husband , she let out a little chuckle. The light of dawn revealed the remnants of the night before—the blood streaked across Aemond’s pale skin and staining his silver hair from the vows they had exchanged. The sight made her smile, the memory of their private ceremony still fresh and vivid in her mind.

Her eyes drifted to the bed, where the sheets were marked with more blood, among other stains, the evidence of their passionate and symbolic act scattered across the fabric. Before they slept, Aemond had wrapped their hands in cloth to prevent further staining, but it hadn’t been enough to stop the room from bearing the marks of their commitment.

“You know,” she said teasingly, her voice light and playful, “we both need to bathe before we leave this room. No wonder the maid looked like she’d seen a ghost.”

Aemond smirked, the corners of his lips curving into a mischievous grin. “Perhaps,” he replied, his tone equally playful, “but if we wait until Aemara finishes feeding and is taken back to the nursery, mayhaps we could bathe together.”

Maera rolled her eyes in jest, a smile spreading across her face at her husband’s insatiable nature. “You are impossible,” she teased, though her voice carried a warmth that showed she was far from displeased.

Aemond raised an eyebrow, the sapphire gem in his socket glinting in the rays of light as his smirk deepened. “Is that a yes?”

With a playful sigh, Maera nodded. “Fine,” she agreed, her eyes sparkling with affection. “But only if you promise not to get us even more dirty in the process.”

Aemond chuckled, leaning in to kiss her temple before resting his head back on her shoulder, watching as Aemara continued to feed. “I make no promises,” he murmured, a hint of that playful mischief still lingering in his voice.

The carriage ride out of the castle was marked by the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the cobblestone, the sound of the wheels turning echoing through the stone walls of the castle. As the carriage emerged from the shadowed halls into the open air, a cool sea breeze swept through, carrying the scent of salt and distant storms. The day was bright, with the sun hanging high in the sky, casting long shadows as the procession moved through the castle gates and onto the road leading to the Sept.

Inside the carriage, Maera sat surrounded by her four Ladies in Waiting, the air inside filled with the quiet rustle of fabric and the soft murmur of conversation. Maera had been dressed in the finest attire for the festival, a testament to her status as Queen and the celebrations of the day. Her gown was a rich blend of black and deep green, the colors of her husband’s emblem of House Targaryen intertwined. The fabric was heavy and luxurious, with golden buttons that fastened the dress all the way up to her neck, accentuating her graceful posture.

Her Valyrian steel crown rested upon her head, its cold metal gleaming in the afternoon light that filtered through the carriage windows. A delicate veil had been attached to the back of the crown, concealing her hair and adding an air of modesty. The veil flowed down her back, blending seamlessly into the cape that draped from her shoulders, a cape that had been meticulously crafted to resemble dragon scales, shimmering in hues of black and green as it caught the light.

The Ladies in Waiting, seated around her, were dressed in more subdued attire, their gowns of pale greens, muted blues and soft silvers contrasting with the Queen’s striking ensemble. They chatted quietly among themselves, the atmosphere inside the carriage one of restrained excitement as they journeyed to the Sept for the Festival of the Mother. Each lady bore a delicate bouquet of flowers, symbols of life and renewal, meant to be offerings at the festival.

The Queen shifted slightly in her seat, feeling a dull throb in her breasts beneath the heavy fabric of her gown. Although she had fed her daughter before leaving, it would be close to her next feed by the time Maera arrived back, and even thinking about Aemara caused her chest to ache. She was grateful for the foresight of Lady Vance, who had prepared cotton pouches filled with various herbs and oils to help reduce the swelling and absorb any leaking milk. The relief was subtle but welcome, and Maera silently thanked the older Lady for her wisdom and care.

As the carriage rocked gently with the movement of the road, Maera gazed out of the window, her thoughts on the day ahead. The Sept awaited, where the festival would be held in honor of the Mother, a day of celebration and prayer, a time to give thanks and seek blessings for the kingdom.

Lady Fossoway broke the Queens’s train of thought with a playful smile. “You weren’t in your rooms this morning, Your Grace,” she teased, her tone full of suggestion. Maera rolled her eyes good-naturedly, a smile tugging at her lips as the other women giggled.

Lady Tarth, ever the one to play the voice of reason, elbowed Lady Fossoway in the ribs, scolding her lightly. “It’s only natural for the King and Queen to spend the evening together,” she said with a knowing smile, her words tinged with the hint of propriety.

Poor Lady Swyft’s face flushed a deep red at the conversation, clearly unused to such frank discussions. Lady Vance, however, took it upon herself to rein in the conversation. “Where is your decorum, ladies?” she admonished them, though there was a trace of amusement in her voice.

But even Lady Vance couldn’t resist making her own pointed remark. “Though perhaps,” she added with a raised brow, “whatever occurred between you and His Grace that led to these… minor injuries could have waited.” Maera furrowed her brow, not immediately understanding what Lady Vance meant. But then she followed the older woman’s gaze to her bandaged hand, and a grin slowly spread across her face. She couldn’t help but reach up to touch the cut on her lip, feeling the sting of it as a reminder of the vows she and Aemond had exchanged the night before.

Maera’s grin widened as she responded, her tone polite but firm. “My husband and I are Targaryens,” she began, “We participate in traditions that are not well known in Westeros.” Her voice carried a hint of mischief as she continued, “Besides, I imagine that you and your husband might have engaged in some… non-traditional activities in your youth.”

The carriage erupted in laughter as Lady Vance stammered and spluttered, her usual composure momentarily slipping as she was caught off guard by Maera’s unexpected retort. The other Ladies in Waiting joined in the laughter, their earlier tension melting away as they shared this light-hearted moment together. Even Lady Vance, after a moment of shock, couldn’t help but chuckle at herself.

As the laughter in the carriage subsided, Maera turned her attention back to the window, watching as the landscape passed by. The Sept of Dragonstone was gradually coming into view, its pale stone structure stark against the backdrop of the island’s rugged terrain. Though it lacked the grandiosity of the Great Sept in King’s Landing, this Sept was a place of worship for all who resided on Dragonstone. It was modest yet revered, its walls having witnessed centuries of prayer and devotion from those who sought the blessings of the Seven.

The road to the Sept was lined with smallfolk who had come out to catch a glimpse of their Queen and her retinue. Maera could see them through the carriage window, their faces a mixture of awe and devotion. She offered them a small smile and a wave, knowing that her presence gave them comfort and hope, a symbol of stability in uncertain times.

The carriage slowed as it approached the entrance, finally coming to a stop. The door swung open, and Maera’s brother and sworn sword, Faran, stood ready to assist her. His hand was steady as he helped her down from the carriage, and she offered him a small, grateful smile. Once her feet were on solid ground, she turned to ensure her Ladies were ready. They straightened their skirts, adjusting their veils and cloaks before falling into formation around her. With their guards surrounding them, they made their way inside.

The Sept of Dragonstone was cool and dimly lit, with sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns onto the stone floors. The air was thick with the scent of burning candles and fresh flowers, and the faint echoes of whispered prayers reverberated off the high, vaulted ceilings. The altar dedicated to the Mother was adorned with offerings—garlands of flowers, candles flickering in devotion, and simple trinkets left by the faithful.

The Queen led her Ladies to the Mother’s altar, where each of them laid their bouquets gently at the statue’s feet, the petals bright against the dull stone. Then, with practiced grace, they each took a candle, lighting them one by one from the flames that already danced on the altar. After placing their candles amongst the others, the women kneeled in silent prayer, the flickering light from the candles casting soft, wavering shadows across their bowed heads.

In the sacred silence, Maera closed her eyes as she sought solace, solace, her whispered prayers flowing from her heart. She asked for guidance, for protection, and for the strength to continue in her duties as a wife, mother, and queen. Her thoughts turned to her daughter, Aemara, and her lips curled into a faint smile as she thanked the Mother for the blessing her child had been, for the joy that filled her heart each time she held her. The love she felt for Aemara was boundless, and she prayed that the Mother would continue to watch over her, to keep her safe and healthy as she grew.

But as the Queen continued to pray, her thoughts expanded to other mothers she knew. She thought of her sister, Sabine, whose life had been shadowed by grief. Sabine was now raising twin boys alone, her husband having fallen in battle, his body buried far from home. Maera could not imagine the depth of her sister’s sorrow, but she prayed that the Mother would give Sabine the strength to endure, to find joy in her sons even as she mourned their father.

Her prayers turned next to her stepmother, a woman she had always regarded with a mix of respect and distance. She had recently learned that her stepmother, after giving birth to another child, was now fighting a losing battle with childbed fever. She prayed that the Mother would show mercy, either by granting her stepmother the strength to recover or by easing her pain if the end was inevitable.

Maera’s thoughts then drifted to her sweet friend, Helaena, who was trapped within the walls of the Red Keep, the very place she called home. If the letter she received was any evidence, the former Queen seemed more broken than ever, her mind shattering into a thousand pieces. Maera’s heart ached for her, and she prayed fervently that the Mother would bring comfort to Helaena’s troubled mind, that she might find some measure of peace in her darkened world.

She also prayed for another former Queen; Alicent, her mother-in-law. She was a woman who had made many mistakes, both as a mother and as a queen, but Maera understood that each of those mistakes had been made out of a desire to protect her children and to do what she believed was right for the Realm. Alicent’s path had been fraught with hardship and regret, and Maera prayed that the Mother would show her compassion, and watch over her whilst she remained captive.

Before she could conclude her prayers, Maera’s thoughts lingered on one final name—Rhaenyra. The Black Queen and her supporters had taken much from Maera and her husband, acts that had left deep scars both in their hearts and on the Realm. It would be easy to paint Rhaenyra as a villain, to see her only as the woman who had caused so much pain.

But as Maera knelt before the altar, a pang of empathy struck her heart. Rhaenyra, queen or not, was a mother who had suffered unimaginable losses. The grief of losing a child was a wound that never truly healed, and Rhaenyra had endured this pain multiple times over.

She could get it out of her mind. If she were in Rhaenyra’s position, would she not have done the same? Would she not have committed unspeakable acts in the name of vengeance, for the sake of Aemara, if her daughter had been taken from her? The answer came swiftly and surely. Yes, she would. The fierce love of a mother for her child could drive one to do anything, no matter how dark.

The Seven-pointed Star taught its followers to love their enemies as they loved themselves. It was a tenet of faith that Maera had always struggled with, especially in these times of war. But now, kneeling in the quiet of the Sept, she felt that if she could sincerely pray for Rhaenyra, then she would be closer to her faith than she had ever been before.

And so, Maera prayed for the Black Queen. She prayed that Rhaenyra might find peace, that her heart might be soothed and her grief lessened. She prayed for all of House Targaryen, that the bitter divisions that had torn them apart might one day be healed. The Mother was a symbol of mercy and compassion, and Maera prayed that she would find a way to unite the House of the Dragon once more.

Finishing her prayers, Maera slowly rose to her feet, the soft rustling of her skirts echoing through the quiet Sept. Her Ladies-in-Waiting followed suit, each of them straightening up and smoothing out their own garments as they prepared to leave.

Outside, they were met by the island's High Septon and several Septons and Septas, who greeted the Queen with deep bows and curtsies. The High Septon then turned to address the gathering crowd, standing before the steps of the Sept with his holy entourage, the Queen and her Ladies by his side. Clad in his ornate robes, his voice carried a tone of authority mixed with the solemnity of the times. He raised his hands, signaling for quiet before he began to speak:

“My friends, followers of the Faith, children of the Mother, hear my words on this most sacred day. Our world rests upon two great pillars: the Crown and the Faith. These are the twin foundations upon which our lives are built, upon which our hope is placed. And yet it is within these times of war that our faith is tested.”

“Brothers fight against brothers, and kin slay kin. Yet, though the winds of discord howl and the shadow of chaos spreads across the land, know this: the light of the Seven will not be extinguished. The Faith, our true and unwavering guide, stands resolute, as does the Crown, ordained by the Gods to shepherd us through these troubled times.”

Maera watched as the crowd listened in reverent silence, hanging on the Septon’s every word as he preached to them all in the name of the Seven.

“Justice is the wheel on which the world turns. No man, no woman, no king nor queen can escape the reach of the Seven’s judgment. As the Father watches with his sword of truth, as the Mother nurtures with her endless mercy, so too must we strive to bring justice to this fractured realm. Peace will be restored, and it shall be done in the name of the Gods.”

“So let us not despair. Let us hold fast to our faith, for as the Mother embraces her children, so too shall she bring comfort to our hearts in these trying times. Pray for the Crown, pray for the peace of the Realm, and let the justice of the Seven guide our every action.”

When the sermon concluded, Maera stepped forward with a gentle smile, her emerald eyes bright as she approached the crowd. The guards, maintaining a respectful distance, ensured the Queen’s safety while allowing her to interact freely with the people. Maera reached out to shake hands, her fingers warm and soft against the calloused hands of the smallfolk. She took the time to speak with many of those gathered, asking about their families, their work, and their well-being. The Queen’s genuine interest in their lives was evident, and her warmth endeared her to them all the more.

As she moved through the crowd, she signaled to the guards stationed near a line of carriages. At her command, the guards began to unload the contents—baskets filled with food, rolls of fine fabric, bundles of medicines, and small coin purses. The Septas stepped forward to help distribute the goods, making it known that these gifts were from King Aemond and Queen Maera, offered to the people on this auspicious day in honor of the Mother.

The smallfolk received these gifts with gratitude, their eyes filled with wonder and appreciation. Maera watched as the baskets were passed from hand to hand, seeing the relief and joy on the faces of those who received them. It was a small gesture, but one that she hoped would make a meaningful difference in their lives. Today, they were not just peasants and royals, but a united community, bound together by faith and the shared hope for a better future.

Suddenly, her smile faltered as she felt something hard strike her cheek, the impact sudden and shocking. The object exploded into a foul-smelling pulp against her skin, its rotten stench quickly filling the air. She gasped, instinctively raising a hand to her cheek, and her fingers came away sticky with the remnants of a green fruit. The crowd around her collectively inhaled in shock, a wave of murmurs rippling through the gathered smallfolk.

“My Queen!”

Her Ladies and her brother Faran were at her side in an instant, their faces pale with alarm. The sound of swords being unsheathed filled the air as the guards moved to protect their Queen. The sudden tension in the atmosphere was palpable, and a hush fell over the crowd as they realized what had just occurred.

But Maera, regaining her composure quickly, barked at the guards, her voice firm and commanding, “Sheath your swords!” Her sharp tone left no room for disobedience, and the guards hesitated only a moment before slowly complying, though their hands remained close to their hilts.

Her eyes darted through the crowd, scanning the sea of faces for any sign of the perpetrator. The smallfolk shifted uneasily, their earlier joy now overshadowed by the tension. Then, her gaze locked onto a man standing toward the back, holding a basket of fruit. His appearance was disheveled and dirty, and a smug smile curled on his lips as he watched her.

He stepped forward, his voice loud and unrepentant as he shouted, “You and your kinslayer husband have no claim to the throne! There is only one true heir!”

Maera’s brow furrowed, her confusion evident as she continued to stare at the man. His eyes gleamed with fervor as he raised his fist in the air, his voice rising above the shocked whispers of the crowd. “Long live Queen Rhaenyra, first of her name!”

The name hung in the air like a curse, and the crowd recoiled, a mix of fear and shock rippling through them. The guards tensed again, their hands hovering over their weapons, waiting for Maera’s next command. But the Queen remained still, her expression a mask of cold resolve as she processed the man’s words, the stench of rotten fruit still clinging to her skin.

One by one, members of the crowd set their eyes on the perpetrator, beginning to turn on the man who had dared to insult her and her husband. The smallfolk, who had moments before been smiling and accepting her gifts, now seemed transformed. They cursed him with venomous words, shouted insults, and berated him in the name of their King and Queen. The sudden shift in their demeanor was startling, as if the sermon about the Mother’s mercy moments ago was forgotten.

The situation escalated quickly. The perpetrator was shoved by those nearest to him, stumbling backward as more hands reached out to strike at him. A scuffle broke out as several men tackled him to the ground, their fists and feet descending upon him with brutal force. The man’s screams pierced the air, desperate and full of pain, and Maera instinctively covered her ears, her heart pounding in her chest. The raw violence of the scene was too much to bear.

She looked up at Faran, her eyes wide with fear and desperation. “Make it stop!” she pleaded, her voice trembling. Faran, with a grim nod, quickly ordered two guards to wade into the fray and break it up. The guards forced their way through the crowd, pulling the attackers off the man with stern commands, but the damage had already been done.

Faran gently guided Maera and her Ladies back toward the carriage, their steps hurried and unsteady. The shock of the attack and the crowd’s reaction still clung to them like a shroud. They practically piled into the carriage, the door slamming shut behind them, sealing them off from the chaotic scene outside. The carriage jolted forward, speeding away from the Sept and back toward the castle, the sounds of the scuffle fading into the distance.

Inside, Maera’s heart continued to race, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Her breathing was shallow, her chest tight with the aftershock of what had just transpired. Lady Swyft, her hands shaking slightly, attempted to wipe the remnants of the rotten fruit from Maera’s face, her touch gentle but firm. The carriage rocked as it sped along the cobblestone streets, but Maera barely noticed, her mind still reeling from the confrontation.

As the distance between them and the Sept grew, Maera began to feel a bit calmer, the initial shock giving way to contemplation. The crowd had defended her honor and that of her family’s without hesitation, turning on one of their own with a ferocity that left no doubt as to where their loyalties lay. The man who had denounced her had been quickly and ruthlessly dealt with, and though the violence disturbed her, the message was clear.

Dragonstone was Green. And if such was the case here, was it like this across other parts of Westeros? Even…in the Capital?

Notes: small chapter after a massive one about smut 🖤 also, I imagine this is the equivalent of going to an Easter church service then having the day be ruined by seeing a scrap outside the nearby pub 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[spacebarbarianweird]

Hey, I saw you take request and so I wanted to ask if you could write some fluff, maybe some Astarion comforting Tav after they went through a panick attack

Gender neutral if possible please, I just had my first ever panick attack and would love some comfort from my fav Vampire <3

- Astarions-Imagine-Archiche [Would love to go off anon but sadly, Tumblr dosent let me send asks through sideblogs]

Hi! Hope you will enjoy it!

FEAR

Sometimes it's just too much to bear TW: A description of a panic attack Tags: hurt \ comfort, gn!reader, nurturing Astarion, post game, established relationship Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Surrounded by a fiery inferno, you sense the escalating heat in the air. The thick layer of fabric shields your skin from immediate harm, yet your body responds almost primally.

Scorching and stifling air leaves you struggling to breathe, and the smoke stings your eyes.

Fire.

An indiscriminate devourer of all, whether mortal or undead, demon or elf, it rages like a starving beast. Discarding your sword, you decide to leap, knowing the flames will only graze your skin a bit.

"Ig-nis!" Astarion's voice rings out, casting a fireball into the necromancer. The half-orc topples, weakening the ring of fire around you. Muscles tense, preparing for the leap, but an abrupt freeze takes over just as your feet are about to propel you forward.

Attempting to move your hand, your brain feels detached, as though subjected to a Mindflayer's experiment. The fire intensifies, yet your legs remain unresponsive. Trapped within the confines of your own body, you are helpless and silent.

It's merely a "hold person" spell, lasting a minute or two or until Astarion dispatches the necromancer. Nothing harmful, nothing scary. The enemy just wants to win some time. 

Immobile, you manage to shift your eyelids just slightly. Astarion is nowhere to be seen while the necromancer looms ten feet before you. Approaching like a ghoul, his eyes scrutinize you as if you're a specimen in a lab.

Astarion. Astarion, where are you? Panic sets in. What if he's wounded, dead, or worse, turned into a mindless ghoul under a new master's control?

The necromancer, eyeing you with a sinister hunger, licks his lips. "Pretty creature. You will serve me well once you die."

His touch on your right temple triggers another memory—a Mindflayer's pod, helplessness, fear, disgust. A tadpole approaching your eyelid.

If you could scream, you would. 

"What is your worst nightmare?" the sorcerer whispers, casting the second spell.

Suddenly, you're back in the Nautiloid. A Mindflayer cracks your skull open, and the scent of burning bone fills the air. The monster probes your bare brain, and it sprouts thin black legs. Your organ is no longer yours; it's an intellect devourer.

A vision unfolds. Astarion's body writhes and transforms into a Mindflayer. "Don't do this to me. I can't do this again!" he cries for help until his face explodes, tentacles burst forth. 

You fall again, from the Nautiloid to the seashore, but the Emperor is unwilling to save you. Your spine breaks on the rocks.

Baldur's Gate. The day of the attack. The Nautiloid inches forward, missing Astarion, who escapes to the sewers. You'll never see him again; he's condemned to be his new master's slave.

No, no, please, no, gods help me.

Suddenly, the fear releases its grip, your hands and legs regain movement, and you collapse onto the scorched ground. 

"Fuck!" you curse. "Fuck you, bastard!" 

The necromancer lies dead. Fat flies crawling on his rotten flesh.

"Well, someone needs to learn how to dodge”, Astarion chuckles. “Next time, it'll be something more dangerous, like a power word spell or a death finger. Instant death, and you're resurrected as a ghoul," strong hands lift you up, and you stand on your feet once again.

"Where have you been," you mutter, your voice trembling.

He pulls away. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't see you. I thought you were dead. Where were you?"

"Darling, I made sure to disappear from his decayed eyes. I prefer an advantage when the enemy... let's say... has their ways with the undead and the dead." He tilts your chin up, making you look into his crimson eyes. 

If you weren't as tired and numb, guilt might settle in. That's how he fights—no knight, no warrior. He hides and attacks when the enemy forgets about him. It's not his fault you were knocked out, but the bitterness lingers in your heart, replacing the fear.

Returning to the small camp silently, you muster the last remnants of your strength to pull off your armor. Astarion sits by the fire with a book, not attempting to join you in the tent. Guilt pervades your thoughts. What if your rudeness jeopardizes the progress, you've made together?

What if you wake up the following day, and he's gone?

Your mind spirals in twisted ways. What if a piece of the tadpole remains in your brain? Powerful creatures aren't to be trusted. What if it's still there, waiting to hatch? What if Astarion harbors one inside his head as well? What if this isn't the end, and unthinkable horrors lie ahead? What if one day you wake up and hear a voice subduing you to some eldritch, horrible, and insane entity?

You feel like you can't breathe. The heart races, heavy as a tombstone, and your hands are numb and cold. The uncertainties weigh on you like a suffocating shroud.

A lump rises in your throat, an unbearable sensation that makes you want to vomit. You press your hands to your chest and breathe heavily as if you are short of air.

Light steps approach from behind. "Darling, your breathing can be heard in a nearby village. What's wrong?" The voice sounds distant, echoing through thick walls. Suddenly, your eyesight blurs, reality becoming an illusion, disconnecting you from your body. The voice sounds unfamiliar and distorted.

Astarion wraps his hands around your waist. "It's okay, everything is alright. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere." 

 It still feels unreal, as if someone tries to imitate your lover's voice.

"I- I am…I am dying", you whisper.

"It's just a panic attack, nothing more," he replies. "Let me guess, he casted the fear spell on you? You saw something unpleasant, didn’t you? Illithids, I bet." 

Astarion brushes your hair with pale fingers and then kisses the crown of your head. He gently touches your hand, then your leg. "You are here. You are safe with me. And if someone threatens you, I will rip their throats." He holds you tighter, speaking comforting words. The lines he once used for seduction and manipulation now sound like a weird, soothing spell.

You don't feel your body. You don't understand where you are. You remember the Nautiloid, the blood, the fear. 

You start crying. You haven't cried for ages – first, there was no time to reflect on awful things happening to you. Then, it was Astarion who needed you to be strong because he was a mess after 200 years of abuse and sudden freedom he didn't dream of having. But now it’s you who is overwhelmed and scared.

"Hush, everything is okay. You are safe with me," Astarion whispers.

Suddenly, you come to your senses. The racing heart subsides, and the looming horror fades.

You breathe freely. Astarion strokes your hair. "Feeling better?"

You nod and find the strength to sit up. "What can I do for you, my love?" Astarion asks.

Licking your dry lips, you realize the intense need for water causing your dizziness. Before you can utter a word, the vampire reaches for a flask. In three big gulps, you drain the bottle and collapse onto your back in the tent. The thick black fabric, enchanted with the "darkness" spell, feels like a reassuring wall, offering a sense of safety rather than claustrophobia.

Astarion lies beside you, wrapping his hands around your waist. But instead of pressing his face against your collarbone as usual, he pushes against his chest. If he were alive, you would hear his heartbeat. 

"I am just—I don't know—afraid?" you finally admit. "I'm afraid this Illithid madness isn't over, and something is stuck in our brains waiting for the right moment. I'm afraid to die. I'm afraid you will die. I'm afraid that one of these powerful creatures we pissed off will come for our souls. I'm afraid you will slip into feral madness, and there's nothing I will be able to do to prevent this."

He presses you even tighter. "You are a very brave little thing, you know that?" he finally says. "I insist on that. Leading the way from this Illithid madness, letting me close despite knowing who I am. Facing any danger or monster. But sometimes it's just too much, right?"

You nod and receive one more kiss. "I will always be with you; I am not going anywhere. And when it just feels too much, you tell me. I will gladly take a nurturing role. Besides, you've been caring for me for far too long. Time to change roles."

Slowly, you drift into sleep, the last thing you remember before slipping away being Astarion whispering, "I am lucky to have you."

--

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive

[lady-phasma]

I want to write a lestat fic so bad I’m practically foaming at the mouth!! I want to do his character justice though. Would you spare some lestat characterization tips mayhaps?

Hi anon! I am so unbelievably flattered that you came to me. I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to reply. Would you like ✏️ anon if you come back?

I hope I answer this well. He is my oldest, dearest blorbo so I'm going to answer with series and book (head)canon, so there are some pretty hefty spoilers below the cut.

Characterization tips....

When in doubt, go bigger and more French! Do you doubt something you're writing for him is believable? You're probably wrong. This guy found Atlantis in canon. He has flown into the sun, switched bodies with a human, and met the literal, actual Devil.

Would he realistically flirt in your scenario? Yes. But what if...? Yes. He will always flirt. Always.

But on a more serious note, Lestat is very vain because he is incredibly powerful yet insecure. He can cause a lot of damage and is his own worst enemy. The embodiment of chaos.

Anne didn't christen him The Brat Prince for no reason at all. He not only pouts when he doesn't get what he wants, he often pouts when he gets exactly what he wants. He is rarely satisfied and once a mystery is solved or an objective obtained he's ready to move on.

Something that makes him particularly appealing to me has always been his contrasts, how he can be so self-centered and horrible, but love so openly and deeply. If he loves someone he would die for them, as long as he looked good doing it. He can hate and love the same person in the same moment and still give them everything he has. But, he will always try to be a step ahead to have his own safety net because trust isn't his thing.

Lestat has such an odd mix of confidence and insecurity. He never once questioned why the Queen of the vampires would be enamored with him. Of course she would be. But even during all of his drama with Akasha he pined for Louis. Many of his exploits are to get the attention of someone who isn't giving him enough at the moment.

I'm going to do a deep TVL dive real quick because this is the foundation of who he is for me. The Wolfkiller. He was embarrassed at being "poor" aristocracy and the one warm coat he had was the one the villagers made for him from the wolf pelt. He wasn't proud of that event, but that coat meant more to him than they could possibly imagine.

Also, he loves dogs. Seriously, if you need to write him having a pet dog, go for it. Especially mastiffs and boucherons (book and series canon).

I don't particularly like the word "flamboyant" for him, but he is. He is performative. Rarely does he do anything that isn't thoroughly thought through if someone is watching. He is equally impetuous if it looks good.

Lastly, some emotional characterization. He hates to appear vulnerable, but is constantly vulnerable. It's almost as if he doesn't know how to mask that part of him. His desperation to be part of the Italian acting troupe was obvious almost to the point of being a pathetic fanboy. He can't help but be incredibly earnest. Even if it causes him pain or embarrassment.

The Father of Lies, the Brat Prince, Wolfkiller, Lelio... Lestat is all of these things. That's what has always made him such a rich character. He can be serious, but Anne's description of him through Armand might be my favorite: he must make a gutter theatrical out of stubbing his toe.

God forbid no one was around to witness the pain and suffering he endured from such a tragic event. affectionately

I didn't go into anything romance or shipped based on purpose so feel free to let me know it that's what you meant and I missed the mark.

[bob-frank451]

Hey, so I had the rough draft written a month ago, but school and papers delayed publishing til now, so

Well

Enjoy!

Humans Are Weird : Throwing, Part 2

    Archivists note to the reader: It seems you are viewing this item in the human language English. For this reason names have been transliterated, units have been converted, and the content has been ontologically translated. Apologies for any inconsistencies.

    The volatus was immediately swamped with sensation and cacophony. Everywhere he looked there were vast oceans of vendors, yelling in a fruitless attempt to be heard over the hubbub, attempting to sell their wares. Food, art, technology, ideas… if the mind of any sapient race could imagine it, it was for sale.

    Volati are fabulous information processors, if the information is presented orderly. With this chaos, however, almost any volatus would be utterly overwhelmed, as he was now. The human tapped him gently for attention. It was a normal gesture, even outside human circles, one of those universal solutions to universal problems, like two plus two equaling four, or using spears to stab your enemy.

    The human bent down and whispered into his ear, pointing at a couple of goem.

    “Look”

    “They look normal.”

    “My gut doesn’t like them.”

    The volatus paused, confused.

    “Your what?”

    “Intuition, Instinct”

    “Oh”

    He thought briefly. Human instinct was quickly becoming a topic of rabid interest in the Galactic Assembly’s scientific community. Some part of the way they were wired could pick up small cues better than almost any other race. Given this information this situation might develop into something much less innocuous.

    “Can you pick up anything?” his friend asked.

    The volatus allowed his brain to start processing the thaumaturgic signals in the surrounding area, wincing at the noise. Too many people, too many thinking beings. Too much interference, as it turned out. He couldn’t pick up anything useful.

    The tiny human yanked her fathers hair, pointing towards a vendor of trinkets. The group moved easily to the front of the small store, and the biologist lifted the girl down off his massive shoulders, and set her down in front of the booth. She immediately shrieked with delight, and grabbed two fistfuls of shiny rocks in her pudgy toddler hands.

    Toddler, one who toddles. Good word.

    The humans were talking. The vendor had approached the woman, and had launched into an elaborate sales pitch. The longer human had slowly placed himself between the vendor and his child. The child’s mother watched the vendor with dark, almost back, glittering eyes. The volatus could hear her heart and the signals given off by her neural circuitry. Both were speeding up.

    The child moved along the stall, wreaking havoc on the carefully organised displays as she went, oblivious to the growing tension.

    The vendor was talking, faster and faster. The volatus, acclimatised after years spent with these humans, could read the suspicion on their faces. The vendor, apparently, could not. Suddenly, his friend spun. Some deep spark of intuition programmed deep into his brain had understood the situation. The volatus turned, following suit, and froze with horror.

    One of the goem from earlier held a gun levelly and directly at the larger human’s centre of mass. He stood very still. The hum of his brain grew, until the volatus’s mind was nearly deafened.

    Far worse, however, was the other goem. He had snatched the humans’ child, and was slowly backing away. The volatus glanced at his friend's face, and saw the worst thing he had ever seen.

    The human looked desperate.

    The volatus felt fear shutting down his own mind, system by system. The child was lost, no doubt about that. The humans would probably be killed,  and then they would kill him too.

    No!

    no…

    please no.

    He almost missed it. One moment the goem was holding a gun and smirking, pride nearly dripping off his bulky features. The next he was gripping the souvenir knife that had appeared in his midriff, face awash with what the volatus’ astute mind identified as shock. In that fraction of a second the volatus analysed the actions and events, and saw what had happened. The child’s mother, unobserved, had grabbed the knife, and thrown it, THROWN IT, perfectly into the attackers torso.

    In a flash the big human went for the goem’s gun, but the electronic weapon refused to unlock for his biometrics, and he dropped it in disgust.

    The other goem was running now, which in another context would be hilarious. Goem are not made to run. But this goem  was dragging the human child.

    The big human cast around in desperation, before grabbing a shiny hunk of tungsten-carbide from the rock selection. Rock indeed, the volatus thought wryly. The human’s eyes snapped to the retreating goem, both eyes, binocular vision, the volatus noted. Despite his fear, the volatus could not help but focus on the human.

    The human raised the tungsten-carbide behind his head, and threw his body forward. In a flash the volatus finally understood the bizarre anatomy of the human arm. The muscle and bone placement, the tendons. A human’s arm, he realised with amazement and awe, is a trebuchet.

    The tungsten carbide left his hand in a perfect ark. Almost perfect. It was going to miss, just a little too far to the left.

    The goem saw the throw, and jumped away from the girl, a little too far to the left. The human had anticipated the doge, the volatus realised. The apparent imperfection had in fact been an adjustment which doomed the goem as soon as he jumped.

    The volatus turned away the moment it struck. He didn’t want to see the death. The tall human ran to the girl, and swooped her up in his arms. He passed her off to his wife, grabbed the volatus, and set off at a jog away from the mall. Even as he bounced undignified under the human’s arm, the volatus marveld. Each stride was easily a metre, perhaps more.

Four minutes later the adrenaline finally ran out and left the humans' system abruptly. The larger human set the volatus down, and bent over the edge of the path, retching. His partner wasn’t much better. She set her daughter down, and heaved miserably. Adrenaline always has a price.

    An hour later the group sat on some form of public transportation, shell shocked The biologist sat, one arm wrapped around his sleeping daughter, cuddled peacefully on his lap. The other arm was wrapped around his wife, curled against him. The volatus sat between the humans and the wall. He felt safe, guarded by titans.

The authorities would investigate the two deaths, but the security footage, and the recent crackdown on the trafficking of people would guarantee that there would be little retaliation.

    There would of course be a resurgence of the “deathworlders are monsters” narrative, but the volatus knew better. Humans are loyal, and their bonds go very deep.

    The volatus glanced at his friends. They look traumatised.  Their minds sat empty, aside from a thick blanket of horror.

    He checked his mobile device telepathically. His person had got back to him. He bumped the larger human. No response. He pushed harder. The human turned, slowly, as if through syrup. The volatus spoke.

    “They didn't die”

    The human looked at him with no comprehension on his face. The volatus tried again.

    “The two goem. They were recovered and stabilised. You didn’t kill anyone.”

    Both humans were staring at him now, eyes wide. The volatus suddenly felt very self conscious. 

    “They lived?”

    “Yes”

    “Oh thank you God.”

    The volatus checked his device again. More data.

    “They are in the hospital right now, but once they recover they will be shipped off world for investigation. Apparently this is a part of something much larger.”

    The smaller human looked at him. She took a moment to speak, as if carefully considering her words. She looked at her daughter for a long moment, and then back at the volatus.

    “So we are safe then?”

    The volatus did the human nod again.

    “I think we should be.”

    No, the humans weren’t monsters.

    Just good friends.

Ao3 Discord

[starmoondany]

Okay so, let's talk about Walburga Black.

I have A LOT to say.

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Little reminder that everything I'm going to say below are my lore headcanons, and not everything follows the canon. Basically most of what you are going to read came from my imagination. Hope you like it ;)

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— Walburga was never a good mother, not at all. She had very deep-rooted ideals and putting that above love for her children is unforgivable. But that doesn't mean she hasn't suffered with her parents too.

— The Blacks had been sharing their traditions and ideals for centuries from generation to generation, it was almost a sect. A family truly full of dark secrets; including murders of their own members -children born as squibs- to maintain the purity of their blood. Children were raised, or rather indoctrinated, since they had the ability to think. Being born under the Black surname was truly terrifying.

— Walburga and her brothers were no exception. Her parents were never gentle with her, she couldn't remember any hug, or even a kind word from her mother. She spent her teenager years trying to make her parents proud of her, but she never received a praise from them. Her parents demanded a lot from her, expecting nothing but perfection from their only daughter. And Walburga tried very hard to meet those expectations.

— Walburga demanded a lot from herself, a lot, even beyond her limits. She never doubted her parents, believing that they were always absolutely right - something they constantly said about themselves. Walburga was a perfectionist, disciplined, responsible, strict and very demanding woman, with herself and later with her children. She was raised believing that there was no room for even the slightest error, that's why when her first son, Sirius, revealed, she felt horrible disappointment in herself and enormous hatred towards him. Seeing that her eldest son, her heir, threw away everything their family made so may sacrifices to maintain, was the most humiliating example of betrayal for Walburga.

— She was completely blinded by the doctrine that had been instilled in her as a child, believing fervently and absolutely in everything that their supremacy dictated. That's why she was unable to see the damage she was doing to her children, the damage she was doing to herself, and the damage that had been done to her her entire life ((None of that is an excuse for what she did, no no, I'm just saying that no one in that family was okay lol)).

— She was a talented witch in her years at Hogwarts. Getting the highest grades, being a star student, focused on her studies and nothing else. She didn't do what other teenagers did, she wasn't interested in boys like other girls. Her mother told her that all of that was a waste of time, and promiscuity, and she believed everything her mother said -not having experienced that in her youth would affect her in her adult life. Besides the fact that she had also gotten married as soon as she graduated-.

— Walburga, at least in her younger years, wasn't what she later became. She was also a person, and she loved others, but she didn't know how to love. No one ever taught her how, she was never really appreciated by anyone, and that's how she learned to treat others.

— The only thing she heard from her father was how much she looked like her grandmother, which she didn't see as a compliment, since that was the only thing her father deigned to say to her. The man had never paid attention to his only daughter's achievements. And the only thing he heard from her mother was how imperfect she was. Her mother treated her like her worst enemy, making her daughter's teen years hell. Walburga had thousands of insecurities installed by her own mother, about her way of being and her physical appearance. Walburga never saw it; but her mother was very jealous of her.

— Anyway, Walburga never complained. She never cried. Nobody, absolutely nobody, had ever seen her cry. She never let anyone see her emotions, her vulnerability. She hated feeling vulnerable, weak, it was what she hated most in the world. She believed that she would be truly perfect if she had no emotions. She saw her vulnerability, her sadness, as a sign of weakness. Of imperfection. And all Walburga wanted was to be perfect in her mother's eyes. To be perfect for the noble house of Black, to fit the size her mother had molded her to. And looking weak, cry for everything her mother had imposed on her, everything she demanded of her, was like a betrayal of all that. Because she should be eternally grateful for having the honor of being a Black, right?

— Still, she had a breaking point. When she was old and her life, her family, had completely fallen apart. The day Orion died, the day she found out that her youngest son, Regulus, died; she cried in front of Kreacher for hours. As if she was crying everything she hadn't cried in all those years.

— And when Sirius was put in Azkaban, when she first read what happened in The Daily Prophet, she felt a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, she knew there was a mistake, there had to be a mistake. Because if Sirius really was a Death Eater, her son would never have run away from home. She got along terribly with her oldest son, but she knew him like the back of her hand. And she knew her son was not a murderer. When she found out, Walburga, for the first time in many years, wanted to see her eldest son once again. She really, really didn't want Sirius to be in Azkaban. It made her uncomfortable, she didn't like to think about it. But her pride was stronger, the Black pride was always stronger, and she never did anything to help him.

— She died feeling miserable. Not just imperfect, but a complete failure. She knew her mother would be endlessly disappointed in her. Walburga, although she never admitted it, was afraid of dying. Because she knew that her mother would be waiting for her somewhere. And she was terrified of her mother ((Trauma passes from generation to generation guys, everything makes SENSE)). She was a failure, her husband and youngest son were dead, and she let her eldest son rebel, and even though she hated Sirius for that, she would never forgive herself for letting him break the mold.

— She hated when Sirius cried. Because she went through the same suffering as him, but she hadn't shed a single tear. And seeing her son being so different from her, so weak in her eyes, made her so angry. She hadn't raised him to be like this.

— She was an impulsive woman. She spent her entire life containing her emotions; her sadness, her disgust, her anger. But this last one was the most difficult to contain. Walburga lived her teen years crying inside, but at some point she learned how to change sadness for anger; an emotiona that made her less uncomfortable. At that moment, she finished becoming a monster.

— Sirius, although it wasn't his fault, had a hand in creating that monster. Since he was little, Walburga never had to deal with someone who opposed her so much. And the fact that he was her son only made it worse for her. She wanted submission from Sirius, obedience, and she tortured her son, trying to strip him of every drop of rebellion, trying to not leave anything of him. But Sirius was a Gryffindor, and he had a lion heart. And when he ran away, it was the last straw for Walburga. From that day on, Sirius was no longer her son.

— Walburga never was good to her children, but she did loved them. Though she didn't know how to show it. Regulus was her favorite. Her youngest son was her only hope, the only thing she had after Sirius betrayed her. Regulus was not like Sirius, he was submissive to her; and that was exactly what she wanted. So when Regulus died, the only son who had made her proud in some way, she felt like she lost the only person she had ever loved. The only person who paid attention to her. The only person who, somehow, looked up to her. ((Although that was what she believed, I'm not saying that Regulus really admired his mother 👁️)) ((This family's relationship is very complex)).

— Walburga, despite having a rotten heart, was a truly beautiful woman. Many noticed her appearance in her youth, drawing the interest of many, but Walburga never saw it as a compliment. Her black hair, her pale skin, and her sharp blue-gray eyes. Walburga was an imposing woman; not because of her size, but because of her eyes. Because of her always pressed together lips and her constantly furrowed brow. The elegant woman made her presence known wherever she went, for her beauty and her firmness. ((i LOVE Eva Green as her fancast, literally her)).

— The Blacks really had a thing for looking like a French monarchy (with the incest and all lol). Walburga loved to wear dresses that didn't match the era, which the other members did as well. Except, well, Sirius ((Siri babe I love you but you also liked making your mother's life miserable)).

— Walburga spoke perfect French, she constantly mumbled in French, saying things she couldn't say out loud and swearing at people. She tried to pass the language on to her children. With Regulus she managed to, with Sirius halfway. He had never been interested in anything his mother wanted to teach him. Another thing she managed to pass on to Regulus was playing the piano. She knew how to play the piano, she had gone to lessons as a child, and she taught Regulus since he was little.

— Walburga's two children looked like her. With their black hair, pale skin and blue-gray eyes ((It's not like they have much genetic diversity either tho, their parents are cousins KANWNDKIAJD)). Both inherited part of Walburga's personality, although in different ways. Regulus was the one who acted the most like Walburga at first glance; with the same frown, the same sharp eyes, and his unfriendly attitude. He had the elegance, coldness and discipline of his mother. He also inherited that disdain for vulnerability, but, ironically, he was the most vulnerable one there. Although he also inherited the ability to hide it very well ((except with Sirius)).

— Sirius, although he seemed completely the opposite, was also like his mother. Especially physically. It was scary because he really did look a lot like Walburga when he started growing his hair out. People told him that a lot and Sirius hated it, yet he still kept his hair long. He also took after his mother in terms of sociability. Of course, Sirius was an explosive extrovert and Walburga was reserved, but they both understood social dynamics perfectly. And they took that to their advantage. Besides, Sirius had a way of arguing, a way of insulting, very similar to his mother's. Looking for and noticing the same weak points as her in people. Sirius hadn't noticed that until one day, in the middle of a horrible argument, Remus yelled at him that he was exactly like his mother. Sirius was horrified to hear that. And began to hate that part of himself. He hated knowing that he was his mother's son, that the blood of that horrible woman also ran through his veins.

— He wondered if she had ever loved him, or if he had ever loved her.

— Walburga, on the other hand, died feeling miserable, knowing that she lost her entire family. And that was, in part, her fault. She sometimes found herself wondering if perhaps she was too hard on him, but she quickly pushed that thought away. Sirius decided to abandon her, abandon his entire family, and Walburga would never forgive him. Although she wished things had been different. She really did loved her oldest son.

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It may sound strange but I really love this character. Walburga is such a complex character, I had a lot of fun creating a lore for her. There's a lot to say about this family, and JK is useless and no one likes her so SKWJJAJD here are we with our headcanons.

Don't be afraid to comment guys, I love when you do that ((I need friends)).

You can send questions too, I'd really like some interaction.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: Lacrymaria olor(4)

In which Jungkook can sense that you want something from him.

Tags/Warnings: Alien AU, Alien!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Angst, Blood and Violence, Strangers to I don't know?

Additional Chapter Warnings: have you forgotten about this yet because I haven't, dead dove do not eat (murder, cruelty?)

Length: short

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Jungkook is a naturally heavy sleeper.

On his planet, he's the apex predator after all- he's got no natural enemies, nothing could truly hurt him other than one of his own kind. However, you are not- you've adapted as your role of mere prey, constantly waking up from any sound. Currently, there's a flock of bird-like creatures sitting on the windowsill outside, pecking the glass occasionally. Their glowing red eyes spot you awake, curious head tilting from left to right as if to muster you.

It would be fine if it was the size of maybe.. a crow or something. But this thing? It's more the size of a dog.

The worst thing is that the window isn't even closed. Jungkooks leaves it partially open because he can't sleep when it's too warm, and while you never minded in the past, right now with the animal poking it's beak in, you're absolutely terrified.

So you wiggle around, trying to get out of Jungkooks grip- but it's no use. "Jungkook.!" You whine, trying to wake him but he just- doesn't. He simply growls almost under his breath, pulling you even closer.

But what's also coming closer, is the animal.

It's claws click on the wooden floors closer to you, tail being dragged after it as it seems to explore the room first before it targets you in the Temian's arms. Its now that you turn around and bury yourself in Jungkook's arms, trembling from the fear of what's to come.

Until he moves, one hand pushing you behind him while the other holds the strange animal by its throat, rest of the flock outside hurrying away from the sound of its struggle.

There's a strange reflectiveness to Jungkook's eyes, like a cat's, as he holds the animal in a strong grip while slowly getting out of bed. The window is opened, the creature flailing wildly in his fist as he holds it by the neck still, and in horror you watch as Jungkook clenches his jaw for a second before he breaks it and let's the corpse fall the long way down to the ground, where the other 'birds' begin to feed on it.

The window is closed after that, noise silenced as he turns towards you again.

It's moments like these that remind you that he's not someone who sees the act of taking a life as something never to be done, but rather as a way of solving problems, in a way. He's dangerous, definitely- but still, something odd inside you makes you remind yourself that he promised to never hurt you.

That he cares for you, and cares about you.

"Did it hurt you?" He asks in a raspy tone as he crawls back on the bed, now sitting on his knees as he sleepily inspects you for any damage done. You simply shake your head, before you lean into him, arms holding onto his body as best as you can.

Unbeknownst to you, hugging and skinship is something entirely intimate in his culture. It's not taken lightly, it's not done with anybody. In this moment, he thoroughly enjoys thus intimacy with you, chuckling a little when he notices your fear slowly leaving your scent for him. "I forgot they might see you as potential prey. I'll have some safety nets installed on the windows so they can't come in anymore." He gently explains, slowly helping you into a more comfortable position, laying down with you again. "Do you enjoy my company?" He wonders randomly, and you nod.

"You're safe." You say quietly. "You protect me."

"That I do." He nods proudly, eyes closed as he holds you close. "Its good that you're aware of this."

"Its hard not to be." You answer. "I'd be dead without you."

"Probably." He nods. "But I won't let that happen." He quietly promises, opening his eyes again for a second to face you. "I can imagine officially Courting you, you know?" He informs you, and you look at him with wide eyes.

"I- aren't you doing that yet though?" You wonder, a little confused.

"Huh? No, not at all." He says. "Do you not court mates you're interested in on earth?"

"We.. I mean, we go on dates? Like, we go out to eat traditionally, and.. spend time. That's it." You offer, and he scoffs.

"No that's not how it works here." He almost pouts. "How would you know that I'm a worthy partner if I don't prove myself to you?" He questions.

"But I already know that you are..." you start- before noticing what you just implied.

And he suddenly grins, looking at you with the most innocent, sparkling round eyes you've ever seen, before he moves to lean over you, excited eyes falling to your lips before they find your eyes again, silently asking a question you can hear loud and clear.

As you nod, he instantly leans down his head to kiss you, though its neither hungry or hurried. It's as if he's demanding time to wait for now, to stop and give him all the time he wants as he offers such a gentle gesture to you. He himself doesn't truly know why he feels so strongly towards you- in the beginning, it had been nothing more than curiosity to find out what made his past mate leave him for something so frail and selfish like a human being. But somewhere along, the line between simple fun and actual romantic interest had blurred, and right now, as he opens his lips to run his tongue along yours, he knows he's a goner.

But he also does not care, especially not when he parts from you for a second, your hands holding on to his clothes, trying to pull him back in. There's no way he could ever let you leave any longer.

So he keeps you a little closer tonight as he dreams of his plans to prove himself, all while the birds outside still pull apart one of their own.

[brighttears]

It's Gonna Have To Be Enough

Joel miller x reader

No physical description, gender neutral, no use of y/n

Summary: Joel gets in his head watching you sleep until you wake and bring him out. just fluff

Warnings: brief mention of bugs and light gore, pet names (honey)

Word count: 1k

A/n: Writers blocks got me in its talons :( I’m just trying to throw shit together now to get Some kind of story. Pls pray for me

–

The body lying before him, curled up on a hard, dirt ground, makes Joel’s heart burn and sink in his chest.

Powerlessness. That will always be his number one enemy. Love, his second. Because there you lay, lax in sleep, so vulnerable. Joel looks down at his hands, every knuckled scarred, blood ever ingrained under his fingernails. He is no man for you. But yet here he stands, regret, sorrow, fury, guilt, fear, and love, seeping out of him to fall on you like rain. He’d do anything–he’s done anything, and he always will, to protect you, save you. 

But he can’t.

You’re already ruined. You’re already doomed. 

Joel can almost already see fungus sprouting from your skin, those damning veins shooting out from a bloody bite mark to poison the rest of you. If you turn into a monster, is it still you inside? He’s so afraid that he’ll love you even then, even if you turned into one of them. 

Joel takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut. Not yet. You’re still alive, he still has you. He wants to take you up in his arms to prove that to himself, but you’re fast asleep, so he’s alone, full of homeless longing. But god, it fills him. 

Is my heart heavy, or is it empty?

He loves you, he loves you, if he knows nothing else, he knows this. But can he do it right? Can he give you what you deserve, or whatever salvageable sliver may be left of it?

Joel’s brain is filled with maggots. Most of the people he’s met are dead. The last thing he remembers of a lot of them are their corpses, or even worse, their dead and hungry eyes focused on him. The worst of all, what their heads looked like after a shotgun. 

He can’t stop staring at you. Looking at you when you’re like this, so innocent, so relaxed, Joel can imagine another life with you, a domestic one, where you don’t have to worry about any of this. 

But then you start to cry out, and then you’re screaming and thrashing, and he can’t even wake you then, Joel is forced to wait it out until you wake up on your own. He thinks that when he goes to hell, that's what it’ll be. 

Powerlessness. 

He knelt down, folding his legs and waiting, watching you unable to escape from any of it, even in your sleep. 

And then you wake, and when you look into his eyes it’s fear first, always fear first, and then relief, and then you’re in his arms. He breathes again. 

“Did I wake you up?” You murmur into his shoulder. 

“No, I was awake.”

“Were you watching me sleep?”

He chuckles and admits, “Yes.”

“That's ok. I like to watch you sleep, too.” there’s still sleepiness in your voice. 

“You fell asleep on the ground, honey,”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Come on, let me get you up into the truck.” Joel goes to pick you up but you raise with him to your feet. It stings; he wants to hold you so his body will shield you from everything, including the dirt, because it’s cold and it’s hard, not somewhere you should be.

You pop open the tailgate, eyes still squinting against consciousness, and climb in. Joel follows and you take a minute to settle in. A mess of dirty blankets barely cushion the hard metal, but it's better than nothing. You lay on your sides, facing each other. You reach your hand out to push Joel’s hair behind his ear, not because you need to, just an excuse to brush your hand over his cheek and through his graying locks. 

He’s staring at you with those big, sad, brown puppy dog eyes. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?

You can read him too well now for him to get away with lying–trying to protect you from even his own thoughts, but you’ve fought your way through. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Eveythin’s wrong.” he whispers, “This world… it’s rott’n. You don’t belong… in the rot.”

“Are you in the rot?”

“Yeah, I am.” to him, this is where you separate. He is the rot that you don’t belong in. But you tell him the opposite. 

“Then I belong in the rot. And you can’t tell me otherwise. I love you. I won’t ever leave you. I’m with you.” You reach out again to brush his hair back, watching your hands over his skin and hair, then back down to those big, beautiful, sad eyes. You wish you could crawl inside of him and dig all the sadness out. “Why are you so sad?”

“Because… because I can’t save you.”

“Save me from what?”

“Everythin’. Anythin’.”

“What can you do?” 

“I–I don’t know, what? What can I do?” What do you want me to do? What can I give you? Just tell me, and I’ll do it. 

“You know this one.” you tap his nose with your finger. You’ve had this conversation before and you wait for him to wade through himself and remember what you’d taught him about it.

It takes him a minute but then he remembers, “Love you. I can love you.”

“Mhm.” 

Joel moves himself closer to you, placing a hand on your cheek and touching his forehead to yours. This is what you do to ground yourselves. You use this technique frequently—for moments like these, or when you’re the one trying to take him out of his nightmares, or even in the stink of gunpowder, when you’re about to round a corner, make a run for it, or take a risky aim. 

Here you are, here am I.

“That’s all you have to do Joel.”

Joel hums, wanting to keep it to himself, but you’ll pull it out of him anyway. “It's not enough.”

“I love you Joel. Is that not enough for you?”

“No, it is, it is enough,” he raises his whisper, “‘course it’s enough.” 

“Mhmm?” you smile. 

His voice goes back to a murmur, “Ok, ok. I get it.”

“You’re already enough, stupid.” you touch your fingertip to the tip of his nose again and then kiss it. He pecks your lips. 

“Alright. Close yer eyes ‘n go to sleep now, honey.”

Joel pushes your hip and you roll over so he can spoon you. 

“You better be going to sleep, too.”

“I’m not gonna be able to keep my eyes open like this. You make me sleepy.”

It takes him a while to finally fall asleep and he uses the time to ponder your words. Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever feel like enough, but he can at least trust that you believe it. He can’t rely on his own standards when he’s doing all of this for you. If it’s enough for you just for him to love you, then he’s good enough. 

He’d found something beautiful in the ugliness of the infected world. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take it and never let go. After everything, there you are, and here he is.