#it’s always jarring going into something nearly blind

[silent-partner-412]

it’s weird playing undertale yellow for the first time and thinking ceroba was easily the best character because she was by far the most fleshed out, then going online and seeing that she’s apparently super divisive because either A) she apparently takes over the story at the end (which is interesting cuz that was around the time where i got most invested) or B) she… makes decisions that people don’t agree with. huh.

[talesofesther]

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: For Aemond's condition, I took inspiration from this post that lists the possible consequences of losing an eye. Hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Word count: 4,4k

Masterlist | Previous chapter

Stripes of early morning sunlight bled through the curtains. They kissed over the skin of Aemond's neck, then his scarred cheek, and slowly made their way to his eye.

A low groan came from the Prince when the golden light stirred him awake. He brought a hand to his face and covered his eye from the insistent light, the singing of the first birds told him how early the morning was, and he berated himself for forgetting the blinds open.

A few minutes passed, and Aemond knew there would be no more sleep now that his troubled mind had awakened. He pushed himself up to sit on his bed, covers pooling at his waist, and buried his head in his hands. His palms went over his eye and scar, gently; and fingers into his hair, messy from sleep. The Prince focused on slow and controlled breathing, as he could already feel the whispers of a numbing pain building inside his head. Covering the entirety of the harsh scar on his face with one hand in a sorry attempt at self-comfort, Aemond waited, unmoving—perhaps if he stayed still enough, the pain would go away.

It persisted, of course. And on days like this, he knew it would get worse before it got better. As Aemond got up, he noticed the little jar collecting dust on his bedside table; the maester used to bring him ointments in it, and they had tried it all, from elaborate healing recipes, to cinnamon tea, and to cold and warm packs over the empty eye socket. In the end, the maesters didn't quite understand the extent of Aemond's problem.

When he lost his eye, the pain was bordering unbearable during the first month. The Prince had nearly passed out from it when the first stitches were removed and began the process of keeping ointments on it day and night for better healing. The maester used to say the pain came because of the healing skin tissues, and it should go away eventually, but it never did. Sometimes Aemond doesn't feel the left side of his face, and sometimes he feels it too much—a headache surrounding the eternal wound, at times so strong that his vision blends colors together and he can't eat a single bite of food. He learned to cover up his scar, and the red, ugly line faded a little more as time passed, yet the pain it brought lingered.

Aemond doesn't talk about this. He feels it's a humiliating topic, a weakness for people to pry into. Just one more thing to have people give him weird side glances about. His mother is the only one who knows besides the maesters, because he could never hide something like this from her even if he tried. The pain goes away for periods of time, but it inevitably always returns; and he may never get used to it, but Aemond chose to carry the burden of the worst and best day of his life alone.

Tugging at the collar of his thin white shirt, Aemond made his way to the bathroom in his chambers and threw water on his face, washing away the remnants of sleep. He then slowly wandered to the dark wooden vanity near the balcony doors. The chair scraped the stone floors as Aemond pulled it to sit down. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him, and the Prince held his own stare for several seconds.

He observed the harsh scar, the imperfection, the reason for ladies' stares and whispers, the reason why they cowered when he walked past. He observed his silver hair, now disheveled and uneven, as he grabbed a comb and slowly ran it through the strands, then tied half of it back. He observed his features with a pensive look in his bright eye, he was all sharp edges and marred skin. Imperfect, underserving. so unlike you.

He raised the blue sapphire to his eye socket, and secured his eyepatch over it with a grimace at the small spasms it caused around the scar. Aemond's mind drifted to the conversation he had with his mother just yesterday, and with the thought of it, he could already feel his heart in his throat. After learning of the betrothal, the Prince had yet to see you, and he's unsure if he's dreading it or eagerly awaiting it.

Because you were… his, now. You were his. And he was yours. And between that, and the lingering pain of all your years apart, Aemond didn't know how to feel—or how to process all that he was feeling. Things felt overly raw and fragile.

Yet despite all his doubts and uncertainties, the One-Eyed Prince felt an overwhelming urge to do right by you.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Aemond walked the hallways of the Red Keep, posture straight and a serious expression on his features. The Keep seemed to have just woken up as well, everything remained fairly quiet as hazy sunlight peeked through the windows. Lords, ladies, maids, and knights slowly filled the halls as Aemond made his way to have breakfast with his mother and siblings.

The Prince had always had an attentive ear, choosing to observe silently, rather than actively interact. He passed by two maids who seemed to be deep in gossip, and slowed his pace.

"Princess Rhaenyra has given birth just this dawn." Aemond heard one of the maids hushedly say. "It's a girl!"

Before he could hear more, however, one of the maids noticed him and promptly stood straighter, hands clasped behind her back; the other soon mimicked the behavior. "My Prince." The young girl bowed her head. "Good morrow."

Aemond hummed at the curtsy, grating her a gentle nod in turn, and continuing with his path.

So his half-sister has brought another child into the world. He thought briefly—bitterly—about how much his father would be pleased with the news, undoubtedly far more than he ever was when Aemond himself was born.

Even if the bright sunlight bothered his good eye and consequently his growing headache, Aemond chose to walk through the gardens, relishing in the fresh air, unclogged by the high stone walls of the Keep. Minding his steps so he wouldn't trip on his own feet because of the lingering pain in his skull, he crossed paths with three ladies drinking their morning tea by the shadow of a weirwood tree; and as one of them spoke, the Prince halted his walking.

"Have you heard? There's talk that the Second Prince of the realm has finally been betrothed."

It ate at his insides that futile gossip got to him so much, but Aemond couldn't help the clench of his fists and the quickening of his heartbeat at the mention of the rather… delicate matter involving himself. Begrudgingly, the Prince stood on the other side of the huge tree trunk, away from the ladies' line of sight yet well within earshot of their conversation.

"Prince Aemond, you mean?" Another of them asked. "And whoever is to be his unfortunate lady wife?"

"Yes. From what I heard from the maids it is to be the daughter of Prince Daemon." She then confirmed, her tone quieter yet no less enthused to share the rumors. "The eldest."

"Oh the poor girl, she seems such a nice young lady, not at all fitted for the offputting company of the second Prince, if you ask me."

It shouldn't get to him, Aemond knew it. He knew better than to pay any mind to lesser ladies' opinions. He was no stranger to the comments bouncing back and forth between them each time he so much as entered a room—many called him fearsome, many called him calloused, sometimes they say he's bad company without ever having spoken a single word to him; and many others simply find him unbecoming, too damaged, unbefitting for a Prince of the realm who should exude perfection.

It shouldn't get to him, but it did anyway. Aemond clenched his jaw and hurried away from the gardens. His own mind did a good enough job of reminding him you deserved better, he didn't need the words of others on top of it—he had half a mind to order their banishment from court, just because he could.

The Prince remained trapped in his thoughts, slowly yet steadily sinking deeper into unkind truths he told himself. So lost, in fact, that he missed the faint sound of your voice coming closer and closer to him.

Aemond turned a corner, with rushed steps, and it was only by his quick reflexes that he kept himself from bumping face-first into you and his sister. With a small gasp past his lips, Aemond took a big step back, his wide eye betraying his usual stoic demeanor.

Helaena stood with her arm linked around yours, both of you also having stopped just short of colliding with the Prince. His sister had one of her hands above her heart, as a small yet sincere laugh escaped her; "Gods, brother, you scared us."

Aemond barely heard her words, as his eye couldn't stray away from you.

You clutched at Helaena's arm tightly, a grip that seemed to grow tighter as the seconds trickled by. Your eyes were big and beautiful under the morning light, and your mouth opened and closed several times before you found your voice. "Aemon- My Prince," you stumbled, before bowing your head altogether.

"My apologies," Aemond eventually said, quieter than he intended to. He cleared his throat, also suddenly having trouble finding his voice, "I hadn't seen you."

Helaena's attentive eyes were quick to dart between you and her brother, amusement glinting within her look. "What coincidence, we had just been talking about you, brother."

Aemond raised a curious brow, standing straighter with a small pout on his lips.

"Were not," you almost hissed, snapping your head to Helaena with sharp eyes. "We," you stole a glance at Aemond, gaze softening, "were not."

A low hum came from the Prince. Before he could inquire, however, his sister spoke again.

"Well, I should really be getting the twins ready for their lessons by now." Her free hand came up to squeeze yours that still held her arm. "So I'll leave you two be." Helaena turned to Aemond, "I'll see you at breakfast, brother."

"No, don't-" You tried whispering, but Helaena had already weaseled out of your grasp and continued on her way down the hallway.

Alone with you, Aemond felt his palms become slick with perspiration. The silence lingered heavy and awkward, and the Prince watched as you all but curled in on yourself, refusing to look up at him.

With his heart in his mouth, Aemond spoke your name, in such a soft manner that he even surprised himself with. Oh, it had been ever so long since he dared to utter your name, to you, just like this—he had missed the sweet taste of it on his lips.

It was enough to prompt your eyes up again, and the look within them made Aemond's knees weak—they were all big and vulnerable, a pool of dark engulfed by the blown pupils. Your lips were parted, and Aemond felt the overwhelming urge to trace their shape with his thumb.

"I…" He hesitated, almost afraid. "I trust you're already aware of our parents' agreement?" The uncertain tone of his voice was foreign to him.

You gulped, glancing away and then back, before hugging yourself and subconsciously creating a small barrier between the both of you. "Yes, I am."

The Prince could only nod, your obvious distance and reluctance at his presence tugged painfully at his heartstrings as he was constantly reminded of his lonesome years after you left his side. "It was not… of my doing," Aemond spoke carefully, "I thought, perhaps you should know."

You regarded him with a gaze he couldn't decipher, biting at the edge of your lip as your nails dug into the sleeve covering your forearm. "I know," You told him, voice lacking emotion despite your eyes. "It wasn't- It wasn't mine, either."

Aemond held a pause, unsure of what else to say but not yet wanting to leave your presence. He gestured forward a little reluctantly, inviting you to walk with him. And when you did so, he briefly raised a hand to the small of your back, before reigning in his impulses.

Many steps were taken in tense silence, with a few curious glances from maids and lords alike being thrown your way. Your shoulder brushed Aemond's as you walked. "Did the news of our-" Your tongue got tied at the thought of the word, and you took a steadying breath. "Does it bother you, my Prince?"

His eye chanced a look at you. Aemond clasped his hands behind his back out of habit. "No. As a Prince of the realm, I know what’s expected of me and I will perform my duty." The words fell past his lips as if he'd rehearsed them several times in front of a mirror, yet Aemond felt a pit form in his stomach when he noticed the way you blinked at them, with a frown on your brows and lips. He almost reconsidered before speaking again, "Mother wishes for peace, and if she thinks this will grant it, then…"

"Right," you breathed. "Of course. Our families will be one again…" Pointedly looking away from him, you added, a quiet afterthought; "That is all that matters."

Aemond couldn't shake how much your aloof demeanor bothered him, how much it confused him. An apology lingered on his tongue, even if he wasn't sure what he'd be apologizing for. "And does it… bother you, my Lady?" The Prince chose to ask instead, regardless of how much he feared the answer.

You closed your eyes and shook your head, halting your steps and taking a sudden hold of Aemond's forearm. He turned to you at the feeling of your touch and his heart nearly leaped out of his chest.

"Aemond, I-" You uttered, fighting to keep your voice from sounding as soft as you felt when with him. Your hand slowly drifted down to Aemond's wrist, and then to his fingers, which timidly curled around yours out of pure instinct—something stronger than both of you that remained burned within your hearts.

The feeling of your soft skin against his forced Aemond to bite back a gasp, his face warmed up and he clenched his jaw when the pain behind his eyepatch became just a little sharper—and yet he could barely register it, for all he could feel was you.

You took half a step closer, and Aemond held his breath. "I just wish we-"

An abrupt call of your name robbed the small moment and cut off your words. It caught your and the Prince's attention, forcing you to return to a respectable distance from each other, hands untangling.

"Forgive me, my Lady." A knight of the King's Guard gave a curt curtsy to you. "My Prince." And to Aemond, before returning his gaze back to you. "But Princess Rhaenyra is requesting your presence in her chambers."

"Uh-" You stammered, slowly bringing yourself back from the daze Aemond had gotten you in oh so quickly. "Right now?"

"She asked that I'd come straight to fetch you, yes." The knight informed with a curt nod.

"Alright," you mumbled more to yourself than anything else, your hands fidgeting with each other. "I… shall see you later then," you averted your eyes to Aemond, taking in how the sunlight fell around him like a halo, how his eyebrows had the softest crease to them that you wished to reach up and smooth away, how the apples of his cheeks matched the faint pink of his lips. "My Prince." You finished with a breath.

Aemond held your gaze for a beat, his mouth parted; before simply closing his eye and gently angling his chin down.

You moved away from him despite not quite wanting to, and followed the knight.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

The knight escorted you to Rhaenyra's room, and as you made your way through the hallways of the Red Keep, you could feel your fingers still tingling with the ghosts of what was left of Aemond's touch, the feeling of him—overwhelming, all-consuming. Only a single touch. That's how much you'd missed him.

Upon reaching her door, you slightly shook your head to clear your mind, and the knight pushed it open for you.

Right away, as you walked in, you were able to hear the gentle crying of a babe. The balcony doors were ajar, allowing for the morning sunlight and breeze to seep in, making the thin curtains flow. Rhaenyra sat on a comfortable armchair, with your father kneeling beside her, and in the Princess' arm she held her newborn child.

A soft 'oh' escaped you in a breath as you stood in the middle of the room. It was enough to catch their attention, both adorning easy smiles when they looked at you.

"Sweet girl," Rhaenyra greeted kindly, "Come here, we want you to meet your new sister." she smiled down at the baby in her arms. Her eyes were a little sunken and she had beads of sweat on her forehead—undoubtedly tired after what you could only assume had been a difficult labor—but otherwise the Princess looked as radiant as ever.

Your father did much the same, beckoning you over with a gesture of his hand. So you walked up to them, carefully dropping to your knees beside Daemon so you could be at eye-level with the newborn. Rhaenyra pushed down the soft fabric she wrapped around her baby, revealing a serene little face, with eyes closed and thin hair as white as the clouds on a sunny day.

"Hi," you whispered, biting down on your lower lip in a futile attempt to hold the big smile stretching your lips. Reaching over, you allowed your young half-sister to wrap one of her small hands around your finger. "What's her name?"

"Visenya," Rhaenyra spoke rather proudly, turning her gaze to you.

"A special name, for a special girl."

Peaceful silence engulfed the room for a moment, and you felt warmth blooming in your chest for the family you had been so lucky to have, to be welcomed into.

"Thank you, sweet girl." Rhaenyra eventually expressed, one of her hands caressing her babe's head, yet her eyes remained on you.

You hummed curiously, glancing up to meet her gaze. You felt your father squeezing your shoulder from beside you.

"For agreeing with the betrothal." The Princess clarified, a sympathetic smile playing on her lips. "I know it is none girl's wish to be given these kinds of news, so I thank you. There is a hope for peace in this union."

Blood pumped faster through your veins at the mention of your betrothal to Aemond, you could feel it in the way your chest constricted. "Yes, of course," you breathed, "I understand my duty."

Rhaenyra's smile grew wider with affection, her eyes squinting because of it. Her free hand reached to squeeze your arm in a gentle manner. "My sweet girl."

Perhaps until now, you had never entirely understood just how much Rhaenyra had come to see you as a daughter of hers, too.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Aemond walked into the spacious room that housed the long wooden table, now illuminated by sunlight coming through the tall windows rather than torches and candles. Meals where the whole family was present weren't overly common, at least they didn't use to be; but ever since Viserys had fallen more gravely ill, his mother has been making an effort.

"Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Aegon called as Aemond took his seat beside him. The eldest of the brothers already nursing a cup of wine, which he pointedly tilted away from Alicent in hopes she wouldn't notice.

Aemond hummed at his brother's words, not in the mood for his jesting. He turned to his mother instead, with a gentle; "Good morrow, mother."

"Good morrow, my son," Alicent took a moment to eye the young Prince, fidgeting with the fork in her hands. "Did you have a good night's rest?" She inquired then, her worry escaping her.

In an instant, Aemond knew she'd already skillfully picked up on his barely squinted eye and strained jaw—telltales of his attempts at ignoring the pulsing pain surrounding his scar. "I did, mother." He tried convincing.

Alicent pursed her lips, perhaps not entirely convinced, but didn't inquire further.

They ate their meals in silence for a while, Aemond mostly pushing his food around his plate as the thought of filling his stomach made him partially nauseous today. Until Alicent spoke again.

"I heard from the maesters that Rhaenyra's baby was born healthy," she commented casually, "A girl."

"Not a bastard then?" Aegon asked through a mouthful.

"Aegon!" Their mother was quick to snap, "I will not tolerate such talks anymore, not when we've just reunited again." She huffed, then cast a glance at her second son; "Thanks to your brother," and back to her first, "Do not be the one to ruin it."

The first Prince pouted, bowing his head and looking up as a scolded puppy would. He picked at the bunch of grapes in his hands and mumbled an apology.

"It is lovely that you will marry, brother." Helaena decided to speak then, turning to Aemond with barely concealed joyfulness in her voice, "And such a good friend of ours too." Aemond didn't need to look at her to hear the smile in her words.

"I was telling her just earlier this morning how pleased I was that she won't be leaving us anymore." Helaena finished, recalling her conversation with you with a warm heart.

Aemond gulped at the mere mention of you leaving his side again. His finger tapped the wooden table. He hesitated in his response, lips hovering for a moment, "Yes… her company will be… welcomed."

"Come now, brother," Aegon popped a grape into his mouth without losing his smirk, "Don't sulk. Look who you'll be marrying." He pushed at his brother's shoulder playfully, wiggling his brows even if Aemond wasn't looking at him, "She's quite something, if you ask me."

Fire burned within Aemond's eye then, he clenched his fists on top of the table, barely concealing his growing anger only for the sake of his mother. He averted his gaze to his older brother, voice low, "Careful how you speak of my-"

"Your what?" The first Prince took advantage of his brother's tied tongue, leaning in closer as his taunting smile only grew bigger. "Come on, admit it, you love calling her yours."

Before Aemond could jump at his brother's throat, Alicent intervened; "Boys, that's enough," she spoke with a sigh, not wanting squabbles this early in the morning. "Aemond, have you had a chance to speak with her already?" She took a sip of her steaming tea, "Rhaenyra had been unsure of how she'd react to the betrothal."

"We spoke, briefly. She seems…" Aemond held a pause, thinking back to your encounter from just minutes before and how distant you seemed—as if slipping from between his fingers while standing right beside him. He gulped down the growing emotions. "She understands our duty to the realm."

His mother noticed his solemn tone, her small smile turning sympathetic. "I'm sure she'll come around. The two of you have always been close."

You were, but that had been before—Aemond couldn't help but think—before years spent apart from each other, now left with bleeding hearts who longed for each other, yet couldn't find a path to meet.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

The gentle flap of wings could be heard near one of the highest mountain tops near King's Landing. Khamira and Moondancer flew in the skies, playing together and enjoying the calm afternoon; yet never straying too far from their riders, who sat on the rocky overlook of the mountain.

The view was a splendid one, rising way above any tree or building, allowing the eyes to marvel for miles and miles ahead.

"How did you feel…" You began, a timidness to your tone as you kept your eyes on the moving silhouette of your dragon as she danced in the skies. "When you learned of your betrothal with Jace?"

Baela hummed from beside you, casting a glance your way before following your gaze to your dragons. "I was pleased. He's a good person, a kind boy. We get along." She decided, not an ounce of doubt in her words.

You worried your lip between your teeth, eyes turning downcast to your hands. And your silence was enough confirmation for your low mood that Baela had been picking up on ever since you left the dragonpit together. "You and Aemond are friends as well," She pointed out, as if obvious, "Shouldn't you be feeling the same?"

Your heart skipped a beat inside your tight chest. "We were friends once, yes. Now… I am not sure what we are." You frowned, feeling your stomach churn. "I uh- I think he blames me for our time apart, and I… don't blame him for feeling that way." You chanced a glance at Baela beside you, before looking back at the skies, running your tongue over your dry lips. The cold wind made your hair flow, and carried your words like a breath; "I think I blame me, too."

Baela took hold of your arm, squeezing it in an attempt at comfort. "It's not like you had much choice, father would never let you come to the capital alone."

"Yeah, I know." You agreed, before taking in a long breath and holding it in your lungs for a moment, "But sometimes it feels like there's an ocean between me and Aemond still."

Your sister pondered over your words, a small pout to her lips. She shrugged, "He's always been difficult, you know that." She met your pleading eyes with a raised brow, "And yet you were always the only one he ever allowed close."

Heat rose to your cheeks as she spoke, and you fought a smile when thinking of the memories of a young Aemond who only ever sought out your company, dismissing any and all others with a scowl and a roll of his eyes—yet he'd brighten up and become all flushed and bashful whenever you called his name, his eyes softening with adoration.

"He'll come around," Baela assured, and the corners of her lips lifted with a teasing grin, "I still see him looking at you the same way he did when we were kids."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

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Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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[n0tamused]

Hello!! Can I request some hcs for Jiyan, Calcharo,Aalto and Scar with blind s/o?

A/n: Sorry for making you wait for so long, but I hope you like this! Did this as a bit of a warm up, hopefully I'll have more writing done soon <3

Contents: Jiyan/Calcharo/Aalto/Scar x gn reader (separate), fluff, Aalto and Scar are up to shenanigans

Blind s/o headcanons

Jiyan:

-As an absent lover, seeing how he is always at the front lines, he does think of you a lot. Even with the knowledge and memory that he has made your shared home a easily manageable environment for you, and with his mother not too far off paying you visits every now and then, he still worries. What if something breaks and you step on shattered pieces? What if you twist your ankle in some hole he forgot to patch up? What if something happens to you and no one is around?

-Jiyan has worked alongside you in making the home environment easy to remember and easy to maneuver, and he rarely ever changes the order of  things so you don’t accidentally hurt yourself. He does notify you if he does something like move the couch or some chair or  a vase.

-All the pots and jars and bottles are labeled in braille, so you can never miss one ingredient or liquid for another. Although when he is around he does try to do everything for you, no matter how small the act is.

-He has plenty on his mind as it is but he can never get his thoughts away from you. He looks forward to seeing you again, all the time

-When he is back home he is always nearby, you can practically feel him before you hear him coming close, his arms wrapping around your waist and his chest pressing against your back as he softly greets you, asking how you’re feeling

-At night, it has become a routine of sorts for you to just map his face with your fingers. The soft pads of your fingers finding the arch of his brows, sliding down his nose and over his soft cheeks, slowly finding their way down to his lips, his breath tickling your knuckles but he remains still and remains patient. He lets you do as you please, all while taking the same time to admire you and the way the lines of your face pull and tug as you take in his features

-Sometimes you scratch lightly at the scales on his cheek and he only tilts his head away, chuckling at you

Calcharo:

-Similarly to Jiyan, Caclharo isn’t often at home or around you, and even less so considering he is the individual he is. He’d not ever risk your safety just to squeeze in some “lovey dovey” time. He loves you, but not that much to disregard everything else

-With so many of his spies working for him that have made the one shell credit deal with him, he does take some aside and gives them the task to keep an eye on you. These people know better than to disobey this, not that they would in the first place considering Calcharo has helped them for the price most would consider cheap in this field of work.

-So you’d often get visitors introducing themselves as friends of your partner, or colleagues, or simply just as a mailman, bringing you food or gifts. You have come to befriend a particular food stall lady that lives only a few minutes of walking from your home. She brings you your favorite snack without a fail, always, no matter the weather or time. She tells you of the people she meets and serves, the children and even the birds and dogs that come sniffing around her stall

-She makes it a task to clean up too, so there’s not a lot of times where you have to do much

-This leaves for a lot of boredom, and however sweet this notion of being protected by these people was, you did not crave them, you felt like you didn’t need them either - you wanted your beloved.

-One night when he did return to visit you, he found all lights off, which wasn’t unusual but he had believed you went to sleep only to nearly go into fight mode when he found you only now preparing for bed. Light was not of significance to you, so you were just wandering in the darkness. That could be the only time you gave Calcharo a real fright

-He is very quiet himself, and for a man of his size and stature that can come off as quite the surprise when he suddenly appears at your side, asking you in that soft rasp of his to take the plate from you so he can scoop some food into it for you.

-To make up for his soft footing, he does try to talk more to you, or just make some more sound in general. Often you’ll hear soft grunts or huffs when you’re about to bump into something or when he’s around you when you’re walking about the home. 

-However odd it is, you found that his hand was always close by when you needed him. You only need to move your hand out in front of you, and almost instantly you’ll feel his warm fingers twinning between yours or taking your hand by the fingers gently to lead you to him. 

-It took some time for him to get used to have his face touched by you, and a lot of times he only allows it for a short amount of time as he gets uncomfortable if it stretches on, but slowly he began to melt into it. 

-He’d sit on the couch beside you and watch how you feel around with your hand, climbing into his lap to greet him as you take his face into your palms. And slowly you’d kiss his forehead and cheeks, having missed him far too much for your heart to handle another moment without him

-He sighs softly, and you don’t have to see to know how exhausted he is too. He is closing his eyes, tilting his head into one of your palms and nuzzling against it, his breath fanning across your skin as he sinks further into the couch 

Aalto:

-He’s a tease. Aalto is a tease in most of his endeavors, but he is specific when it comes to you. Depending on how you lost your vision, be it natural or through some illness or even a freak accident, he does crack a few jokes to make light of it. He puts himself in your shoes, imagining he’s blind and he just can’t see anything good about it, so he does what he knows will make you smile

-He speaks a lot more softly to you and he is very descriptive when explaining anything. He loves the times when the two of you just sit down, your legs in his lap as he talks away about whatever interests you. He’d be massaging your legs or feet, finding that motion relaxing for himself as well, while being relaxing for you too. He also does try to make conversations engaging as well if he sees you have the energy for it, since he doesn’t like making your conversations just mere monologue on his end

-For a dangerous individual as himself, honestly he makes a lot of time for you. At one point you had to question whether he was ditching his job for you, but he assures you he is not neglecting his duty. On that topic, while he does often visit you, from time to time he is sent on longer missions that have him absent from your company for a week or two at most, depending on where they send him. 

-During this time, you find your side occupied by someone else. Aalto, however easy going he may seem, is just as worries as the other two on this list, and he does not come to trust people easy. His charming demeanor can often be a simple front put up to give strangers wrong impressions, which he can later use to his advantage. With that  said, he does leave the same person he trusts to be with you while he is away.

-Little Encore often visits too, sometimes alone and sometimes with this caregiver or Aalto. She brings Aalto’s letters and gifts to you, and reads the letters out. You are unsure why Aalto bothers so much with letters considering he can record and send a message to you, or even call you, but you guess it’s some technicality while he’s on the field, or he just wants to woo you again in this traditional style 

-Either way, you don’t mind, it is always heartwarming to feel someone’s love in different ways

-Sometimes he does change the order in your home just to get your reaction though and then asks you “How could you have not seen it?”

-.......

-Don’t worry though, it’s never something that would pose a health risk of any kind. Although he did once switch your sugar and salt-

-He took a sip of your drink to show his greatest sympathies for you, and you had to chuckle when you heard him sputter and curse the drink

-Doesn’t shut up when you trace his face or figure. He is a bit sensitive, so it is a shocker to him when you do put your hands on his waist or on his cheeks, but he doesn’t let it affect his tongue. He yaps okay.

-Loves it a lot though. If you happen to do it late into the night when he’s tired and there’s nothing else but the two of you, he’d become sappy as well, one warm palm settled on the side of your face as he describes what he sees and how lovely you are, how beautiful, how much you mean to him.

-Sometimes he claims these never happened just to poke fun at you “for dreaming about him”

Scar:

-If you think Aalto was bad in any regard, you haven’t seen this goat-

-For one he is a yapper. He does not shut up, so at the very least you will not have any trouble finding him around , unless he goes quiet on purpose just so you can’t find him. Two - he loves to tease and poke fun at you here and there, but in his own way, this is how he shows he cares. He really doesn’t pay much attention to people he doesn’t care for or doesn’t know, he only gives his attention to people and things he does want and care for

-So the fact he is at your side a lot, does speak of his own priorities

-He’d often come back to you, throwing his arms around you from behind and resting his had on your shoulder as he starts to talk about one thing or the other, his weight weighing on you as well, but it is the comfort of it that keeps you from shrugging it off

-Scar does love to watch you simply do things. As he is not blind, he can’t really relate to your struggle, he just knows he’d hate it if he lost his own sight. To him, it is some miracle how you are still going about as anyone else would, well..  as best as you can without seeing things. 

-You’d often ask him about ingredients in jars that you found a little too suspicious to taste yourself, and when it comes to that he is pretty honest. He replies too fast for a jab to make itself known in his mind. 

-If you’re out walking, Scar makes it a point to have his hand on your somehow, either holding your hand or keeping his hand on your shoulder or arm or back. If he lets go and goes quiet, you know he’s being playful and wants you to search for him

-However annoying he can be at times with jokes and games such as these, he still wouldn’t set you in the midst of danger. He doesn’t play where it is not safe. So you can rest assured you won’t be finding any tacet discords while looking for him.

-Lets you hold onto his clothes or those dangling bits on his outfit, and you can joke around that you’re walking him like a dog and he’d scoff, laugh or bark. He finds it just as amusing as you do 

-When he is tired he comes to you on his own and pulls your hands onto his face. He lays in your lap, reveling in the soft feel of your fingers over his face, feeling the subtle change in skin textures in places he has scars. You take it all in, and it doesn’t matter if it’s the first or the hundredth time you do this, you take it slowly all the time, feeling his head grow heavy in your lap.

-Sometimes, during the day or when he’s simply awake and full of energy, he’d take your hand or tell you to touch his face just so he can nip at your fingers

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[pastelitey]

Solidaritek: Rain Check

Rainy days are perfect for staying inside and catching up on some much needed housework, at least in Jimmy’s book. So despite the gloomy weather, things are looking sunny side-up for them—that is, until Tango winds up sick, and is officially down and out for the count. But Jimmy can still clean, run errands and take care of his sick boyfriend all at the same time, right? Right? word count: 3753 paring: Jimmy/Tango tags: Sickfic, Domestic Fluff, Rainy Days, Sleepy Cuddles [ao3 link]

Jimmy, ever the optimist, has lots of plans for the weekend. The gloomy forecast has done nothing to damper his mood, seeing as most of his plans actively involve staying indoors. Despite having officially moved in with Tango nearly two months ago, the apartment is still a mess with all of their things that have yet to be organized. And it doesn’t help that they’ve seriously neglected chores because of their respectively busy schedules, so there is some much needed housekeeping Jimmy is decidedly finally cracking down on.

Suffice it to say, Jimmy’s got a lot on his plate for this weekend, and he’s not going to let anything stop him from getting some work done.

That is until Tango gets sick out of nowhere and the equivalent of twenty toolboxes’ worth of wrenches are thrown into Jimmy’s plans.

Jimmy swears that he’s never seen anyone get as sick so spontaneously as Tango manages to. Sure, he’s used to the occasional allergy spell or stomach bug knocking him or a friend out for a day or two, but when Tango gets sick—even if it’s the mildest little cough—it always ends up spiraling into him having to be on bedrest for a week. Maybe the guy’s just got an awful immune system, but Jimmy’s not sure that even Tango knows why he gets sick so easily.

With the shift in seasons approaching as March slowly droned by, they were both preparing for Tango to come down with something eventually. Knowing Jimmy’s luck, he should have expected that it would happen just as he was planning on actually being productive.

Saturday morning goes a little like this: waking up to both his alarm going off and the sound of rain falling outside the window. He shuts it off as quickly as possible in lieu of not waking Tango, who is currently swaddled under pretty much every single blanket that they own. Jimmy wipes the sleep from his eyes as he warily watches the blob on the other side of the bed, and though the blankets do shift a little, it appears as if Jimmy was successful in not waking his sleeping boyfriend.

He slips out of bed and stretches out his aching joints before shuffling over to the window to peek through the blinds. The fluffy clouds hide the rising sun from view and the rain patters gently and rhythmically on the concrete a few floors below, kicking up a mist that shrouds the view. It’s pretty peaceful watching the rain from the window, but he’s acutely aware of how he very much would like to not get caught outside in this weather if he can help it.

After he’s shucked off his pajamas in favor of some more appropriate clothes for the day, he finally sets about getting some stuff done. Even if Tango’s unable to help, Jimmy’s still determined to be productive around the apartment as best he can.

He begins by taking out the trash by Tango’s bedside and replacing the liner, making sure to work as quietly as possible. He replaces the trash liner in the kitchen as well and leaves the bags by the front door for later disposal. The kitchen itself definitely needs some TLC, so before he can start on breakfast he works on tidying up. He wipes down the countertops and puts all the left out boxes and jars back in their respective homes, and even does a little bit of organizing in the cupboards and fridge while he’s at it. Jimmy cringes when he sees all the dishes he’s let pile up in the sink and wonders how they haven’t started smelling yet. So he loads the dishwasher next and puts away what clean dishes have been left out, and by the time he’s done with that it’s only been thirty minutes since his alarm went off, which feels like a success, if you ask him.

After cleaning off the table and sweeping the tile Jimmy decides it’s sufficiently clean enough for him to shift his focus to the matter of breakfast without feeling guilty. After surveying the meager contents of the fridge—all the while mentally adding grocery shopping to his ever-growing to-do list—he begins scrounging together the ingredients for omelets. As much as Tango loves pancakes, Jimmy just made some for him last night, and he can only have so many of the fluffy cakes before it starts getting repetitive.

As he’s letting the stovetop warm up while mixing together all the ingredients, the bedroom door creaks open—which quickly adds oil the door hinges to his list. Craning his neck, he gets a good look at Tango, swaddled up in blankets and looking for all the world like a bear reluctant to come out of hibernation, as the man waddles into the kitchen. He’d never say it aloud as it would surely only agitate him further, but Jimmy does find it kinda cute when Tango’s nose and cheeks are red like they are now.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Jimmy asks, ensuring to keep his tone down. He pours the first round of eggs into the skillet, one eye on the stovetop and the other on his sleep-hazy boyfriend.

Tango shakes his head, agitating his sleep-mussed hair even further. “Nah,” he says groggily, his words rough around the edges thanks to the sickness. Jimmy gives him a little sympathetic smile before turning back to the task at hand.

Wandering up behind him, Tango wraps his arms around Jimmy’s midsection and leans up against him. Jimmy huffs affectionately as Tango nuzzles into him, slowing his movements reflexively. “Have you taken your temperature this morning?” he asks while he carefully folds the omelet in the skillet.

“Don’ wanna,” comes Tango’s muffled reply. Jimmy rolls his eyes, leaning awkwardly in Tango’s grip to grab a plate to put the omelet on.

“Might wanna get on that.” He presents Tango with the omelet, who eyes it hungrily. The arms slip away from Jimmy’s sides to support the plate and Tango toddles off to the island, the length of the blanket suspended around his shoulders flapping the whole way. Once Tango is successfully situated at the newly cleaned island, Jimmy begins to work on his own omelet.

“Will you pass me the hot sauce?” Tango asks after Jimmy’s poured his eggs into the skillet, making grabby motions towards the countertop that the condiments are situated on.

Jimmy narrows his gaze incredulously at Tango. “The spice isn’t good for your throat, Tango.”

Tango grumbles in response, making puppy-dog eyes at Jimmy. “But I want to actually taste it, Jim!”

“Not today, sorry.” He steps over to the island and slides the salt and pepper shakers closer to Tango with a grin. Tango makes a big show of sighing loftily before accepting the salt and pepper shakers, much to his own chagrin.

While the majority of his to-do list for the day involves tidying up, the very first item on the agenda is to take care of Tango, because who doesn’t appreciate being looked after while they’re sick?

When Jimmy’s omelet is done he slides it across the island to the other stool and then makes a beeline for the bathroom, where he rummages around in the drawers for the thermometer. He emerges triumphant and sets the thermometer down in front of the perturbed Tango, before planting an affectionate kiss on top of the man’s head.

“We need to work on keeping your fever down,” Jimmy says as he sits beside Tango, equipping his utensils to dig into his own breakfast. “Which means a lot more fluids and a lot less blankets.”

Tango huffs out a little whine as he removes the protective covering of the thermometer. “But it’s so cold…”

Before Tango can protest, Jimmy reaches over and plants his palm over Tango’s forehead. Tango makes a noise of discordance, but does not try to evade Jimmy’s touch. He’s not as warm as he was yesterday when the sickness began to ramp up, but the unnatural warmth is still definitely there.

“Still warm.” He pats the thermometer a couple times encouragingly, meeting Tango’s unimpressed look with a zany smile.

When breakfast is had and Tango’s temperature has finally been taken—lower from yesterday, but still higher than Jimmy would prefer—Jimmy is able to get back to tidying up the apartment. The dishes are minimal from breakfast, and Tango even volunteers to put the silverware away. He instructs Tango to drink some water before he runs the trash down the hall to the chute, and when he returns Tango has situated himself on the couch.

“We should watch a movie,” Tango says, remote in hand as he scrubs through the available channels.

“You can turn one on.” Jimmy cringes as he steps across the threshold into the living room, just now noticing how dirty the coffee table is and how he can’t seem to escape doing the dishes this morning. He uses one arm to scoop up the left-out cups and the other to pull one of Tango’s blankets off of him, much to the man’s protest. 

It’s a juggle of sorting through their yet-to-be organized boxes of things and checking up on Tango—who is more than content to lay on the couch watching his favorite 80s movies, repeating his favorite lines that he has memorized by heart, all the while poking little jabs at Jimmy when he can. It’s endearing in a way that Jimmy doesn’t shy away from.

By the time Jimmy feels like he’s done enough to be able to vacuum, Tango has paused his movie so he doesn’t miss anything important; the irony of ‘missing something’ in a movie he’s seen countless times does not go unmissed by Jimmy.

As he works his way around the living room, attempting to be both quick and thorough at the same time, he makes sure to voice his apologies to Tango. “Sorry,” he says when he vacuums right behind the couch, leaning over it and using one arm to move Tango’s wrist upwards so that he can kiss his palm. “Sorry,” he says right before pecking Tango on the forehead as he shuffles between the couch and the coffee table. “Sorry,” he says when he finally turns the vacuum off, stepping over and leaning down to press a kiss against the corner of Tango’s mouth.

But before he can, Tango makes a noise of protest and gently pushes him on his chest. “I’m going to get you sick,” he half-laughs out, but the smile on his face gives him away. 

“Hm,” Jimmy says contemplatively, unable to deny himself the pleasure of mirroring Tango’s own smile, “Don’t really care.” He settles for a kiss against Tango’s cheek instead, which thankfully comes with less protest from his boyfriend.

“Well you’re gonna care when you end up on the other side of this couch sick with me.” Tango looks up at Jimmy with this indescribable sparkle in his eyes, one that makes Jimmy feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

Jimmy stands up tall and pretends to flex, getting a kick out of the way Tango rolls his eyes. “I’ve got a strong immune system!” He says, even as Tango’s wacking him in the side with one of the throw pillows, the both of them giggling the whole way.

Ten or so minutes later Tango’s phone rings, alerting them that his prescription is ready. So Jimmy’s plans for the day are once more offset as he realizes he is going to have to go out in the rain after all, which still hasn’t let up from this morning.

Shucking on his rain coat and the pair of sneakers he’s least attached to, Jimmy decides to brave the downpour. The raindrops are heavy and cold, so he zips up his coat as tight as possible. The pharmacy is at the corner store just a few blocks down, so there’s no use driving. Considering his luck, he’s not surprised that he has to wait at every single crosswalk, but he’s still dry-ish when he finally makes it into the corner store.

He quickly gets sidetracked, though, when he passes down the canned foods aisle and gets an idea.

“Gem!” he greets when his friend’s face appears on his phone screen, only the top portion of her face visible from this angle. “Quick, what’s the best type of soup for someone who’s ill?”

“Hello to you, too, Jimmy,” says Gem with a little tired laugh. “Are you ill? You don’t look ill.” She squints into the camera lens, which only makes her look sillier given the way her phone screen reflects in the lenses of her glasses.

Jimmy lets out a small laugh, squatting down to survey all his options. “No, not me, Tango.”

Gem backs away from her phone screen, wincing. “Yeesh. Good luck with that.”

“I’m working on it. Now, soup?”

“Ah, yes!” Almost immediately her expression sours. “Wait, why are you asking me this? Pearl is the soup expert!” Before Jimmy can stop her, Gem tilts her head over what looks to be the top of her couch, and shouts, “Pearl! Can you come here?”

Seconds later Pearl appears in frame, the screen now divided between the both of them. “What’s up, Jimmy?” Pearl says in greeting as she spots him on the other side of the facetime call.

“He needs soup advice,” Gem explains to her roommate, all the while adjusting the positioning of the glasses on her face.

The gasp that erupts from Pearl is nothing short of overjoyed. “You need soup advice? I got soup advice! So much soup advice!”

What was supposed to be a quick facetime turns into a soup hunt extravaganza as the three of them work out which soup has the best flavor to medicinal value ratio, while still keeping in mind cost and size of the soup can. They end up settling for a creamy chicken noodle soup, which is probably what Jimmy would have gone with from the get-go, but he doesn’t mind using the excuse to talk to his friends on a gloomy day when bad weather and long-neglected chores keeps them apart.

Gem and Pearl accompany him to the pharmacy counter and wait with him while he gets Tango’s meds, and they say their goodbyes when Jimmy’s suiting up to brave the rain once more. Luckily the weather has let up a little bit to the point of a drizzle, but that doesn’t stop the cars on the street from whizzing by and attempting to drench him with dirty street water.

When he finally makes it back to the apartment with the prescriptions and soup in hand, the movie has ended and Tango is snoring softly on the couch. He stirs as Jimmy moves around the apartment, so when Jimmy walks over with the prescription in hand the man is awake enough to register that the pills are for him.

“Here you go!” Jimmy says, waving the prescription bag in front of him. Tango takes it from him and begins rummaging through it as Jimmy stands at the ready with a glass of ice water. “Drink up! Or, would swallow up work better in this context?”

Tango barks out a startled laugh before clapping his hand over his mouth to stifle the noise. Jimmy feels his face warm as he realizes the dirty connotations in his own words, but it seems like Tango’s getting a kick out of it, at the very least.

“Please never say that again,” Tango laughs out, sitting up so he can take the glass of water from Jimmy. He plops down beside Tango on the couch and uses the opportunity to remove his sneakers while Tango takes his meds.

“I got some soup while I was out,” Jimmy says after a moment. “I was thinking, I could draw you a bath and warm up some soup for lunch while you’re at it.” He gently nudges his shoulder against Tango’s, craving any semblance of closeness to him despite his illness.

Leaning into Jimmy, Tango buries his head in the crook of Jimmy’s neck. He gives a small dreamy sigh that Jimmy’s pretty certain is overdramatized as he slips his hand into Jimmy’s. “What did I do to deserve you?”

You deserve all this and more, Jimmy thinks. If I could snap my fingers and make you better I would, but for now I will settle for fighting your fever and making you tea.

He gets the bath going and sets out clean clothes for Tango in the meantime, and performs a quick tidy of their closet, which really only involves throwing the clothes from on the floor into the hamper. There is a half-filled basket of clean clothes from the other day that Tango has yet to fold, so he gets that done speedily and then begins heating up the soup for lunch. They’ve got a loaf of bread that is on the edge of its expiration date that he butters and adds some garlic salt to to compliment their soup, which is about when Tango finishes with his bath and emerges from the bathroom. His hair is damp and sticks to his face, but he looks a little more lively than before.

Tango hums along to the music Jimmy turned on for background noise while he cooked, and he begins gathering bowls and utensils for their lunch. Jimmy can’t help but watch from the sidelines as Tango pads around the kitchen gracefully, even as he turns away every so often to cough or sneeze into his elbow. But the sickness never really deters Jimmy, who has, in truth, always been captivated by Tango.

Wordlessly the two of them work in tandem to prepare their lunch, a well oiled machine that they’ve perfected after so many afternoons and nights spent in one another’s company. It’s at moments like these that Jimmy questions why he was ever worried about asking Tango to move in with him, when the truth of the matter is that they go perfectly together.

When their meal is ready, Tango compliments Jimmy’s choice of soup and they sit down to enjoy it. Jimmy tells Tango all about his adventure to the corner store and how Pearl and Gem assisted in his soup quest, and Tango eagerly listens the whole way. Jimmy’s noticed that when Tango is very focused on him or something he’s saying, he makes a certain facial expression, one that Jimmy just so happens to find very cute. Unfortunately for him, he’s not allowed to kiss Tango until he’s perfectly healthy to prevent Jimmy from getting sick as well, so he settles for simply relishing in the way Tango looks at him.

Halfway through their meal when conversation has lulled, Tango gently kicks Jimmy’s ankle underneath the table to get his attention and grins mischievously at him. “So I was thinking…” He begins, looking positively pleased with himself.

Jimmy raises his eyebrows playfully as he lifts a spoonful of soup to his mouth. “Mm. Dangerous.”

“Shut up!” Tango squawks, kicking Jimmy’s ankle more forcefully this time. Jimmy laughs, both at himself and Tango’s overdramatic reactions, which in turn gets Tango giggling too. He gains his composure after a few seconds and continues, “Okay, hear me out. You take a break from cleaning and running errands and just generally being amazing and watch a movie with me.” He grins at Jimmy with that insanely bright smile of his, the one that makes Jimmy want to just melt into him.

But the temptation of relaxing alongside his boyfriend brings with it an immense amount of guilt at not getting around to everything he wanted to today—there’s still groceries to be bought and door hinges to be oiled and plants to be watered and probably countless other things he hasn’t noticed that need his attention.

 He worries at his bottom lip, setting down his utensils to be able to focus more. “I dunno, Tango. It feels like there’s still so much to be done.”

Tango rolls his eyes and leans back into his chair. “Oh, come on. You deserve some rest too!” He makes a big show of looking around the apartment and waving his arms around. “And, plus, you’ve already done so much! What’s the harm in a little movie-watch-ification?”

He does make a good point, Jimmy realizes: he’s gotten a lot done already, and it’s only noon. It couldn’t hurt to unwind for an hour or two, right?

Really, it was a losing battle for Jimmy from the very beginning, because A) Tango’s ideas are nine out of ten times good ones, and B) Jimmy’s always had a hard time saying no to Tango, especially when he smiles so radiantly at him.

So, with a big show of huffing and shaking his head, Jimmy effectively throws in the towel. “Fine,” he says, which immediately makes Tango’s eyes light up, “but only one movie!”

“Can I pick the movie?” Tango asks, standing up from his seat while collecting his dirty dishes. When Jimmy nods, Tango whoops as he makes a beeline for the sink, already going off about all the classics that Jimmy has embarrassingly never seen before their relationship.

Tango is in charge of setting up the movie as Jimmy washes up—for what is now the fourth time he’s washed the dishes this morning—so when he makes it to the living room with two water glasses in hand, the movie is ready and Tango is eager waiting for him with arms outstretched. Jimmy lowers himself onto the couch beside Tango and they slot into place as Tango starts up the movie. He manages to sneak in a quick kiss against Tango’s cheek as the opening credits begin to roll and then he’s finally able to settle, lulled by the sense of safety and security that comes with being close to Tango. Even though he feels like there’s still much to be done, he reminds himself that he’s done enough for now and should be allowed to enjoy some time with his sick boyfriend during their time off.

And even if Jimmy himself winds up sick at the end of it all from not being careful around Tango illness, he won’t regret having been there for his boyfriend when he needed him; Tango will be there to take care of him in return, Jimmy is sure.

They’re perfect for each other, in that way.

[anangelwhodidntfall]

i don't know if you are taking requests but could you do something with lyle x reader where he just loves clingy to the reader meaning he constantly has her hands on her and just loves on her?

Right Here In My Arms: Lyle Wainfleet

"Could you put these on the top shelf?" You asked your 9ft boyfriend who was currently draped over you like a giant teddy bear. 

"Sure thing sweetheart." He said placing the jar on the shelf for you before wrapping his arms around you. This was a common occurrence for you to be seen with your giant boyfriend draped over you especially after missions, he was always glued to your side and loving on you any way possible.

"Hey y/n, hi lyle. Y/n before you two leave for the night can you drop these reports off for me?" Your boss asked.

"Sure thing boss." You said

"Come on my love, we've got a few reports we need to drop off because I finish for the night." You said with a smile reaching for his hand.

As you made your rounds to get the few reports passed off, your man kept his arms around you pressing a few kisses to your neck making you giggle.  Ever since he had returned from his mission last night he's been more clinger than usual but you didn't mind you knew he tell you when he was ready.

"You wanna grab some food before heading back to your room?" He asked you as you handed off your last report.

"Sure thing. I think they're serving tacos today for dinner." You said as you two began towards the cafeteria. 

 You two made your way inside the cafeteria, grabbing some trays and some food before deciding where to sit when you heard your names being called which made you turn and see some of the recoms waving you two over to them.

"Y/N! Lyle! Come sit with us!" said Zdog, Mansk, and Prager.

"No, I just wanna be with you right now.." Lyle whined as you guys walked over to the table where they were sitting at. 

After eating and talking to his friends for a bit, you two made your way back to your room where you got changed while he shut the blinds and locked your door for the night. After you got changed you climbed into bed, and then he did where he laid his head on your chest and wrapped his arms around you.

"You wanna tell me what's going on? Your clinger and quieter than normal not that I mind, But I'm also worried about you." You said lightly running your hand over his scalp. 

"We had to integrate this one na'vi couple about Jake and his family whereabout's and they wouldn't give up any information basically denying that they knew who they were well Quaritch didn't like that so he had me like gun her down and the husband nearly lost it and all I could think about at that moment was if that was you, and how I would do anything to protect you and it just made me want to hold on to you as long as I can." He said squeezing you. 

 "I know you would my love, I love you and I'm not going anywhere for a very very long time." You said pressing a kiss on his forehead. 

"Good because I'm not either, I love you y/n." He said pressing a kiss to your lips

[writeforfandoms]

Fall Into Me 6

Find the series masterlist

I promise I’m still pecking away at this one! Here, having some fun from Alejandro’s perspective this chapter. He’s a romantic at heart, I swear.

Warnings: Swearing, minor use of Spanish, Ale is romantic and also definitely winning the competition so far.

Word count: 1.2k

Alejandro was, honestly, curious to see how the current situation played out. Not that he intended to make it easy for the others - his interest was sincere. 

Which is why he showed up first thing Tuesday morning with a box. He got to the office early for this, hoping to have a chance to set things up and talk to Rose before the morning rush hit. 

There were a few people ahead of him, but he waited patiently, one eye on the clock. He got lucky - nobody came in behind him, and Rose was quick to hand out drinks.

“Alejandro!” Her smile was warm and pleased, and his own lips twitched in response to such a genuine look. “Good morning! What can I get for you today?”

“Actually, I have something for you.” Ale hefted the box a little and had the distinct pleasure of watching her cheeks go pink, eyes wide. 

“For… me?” 

“Come see.” Ale moved to the nearest table and set the box down carefully. 

Rose lifted up the partition and walked over, curiosity bright in her eyes. As soon as she could see in the box she paused, eyes going even wider. “Alejandro, you– This is so sweet!” She lifted out one of the little vases, smiling broadly. He’d picked a blue that nearly perfectly matched the wall behind the counter. The flowers were fresh - carnations today, at the recommendation of the seller. Her fingers were delicate as she touched the petals and then lifted the lot out of the box. “This is… incredibly sweet.” Her smile was nearly blinding. “Thank you, Alejandro.”

“It is my pleasure, cariño.” He helped her set up a vase at each table, and chuckled quietly when she trotted back behind the bar to get water for the flowers. 

“I always wanted flowers in here, or live plants,” she admitted, standing back to admire them. The vases left soft blue light on the tables. “I just never had the time to actually look around.”

“I am happy to help with this,” he offered softly, shifting closer to her so their arms brushed. 

She looked at him, biting her lower lip, clearly torn. He could see that she wanted it but wouldn’t let herself say yes. 

“Let me do this. Is no trouble for me to bring flowers for a beautiful woman, no?” He dipped his head a little, smiling at her. 

She blushed again, deeper this time, and dropped her gaze. But she didn’t move away. “Can I…?” She paused, licking her lips, gaze darting up to his. “Can I give you a hug?”

“You don’t need to ask.” Ale held out his arms for her. 

There was a flash of a smile before she stepped into his space, hugging him. And, oh, she was a good hugger, holding firm and tucking her head in against his chest. She was wonderfully soft under his hands, although he was very careful to keep his hands to the neutral territory of her upper back. He let go as soon as she stepped back, smiling down at her. 

“Thank you again.” She shook her head a little, looking back at the flowers. “Let me make you a drink to take upstairs with you.” 

He chuckled, turning to watch her dart back behind the counter. “You have something in mind?” 

Her smile was full of mischief when she glanced at him. “I know your tastes by now.” 

Ale blinked, caught off guard, and then chuckled softly. “I suppose you do,” he mused, watching her pour coffee for him. But she hid which syrups she added, and she added the cream herself. 

“Here you go!” She set the finished drink in front of him with a flourish. 

“Thank you, cariño.” He picked up the coffee and took a sip. There was some caramel, a bit of raspberry, the cream just right. His eyes closed briefly in bliss. “Whatever sorcery you have, this is amazing.”

Rose beamed. “Good! I can make it for you anytime you like.”

“I’ll remember that.” Alejandro smiled, sneaking a bill into the tip jar. “I’ll get out of your hair before the morning rush starts, but I’ll be back later, if that’s alright?”

Rose’s smile was every bit as warm as her hug. “You are always welcome here. Any time.” 

“Until later, then.” Ale nodded to her and left, detouring briefly to grab the box. 

He ended up being the first person in the office, but that didn’t bother him. He got an early start on his emails, catching up with a contact back home. 

Price took one look at Ale and huffed, shaking his head. “Good move,” was all he said as he stepped into his office. 

Ale definitely couldn’t hide his rather smug smile the rest of the morning. Rudy gave him a quick thumbs up. It was a very good morning. He rubbed his fingers together more than once, remembering the softness of Rose’s sweater under his hand, the brush of her hair against his skin. 

He tried not to think about how her hair would feel between his fingers if he cupped the back of her head to tilt her into a kiss. 

I kind of hate you for thinking of that first, came a text from Gaz a little later. Did you even know she’d like them?

Ale huffed a quiet laugh. Call it intuition. He was tempted to tease the younger man, but refrained. For now.

The day passed quickly, full of work (and, in those moments that he let himself, daydreaming). But just after 5, he packed up and headed downstairs. 

The coffee shop was quiet by now, and Ale smiled to see the flowers. 

“Looking for a refill?” Rose smiled at him from behind the counter. She’d changed her hair, pulling it back into a messy bun. 

“Not this time.” He sauntered up to the counter. “Just wanted to see how the flowers were faring.” 

“Still beautiful.” Her smile softened. “I still can’t believe you got those just for me.” 

He tipped his head a little, looking more closely at her. “May I ask a more personal question?”

“Sure.” She shrugged a little, watching him.

“Do your friends not bring you gifts simply because they can?”

“Ah.” Rose wrinkled her nose a little and wiggled it, eyebrows scrunching together. “Well. No, not really. A couple of my friends don’t even do gifts at holiday time anymore.” 

“I see. That is a shame.” Ale smiled a little. “Are you staying until 6?”

“Might close up a few minutes early if nobody comes in.” She shrugged again, unconcerned. “You?”

“Heading home now. I have a few errands to run.” 

“Well, good luck with your errands.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ale nodded to her and left, pulling out his phone as he started to walk. 

His first errand was going to be finding a whiteboard, and then finding a place to stick it in his apartment. 

And then he was going to do some research on plants.

[msfcatlover]

Changeling!Tim’s childhood is... actually kinda horrifying, when anyone looks into it.

(CW for forced medical procedures, and abuse in the form of temporary imprisonment. Also, minor self-harm, and… I don’t know what you call “eating something that will make you sick so your parents don’t get mad at you,” but I know it ain’t good.)

Tim had pretty pronounced fangs when he was younger, which his parents were just planning to wait out... until he was fast coming up on 10 and it was clear Tim wasn’t going to lose his teeth. A quick x-ray proved that Tim didn’t have adult teeth to grow in, just the one set he came with, and the fangs were only getting more obvious. His parents found an orthodontist willing to yank the fangs & wire up the rest of Tim’s teeth with braces to force them to look smooth & even as he grew up. (The doctor kept the teeth as a curiosity, and a decade later Damian will track that doctor down to steal them back.)

Something even Tim didn’t realize until he had to undergo a full Justice League-grade medical exam in preparation for becoming Robin, is that the tiny points on his ears aren’t natural. They have no idea what the ears of the baby Jack & Janet received looked like, but Tim’s points are actually mostly scar tissue. (Bruce puts it down as “a cosmetic procedure not dissimilar to ear cropping in canines” and tries not to feel sick.)

(There was also a period where the Drakes did an awful lot of research into cosmetic eye surgeries, but they eventually gave up. Apparently, it was a bigger concern that their son might end up blinded than that his eyes glowed in the dark and/or were the wrong color.)

As I mentioned before, Tim’s parents trim his thorns so that nobody goes to ruffle Tim’s hair and realizes he’s not human. He... actually started doing it himself when he decided to become Robin, because Tim has seen Bruce ruffle Jason & Dick’s hair so many times and didn’t want to hurt Bruce (or experience the absolute agony of having a thorn get caught in Bruce’s gloves and end up ripped out of Tim’s scalp,) as well as not wanting to give away Tim’s own inhuman nature with the single most obvious trait he has. (When the rest of the family find out, they are horrified and insist that Tim stop doing that. Instead of hair-ruffles, Tim gets hair-strokes that go only in one direction, bumping harmlessly over the curved outer edges of his thorns; it’s actually very soothing for both parties. Everyone absolutely uses Tim’s thorns as a stim toy, as long as Tim’s okay with it.)

Tim’s parents also hire an in-house barber to cut Tim’s hair, so they can make sure it’s “properly disposed of.” (Tim’s nightmares always smell faintly of burning hair.)

Tim wears fancy dress gloves to all dinners, because with the uppercrust you never know if someone’s going to bring out the real silverware. (If someone tells him to take off the gloves or Tim’s skin happens to brush up against somebody’s jewelry, Tim just sorta has to... deal. It’s rude to rush out or refuse your hosts, after all.) (Fortunately, Dick and the Titans all prefer reusable plastic silverware. And as soon as any Bat finds out about Tim’s fae nature, Wayne Manor quickly switches to stainless steel.)

It’s nearly impossible to know if a meal was prepared with iodized salt or non-iodized salt until it’s already in Tim’s mouth and the burning-itching discomfort of coming in contact with an anti-fae substance begins. It’s rude not to at least try the food someone offers you, and it’s even ruder to just spit something out, especially out in public. At least Tim doesn’t usually have to fake it when he says he’s not feeling well in order to stop eating. (Tim doesn’t tell the Waynes about this until that medical exam, where he kinda jokes about being allergic to salt and someone’s like, “Wait, how do you eat? Everything has salt in it nowadays.” Alfred rather forlornly puts his sea salt up on the top shelf and buys a jar of iodized table salt on the next grocery run.)

Tim’s blood is immediately identifiable because it has chloroplasts in it. No, he’s not actually a plant; yes, he can perform limited photosynthesis. No, Tim was not aware of this about himself, he’s never been allowed to give blood before, and like??? Sure, he figured out he was a changeling, but that does not immediately translate to, “Oh, I should test my blood for plant cells!”

Tim’s room doesn’t look any different from any other boy his age... except for three nails over the door on the outside. For the iron horseshoe Tim’s parents hang there sometimes, when they don’t want him to bother them or when he’s grounded. (Thankfully, it's been very rare for Tim to actually be trapped in his room, as setting up a salt line on his windowsills has always been... well, he's not sure. A step too far, even for his parents? A step too many to remember and/or perform in the heat of the moment? Something they don’t even realize is necessary, assuming the horseshoe prevents Tim from leaving the room at all rather than simply crossing that one threshold? Tim doesn’t like to think about it. Tim typically stays in his room anyway when he feels the swooping nausea of it hanging over his door, if only so his parents don’t find him missing and decide sealing the windows is something they ought to be doing. Trapped not by any law or binding ritual, but by Tim’s own admittedly rare fear of consequences.) (After Tim is snatched by faerie hunters, Jason and Dick are the ones who search Tim’s house. There’s a moment of silence when they find the horseshoe and realize what the nails are for. “I really hope I don’t have to point this out,” Jason says, in the tone of someone who’s going to do it anyway, “but it’s never a good sign when a kid’s bedroom has a lock on the outside.”) 

[muzzleroars]

your blog is like a finite library where i continue to stumble upon beautiful things

thank you for your thoughts

as of the ask - how would you imagine fraud and characters in it, if you can picture it at all? between all three of the upcoming layers, this one is the most eluding one of their description, so it's always interesting to see different opinions on it

thank you so much! your art is genuinely such an inspiration, i'm always so happy to see a new piece from you and so i wanted to thank you as well for sharing your work

fraud is a very interesting layer in the inferno, with its set up being somewhat unique compared to many of the others as it consists of ten pits of torment that cover a pretty broad range of sinners. what stands out to me about it as an environment though is that it is within the walls of dis and it is a ruined city, with massive amounts of crumbling or simply destroyed architecture. this is sort of my basis for how i envision fraud and although i'm likely way off base, i think it could be interesting to see a transition in aesthetics in general past heresy.

heresy itself marks the first layer in dis, the city that consumes the lower layers of hell, and it's interesting to note the highly architectural environments it presents in game - the gothic cathedral is sharp and commanding, very much having a presence in itself. i would love to see more city-like environments included, but ones that have a distinct, alien feeling compared to those of the lust layer as they are not made by humans, it's architecture meant to torment, to enclose and to sicken, and i enjoy fraud being the pinnacle of this before it gives way to an utterly barren treachery. but importantly, i want to see the decay of fraud, to see its twisted form nearly incomprehensible in its destruction. once there stood buildings difficult for the mind to conceive, but those fell centuries ago and the damage of so many souls suddenly filling what's left of its skeletal remains only ruined them further. fully understanding and taking advantage of all the ways it can move is now vital to v1, some areas near impossible to traverse as no comprehensible paths exist (if they ever did). it would be a very tiered layer, with v1 sometimes having to ascend into different bolgia in order to make its progress - i just like the idea of playing a lot with movement and creative thinking (+ some help from explosives) to find paths forward. overall, i want the sense that this was a city but it's impossible to say anything beyond that, what's left all jarring to the senses and nearly overwhelming to look at (especially again to contrast it with treachery, a blank, unending void that barely has a single thing the eyes can find purchase on).

following that, however, i think fraud will really do something to emphasize the blindness of hell - like several people have pointed out by now, many beings lack eyes in hell, but i think the most important of these have been the angels. virtues have their eyes removed (or they simply vanish) upon descending into hell while gabriel's helmet appears sightless as well, and we now know this is likely due to god being so ashamed of it he wants no one to actually behold it. this makes fraud quite interesting for a couple reasons: in the inferno, the lower layers mark the beginning of sinners wishing for no one to lay eyes upon them as they are so humiliated by their state and who they were in life to place them so deep into hell. they attempt to hide their identities, they sometimes do not give their names, and this becomes incredibly apparent in fraud. additionally, fraud is a sin of deceit, many of the sinners there those that worked in secret to do harm, meaning even in life they wished to go unseen. so i very much think that the sightless nature of hell will be worked in deeply - i would be interested in all the husks and demons here to be without eyes, with only the machines remaining to see it. this is also another reason why i want fraud to be so difficult to look at - it doesn't want to be seen, it begs not to be perceived and it never should be. before it was only the angels that all had their eyes taken, but so deep into the layers nothing may see, everything must be sightless lest it see a world so painful and so hideous, so ugly and so embarrassing to god.

so my ideas are very much based around the actual source material of the inferno, but i do think fraud could make for some really interesting architecture. and i would sort of like to see a husk/husks that seem adapted to living in such a bizarre place, a lot like the stalkers with forms now made for vertical ascents and clawing their way over ruins, possibly translucent like so many animals that live without sun in the deep sea (not to riff too much on wrath lol). i guess in a sense it really is like those trenches or subterranean cave networks - alien and unsettling, difficult to traverse with its grotesque geography, and suited to life totally unlike that above it. fraud is a place that wants to hide, but ironically it exists as one of the most expansive layers in all of hell.

[crispylilworm]

Top 5 Video Game Foods

The recent Watcher Top 5 Beatdown had me racking my brain and googling lots of pixel food images, love the different aesthetic, experience, and curiosity factors that went in to their lists. Though I'd share my own & would love to hear yours!

5. Sweetroll (Skyrim)

4. Lantern Fruit (Subnautica)

3. Creamy Heart Soup (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild)

2. Peach Pie (Animal Crossing: New Horizons)

1. Brewster's Coffee (Animal Crossing: Wild World)

Reasoning & honorable mentions below ^.^

5. I got into Skyrim late to the game, but my first character started as a Jean Valjean-inspired petty thief in the pursuit bread and cheese. Nothing looked quite as appetizing as those little sweetrolls. One of the many delightful discoveries I came across going in blind to an iconic game.

4. Red, plump, slightly bioluminescent - super versatile as either a food source or bioreactor fuel, but most of all a gorgeous addition to any base. Returning to base and taking a bite of a fresh lantern fruit was more just for roleplay than anything lol, but man do I want to have a taste in real life.

3. Figuring out recipes was one of my favorite parts of the unlimited exploration in the open-world Breath of the Wild, and nothing seemed tastier than the Creamy Heart Soup. I can just imagine how revitalizing it would be to slurp it down mid-battle. Something about video games making imaginary fruits just looks so tantalizing, and I'm always a slut for a good soup.

2. The craftable food update in New Horizons is what kept me around for nearly a 1,000-hour island. Something about how they would steam after you cooked and placed them just looked so good. The cute aesthetics of the food items could warrant its own top-10 list for me, and the Peach Pie was as good as it got. I got the Switch game in 2022 well after the pandemic peak. Neither me nor my friends had peaches on their islands, and I was not about to pay to trade with someone - I never actually attained this beauty. My island had lined fields of crops and a farmers market with baked breads and jarred goods, she would have been my star centerpiece.

1. This is mainly an experience-based choice for me, but I imagine the taste would be phenomenal as well. 10-year-old me was unaware of changing DS settings to play different dates, so the once-per-day cup of coffee was a cherished moment. At the time I did not even know what coffee tasted like lol. The thought of drinking a scalding hot beverage scared me but I did not want to disappoint Brewster by letting it cool past its peak flavor. And Saturday nights when KK Slider was there?? Highlight of my week. Honestly that whole atmosphere of having a tasty little drink and watching a local live performance is exactly the vibe a look for as 28-year-old still. I wish I could go back and see how many hours I put into Wild World, I literally COMPLETED that game before I had access to the internet to look up how to find things - it was my cozy place.

I had too much fun putting this together lol honorable mentions has no cap idc, also no proofreading we die like men!

Honorable mentions: Yeto's Soup (Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess) - it took so long to make it must be the heartiest soup ever, Rare Candy (Pokemon) - if it can make my pokemon level up imagine ME, Lobster Thermador (Sims 2) - max level cooking meal I didn't think was real lol, Goopy Carbonara (Sims 3) - what's so goopy about it?, Crab and Egg Chinese Style (Cooking Mama) - a food I want to try and cook myself, Dubious Food (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild) - what flavor is 'dubious' exactly?, Cheesy Meat Bowl (Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom) - food that could instantly cure a hangover, Golden Apple (Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild) - does it even taste different?, Perfect Cherry (Animal Crossing: New Horizons) - I am allergic to cherries but I would risk it, Pink Cake (Stardew Valley) - so cute I NEED a taste, Light Faerie Sundae (Neopets) - faerie food looked tasty af the light sundae looked the best, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans (HP & The Chamber of Secrets PS2) - Harry seemed so excited to find those beans I need to know why, 'Johnny Silverhand' Cocktail (Cyberpunk 2077) - beer + chili + tequila sounds awful I want a taste, Big Bang Burger (Persona 5 Royal) - I want to taste of Okumura's finest, NukaCola (Fallout) - if it doesn't taste like Diet Coke nuclear apocalypse isn't worth it, Klawf al Ajillo & Pickled Toedscool (Pokeomon Scarlet/Violet) - I want to taste the forbidden meat o.O

[enbyleighlines]

Leigh plays Tellius prt 12

I forgot how dramatic Geoffrey can be. But I guess with a best friend like Bastian, he would have to be a little dramatic.

I love how Ike continues to value his work as a mercenary above everything else. Of course, I don't think this high level of integrity is common amongst mercenary groups, but the Greil Mercs have always been different. Like how Greil himself would take work without pay, if it meant helping out someone in need. They fight for people, not for ideals such as honor or glory.

Now, I remember this map giving me so much trouble when I was a kid. This was the map that had me give up on not losing any units. I remember sacrificing Calill here, back in 2007, just so I could finally advance to the next chapter.

So when it came time to face this map again, 16 years later, I was feeling rather nervous.

Turns out I had no reason to be nervous, because I wiped the floor with all the enemies without issue. The boss gave me a scare at first, when I realized he was activating a skill in battle. I was afraid it was Resolve, but it turned out to be Parity, which was far less intimidating.

What a gorgeous scene! I love this moment between Elincia and her retainers. Their friendship is so great, and I'm glad that they got to be reunited.

This may be my shipper goggles blinding me again, but... was there something in that letter you don't want others seeing, Tibarn?

I understand where he's coming from, but it is jarring to be see a young boy say "Kill 'em all!"

Love this base conversation. Ike cannot be bothered to figure out what the hell Bastian is talking about half the time. And we learn that, though Ike's not a fan of desserts, he does drink tea! Unsweetened, I imagine, but still. Idk why, but I really love the idea of manly man Ike sitting down and having a cup of tea. Maybe he even used to have tea parties with Mist as a child. Too cute!

Here comes Largo. I do think this entire conversation is hilarious enough to justify Largo's existence as a playable unit, but otherwise I have never used him and probably never will. That being said, I love his character development in Radiant Dawn, where he goes from a fame-seeking beserker for hire to a humble restaurant owner and doting father.

I made Jill another custom javelin, and I named it Diablo because of how much it cost. Plus it's red, to match her armor!

Funniest NPC? Funniest NPC.

They don't go into it, but I can imagine that Soren must be really nervous at this moment. He's about to lead a discussion in front of an army that includes judgemental Begnion knights, beast laguz, and hawk laguz, including the king of the hawk laguz. That's a lot of pressure, especially for a character who doesn't feel comfortable talking to anyone that isn't Ike. He did a brilliant job, though! It probably helps that he has an A rank with Ike now, so his biggest insecurity has been put to rest.

Kudos, Soren! You're going to need that growing confidence when you're promoted to chief strategist of the Laguz Alliance.

I love how Ike is just so taken off guard here. This conversation also raises some questions for me. Namely, how long do pegasi live? Didn't Elincia say that this one belonged to her great-grandmother? Are they just like... immortal?

Time to seize Fort Pinell! This map is a little intimidating due to its sheer size, especially it doesn't have many choke points. However, I managed to beat this map on my first try. Luckily, they let you take a ridiculous amount of units, so I managed to just cross the field by lining up my defensive fighters in a long vertical wall to keep my squishies protected. Meanwhile, Ike, Soren, and Ranulf destroyed the entire upper right section of the map all by themselves.

The Black Knight fight is coming!! I'm so nervous ahhhhhh

It was also around this point that I realized that it would be nearly impossible to achieve one of my goals. I intended to get Ranulf to level 20 with as many capped stats as possible. Unfortunately, after doing the math, it looks like the only stats it's possible to cap are strength and defense, because you get him so late in the game, and his stat caps are so ridiculously high.

For example, you get him at level 9, which means he will only level up 11 times. In order to cap his strength, he has to level up strength 10 times, which is possible, but not without a lot of resetting. Meanwhile, in order to cap his defense, he has to level up his defense 13 times, which is only possible if you get him to level up defense Every Single Level, plus give him a Draco Shield for that +2 defense.

As much as I love Ranulf, I want to use that Draco Shield for someone else if I can. So in the end, I only capped his strength. And I was only able to do so by burning through the rest of my bexp. Ugh!

Was this worth it, or a massive waste of resources?

Probably the latter, but what's done is done.

Either way, Ike's 1v1 match with the Black Knight is imminent. I would like to save Nasir if I can, so I'm hoping that I get lucky with triggering Aether.

[wayoftheghost]

black ice

[#FFF180 Promise You’ll Write]

woooo a draining week, but always great to get a writing sprint in! I’ve been thinking a bit lately about new faces blowing up in the entertainment world and how insanely jarring it must be - this is something inspired by that! It felt fun and different to try this, thanks for reading! c:

Word count: 510

Tags: @flashfictionfridayofficial @writingbyricochet​ @helloliriels

Her show debuts on primetime television and everything that follows is a whirlwind of lights, green rooms, and blinding fame.

She hadn’t suspected the show would be such a hit. To have her once humble career now electrified with big name interviews, brand deals, script and project requests. To now be seen by all and so many.

She remembers what her sister, her best friend, had simply asked of her before she’d moved to this sunken city along the Pacific coast, this one that glimmers with promises of high art and cutthroat competition.

“Promise me you’ll write?”

She’d received the text message after reconnecting her phone to cellular service once her plane had touched down. Just a few hours ago, she had been waving goodbye and standing on her childhood suburban street. Now, she was in an unknown city. 

“Of course. Love you”.

The blue bubble had bounced back so quickly, easily with her thumb strokes. That had been nearly a year ago.  

She clicks off her phone’s display as a woman with striking eyes and perfect hair in soft, smoothed curls briefs her on her next press interview. She is to say this, avoid those topics, remember to laugh, but not too loud. It makes her anxious to not be in control of her own image, to know that a single mistake could shatter the illusion. But the fame was a consequence of her work, and she didn’t do all this for notoriety.

As the assistant talks, words buzzing and pointed like honey and wine, she sees the notifications blowing up her phone screen. Emails, likes, text messages flooding in so quickly that the banners can barely keep up. But nothing from the person she really wants to hear from.

At last, the woman exits, but not before telling her she has an hour lunch break until she’s due to the main studio. To make sure to eat something with protein and healthy fat. To take a cat nap if she damn well wants because this was going to be the only break in the day.

Then, with a click of the door she’s gone. 

She snags her phone and pushes out the makeup room and into the warm afternoon air. It’s sunny, bright. Palm trees wave gently. She checks her watch.

It’s still late morning back home. 

Her pulse hammers in her throat and sweat slicks her palms. She’s more nervous than any audition she’s ever had. Her jaw clenches as the line rings.

She hears a click and then the sound of her name. It’s a question, one that is touched by sleep and groggy disbelief. It’s Saturday, after all. 

“I promised I’d write to you, but how about a phone call?”

A tired laugh comes through the other end. There’s some bitterness there, and understandably so. But then the words come trickling forth.

Has she eaten yet today? What was the weather like? Any snow yet this year?

The topics are simple and safe, trivial even. Easy. It helps to crack the black ice between them. 

[rxdhairxdsirxns]

Running. Only Running, panting, your breath faint yet labored, quiet yet wheezing, lungful after lungful yet it is never enough.

Your legs trip, stumble, twist and threaten to sprain, but you push on, trying to stifle the urge to cry out as every barefoot push against the harsh, cold forest floor threatens to jar your tiny, overworked frame. You know not to look back, you know better than to look back, and yet you hear a noise, turn to look out of the corner of your eye, and see a glint of silver before everything turns black-

-Again,-

You find yourself running again, only you are still thin, still tired, still gangly, heaving and gasping for every breath you can as you hear guttural growls in a language you can only think of as 'ugly' shouting from behind you, seeming to grow more distant ever so slowly. You find presence of mind as a second wind flows through you, kicking off harder even as hard stones cut into the flesh of your heel, sprinting suddenly and making a mad dive for cover as you double back in hiding, covered in the foliage of a small brush.

You think yourself clever, daring yourself not to breath, not to even think of breathing, even as your lungs burn with need for air, as the hunters grow closer... then pass... then continue on... and yet, the moment you lose control, your mouth forces itself open on instinct to take in more air no matter how hard you tried to hold your hands in place, a growl shouts from behind you, and you feel a sharp pain pierce your back deep into your chest-

-And Again,-

Yet again you are running, still running, running ever onwards, and though your breath seems less desperate, you know better - to stop is death, to slow is death, to think one's self safe is death, there is only forward. There is no hope to hide, not from the Hunters.

You stumble, trip, fall and tumble down the side of the path, spears whizzing past and nearly into you time and time again, one even slashing through your forehead with searing, blinding pain as the blood trickles down into your vision. as you see specks of baleful yellow through the brush and hear their guttural voices, something within you snaps, and before everything goes dark you feel like something burning is about to erupt from your chest-

-You Fall,-

The forest you run though seems familiar, yet your mind has no time to rest, to flit through fanciful notions of deja-vu, as you hear the familiar, haunting requiem of low, guttural voices growling after you. This time, as a spear flies your way, narrowly avoiding chunking a good portion of your shoulder as a thin cut is left in its wake, you instead grit your teeth - a fire of spiteful rage already ready to erupt from within you, as you spin, all the hair on your body standing on end, an alien crackling sound in the air as you throw the spear back - and even as the second spear comes at your throat, your eyes go blind from the deafening crack of thunder and lightning mere yards away-

-So Why,-

Once more, you find yourself running. Does it really matter what happens next?

You know it doesn't end. You're supposed to be dead, have died countless times, but death doesn't hold you, doesn't want you anymore than the Hunters want you.

Your feet stumble, tearing themselves apart bit by bit as your lungs heave, your body strains, your eyes blind themselves with tears even as the guttural chorus begins to grow louder behind you.

Just past the next tree, you try to tell yourself, as soon as you get past that next big tree you'll try to lose them, maybe this time they won't catch on so fast, maybe this time you'll be able to stop, even for just a moment! Only a little moment of peace, that's all you want-

And again, the bite of the silver spear plunges into you, and your voice screams as everything goes black once again-

-DO YOU CONTINUE?-

UNPROMPTED || ALWAYS ACCEPTING

----- FIGHT.

Fight.

Fight.

Never stop. Keep going. Grit your teeth, swallow the blood in your mouth, dig in your heels and keep fighting.

But there’s only so many times you can restart the cycle before something snaps, and the waking world finally plucked Taryn like a fish from the stream. Gasping loudly as she rolled to the edge of the bed, fighting to tear off the blankets and every bit of clothes she wore until she was on her hands and knees upon the hardwood floor.

Sweat dripped from her brow, she shivered violently, blinking rapidly and coming to her senses enough to reach up and clasp her hands everywhere she could reach on her chest, shoulders, and back. The sting lingered, the burning, the ache of something that should be there but wasn’t.

She didn’t care about the state of her night shirt, torn in half across her chest. All she could do was drop fully to the floor, forehead pressed to the cool wood as she panted and cursed under her breath in a foreign tongue, covering her eyes but not closing them lest the chase would begin again.

[lgcrp]

◔ ┈ LOADING … TRAINEE PROFILE INITIATED !

XU LILI ( READ MORE HERE )

AGE 22 ( 01 JANUARY 2001 )

TRAINED FOR 3 YEARS AND 5 MONTHS ( SIGNED JULY 2020 )

              INTRODUCTION VIDEO FOUND … PRESS PLAY ?

what do you want, lili xu? she’s been running fast all her life — following the whims of other’s — tangled by their desires, their control over her life that she often forgets: what really mattered was what she wanted. but how could something that was so deeply ingrained into her be so easily forgotten? she’s done this all before and for lack of better words, this was not her first rodeo. the cold, stagnant stare; the silence in the air begging to be broken by her first words. what reigns is her composure: poised, dignified, a refining quality honed from years of classical ballet shatters when she finally blinks out of her reverie and begins words she’s memorized like the back of her mind. nails dig into her palm as she smiles, something so blinding and bright, it’s got to be made for her — a pristine display to cover the emptiness she wishes would never leave her. “my name is lili xu, and i would like to dance for you.” it’s jarring what years have done to a craft she had once held so dear, had loved so much she had made deals and promises in order to keep — because keeping her promises meant something to her. ( she wasn’t like others who made promises, promises and promises but never kept them — who threw them away to be whisked by another who would only take advantage of those broken promises. she — she had been a promise once ) promised to do better, thinking it would fill that never-ending pit in her stomach, she stands here, making due to that debt now. it’s a wonder how her smile hasn’t caved in to the black hole that nearly consumes all of her — does it look fake? she wonders, but the others don’t react. so, what do you really want, lili xu? “i am going to be a star, i want to shine so bright on a stage so wide that there won’t be anyone who won’t know my name.” it’s a promise on top of promises. “so that no one could ever forget me.” her smile breaks, a bit, held firm by her gums but it shatters a little. her breath catches, held still as she makes the counts between muted lips, waiting for the song to hit its climax before she begins. the fluidity of her arms soar through the air; their weight like lead to her body, wanting to make her sink further into the despair but she floats. she floats, rising higher and higher — a pretend flight for someone who’s wings never really came in, who’ve always been clipped by those who wished for her light but always wanted her beneath their palm, instead. she dances because it’s the closest thing to flying for her, maybe if she does it long enough she, too, can one day take flight.

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[the-magnus-archives-institute]

Being such an out-there fictive of Chonny Jash is WILD to me. especially with the memories I do have.

I am putting this under a read more even if it's not that long since the memories get a bit graphic! Warning for talk of eye things and yknow The Corruption - Pamela (He/him)

I never worked for the institute, I can immediately cross that off. I did interact with them a little later down the line, similar to Jane and the other avatars. I'd been made an avatar years before by someone. They'd kidnapped me, i think they were working with multiple people? I remember them holding me down almost-starfish style as I fought to break free, but there were too many people. The ringleader of the group came up to me, looked into my panicked and terrified eyes for a few seconds at most, and proceeded to get to work.

They gouged out my left eye, not taking any care about the damage they could cause. All that mattered was creating a- a hole.

I remember screaming and feeling the pop of my eye finally getting torn out and blood pouring down the side of my face. They took something- a knife maybe? To the skin around there to make the hole proper. Not wasting a second, the ringleader then grabbed this.... chunk. I remember how it looked exactly. Of honeycomb. It was still dripping honey and had clearly been recently broken off of a beehive. And then he grabbed my head and shoved the honeycomb into the hole where my eye had been. The torches flames in a circle still bright as ever.

And then they waited. I didn't know what they were waiting for, but they just stood there, staring. The people holding me down were waiting and watching too. All i could focus on was the blinding pain as I sobbed. I think I eventually just passed out and they deemed it a failure so they packed up and left.

I woke up, and the torches were out. The pain was mostly gone at that point. I reached up to where the honeycomb had been shoved in and poked it. I felt it shift, it wasnt rooted in its spot, and a wave of agony ran over me. So I sighed, wiped my face of tears, picked myself up, and walked out of that forest. On the way out, I found myself focusing more and more on the little things around me, specifically the insects and the worms.

I walked back into the city in the back of a neighborhood that had houses whose backs faced the forest. I think I might've lived in there? And I just.... went home. Obviously, I couldn't go back into society like this, but I didn't want to go through the procedure to get the honeycomb removed. I had enough food anyway to drift around my apartment for those last few months. I think I tried working on some music during that time? I remember trying to figure out something on my electric guitar. Because the honeycomb was so unstable for the first while I just wrapped it up in bandages, especially in case it bled.

It was about a month in I felt the honeycomb and realized it had taken root in a way? And it was merging with my skin. It was growing.

I admittedly panicked, i was worried about it affecting my nose, mouth, or my remaining eye. But all I could do was wait. Luckily, it didn't. It only took over that whole side of my face but left any other limbs or body parts. It would produce its own honey sometimes, but I never questioned it, just saved it if it started dripping too much and set the jar out. As an offering or for the animals, I don't know. Maybe both!

It wasn't until after those last few months that something.... clicked. And I just... knew. I had become an avatar of The Corruption. I think that had always been the goal of the cult? Kidnappers? That grabbed me. They just expected it to be an immediate and big showy thing. It wasn't. But The Corruption accepted me anyway. It was when it all clicked that i realized essentially what I needed to be doing, with the whole feeding the corruption bit and the regular avatarness.

This wasn't supposed to be nearly this long, but I ended up remembering a lot more as I wrote this haha. Oops? - Pamela (he/him)

[mywifeleftme]

64: Parliament // Funkentelechy vs. The Placebo Syndrome

Funkentelechy vs. The Placebo Syndrome Parliament 1977, Casablanca Despite this series being predicated on the concept of reviewing selections from my physical record collection, to date it hasn’t focused much on the LPs as objects. There are a few reasons for this:

I don’t know anything about vinyl production, and my ears aren’t good enough to tell the difference between a vinyl pressing and a high-quality digital file anyway, let alone between one pressing and another. (And neither are yours.)

My audience trusts me to write about things about which I am an expert, like botching drug trips and being vague about African dance music.

I obviously have a case of collector brain, but I don’t care about coloured vinyl or gimmicky reissue sleeves.

With that said, it’s undeniably true that the experience of music is mediated by the medium through which it is consumed—and that medium's perceived quality. As is pretty common for people my age (41), there are songs I first heard in my teens and twenties that still sound wrong to me without the specific audio glitches I remember from the versions I downloaded from Limewire/Blogspot.

My copy of Parliament’s Funkentelechy vs. The Placebo Syndrome is a 2000s era pressing that I picked up on the strength of my love for “Flash Light,” a song that proves beyond doubt that whites were not the first men on the Moon. I listened to Funkentelechy a few times when I bought it eight or nine years ago, and every now and again it makes its way back to my table, but I never got super into it despite it offering exactly what you’d hope for from a George Clinton LP (rubbery bass lines, endless grooves, extremely fly gibberish, Bernie Worrell).

When I decided the other day that I was going to review the record, I was curious about which pressing I have, so I rolled over to Discogs. On the release page I found a handful of extremely Discogs-guy comments about this particular edition:

My immediate thought was something like, “It has always kind of bothered me that the LP cut off the acapella conclusion to ‘Flash Light!’” followed by, “By Jove, maybe the reason I’ve never loved this record is because of the mealy low-end!” And, indeed, despite turning the bass knob on my receiver all the way to the right, the bass doesn’t feel nearly as thick as you’d think a P-Funk album should. So, having found an angle for this review, I bashed out the first few paragraphs before the thought occurred that I’m making these assertions about this pressing without actually comparing it to other sources. Gadzooks.

You know what I did next reader? If your answer was, “Dug out the aux cable and played the streaming version through the same speaker rig,” well, I didn’t do that, because all the piss jars in my bedroom closet have taught me the dangers of obsessive-compulsive behaviour. (And, also, because I thought I might drive the other person in my apartment nuts by playing the record yet again, and still alsomore because I have other shit to do today.) Instead, I skimmed the streaming version a bit on my headphones, had the sense it sounded a bit fuller but not so much so that it would’ve transformed Funkentelechy into a top-tier fav, and called it a day. (I really am peeved about it cutting off the end of “Flash Light” though.)

Right, so anyway, a review. “Bop Gun (Endangered Species)” is standard P-Funk fare; “Sir Nose D Voidoffunk” ambles around for ten minutes like an extremely melted version of a Meat Loaf song, eventually finding a nonsensical peanut-butter-sticky “Three Blind Mice” interpolation that brings the house down; “Wizard of Finance” kind of sounds like Chicago; “Funkentelechy” is another fine mood board of Clintonisms (“Funk is not domestically produced”; “The bigger the headache, the bigger the pill”; “Unfunky possibilities arrive for the makers of Urge Overkill”); “Placebo Syndrome” reminds me strongly of the ending cutscene theme from I think Sonic 2 (?), which is to say I think it’s quite pretty; “Flash Light” we have covered. Alright! This review is over.

64/365

[youthtrust]

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“At heart I’m a drinker and want great flavors,” Rudewicz said. He quipped that the jars “started taking over our cupboards, and I had three choices: throw them out, make more friends or start selling them.” Always searching for the “perfect drink,” he and his wife Lindsay experimented with different recipes, filling pint-size mason jars and giving them as gifts. It wasn’t too long after that when Rudewicz, a bartender, started getting creative. That was until 2008-09 when retro craft cocktails hit maximum hipster level and Angostura couldn’t keep up with the increased demand, causing a shortage and flinging the door wide open to other brands. government repealed Prohibition in 1933 cocktail drinkers kept a taste for Old-Fashioneds, and that was the comfortable role bitters played behind the bar for the next 70 years or so. Even if you didn’t get the kind of alcohol that made you go blind it all still tasted pretty awful, and the mob soon figured out that speakeasies could market “better hooch” by adding just a few drops of something special to cancel out the inferior alcohol flavor.Įven after the U.S. You would never mistake Angostura’s clove/cinnamon/black spice for Peychaud’s more floral, licorice flavor, the only other common brand, invented for a bar in New Orleans back in that same era.Īfter the health claims died out, bitters’ next big heyday was making Prohibition’s bathtub gin or whiskey taste less like the bathtub ring and more like a palatable cocktail. It defines the market, kind of like the reverse equivalent of asking for a Kleenex when you need a tissue. The main remnant left from those early days is Angostura, a brand so dominant that when someone wants “bitters” this is nearly always what they get. government stepped in to regulate bitters as flavorings rather than an elixir extolling health benefits. Historically a cure-all for “whatever ails you,” the early 1800s herbal remedies known as bitters promised to treat everything from gout to malaria to a headache, but in the process some “doctors” included poisonous plants. Rudewicz wove in stories about his craft through threads of history combining medicine, Prohibition and how a 5-year-old can buy alcohol at the nearest Harris Teeter.

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Organized by Karl Sakas, the free lunch series profiles a different speaker on the second Wednesday each month.Ĭautioned that our sample shot glasses “weren’t for shooting,” we tasted drops of his creative cocktail (and cooking) flavorings while listening to an hour of his storytelling.

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