#little misfortune theory

[egophiliac]

can't believe that skeleman has turned on us, and Halloween Prom is tomorrow.

(what a top-tier UM...we are about to be just totally obliterated in the absolute silliest way. what possible use could this power have outside of bringing us to the brink of utter holiday disaster.)

[3-opossums-in-a-ballgown]

Have I personally played any of the FNAF games? Nope! Have I watched Markiplier’s entire FNAF playlist and seen every video MatPat has made on the Lore™️? Yup!

[satellite-evans]

clumsy

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Your clumsiness is going to be the death of Lando.

Word count: 2k+

Warnings: injuries, fluff, worried Lando

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The first time Lando saw you trip over nothing, he thought it was a one-time thing. Maybe you were just tired, maybe the floor was uneven, maybe it was just bad luck. But after months of dating, he realized it was just... you.

You were a walking hazard. A human magnet for misfortune. A professional at collecting bruises, scrapes, and band-aids like they were limited-edition collectibles.

And, unfortunately for Lando, that meant he was constantly on high alert.

“Babe!” His panicked voice rang out as he watched you stumble over absolutely nothing on the kitchen floor. In one fluid motion, he darted forward, catching you before you could face-plant into the counter. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you from further self-destruction.

You blinked up at him, sheepish. “Oops.”

Lando let out a dramatic sigh, holding you steady. “How does this keep happening?”

“I have my theories.” You shrugged, playfully tapping your temple. “Faulty wiring.”

He shook his head, scanning you for any new injuries with the practiced precision of someone who had done this far too many times. “You need bubble wrap. No, actually, I’m getting you a helmet.”

You giggled, resting your hands on his chest. “A helmet for walking?”

“Yes. And knee pads. And elbow pads. And maybe a full-body suit.” He crouched slightly, running his fingers over a fresh bruise forming on your knee. His lips pressed together in frustration. “When did this happen?”

You followed his gaze, only now noticing the purple splotch decorating your skin. “Uh… I have no idea actually.”

Lando groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Love, you’re killing me.”

You grinned, cupping his face between your hands. “But you love me anyway.”

“Unfortunately.” He sighed dramatically, but the fond smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “I swear, one of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“I’ll try not to,” you teased, pecking his lips. “No promises, though.”

Despite his exaggerated complaints, he was always there to patch you up. He had a first-aid kit permanently stocked—no, actually, he had multiple, one in the car, one in the bathroom, and a travel-sized version in his bag. He had mastered the art of wrapping bandages, applying ointments, and kissing away the pain (even if you insisted that last part was unnecessary).

At this point, he was convinced he could get a medical degree solely from the amount of practice he had.

And yet, no matter how many times he swore he’d wrap you in protective gear, he never failed to hold onto you just a little tighter, watching out for stray corners, slippery floors, and rogue table edges like they were mortal enemies.

Because, as exhausting as it was, he wouldn’t trade you—or your inexplicable ability to defy gravity—for anything.

Even if it meant keeping an ice pack ready at all times.

As if on cue, you turned to walk away and immediately stubbed your toe on the kitchen island.

“Ow! Shit!”

Lando just groaned, rubbing his temples. “That’s it. I’m putting you in a bubble.”

“That seems excessive.”

“You just injured yourself standing still!”

You grinned sheepishly. “Okay, fair point.”

Shaking his head, he pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace,” you corrected, snuggling into him.

He sighed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah. My menace.”

You were chopping vegetables, fully focused—well, as focused as you ever were when handling sharp objects—when you somehow managed to cut yourself with the knife.

The sharp sting made you gasp, and almost instantly, blood welled up from the deeper cut. Before you could even fully process what had happened, Lando was already at your side. He had been watching you closely (as he often did whenever you were near anything remotely dangerous), and the moment he saw the slip, he sprang into action.

“Shit,” he muttered, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly. “Alright, that’s enough knife duty for you.”

His voice was laced with worry, though he tried to mask it with his usual teasing tone. His eyes darted to your finger, the cut deeper than the usual minor scrapes you tended to collect. Without hesitation, he led you to the sink, turning on the tap and holding your hand under the cool water.

“You know, normal people don’t injure themselves every day,” he tried to joke, though his brows were furrowed as he watched the water run red.

You hissed at the sting but still managed a lopsided grin. “I like to keep life exciting.”

Lando huffed a laugh, though there was a tightness in his jaw. “Yeah, well, I’d prefer if you found a less hazardous way to do that.”

After patting your hand dry with a towel, he grabbed the first-aid kit (which, at this point, he always kept within arm’s reach). His movements were careful, almost practiced, as he disinfected the wound. His fingers ghosted over your skin with such tenderness it almost distracted you from the sting of the antiseptic.

“This is deeper than your usual cuts,” he muttered, pressing a sterile gauze pad to your finger before wrapping it securely in a bandage. “It doesn't need stitches thankfully but you really need to be more careful.”

You winced, flexing your fingers slightly. “Well, at least I have you to patch me up.”

He sighed, shaking his head, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. When he was done, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“There. Good as new,” he murmured, but his grip on your hand remained firm, like he was reluctant to let go.

You wiggled your fingers dramatically. “Wow, a miraculous recovery. See? This is why I keep you around.”

Lando scoffed, feigning offense. “Oh, so I’m just your personal medic now?”

“Pretty much.” You shot him a cheeky wink before immediately reaching for the knife again.

Before you could even graze the handle, Lando snatched it away with lightning-fast reflexes. “Absolutely not.”

You pouted, eyes wide with faux innocence. “I was just gonna—”

“Nope.” He held the knife out of your reach, shooting you a pointed look. “I’m officially banning you from sharp objects.”

You crossed your arms, watching as he took over the cutting board and started chopping with ease. “So, what, I just sit here and do nothing?”

Lando smirked. “Exactly. Just sit there and be adorable.”

Your lips curled into a slow grin. “You think I’m adorable?”

His chopping faltered for a split second, and you caught the way his ears tinged pink. He rolled his eyes, refusing to meet your gaze. “Shut up.”

But when you leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, you felt him smile against your touch.

A few days later, the two of you were strolling through the paddock, the soft air filled with chatter. It was the usual pre-race chaos—engineers darting between garages, reporters setting up for interviews, and fans cheering from the barriers.

Lando had a firm grip on your hand, partly because he liked holding it, but mostly because he had learned that letting go of you for even a second increased the chances of you tripping over something by approximately 100%.

Still, despite his best efforts, it happened.

One second, you were walking beside him, mid-sentence about what snacks they had in hospitality. The next, you were suddenly pitching forward with a startled yelp, your foot catching on a stray cable snaking across the ground.

Lando reacted instantly. With reflexes honed by years of racing at breakneck speeds, he lunged forward, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist just before you could crash onto the hard concrete.

“Alright, that’s it,” he huffed, keeping you firmly against him as you steadied yourself. “I’m officially holding onto you for the rest of the day.”

You barely even fought it, leaning into him with an amused grin. “I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather you not break an ankle before my race,” he muttered, shooting a glance down at your shin. His jaw clenched at the sight of fresh bruises already forming. “How do you even manage this?”

You shrugged as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Raw talent.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head, though the corners of his lips twitched. He tugged you even closer, keeping a protective arm around your waist as the two of you continued walking. From then on, any time there was so much as a crack in the pavement, he subtly steered you around it, refusing to take any more chances.

Lando’s race had gone well. Not a win, but a solid finish—good points, a few impressive overtakes, and, most importantly, no major mistakes. After the usual post-race interviews and debrief, all he wanted was to find you, wrap you up in a hug, and maybe gloat a little about how well he managed his tires.

But when he finally spotted you in the motorhome, his relief was short-lived.

You were sitting on one of the couches, clutching your ankle with an ice pack balanced precariously over what looked like a nasty bruise. Your expression was sheepish, but there was a telltale wince every time you shifted.

Lando’s stomach dropped.

“What the hell happened?” His voice was sharp with concern as he strode over, kneeling beside you in an instant. His eyes scanned over you, heart pounding at the thought of what he might find.

You attempted a grin, lifting the ice pack slightly to show off the deepening purple splotch spreading over your skin. “Well, you told me not to break anything before your race… so I did it during your race instead.”

You let out a small, nervous chuckle, expecting him to roll his eyes or make some sarcastic comment.

But Lando didn’t laugh.

His jaw clenched, his usual lighthearted expression darkened with something much more serious. “That’s not funny.” His voice was quieter now, more strained.

You swallowed, the weight of his worry sinking in. “Lando, it’s just a bruise. I didn’t actually break anything.”

He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his damp curls. “What happened?”

You shifted slightly, the movement making you wince again. “I was walking back from the paddock, and some guy wasn’t looking where he was going—ran right into me. I tripped over a barrier and, well… gravity did its thing.”

Lando closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to contain his frustration. “Jesus, Y/N.” His fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure where he could touch without hurting you.

You sighed, placing your hand over his. “Hey, it’s okay. It just looks worse than it is.”

He gave you a look—one of those signature Lando Norris you’re full of shit expressions. “Yeah? So if I press here, it won’t hurt?” He gently placed his hand near the worst of the bruise.

You immediately flinched. “Ow, okay! Point made.”

Lando groaned, rubbing his face. “I leave you alone for one race.”

You pouted. “To be fair, I survived the whole weekend without getting injured until the race. I think that’s progress.”

Lando wasn’t amused. Instead, he carefully lifted your injured leg, maneuvering it so it was resting on his lap as he adjusted the ice pack. His touch was gentle, but his brows remained furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

After a long moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice softer now. “I just… hate seeing you get hurt.”

Your chest tightened at the genuine concern laced in his words. You reached up, cupping his face with your free hand. “I know.”

His blue eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching. “Promise me you’ll at least try to be more careful?”

You smiled, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “I promise to try.”

Lando huffed, clearly not satisfied, but he let it go—mostly. Instead, he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before shifting to kiss the top of your knee, just above the bruise.

“You’re still getting the bubble wrap,” he mumbled against your skin.

You giggled. “And a helmet?”

“And a helmet.”

[sourszt]

𝟏:𝟓𝟓 𝐚𝐦 | 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — art the clown x gn!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 — fluff, art meets someone who isn’t scared of him, art goes to kill u but alas you are … autistic!reader, nonverbal!reader, lowkey a projection of me and how i regress/how art makes me regress lol, also a little theory as to how art gains strength/why he kills so relentlessly as a demon, not proofread!

a demon must feed off of fear. it’s how it gains strength and power. art was no different.

it was his luck that his appearance alone usually struck the fear of god into people. tall but lean in a black and white clown suit, sometimes stained with a strange red substance. face painted white, black outlining an eerily smiling mouth and wide blue eyes. at least, sometimes they were blue.

when he was knee deep into brutally slaughtering people, his eyes would go pitch black from excitement and because his strength was slowly doubling.

everyone who had the misfortune of knowing of his presence feared even his name. all except one.

he’d encountered many who feigned tolerance towards him, some even daring to embrace him before meeting the same fate as everybody else. because they reeked of the same fear as the rest. he could tell in the way they tried to steady their shaking hands, the way their eyes glazed over as they realized they had lost the fight.

but you. you.

you were different. he’d tracked you down after watching you walk home from a little neighborhood party, and he observed you for a couple of days. you lived alone, hardly touched your phone, typed and typed away on your computer with your glasses hanging onto the edge of your nose. completely indifferent to the rest of the world outside.

nobody would miss you. nobody even turned their heads towards your house as they walked by it.

so obviously nobody noticed when he slipped into your house that night. the inside was drab. nicely decorated but it still felt empty. perhaps you’d just moved in not too long ago.

when he found you in your bedroom, comfortably sleeping, he found that wasn’t quite the case. all of the decor, if you could call it that, was stuffed up in here. merchandise from several franchises were nailed, taped, displayed on every surface of your bedroom. sonic, ninja turtles, spiderman.

art stared at it. then at you. you were swarmed by stuffed animals, arms wrapped tightly around a particularly huge fuzzy stuffed sonic plush. the side of your face squished into it and you hummed in your sleep.

he set the garbage bag he had slung over his shoulder down and began searching for something to dismantle you with. the metallic clinks echoed in the room and seemed to wake you up when your muffled grunts became clearer and you began to stretch out your curled limbs.

it took you a while to notice him, but when you did you only blinked. art figured it was a shock response and gave you a taunting smile, baring ugly teeth. your eyebrows knitted together while you sat up, but still you said nothing. not even a scream.

art rose to his feet, towering over you even on your hip-high mattress. in his hand, he had a hefty tool that glinted in the moonlight. fear should have been radiating off of you by now, but that rush he was expecting never came. perhaps you thought you were dreaming.

but as your eyes scanned him from top to bottom, you seemed to accept it as reality. even as you reached out and gingerly tapped his bloodied, gloved hand with the tip of your finger. you didn’t question it.

art hesitated. but only because he doubted he would be strong enough to take your head off with one clean swipe. he wasn’t even close to half of his full strength yet. why was this taking so long?

you turned to the side, searching for something in the sea of stuffies you were haloed with just moments earlier. plucking a smaller one out of the heap, you offered it to the mysterious clown at the side of your bed. it was one of your lesser favorites because you didn’t want him to get it dirty with his white-stained-red gloves. a little fuzzy bee you got from a museum years back.

art pointed at himself, and you nodded with a gentle smile. you half thought that was what he wanted. some strange stuffed animal reaper.

he reached for it, and the cleaver in his hand hit the ground with a thud that made you flinch and cover your ears. almost instinctively, you leaned towards him.

you weren’t scared of the knife itself but the loud noise. art was baffled that somebody could look to him for protection. had you any idea who he was? the miles county clown, was the name every tv within a 50 mile radius was echoing daily because of him.

well, you probably actually didn’t. in the days he watched you, you neglected to turn on the news or scroll through social media. was that why you weren’t scared of him?

either way, his palm found the top of your head, awkwardly patting it with a force that told you he was also trying to push you away. you peered up at him with a straight lipped smile, and gently grabbed the wrist of the hand on your head. he tensed, shocked, but allowed you to flip his palm upwards, watching as you ran your finger over his red stained glove.

you spelled out your name, letter by letter, and pointed to yourself. you also couldn’t speak. or you couldn’t at the moment.

art could only tilt his head at you, genuinely frowning because his presence wasn’t scaring you shitless. he was more confused than anything else.

you gestured towards him and handed him your own palm. he was to etch his name onto your skin.

it took him a second to do it, letting his hand cradle yours while he dragged his finger across your palm. A-R-T.

registering the name, you nodded up at him. it was quite fitting for him, you thought.

the clown grinned and waved your own stuffed animal in front of your face before booping your nose with it. he found he liked the sound of your giggle, which brought him both comfort and unease.

you were sad when he left so quickly, dropping your stuffed bee into your lap and grabbing his garbage bag. he put a finger to his lips and wagged his fingers at you before retreating back into your hallway. the sound of your comforter shuffling made him pause and he found you bent over, picking his cleaver up off of your floor.

you sheepishly held the heavy handle out to him.

you were quite tall. still significantly shorter than him, but taller than he was expecting. wearing a slim fitting tank top and some athletic shorts. you even had some tattoos on your arms and on your thighs. things he hadn’t seen past your sweaters and jeans.

he took the cleaver and prepared to take his leave, but was stunned when you suddenly wrapped your arms around him. for a moment, he was the scared one. but he soon realized that you were only hugging him.

“thank you,” you whispered, so softly and shakily he almost missed it over the buzz of your electric fan. still, you held no fear of him.

you smiled when his arms briefly closed around you.

and then he was gone.

i love him sm 😞😞

[lady-of-tearshed]

Lost in translation

Cassian x Reader

Cassian Week 2024

Day 4: Lover

@cassianappreciationweek

A/N: Honestly, I think that Cassian, as a lover, is a big fan of physical touch. Massages, hugs, holding hands, cuddling, having sex… That’s exactly how I imagine this male’s love language. So I thought: What would happen if our Lord of Bloodshed's mate had a completely different love language? And here's how this little fic got written. Enjoy! 💕

Summary: Cassian is worried he's being too clingy since you don't seem to show him your love with physical touches... But maybe the two of you just got lost in translation.

Warnings: Mention of nudity, but nothing explicit. Miscommunication angst. Happy ending.

Word count: 1,236k words

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

And they lived happily ever after… The end.

You snap the book close in your hands and groan. You slide the back of the book onto the nightstand, right beside your empty mug of tea, and stretch your arms above your head. You sigh at the feeling of your numb muscles stretching out after a long time stuck in the same position. You look up at the clock to check how long exactly you’ve been reading, and the realization hits you full force.

Seven whole hours. Mother above… More like “Mother’s tits”, as your mate would so graciously say.

Speaking of him, you haven’t heard much of him in a while, which was weird, since he would always be tucked at your side at any given time of the day. He would usually burrow his face in the middle of your breasts, and start kissing them sneakily once he has enough of waiting for you to finish reading. He would become insufferable if you have the misfortune to read a relatively steamy part of your book and become all hot and bothered. Cassian would always manage to make you even more flustered or aroused when this happens. 

But the General hasn't shown up for seven whole hours. Tendrils of guilt swirls around your stomach, squeezing it uncomfortably as you come to the realization that you have failed to notice Cassian’s absence until just now. You softly tug on the golden bond that shone permanently in your chest, connecting your soul with the male of your every desire, but you receive no response, as if he had blocked you out. 

You slide your cold feets into your slippers, and pick up the mug on the nightstand, bringing it with you on your quest to find the General. The house of the wind is silent, save from the fire soothingly dancing in the hearth. Your eyes scan the living room, then the kitchen… No sign of Cassian. You walk toward the sink, washing your mug and placing it down into the drying rack, all while thinking where your mate can possibly be at this time of the night. 

Your eyes move to the front door, and you notice that there still was a thin layer of snow melting under the sole of his boots. He must’ve been training until late, which means…

Just as you start to make a connection of where your mate is most likely to be, the sound of water running from the bathroom confirms your theory. You tiptoe to the bathroom, trying to be sneaky, but Cassian’s gaze is already set on you when you walk in the bathroom. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He says, turning his back to you.

The water is pouring down on him, soaking his hair, droplets of water sliding down the waves of his hair, following the uneven black lines tattooed on his shoulders, sliding all the way down his back, finishing their course by caressing his muscled ass… “I wasn’t sleeping.” You admit, starting to undress, not minding at all that your mate can smell the shift in your scent. 

Cassian shoulder’s tense slightly as you walk closer to the foggy glass door, naked. You raise a brow, halting your hand on the doorknob of the shower, about to question him but he’s quicker to speak. “Y/N, don’t come in here just because you pity me.” All hints of arousal leave your body at his words, your brain blurry from trying to understand where Cassian's insecurity comes from.  

“Alright, then,” You say, stepping inside the shower, standing right behind the General's massive shoulders, hands on your hips. “Mind telling me where such thoughts come from?” Your finger taps on the back of his head slightly, insisting that he turns around to face you, to face what’s on his mind and open up to you. 

Cassian’s shoulders drop, his wings so low that they brush the shower tiles on the floor. “Cassie… My love…” You stroke the spot in between his wings in a comforting manner, and you feel his wards crumble, his emotions pouring through the bond. 

Self-loathing, pain, loneliness… 

His feelings make your own heart sting, and your face crumbles at how much pain your mate seems to suffer from. You lift his wing, and carefully slip underneath it to sneak between the wall and his face. He turns his face away from you, facing the wall. You can’t tell if it’s tears, or water that’s rolling down his cheeks. “I need you to be honest with me,” He sighs, as if trying to gather the strength to speak his next words. “Do you…” His eyebrows knit, and your eyes glance to his fists, clenching, unclenching. He was nervous. “Do you find me annoying?”

“No, Cass-”

“Too clingy maybe?”

You frown, and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “No… My love-”

“Then why is it everytime I touch you, you…” His eyes snap to yours, and you hold your breath at how bloodshot they look. From crying. “You…” His voice softens, and he has to bite his lip to keep it from trembling. “Do you like it when I touch you?” He asks in a whisper, his head tilting to the side. Pain was written all over his face.

“Oh, Cassian…” You smile sadly, opening your arms to offer him a hug. He swings you into his arms, both of you now standing under the warm water. He buries his face in the crook of your neck. “I love it when you touch me. What made you think otherwise?” You comfort him, kissing the side of his head lovingly. 

“It almost looks like you avoid touching me. I just… I don't know. It made me wonder if perhaps I was the one being too touchy.” He confesses, still hiding his face in the safety of your neck. 

“Hey… look at me.” You move back to cup his cheek, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “If I didn't like you touching me, I would've told you so. I promise,” You kiss the tip of his nose. “Now, if I made you feel like I was avoiding touching you, I'm sorry. It's just…” You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “I'm just… I just like to express my love differently, I guess. Like, I usually express my love with little acts of services, or words of affirmation…” 

Cassian nods slowly, and scratches the back of his head, chuckling too. “Oh…” 

There's a moment of silence where the both of you just stand naked in the shower, your hands caressing Cassian’s cheeks, the stubbles scratching your digits softly. 

Cassian’s hands wrap delicately around your wrists, and he brings one of them to his lips, pampering the soft skin of it with kisses. “I'm so sorry I didn't notice all of this… I was too focused on my own love language. And since you weren't so… Gods, I'm such an idiot…”

“You're not an idiot,” You reassure him. “You're allowed to be worried about things, Cass. I'm happy we talked about it.” 

His lips leave your wrist, and hover over your mouth, softly brushing against yours. He tucks a strand of wet hair behind your ear, and whispers against your lips. “Yeah… I'm glad we talked about it too…” Then he kisses you, his lips feeling so light against yours. So was his heart, now that you've communicated.

Acotar Taglist: @lilah-asteria @mybestfriendmademe

Cassian Taglist: @ladybookstan @acotar-lover

[starlit1daydream]

Mages & Seers: Experience and Comprehension

Those who know, everybody. I love Seers - so this should be one hell of an analysis.

The Mage:Seer class dichotomy embodies experience, comprehension and knowledge of their Aspect. Their Quest and their role in the session revolves wholly around their personal comprehension of their Aspect; and the ways in which that may shift or change their (or others!) viewpoint.

I can't definitively say they're one of the Classes that say something about their session, beyond perhaps the concept that a Mage or a Seer will obviously have a well of knowledge on their Aspect present.

Canonical Mage players are Sollux Captor (Mage of Doom) and Meulin Leijon (Mage of Heart).

Canonical Seer players are Rose Lalonde (Seer of Light), Terezi Pyrope (Seer of Mind) and Kankri Vantas (Seer of Blood).

Point A. The narrative function of the Mage.

Mages know about their Aspect. They are that simple to understand. A lot of people will argue that the Mage is one of the more nebulous classes in Homestuck; and I'd argue this is because there really isn't much in the way of complexity with them. They've got a fairly straightforward relationship with their Aspect; having experienced it wholly throughout their life prior to the session.

It's almost, to me, as if their Aspect haunts them in a sense. We see this with Sollux's recurring visions of Doom and misfortune; considering that the Mages & Seers are meant to fill a sort of 'prophet' archetype.

Sollux is consistently depicted as knowledgeable on coding (a manifestation of Doom in the form of rigid order and regulation) and holding a vast well of knowledge and foresight on the topic of suffering. It's important to hold the distinction that Doom does not deal directly with absolute death (Time does), and so Sollux's visions are of the imminently doomed and the suffering, not the already deceased.

Meulin is a little more difficult to pin down, but inference from stray lines of dialogue and particularly her complex moirallegiance with Horuss give me some substance to work with. Toxic positivity? Alluded 'darkness' in her without elaboration? Her disability being inflicted directly as a result of her partner & lover? I think what we're looking at here is depression.

If Meulin has experience with Heart in all facets - this implies to me that she has a share of experience with emotion in all facets. Good and bad. And what better manifestation of poor emotional control than that? I think it's a very conclusive theory.

It becomes clear to me that Mages aren't absolute in their assertions, and so therein comes my theory that their quest involves an expansion of perspective and reconsideration of their knowledge. It is to accept that they may not understand their Aspect as thoroughly as once thought and subsequently grow to accomodate a wider worldview. They're stagnant, having experienced so much that they feel they have no further room to learn.

Point B. The practical function of the Mage.

This is a more difficult one to understand since neither Mage in the comic God Tiers and they aren't seen fighting much over the course of the story. Even when Sollux takes to action, he applies his psiionics rather than utilising Doom in any way.

My theory is that the application of a Mage is to inform. Mages & Seers may very well hold the same occupation broadly speaking, to accomodate for the gaps in co-players' knowledge and bring about newfound understanding. Being active players, the Mages presumably advance this through their own means. This is some of the most active conjecture I'll be writing, since we do not ever see a God-Tiered Mage in canon.

Point C. The narrative function of the Seer!

In case it wasn't obvious, I am very excited to get this segment done; after all, who better to talk on the topic of Seers than... a Seer?

Seers have a little more depth to their function involving their relationship with both their Aspect and its diemetric opposite. Seers begin their sessions holding a poor or deficient comprehension of their Aspect; to the point where they seek their opposite. The notion of their base Aspect comes into play fairly soon - though they may superficially seek their opposite, it is their Aspect they seek in actuality.

They do hold a certain level of foresight, but rather than the Mage's inherent comprehension, Seers tend to rely upon external sources and stimuli to further their understanding; Rose with the Horrorterrors, Terezi with Scratch & Aranea, and we can only guess with Kankri.

They are capable of having visions, though - as Rose & The Signless can both attest to!

Rose seeks Void. She seeks to breach the unknowable, catalogues the Zoologically Dubious and finds comfort in oblivion and the pursuit of ignorance. She resolves to leave the game to Void rather than seek its Light; at first.

Terezi seeks Heart. Her final speech to Vriska talks of her emotional insecurity and pursuit of self-assurance. She wishes most prominently for security in herself and her identity; and yet this manifests in a flawed pursuit of binary, deficient Mind.

Kankri seeks Breath. Having been coddled and patronised all his life, freedom is his ultimate aim. His rebellious spirit and compulsive boot-licking seem to be a direct manifestation of his desire to think for himself and be free in his direction. Kankri's a particularly interesting one given that he fucked up his quest, canonically.

...The Signless didn't, however. The Signless pursued unity through freedom his whole life.

Rose resolves to pursue knowledge through the unknown.

Terezi seeks logic through emotion.

All of them grow, the further they pursue their Session's aims, to understand their base Aspect. It's a reversal of the Mage's quest; the stagnant Mage must embrace diversity wheras the directionless Seer embraces their certain path.

Point D. The practical function of the Seer.

Apologies, this is going to be mostly just about Rose.

Rose's role in her session post-ascension is to understand and inform her session-mates about the most fortuitous path. Her visions allow her to comprehend Light and sift through the endless possibilities and synthesis of her Aspect to find the most precise outcome. They grow to be an indispensible well of knowledge; always learning and finding out their Aspect's truth.

Terezi does the same, albeit without ascending; her greatest moment of heroism is the prelude to the Retcon, which she directly causes. Terezi applies all of her knowledge of consequence, cause & effect to undo the resultant consequences of the actions taken by her sessionmates. She uses her comprehension of Mind to her utmost ability; which is why I find it gut-wrenching that she still believes she was never enough.

Kankri... does jack shit other than be a whiny little bootlicker, but The Signless certainly applies his Aspect for the greater good. The fire of his rebellion and his pursuit of unity and free communication on Alternia ignite the spark of revolution for generations to come; his quest for Blood bringing utmost comprehension and sight of unity.

Overall, this is one Class where the narrative:practical lines tend to blur a little, owing to the general non-combatant status of the Classes in general. Rose shows they're capable of using their Aspect in combat just as all players are; but it seems clear to me that they function the best as advisors.

Next week, I'll be elucidating on the Witches & Heirs; which will be an interesting one since it'll require me to actually understand what a Witch does. That should be fun.

Take care, everybody. I know nothing.

[charmercharm3r]

Masterlist

prev: four, next: six

☆ﾟ

It was a good idea in theory. In reality, it was a shit show. Literally. Trips to Jeju are always fun, even if you’re supposed to be filming. However this time around you were informed that the group would be filming a parody of a popular dating show. Whose genius idea was that?

It would’ve been perfectly fine if your members were normal. To your pleasure or misfortune— it’s still unclear— they’re far from it.

There were no hitches the entire trip, traveling and the initial filming was as planned. You were assigned the role of a host while the boys were to be “dating” amongst one another. They followed direction as best as you could ask for with their limited attention spans, jumping from conversation to conversation and even getting in some teasing as the cameras continued to roll. You could already tell a lot of film was going to get cut seeing as they tended to get sidetracked into talking about incredibly personal details.

The “first dates” were going as you expected, you were instructed to go around and give them interviews to provoke more conversations when they started to fall quiet. Seungmin was indifferent the entire time while Felix tried to keep it as lively as possible, no doubt the former doing it on purpose. Jeongin and Jisung didn’t really even need you there as they practically forgot you even were— in their own little world. You got lost in the orchard when looking for Hyunjin and Minho, breaking the fourth wall a few times to ask the crew member on where to go, eventually giving up and wandering on your own for a little too long. Only to find Chan and Changbin sitting and have what looked like a normal conversation— they didn’t need much help either.

The looks of surprise and betrayal was fun to witness as they regrouped to pick who was riding with who to go to dinner. You got to pick whose car you rode in once they finished, and decided on Minho and Felix’s car.

Minho drives fast, which is even more fun when he takes off the child locks in the backseat and rolls down the window for you. You and Felix stick your heads out the window as he surpasses the other three cars, the both of you hollering at them with joy and barely catching a faint smile on Minho’s lips when you sit back again.

Everyone, including you, forgets that you’re supposed to be filming during dinner and goes silent as you eat. Until Hyunjin speaks from across the table, “Y/N’ie, I thought you were supposed to interview us earlier. Did you think we were so hopeless as a couple that you decided not to?”

His question threw you off, totally unexpected as your mouth was full. Half chewed and half hearted, “I got lost.”

“What did you say?” Jisung called at the other end.

“You got lost?” Chan chuckled at your right, the confession sending him and Hyunjin into a fit of giggles. The information eventually made it to the other side of the table and the rest of them erupted into giggles as well.

“It wasn’t my fault! Why were you two so far away?” You turned the attention onto Minho and Hyunjin, who shared an amused look.

When both of them simply shrugged, Changbin stepped in, “that’s okay. I would’ve stayed up all night looking for you if you got lost.” He beat his palm onto his chest and jutted his chin out with a nodding smirk.

“That’s nice, but you’re supposed to be interested in each other. It wouldn’t be a good look for the show—“ you gestured to the surrounding cameras— “if you showed more interest in the host than in the contestants.”

“But the host is always the most attractive one!” He exclaimed, throwing his spoon down. Your eyes widened in confusion of where this sudden infatuation came from.

You looked at your manager standing by one of the center cameras, he was laughing just as hard as the members, “I don’t remember this being part of the script.”

“It’s not a script!” Changbin’s chair scraped against the floor as he abruptly stood. “These are my true feelings! Do my feelings look like a joke to you?!”

None of the others were going to help you now, they all avoided eye contact and kept their mouths shut as you sought out a scapegoat for Changbin’s bombardment of affection. “If I say no, will you sit down?”

“No!”

Then it hit you, play along.

Your chair almost toppled back when you took to your feet, Chan stuck his hands out to catch you just in case. “Then yes!”

Jeongin let out a small, “what is happening?”

“You’re a joke!” You replied back to Changbin with feigned anger. “You broke my heart! Then you come on my show to rub it in my face!”

Everyone at the table was suddenly invested in where this was going. You glanced over at your manager and he waved his hands as though throwing up a white flag. Green light.

“Do you want to humiliate me? Is my pain funny to you, Seo Changbin?”

“I didn’t want our relationship to end but you pushed me to it! You forced my hand!” He shouted at you for two seats down.

“Everyone,” you dramatically looked the other members directly in the eye, “he cheated on me.”

Gasps erupted throughout the restaurant, including the staff playing into the story. They spoke over each other, everyone trying to get their words in as Changbin’s mouth dropped to the floor in shock. You forced yourself to repress a smile seeing the disbelief on his face, his reaction much funnier when he broke the fourth wall to look at your manager as well.

How could you’s and shame on you’s echoed throughout the restaurant, Hyunjin’s words particularly catching your ear.

“Cheating is unforgivable, how disrespectful. I could never be friends with anyone who cheats on their significant other,” his serious tone drawing in the rest of the table above all the jokes spewing about, all eyes on him now.

“Care to explain more, Hyunjinnie?” You and Changbin sat back down and gave him the floor to speak.

Hyunjin cleared his throat, “I can’t stand it. Just break up with them. If you truly cared about someone, you’d never, never treat them with that level of disrespect, even if you’re on bad terms.”

He was clearly upset now, arms crossed across his chest and looking down at his bowl. No one really knew what to say as his emotions were much more intense than the previous vibes of the dinner. As the host and since it was your fault the topic was brought up, you comforted him, “I agree with you—“

But Jisung adds fuel to the fire before you could continue, “I have something to confess.” Everyone turns to him. “I saw who Changbin cheated with. I caught them together.”

More gasps, fists slamming on the table, angry exclamations demanding to know more. “It was…” he paused and looked around the table, then stuck his finger in the direction across from you, “Hyunjinnie!”

Faking a faint, you fell back into Chan with a hand over your forehead. The oldest wrapped his arms around your neck and shielded you from the subject of the incoming yelling match. There wasn’t much you could really understand as everyone spoke over one another for the billionth time that night. When he released you, you faked wiping tears as Hyunjin went mute with his mouth agape.

“Any last words before we,” a fake sniffle, “move on?”

“I DIDN’T KNOW! I PROMISE!” He came over to your side of the table and fell dramatically to his knees, taking your hand and placing your palm onto his cheek.

“What are you doing, get up.” You tried to take your hand back but he only held on tighter.

“Say you forgive me.”

“You need to be on a drama with how dramatic you are,” you joke, trying to divert your attention from how tightly he held your hand made your tummy warm.

“I won’t let you go until you say it!” His eyes were beaming up at you with sparkles so bright, even the stage lighting wasn’t nearly as blinding. Part of you felt like he was apologizing for something he truly did to wrong you, you almost fell for it.

“Fine, fine! Forgiven. Get up and finish your food.” Hyunjin quickly kissed the inside of your palm, unsure if the cameras actually caught it, and went back to his seat.

Conversation shifting to something you weren’t paying attention to, lo and behold, your mind wasn’t nearly as focused as it should be. There was more screaming and yelling, mostly Changbin and Jisung, and you couldn’t even laugh with them because you were internally battling with yourself about his fucking eyes. Hyunjin’s eyes and how sincere they were, how soft and patient and agonized they seemed to be about a situation that was purely for show. It caught you so far off guard that when the members continued with the skit, you let them take the reins to do whatever they wanted.

By the time it was time to choose cars to head home, you were just going with the flow, not caring about the show anymore. What you needed was an ice cold bath. A freezing shower to get rid of the heat in your cheeks whenever Hyunjin’s gaze would linger on you for half a second longer.

That was exactly what you did as soon as the cameras were off and you were back at your hotel room. You rushed off to be alone and get rid of all the stupid thoughts that made your head dizzy because what the fuck?

It wasn’t like you were touch deprived, your members were practically an extension of your physical self. It was just the way he looked at you. Why were you so upset over a look? He looks at you every day, nothing new. You were looking back at him. Straight into his eyes. He was on his knees. Your hand was on his cheek. He was nuzzling his face into your skin. You almost leaned in. His lips looked so kissable. He did kiss you— your hand, at least.

Oh, it’s fucking over for you.

Knock, knock, knock.

The consistent rapping on your hotel door shocked you enough to pull you from the butterfly inducing realization. Just a robe on and hair still dripping, you rushed to check the peep hole to find the one person you didn’t want to see standing outside.

“Why’re you here?” You said a little colder than intended.

Hyunjin scoffed and held up the bag of chips and soda, “what a rude way to greet someone bearing gifts.” He pushed past you and threw the snacks on the bed along with himself. “Go get dressed, they have Netflix on the TV.”

You didn’t even have the will to say no, doing what he asked and changing into comfy clothes. Big sweats and a baggy hoodie seemed decent enough, and so did standing at the foot of the bed while he was sprawled out, clicking through the different movies. “What are you doing here?” You finally asked.

“Hanging out?”

“Obviously. Why?”

“Am I not allowed to hang out with you?” He had a point. “You were also really quiet at dinner.” Frowning a little, you sat at the foot of the bed and took the bag of chips. Admittedly, they hit the spot, he knew they would and smiled to himself when you visibly relaxed.

“That one,” you spoke again as he hovered over the movie you’d been telling yourself you’d watch when you had the time. Well, now you had nothing but time.

Cross legged and still on the edge of the bed, munching away while fully invested in this terrible movie, Hyunjin admired the way you’d copy the actress’s slight body movements when she was around the love interest, as if you were taking notes. Tilting your head, sitting up a little straighter, leaning your head on your palm, or tucking your hair behind your ear. It was utterly adorable and he loved being able to see you like this. Somehow, you forgot he was even there until the bed shifted behind you.

Suddenly there was heat, too much of it. You were suffocating with the obvious fact that you were not alone and haven’t been for the past hour. Hyunjin’s arm was bumping against the back of yours, seemingly innocent.

“Are you gonna share?” He said, chin brushing your shoulder as he gestured at the mostly empty bag of chips. You didn’t say anything, only holding it in his direction. His hand encased yours to bring it even closer to him, making your fingers almost shake with anxiety. It was nothing. Literally nothing. But it felt like everything.

“Open,” he commanded for the second time tonight. When did he get so close to you? You could practically smell his shampoo and body lotion. Dumbly, you faced him slightly and opened your mouth enough for him to slip a chip into it. Then unexpectedly, his fingers tipped the bottom of your chin up to close. “Chew before you swallow.” Your eyes followed his hand as it retreated, leading up to his own gaze that was already staring back.

The sound of your swallowing was comically loud, you wished the ground would open up and eat you whole. “I don’t want to kiss you,” you rushed to say.

Hyunjin smirked, amused. “I don’t want to kiss you, either.” His actions contradicted his words as his face unnoticeably inched forward. Warmth was swirling around you now, his shampoo, his lotion, his skin, his clean clothes, his left over toothpaste— “your breath smells like chips.”

There it was. Butterflies gone. You shoved him and his stupidly smug smirk harshly back by his chest and he thumped back into the bed. Immediately, you ran into the bathroom to rinse your mouth with mouthwash before coming back and attacking him. You were slamming the soft pillow into his body without so much as a complaint. More so, he was laughing, not even a wince because it didn’t phase him at all. It wasn’t enough. He didn’t get it.

Moving into a stronger position, you went from standing at his side to trying to hop over him onto the available bed space, failing miserably and flopping onto him instead. Chest to chest, practically straddling him, Hyunjin gripped your waist to keep you from falling off the edge. That also meant there was no where to run. “Now I really don’t want to kiss you.”

“But I really want you to.” His hands keeping you in place, the proximity, minty fresh breath— from you, at least. Your hand drifted to his face, ghosting fingertips up along his cheek to push his hair from his face. Another thing for the second time that night, he leaned into the touch, enjoying it much more than he should.

This felt like the right moment, right? This was how that girl did it in the movie. She did all those steps, the lean in, touch the cheek, brush the hair, what came next?

It was the actual kiss, the one part you couldn’t get yourself to initiate. It’s been too much teasing him, perhaps if you only just gave in a little— a slight graze of your lips against his, that’d be the ultimate power move. Payback for the emotions he made you feel earlier this evening. Just close enough to make his eyes flutter closed, make his breath hitch, make him pucker and wait for you to close the distance and feel one another for the first time.

That’s exactly what you did, and fuck, was it hard not to cave. His soft breath and pillowy lips, you almost did.

Knock, knock, knock. “Y/N’ie, can I use your hair drier? The outlet in my bathroom doesn’t work.”

Saved by the fucking bell. Hyunjin audibly groaned, annoyed that his perfect moment was once again stolen from him.

You quickly pushed off of his body by his chest and rushed to open the door, stroking your hair flat and revealing Jisung on the other side. He immediately went into your bathroom, not noticing Hyunjin on the bed lobbing his head back with frustration.

“Han Jisung, you’re the worst. I was so close! Couldn’t you have waited two more minutes?!”

Jisung, frightened by the unknown voice, peaked around the doorframe and saw the other boy. “Oh, was I interrupting something?”

“No—“

“Yes!” You shook your head with emphasis, holding up your hands like waving a white flag.

Everything else happened so fast. One second you were standing next to Jisung and the next, Hyunjin was rushing over to the both of you saying something along the lines of, “give me my kiss!” You had pulled Jisung in front of you without really thinking about it and put him into Hyunjin’s line of fire. The two smashes foreheads at the fast pace the older moved, both crumbling to the floor in pain.

With the way the night started, this was a solid way to end it— watching your two friends rolling around the floor in pain as you laughed your ass off at their idiotic tendencies. Then them proving said idiotic tendencies as one tried to— hopefully playfully— strangle the other, in which you don’t know who started all the rough housing, you’re just there to patch them up when they’re done.

☆ﾟ

A/N: don’t ask me where i’ve been idek LMAO. this is so bad im really trying to start writing again pls bear with me

[bokettochild]

Imagine if all our Zelda, except Sun, had all a twin brother.

All of those twin brothers were seen as misfortune. The sign that the evil was coming back.

So all of them were killed.

All of them.

Except Legend.

Probably because he was also the hero and Hylia was super careful and make sure that nobody dangerous for the baby would be here + Legend's uncle who is the best uncle.

Imagine the Zelda learning it.

Dot, criying in Four's arms. Make him promise that he'll not let that happened to her children. (Sadely maybe he became the broken hero before she became a mother)

Dusk, keeping it for herself because Midna is gone and she is not THAT close of Twilight. When we see the game,n they look like more co-workers against evil that friends.

Tetra, who thinks he died of sickness.

 Lullaby, who has a good relation with Time (more or less) but they're not that close to share something THAT personal. But she must have spoke with Impa about it Maybe Impa TRIED to save the baby.

Artemis totally speak about it with Warriors and Impa and make them promise they would protect her son is he has ever a son one day.

Flora, wondering if it's her fault. Wondering why her dad did that. Hoping that he didn't know about it. And Wild being horrified.

Dawn and Aurora ...well that' a mess for them too. because one of them has had her twin brother killed but a little brother spared? WHY? Why hert twin had to die then?

All the Zelda, meeting Legend: One Of Us

Honestly, that would be awful. Some of them would have no clue until they were told and others might actively remember what happened. None of them was able to do anything about it, and they all would feel guilty that they couldn't save a sibling despite saving their kingdoms.

I do feel like, if they did meet Legend with such knowledge, and realized what he is, they would all sort of cling onto him because meeting him is the closest they will ever have to meeting their brothers, and maybe they decide to direct all the feelings about the whole thing onto him.

Maybe some of them would resent him a bit, for living when their brothers had to die, but given that most of the princesses are pretty mature, I think the majority would rather get to know him and ask to spend time with him, even though they know he's not what they lost, but everyone grieves in their own way, yeah?

If it was that common though, it would be interesting to see why all princes are killed in such a world, especially if they were essentially the other half of a pair that always comes into being. Like, my theory about why princes are killed works in a world where they are rare, but in a world where they're a constant? Somehow, I have a feeling it would be even darker than what I imagined T-T

That said, I'm now imagining a world where Artemis does have a son and Warriors somehow ends up having to run away with the kid and raise him, Uncle Aflon style, and meeting the chain with said baby in hand. Like, that scarf is definitely baby-swaddling material but I'm also a sucker for Dad Wars, and also, the angst potential? All around?!?!?!?! I'm in love!

[ineffabildaddy]

snake break (T, 4.8k) - a good omens lockdown short oneshot by ineffabildaddy

In which Crowley takes a very long nap, and his snake tattoo decides to go on an adventure.

happy birthday @crowlixcx! this one's for you!

excerpt:

For hundreds of years, historians, scientists and philosophers the world over have puzzled over the true nature of the demon Crowley's snake tattoo, debating exactly how and why it is able to move up and down Crowley's face according to the length of his sideburns (or in the case of its host sporting an unkempt pair of mutton chops, whether it disappears from its ordinary home entirely or simply conceals itself beneath the hair smattered thickly down Crowley's cheek for a few decades). The mystery remains, and it's no use asking Crowley. As the inventor of conspiracy theories himself - one of his proudest projects, actually - his response to such enquiries typically involves pointing out that your tin foil hat must have fallen off, lighting your annotated notes on fire with a click of a finger, and turning sharply on his heel before you can conjure up a response, meandering into the distance as if he is doing battle with his skinny jeans. Given these facts (or lack thereof), it is best not to question the abilities of the inked snake. The reasons the little man can travel, and his motivations for such an action, are beyond us, and any comments to the contrary may indeed condemn the laptop, phone or tablet on which you have typed them to spontaneous combustion. It will be no one's fault but yours, and the demon responsible for your misfortune will not be trawling eBay for hours in search of an adequate replacement. God's great mysteries are infinite, and only a foolish human, angel or demon believes they can truly be unravelled. Crowley reluctantly acknowledged this hundreds of years ago; it is advised that you, dear reader, do the same.

[danieyells]

hi danie, I was chatting with a friend about Haru having 4 houses and we made two theories:

1st one, he's an orphan, he moved a lot (maybe for anomalies reasons?) he was always cheerful with the other kids, that's why he was in Dionisya and he's funny, he loves to make everyone smile. And then when the house was disbanded he moved to Jabb, one that takes care of others and this is the reason he's so protective over the animals, Towa and Ren, he wanted to create a family he never had.

2nd one, his parents moved a lot for work but they're rich af, so they simply buy an house instead of renting one (or they have a big family and lived with relativies) (he can't manage money because back then he never had the problem to see the price before paying)

Hi! I don't think that "home" in this context is literally "house". A "home" isn't always a house--it's anywhere you live(d) or consider yourself comfortable and familiar. Okayama being his "fourth home" would either mean "the fourth place he lived" or "the fourth place he feels comfortable/attached to", not "fourth house", I think.

I think your first thought is much closer than your second! He considers modern firestarting stuff "fancy tools" and can easily make s fire with or without them, he's a pro at cooking on a barbecue and used to cook on an open fire a lot as a child, he's just happy to have a roof over his head and totally laughed off the idea of essentially sleeping on the ground. . .

. . .more than I think that he moved homes a lot I think he was either extremely poor or straight up homeless(or just heavily nomadic, maybe an immigrant with the slight implication that he's Chinese) most of his life. He had to get used to living outside in really poor situations. And maybe street entertaining was how they got by--or like you said he had to keep things upbeat with his family and companions, which loans to his cheerful nature now.

He's careless with his money but that's because he buys so much on sale with the mentality of 'when will i be able to get something like this at a better price? If i don't take advantage of it now it'll cost much more when i do need it!' which is an easy mentality to have if you're worried about how you'll be able to afford something necessary when it's really necessary. If you prepare in advance it can be more cost effective. Also sometimes when you're living paycheck to paycheck it's easy to spend all your money now because. . .when will you have money to spend later? You don't know. Is it really going to be helpful to try and save what little you have now for the future when you'll inevitably need to spend it and it won't be enough anyway? It's easy to align the monetary "carelessness" with actual thought when I'm not in a good financial situation myself lol.

There's also his pre-prologue line before jumping off the balcony. . . .

Being unable to protect his home. . .suggests that perhaps his previous homes were lost time and time and time again. That includes Dionysia too(which, by the way, he left before it was defunct as you may recall from Episode 16--maybe he left in hopes it wouldn't fall apart by whatever misfortune seems to follow him. . .but well you see how well that turned out.) Maybe he lost his first home. . .and the second. . .and the third and fourth and Dionysia too. And he's constantly having to move around because. . .well he has no other choice.

I do like the idea of him being an orphan and bouncing around homes a lot though. Something awful must have happened to his birth family maybe that he ended up in Japan and moving around so much. Although since Rui said that Okayama was where he lived before he came to Darkwick I assume that was his last pre-Dionysia home.

Oh also he says in his home screen lines that “I swore I’d take responsibility for protecting all the lives in this park. I can’t let anyone die on my watch.” and “I don’t know where I’d be without all the critters in this place if I’m honest with you." So I can definitely see him putting together this family--or at least trying to protect something that he knew was at risk and needed protection--in a desperate attempt to keep something together with his own hands while maybe it seems to him like his presence is what makes things fall apart. . . . And he's so attached now. These are his family and it's gonna be hard to move on to their internships. But hopefully things will be okay without him! Or maybe when he graduates they'll let him work there lol he can be the new advisor after Sinostra kills Hyde and sells his organs!

[mncxbe]

What it takes to kill an angel

𝑫𝒂𝒛𝒂𝒊 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

ღೀ๋࣭ ⭑𝒄𝒘: heavy angst, self-harm, intended suicide, blood loss, Dazai being toxic, reader is dazai's guardian angel (quite literally) please don't read if you're uncomfortable with any of these topics

It was a known fact that Dazai was passionate about death, his colleagues going as far as to call him a suicidal maniac. It was mostly a joke, really, no one truly deblieved that Dazai was going to do it, they thought it was some sort of coping mechanism, a mask he put on to keep people away– but little did they know how far his self-distructive tendencies went. No one was aware of the complete shitshow that went down every week in one of the apartments just above Ada's office.

You see, Dazai has never been a religious person, but not too long ago when he was on the brink of death– drunk on cheap booze and almost choking on his own vomit one Friday night– he spotted your shadowy figure at the corner of his eye. At first he thought he was dreaming but when you reached out your hand and ghosted it over his head he instantly felt... better? He stopped slipping in and out of consciousness, his heart regained its normal rhythm and he incessant shivering subsided. Strange, it was beyond strange, a phenomenon he couldn't explain even weeks after.

Night after night he laid awake in bed with these thoughts weighing on his mind– theories and ideas, questions left unanswered. Dazai always blamed his failed suicide attempts on pure misfortune but now that he caught a glimpse of you he was starting to doubt that. Maybe there truly was some higher being that kept him alive, or maybe he simply hallucinated you there. In any case, he needed to know the truth. There weren't many things Dazai despised more than uncertainty.

So here he was again, slumped against his bathtub with his wrists bleeding red– looking, searching for any signs of your presence. The bathroom was empty and cold, the cracked tiles under him covered in a thin layer of grime. Dazai tried to focus on anything else but the pain he felt– his wrists were hot, throbbing, aching but he simply closed his eyes and focused on the shallow sounds of traffic. He conjured up an image of the cars outside, taxis spilling fumes and people into the clammy air outside, men and women in suits driving home to their families to have dinner with their happy kids and spouses and couldn't help but laugh dryly.

Not long after he started feeling breathless, his fingers going numb from the loss of blood and turning a light shade of purple– still no sign of you. He thought it'd be quite stupid to die like this, too... unoriginal, but if that were to be his fate then so be it. Just as he came to peace with the thought and his vision blurred he felt a light touch on his wrists. Dazai did his best to focus his eyes, to see the person before him but it was hard considering the amount of blood he lost. He managed to lift a shaky hand and place it above yours– you felt cold and smooth, lacking the texture of human skin. It was as if he were touching a marble statue. By the time he started regaining his composure and strength your hand slipped away from his. The man cursed under his breath but there wasn't much he could do before he suddenly fell asleep.

The next morning when he woke up the fluorescent lamp above his sink still shone brightly. His body felt sore and he could see the faint traces of scars on his wrists as he looked down– despite all, he was happy. Happy that his suspicions have been confirmed. He touched you. You were real, not just a figment of his imagination. Getting up from the floor he quickly wrapped some clean bandages around his forearms and headed to work. He was late and as usual Kunikida gave him a long lecture about how he lacked the sense of responsability and was messing up everyone's schedule but the man's words seemed distant. All Dazai could think about was you.

A few night later he tried again, this time with a new objective in mine: he managed to confirm your existance, now he was going to talk to you. He sat himself on the floor, slumped against the tub just like before then dragged the thin blage across his wrists. The cut was deeper this time and it didn't take long for his limbs to grow heavy and he closed his eyes again, speaking in a low voice. "I'm not gonna stop doing this until you talk to me". No answer came at first, but his ears started to ring faintly. When he opened his eyes again your figure was looming over him, marble white and giving off a soft, eerie glow. What struck him were your eyes, a pale grey devoid of any emotion. When you spoke"I've rarely met a human quite as persistent as you, Osamu Dazai."

"So you're the one who keeps saving me..." he mused but you knew the meaning behind his words. You carefully traced your fingers over his wrists, sealing the deep cuts and for a moment, Dazai could clearly make out a sign of discomfort in your features. "Your time hasn't come yet. You still have many things to accomplish in life, great things."

"Great things... that's awfully vague" retorted the man. Reaching out a hand he touched your hair and you flinched moving away "I'm not supposed to interact with mortals"

"And yet you save me every time. Why?"

"I told you. It's not your time to die and it's my duty to save you"

"When will it be my time to die?"

"Not soon"

The man smiled weakly, still twirling your hair between his fingrtips "That's good to know..."

Little did you know how cruelly Dazai would abuse that piece of information. From then on meeting you became a ritual for Dazai. Every week he'd bring himself to the brink of death so he could see and talk to you again. At first it wasn't that bad, only minor wounds you could heal easily then leave, but he seemed to have caught on to how your powers worked and his wounds grew deeper: the worse his injuries were, the longer you stayed with him. It pained you to see him like this, but it was your job to keep him alive at any costs.

What was worst, you were aware of the twisted feelings Dazai harboured for you– he wanted your companionship to have a witness to his decay and demise, someone to share his pain with. He wouldn't allow any of his friends to see him like this but it was different with you. You weren't human, so he didn't feel a twinge of guilt abusing the power he had over you– not when you cried and begged him to stop harming himself, not when you told him that he was ruining both your lives and certainly not when you desperately clung to his bleeding body, trying to keep the life from seeping out of him.

No, he felt no remorse. Dazai got just what he wanted. With each time he caused you pain his beliefs were reaffirmed– he was inhuman, cruel, unworthy of being alive. It was a vicious cycle, a dark road that spiraled down into the pits of hell and every week he went down that road, dragging you after him.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡

You laid on top of Dazai in the dirty tub, breathing slowly. The man outdid himself this time– you'd seen serial killers go lighter on their victims' bodies. 12 stabs to the gut. You barely managed to save him. You felt weak and helpless as you listened to the rhythmic sound of Dazai's heartbeat. The man ran his hand along your hip, chuckling softly. How could he laugh? How could he possibly be so joyful at a time like this? You've used up almost all your powers trying to save him and were almost as weak as him. Despite that, it was in your nature to love all souls, especially those under your protection, that's why the feeling was so sickening. You were bound to love someone who wished to die, someone who mocked the Gods every other Thursday and held you in his arms only to make you crumble "Angel..." he eventually spoke in a weak voice "How long do I have left?"

That question again, a sour reminder of what's to come. For once, you couldn't contain the tears that brimmed in your eyes and let then fall down your cheeks and onto the man's bare chest. Still, you couldn't lie "Twelve years" you babbled out in a broken voice. Twelve years of this hellish nightmare, 625 possible attempts, getting worse and worse with each passing week.

Dazai sighed, running a hand through your damp hair before tilting your head up to look at your face. Beautiful, you were so painfully beautiful. Seeing you like this, knowing that he was the one to cause you pain, made him feel oddly satisfied. He wasn't alone anymore. He gently cupped your cheek, brushing your tears away with his blood-stained thumb. His touch left a red, smudged mark on your cheek "I didn't know angels could cry"

You simply looked up at him in defeat, feeling yourself break down all over again. "We do, Osamu. We're more alike humans than you may think." "That's interesting..." he hummed, thinking of all those times he wanted to cry but couldn't. Not after Oda's death anyway. He looked down at your trembling body again– the glow you had the first time he saw you was almost gone now, your skin ghostly white and face shallow. He winced when one of his poorly healed wounds reopened and your sobs grew louder as you pressed one of your hands on the gash. This wasn't your usual divine, healing touch– it was the touch of a desperate person trying to save someone from bleeding out. The sheer pressure applied on his wound made him dizzy but it was nothing compared to the pain he felt when he saw the distraught look on your face; your features morphed into a mask of fear and madness, your eyes unfocused, like a deer caught in a trap. And he played the role of the sharp metal teeth tearing you apart.

For the first time since he met you, Dazai had a revelation: he felt guilty. Guilty that he let his selfish desires ruin a pure soul like you, that he was dumb enough to think he could break the laws of the universe. You were right, you were human, more human than he will ever be. There was no taking back the awful things he did but he could start by taking good care of himself and the precious gift of life you granted him– if not for himself, at least for you.

His vision blurred again as he began silently crying and he picked up his phone from the edge of the sink. Tapping a few keys he held his phone to his ear as he ran his free hand along your hip, trying to soothe you "911, yes. I need an ambulance at Ada's office. I've got some pretty nasty injuries that need to be treated"

[therainscene]

I think I might have figured out what the Mind Flayer really is.

This theory has been percolating in my brain for a while now; it hasn't really finished baking yet but I wanted to get the gist of it down before The First Shadow debuts.

Let’s begin at the Hawkins National Lab, 6th November 1983. For the second time in her young life, El faces terrifying and deeply traumatic circumstances which cause her powers to lash out and rip a gash in the fabric of reality.

Meanwhile, across town, Will is doing what every queer 12 year-old has done and finds an excuse to spend an extra moment alone with his crush.

His little gay heart is as aflutter as the garage lights.

(Strange, that. The lights, I mean -- considering that he's on the other side of town from the lab. Do you suppose the Demogorgon trekked all the way to Mike's house and quietly followed him home again?)

Will heads home, lost in thought as he cycles past the lab. Is he thinking about how sweet his new X-Men #134 is gonna be? Or is he thinking about something even sweeter? The lights flutter again.

And something in front of him notices.

Will has always been noticeable: his clothes, his mannerisms, his interests -- they've always attracted the attentions of bullies. Now something new -- or maybe something that was always there and is only now making itself known -- has attracted the attentions of a monster.

He runs home, he calls for help, but he's alone, there's no escape. He races to the shed and loads a gun like his father taught him -- but it's not in his nature to be violent. He freezes, petrified.

The lights surge as his terror wrestles control of his powers and uses them to puncture an escape route in the fabric of reality.

Why were we so quick to believe that the Demogorgon -- a minion of the guy whose whole thing is his inability to open gates -- was able to open its own temporary portals in S1 and then never again?

Will could plausibly have been responsible for every temporary portal in S1: he’s at the Byers house when the Demogorgon pushes through its walls; he's on the run to Castle Byers when Nancy stumbles across that portal in the woods; and he's plugged in to one of Vecna's vines during the finale -- something we see Vecna plug himself into when he remotely opens gates in S4.

There’s one exception though.

Barb likely slipped through a gate in Steve's pool, but how could Will have opened that one when he was in his bedroom at the time, talking to his mother through the lights?

Let me ask you this: isn't it interesting that of all the injuries Barb could have obtained in her passage to the Upside Down, she got a nosebleed?

I think powers are more common than we’ve been led to believe, and gates are a last-ditch self-defense mechanism for anyone with powers.

This is why the four curse victims’ deaths opened a gate: Vecna pushed them to their breaking point to artificially trigger the self-defense response. Those headaches and nosebleeds weren't caused by Vecna directly, but by their own powers acting up as they inched towards oblivion.

[Shoutout to @givehimthemedicine's underrated powers and blood theory for the idea of Vecna's Curse being the overcharging of his victims' own powers.]

It was already pretty obvious that Vecna's Curse is a metaphor for suicide, and this theory reinforces it: every kid who gets targeted by the horrors of Hawkins for being "different" tries to find some way to escape.

Willel's misfortune is that their powers are considerably more easily manifested than the average person's. Byler tells the story of visible vs invisible queerness, but that's just a reflection of the larger theme at play in the show: the visible and invisible ways kids are othered and abused.

Max's trauma was a quiet thing that came from within and festered until it was almost too late to save her... but Willel's trauma manifests as a giant monster that openly hunts them down.

And I'm being literal when I say the Mind Flayer is a manifestation of their trauma.

We know that Vecna fashioned the Mind Flayer from a cloud of black particles he found in the Upside Down, but where did that cloud come from? The Upside Down is a mysterious enough place that it's easy to assume the Shadow is native to that realm... but what if it isn't?

The Mind Flayer is heavily associated with repression -- Will gradually lost his memories while he was possessed, and El lost her powers when the sliver of Flesh Flayer wormed its way into her leg.

But Will has mysteriously been without powers ever since leaving the Upside Down, and we've seen El lose memories too: her memories of surviving the lab massacre, in which she didn't simply escape by opening up a gate, but by disintegrating her attacker into black particles.

The Mind Flayer doesn't cause repression -- it is repression.

There must have been countless generations worth of traumatized children who took the extra step El did and sent their abusers -- or at least their memories of abuse -- into that hidden realm beyond the gate.

(There's also the possibility that Mr. Time-is-Just-a-Social-Construct is stuck in a time loop of some sort -- maybe the massacre has repeated hundreds of times, and Dimension X is a timeless graveyard of El's attempts to repress her trauma. This would explain why Henry seems to have both disintegrated and survived: we were watching at least two different iterations of the massacre all along.)

Whichever way you slice it, it's a perfect fit: the tool Vecna uses to perpetuate the cycle of abuse isn't some bizarro alien from an alternate dimension, but a direct consequence of the cycle itself.

The Mind Flayer tells us that escape alone doesn't work as a long-term solution: it might help you survive the initial abuse, but if you don't address the effect it had on you...

...it will come back to wreck havok.

[Edit: Click here for post-TFS thoughts on this theory]

[onegayastronaut]

Always With Her

Requested by anon: IF U STILL WRITE FOR JENNIFER JAREAU PLS MAY I REQUEST ONE BASED ON THR CLAIRO (i think? SONG WHERE IT GOES she’s so prettyyy when she goes down on me (x reader)

Words: 1059

The first time you realize you might be in over your head with JJ, it’s late—the kind of late that blurs into early morning. You’re both seated on her couch, bare feet tucked under you, a glass of wine balanced precariously in her hand. Her laugh—rich and melodic—spills into the quiet of the room, wrapping itself around you like a favorite sweater.

She’s just told you a story about an ill-fated college road trip, punctuated by wild hand gestures and her inability to stop giggling at her own misfortune. Her cheeks are flushed from the wine, her hair loose around her shoulders, and when she looks at you, it’s like the air is sucked out of the room.

“You’re staring,” she says softly, the laughter in her voice giving way to something more intimate, more dangerous.

You swallow hard. “Am I?”

Her smile tilts at the edges. “A little.”

You’re about to come up with some half-baked excuse when she leans in, her free hand brushing a strand of hair from your face. Her fingers linger at your jaw, her eyes searching yours, and suddenly you’re not thinking at all. She kisses you softly, hesitantly, like she’s testing the waters. When you respond—pressing into her, letting the taste of her settle on your tongue—the hesitation melts away. The glass in her hand is abandoned on the coffee table, and her hands find their place at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no room for doubt.

Loving JJ is easy in theory. She’s kind, thoughtful, and endlessly selfless, always putting others before herself. But there’s a quiet intensity to her, a weight she carries that’s both magnetic and devastating.

You see it in the way she pours herself into her work, in the long nights and the phone calls that pull her away at a moment’s notice. You see it in the way she’s with Henry, her gentleness wrapped around her like armor, her love for her son so palpable it nearly brings you to your knees. And you see it in the way she loves you—with a ferocity that’s sometimes overwhelming, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she doesn’t hold on tightly enough.

It’s in the stolen mornings when she’s still half-asleep, her body warm and pliant against yours, her hair a mess across her pillow. It’s in the way she presses lazy kisses to your collarbone, her voice gravelly and soft as she murmurs your name. It’s in the way she watches you with quiet reverence, as though she’s memorizing every inch of you.

And it’s in the nights when she’s gone—when the emptiness of your shared bed feels like a physical ache, and you’re left wondering how you ever survived before her.

The first time she tells you she loves you, it’s not planned. She’s standing in the kitchen, her hair pulled into a messy bun, wearing one of your oversized sweatshirts. There’s a smear of flour on her cheek, and she’s laughing at something you’ve just said. The sound is so pure, so genuine, that it fills every corner of the room.

“I love you,” she says, the words tumbling out unbidden. Her laughter fades, replaced by a wide-eyed vulnerability that makes your heart ache.

For a moment, you’re stunned into silence. And then you’re closing the distance between you, cupping her face in your hands and kissing her with everything you have. You taste the salt of her tears and realize she’s crying, and it breaks something inside you.

“I love you, too,” you whisper against her lips. “So much.”

She smiles through her tears, her arms winding around your neck, and you’re both laughing, crying, and kissing all at once. It’s messy and beautiful and entirely perfect.

The thing about JJ is that she’s all-consuming. When she’s with you, it’s like nothing else exists. She’s fully present, fully engaged, her attention fixed solely on you. It’s intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

There are nights when she’s on her knees before you, her hands gripping your thighs, her lips leaving a trail of fire across your skin. She looks up at you, her blue eyes dark and hungry, and you’re struck by how utterly beautiful she is. She’s breathtaking in her intensity, her devotion, and it’s almost too much to bear.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmurs, her voice husky and reverent. “So damn pretty.”

You’re about to respond, to tell her she’s the one who’s beautiful, but then her mouth is on you, and all coherent thought is wiped away. She takes her time, her movements deliberate and precise, unraveling you piece by piece until you’re nothing but a trembling mess beneath her.

Afterward, she’s all soft smiles and gentle touches, her body curled around yours like she’s afraid to let go. She presses a kiss to your temple, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, and you wonder how you ever got so lucky.

But things weren’t always easy. There are times when the weight of her world threatens to crush her, and by extension, you. There are nights when she comes home looking like she’s carrying the weight of the universe on her shoulders, her eyes hollow and distant.

You’ve learned to navigate these moments with care, giving her the space she needs while quietly reminding her that she’s not alone. Sometimes, she’ll let you hold her, her head resting against your chest as you stroke her hair and whisper words of comfort. Other times, she retreats into herself, and all you can do is be there, waiting for her to find her way back to you.

It’s in these moments that you’re reminded of just how human she is. She’s not the invincible, unshakable force she appears to be. She’s vulnerable, flawed, and achingly real, and you love her all the more for it.

Your relationship isn’t perfect, but it’s yours. It’s in the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the whispered promises. It’s in the way she looks at you like you’re her entire world, and in the way you feel when she’s by your side—whole, seen, and completely loved. And as you lay in bed beside her, her fingers intertwined with yours, her breathing steady and calm, you know without a doubt that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

[evagreen-stories]

Mother’s madness | (Aemond x f!lowborn!reader) (1/?)

Summary: Aemond, troubled by his unfruitful marriage and the stress of the war, takes himself a bedslave when he seizes Harrenhal and gets more attached to her than he ever thought possible. Bringing her to the Red Keep after he needs to leave Harrenhal would not go as he hoped it would, especially after the birth of the babes he sired onto her.

Warnings: mentions of violence, light angst (kinda?), canon typical misogyny, canon typical behaviour, dark!aemond, abusive!aemond, forced relationship, forced impregnantion, canon typical classicism, mentions of assault, stockholm syndrom (kind of), non-canon storyline

Divider @targaryen-dynasty

masterlist part 2 >

You sat on the edge of the bed, playing with your fingers as you stared into the lit fire. The room was silent apart from the crackling of the fire and you felt his stare burn into you. It felt as though a heavy burden lay atop your head, suffocating you with every moment made to spend in his presence.

You had no idea how, for you were nothing but a lowborn bastard fathered by some bright haired high-born, working as a servant in the castle of Harrenhal. Young, mere 16 years of age, plain features, you had never thought yourself to be anything special, though it seems there was at least one person that would disagree with that. 

Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen.

Somehow, in all the panic and madness that was his seize of the city, you had caught his eye.

It had all happened so fast. Dragged into his chambers by his guards you had little time to process what was happening. He was already on top of you when you finally understood what now was your fate. Claimed as his spoil of war and made his bedslave, he had taken your maidenhead with force that night, in the same ruthless manner he would many nights after that. 

Locked in his chambers there was little room for escape and after only three turns of the moon, a master had proclaimed you to be with child, shortly after that he had confirmed you to be carrying twins.

You had asked him for moontea more than once, yet were always denied. You were his to do with as he pleased and he was set on you having a child of his.

You often wondered why. You were busy tending to him all day and night, from fulfilling his every desire to bathing him and oiling his hair. Yet, in his many times of absence whenever he was out fighting on the battlefield, you had nothing else to do but think.

Eventually, you had settled on your own theory; He was married to Floris Baratheon, they had been wed two years before the war first started. Now, their fourth year of marriage approached, and after much struggle she brought forth only two daughters. You had heard all the stories about her and Aemond, of countless miscarriages, about the daughter that died not even a week after her birth, leaving him with only one daughter said to be equally as small and weak as her sisters, though still alive by some miracle of the gods. 

The rumours about their misfortune had travelled fast and far, many of those that opposed him and his brother's reign had claimed he been accursed, even before he slayed his own kin. She was said to be with child now as well, though it was to be seen whether this one would survive his curse or not.

As for your own detriment, you were sure you were a mere experiment of his, an attempt to figure out if he was the cause of the unfruitfulness of his marriage or his wife was. A desperate wish of his to try and prove the rumours wrong.

You didn't know if it was luck or a curse of your own that his seed had taken immediately. 

Your womb had filled with not one but two of his children and you had encountered no issues in carrying them so far. Because of this it was little surprise he had taken you back to the Red Keep with him when he was summoned back to King's Landing.

There, neither his wife nor his mother were impressed with his choices. your mere presence was despised by everyone but him. Quickly you had learned to appreciate being confined to his chambers and to his company alone, as well as the company of the two babes growing in you.

He was a violent man, quick to anger and impatient, yet as your belly had started to swell with his children he seemed more at ease, being calm and almost affectionate so long you did not disobey or disappoint him. 

Quickly adapting, you had learned to submit to all his whims and wills, even if it hurt at times, for you knew there was greater hurt waiting if you didn't. 

There was nothing that upset him more than any form of rejection or disrespect from you.

The weeks went by quickly, you had been with child for almost seven moons now, the presence of two made your stomach larger and rounder than you'd ever expected to be, even though two moons were still to come.

As you’re lost deep in thought his deep voice brings you back to reality.

“Stop sulking like that, you will ruin your pretty face.”

Ungrateful wench. Look at me when I’m talking to you. 

Hearing his voice you turn to face him quickly, seeing him sitting at his desk and eyeing you with a slight glare. Lowering your head for a moment in an apologetic gesture you reply, “I apologise, my price.”

He clicks his tongue in irritation. “You’re making that face again. Do you wish for another reminder of your place?” He huffs, taking a long sip from his cup as his eye never leaves your expression.

“Please don’t, my prince. I’m deeply sorry.” You answer quickly, trying to hide the small tremble in your voice.

He gets up from his chair and walks over to you, standing in front of you and bringing his hand to your chin, tilting your head to look up at him. “Then put on a pretty smile for me. You know the rules.” 

You pull your lips into a small smile that does little to hide the gloominess in your eyes. He doesn't care much for that though, so long you do as he commands. 

“Good. That’s my good girl, that’s what I want to see from you.” He praises and pats your head before walking back to his desk, gesturing you to follow he says, “Come here to me, sweet doll.”

You follow suit, grunting slightly as you pull all three of you up from the bed and waddle over to him, standing next to him on his chair and waiting for further instructions.

“Bend over.” He commands, tapping the desk right in front of you with a cruel smirk. “I want to see where I hit you the hardest last time.”

Swallowing nervously you do as told, hiking up your dress to reveal your bare skin underneath and bending over the table as far as your swollen belly allows you to. The large bruises on your right buttock glow brightly against your pale skin, the dim candlelight making the purple look more vibrant than usual.

“Mh. Good.” You can hear his voice and flinch slight when you feel his cold hand make contact with your flesh, roaming over your marked body in a firm yet gentle manner. “And can you remember why I did this?” His voice was as cold as his hand, no emotion present as he inspects the aftermath of your last punishment closer. 

“Because I didn’t serve you well enough, my prince.” 

“Correct.” A sudden slap lands right on the bruise, the pain flaring up again making you gasp. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson because if I have to do it again you really won’t like it.” 

Flinching and groaning at another slap you answer quickly. “I have, my prince.”

“Good.” He was pleased with your submission. His hand leaves your flesh as he tells you, “Fix your dress. I will send you out to the city to collect something for me.” 

He rummages through a drawer of his desk as you take a step back, letting go of your dress and letting it fall down to your feet again. He pulls out a piece of parchment that already has mysterious words written on it that you can't understand and scribbles an address at the foot of it. He hands you a pouch full of coin. “Go and be quick about it. Take the guards with you, and give me those back as soon as you return.” He said, his long digit tapping the bag of coins in your hand.

“It is late, my prince. Are any shops still open at this time of night?” You wonder out loud, genuinely confused. 

It was nothing new for him to send you out to run errands. It was a welcome change from your duties as bedslave and personal maid, as you were still responsible for all his comforts. From bathing him and brushing his hair, to carrying his children to satisfy all his desires. He kept you in his chambers for this very purpose, he preferred your soft tender hands over those of anyone else, even if it meant summoning the wrath of his wife and others. Running errands for him was also the only other time you got to leave the suffocating castle walls. 

In theory you were free to roam the gardens and courtyard, yet the disgusted looks and insults from the ladies there had you staying in his chambers at all times.

“Don’t question me. I want it now. Do as I say and leave at once.” His voice is laced with irritation. 

Is she insolent or plain stupid?

You mumble an apology and bow, grabbing a cloak and hurrying out the room before you manage to mess up again. 

As much as you already loved your children still growing in your belly, in the most recent days you've felt as though they depleted your mind and made you more prone to upsetting your master. 

I can’t upset him. I need to do good.

You gathered two guards to keep you safe as you made your way down into the city, down the streets and alleyways, the address he gave you was far from the castle, close to Flea Bottom. 

Many people stared at you as you made your way through the streets. The night folk were out, it was rare to see a pregnant woman amongst them, even less common for one to be accompanied by royal guards.

You arrived in a small alleyway at last, an unseemingly shop with a sign above the door, you couldn't make out the words in the darkness, only make out a few herbs painted onto the wooden slap that made the sign. 

As you enter a bell announces your entry. “Good evening.” You say into the small and empty shop littered with different containers and brown bottles, a few tools hanging on the walls, the smell of all kinds of herbs mixing in the air and making your head spin soon enough. 

“Good evening,” the hoarse voice of an elderly woman replies as she enters the room through a curtain blocking off the other parts of the building. “Can i help you?”

“Yes. I am here to pick something up for Prince Aemond.” 

She looks you up and down, taking a deep breath as an expression of suspicion drapes over her previously welcoming one. “Really now? And what exactly has our prince sent you to collect?”

“He did not say.” You answer, reaching into the pocket of your cloak to retrieve both the parchment and coin. “But he gave me this note and the coin to pay for it.” 

You had notices strange words written over the address, words you could not understand, yet as this woman takes the note from you it appears she knows their meaning as she surries off behind the curtain she came from and brings back a small vial of strange liquid as well as a packet wrapped in paper, tied close with a string. 

“Here, my dear.” she hands them over to you. “Make sure you take caution on your way back to the palace. You dont want anything… unfortunate to happen to you in the city this late at night.”

“I will, thank you. How much do you get?” You reply as you open the pouch, ready to pay.

“No need for coin, my lady. Its on the house - for our pince’s sake.'' She smiles kindly, bowing slightly as she does.

You mirror her smile, bowing instinctively in return as you had learned to do in the Red Keep - bowing a hundred times too often was better than bowing once too little, you had understood that quickly.

“That is very kind of you, ma’m. I shall inform the prince about your generosity.” Packing away everything into various pockets in your cloak you bid goodbye, only to be stopped by the sound of her voice as you're about to reach the door. 

“I can’t help but notice you are with child. If you are to give birth in the Red Keep, I advise you to be careful.”

Her words make you stop dead in your tracks, turning around slowly to look at her with a frown on your face. “I… I’m sorry?”

“The Red Keep is a dangerous place for women, especially mothers and their small children. You’re having twins, you need be extra cautious.” She said as if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if she didn't just say one of the most shocking things you’ve ever heard. 

How does she know this?

“I-” You freeze in shock as you replay her words in you mind, “H-How do you know i’m expecting twins? And… what do I need to be cautious about?”

She smiles back, a smile filled not with innocence but with wisdom and knowledge, one that must’ve witnessed the wicked ways of this world on maany occasions. “I have seen many  women passing through my shop, my dear.” She gestures around to all the varying herbs and potions before continuing “I know when a woman is pregnant and can see when she is carrying twins. As for you needing to be cautious… there are many strange things happening in the Red Keep. Beware, no one there is your friend. The walls have eyes and ears. Do not trust anyone, not the maesters, either.”

“The maesters? Why not them? Are they not there to help me?” Fear creeps up within you, your hand rising to rest on your belly in a protective manner.

“The maesters are servants of the crown and no one in the crown's service can be trusted. They have their own agenda as well.” She says with confidence, stating it as fact rather than an opinion. She steps out from behind the counter, approaching you slowly. “There is much you don't know, my dear, I only wish to warn you. I’m worried for the lives of your children.”

“Can you-” You begin but are interrupted by the door swinging open. The guards have waited long enough and demand your return to the palace. 

You sigh in defeat, knowing that defying the guards is something Aemond will be informed of. Turning to face the elderly lady you bid goodbye. “I apologise. Have a good night, ma’m.” 

She simply smiles warmly. “May the gods protect you.” and watches as you leave.

You make your way back to the palace, her words running through your head like a mantra as you try to figure out the meaning of them.

You need to stop often, taking breaks to you catch your breath.

Stupid hills. Stupid steps.

It must be well in the night now, perhaps even early in the first morning hours, when you finally arrive back in the palace. You open the door to your shared chambers carefully, making sure not to wake the prince. Slipping inside carefully you make no noise in the barely lit room, only letting out a small squeal when you turn around and see him sit at his desk still, a book spread out in front of him as a single candle by his right side illuminates the pages.

“You’re still awake, my prince.” Your voice is but a mere whisper as you start fidgeting with your fingers.

He is dressed in his nightwear and doesn't even bother to look up from his book as he answers, “You took your time.” His voice is laced with annoyance and anger. It's now he looks up at you, studying your frame up and down before demanding, “Stand in front of me.”

You walk over to him, feeling the need to explain yourself as you do so. “I apologise, my prince. The walk back uphill and all the stairs have gotten more difficult with the two babes growing inside of me. I was in need of a few breaks.”

He nods, waiting for you to stand right in front of you. He takes a deep breath as if to calm himself and places a hand on your belly, his palm right over the spot one of the babes always liked to kick into. “You are indeed getting rather large. What have you brought me?”

You look at his hand on your belly. It's a gesture that would be sweet between husband and wife, yet you were not that. Not anywhere close. His growing fascination with your bump always made your blood run cold for some reason. You empty your pockets, placing all of the contents on the desk in front of him. 

“The coin back… and these two things.”

He didn't take his hand off your bump as he watched your movements and inspected the items with his eye. 

His free hand then travels to your hip, pulling you closer to stand between his legs as he keeps his other hand roaming your belly, looking up at you and studying your tired expression. 

After a while he instructs you, his voice now much calmer and seeming almost content as he speaks, “Go sit on the bed. Don’t speak another word unless I say otherwise.”

You nod silently and walk over to the bed, sitting down and relishing the feeling of relief that overwhelms you when the weight of three is finally lifted off your aching feet. 

Watching him as he inspects the package and vile you see him smell all of it, grimacing at the smell of what must be a potion of sorts. You wondered what it smelled like but you knew better than to ask questions. He counts the coins, yet does not comment on them all still there. You want to tell him about the nice lady, but you know better than to disobey his command to stay silent.

He packed it all away, into the same drawer he had taken out the coins in the first place, then looks back up at you. He leans back into his chair, one hand resting on his leg as the other reaches for the cup next to him. “Take off your dress.” He orders and keeps taking the last few sips from the wine.

You do as told quickly, getting up from the bed to undo the straps that hold the dress in place and let it fall open, taking it off and placing it over a chair close to the bed before taking a seat again.

This was far from unusual, you knew his antics by now.

He preferred to play with his prey before devouring it.

Watching you intently he smiles as soon as the first patches of bare skin are revealed. He would never grow tired of ordering you around, too exhilarating was the power he held over you.

As a man, as a prince nonetheless. 

No one could stop him. 

Not his mother, not his wife, not the gods - and especially, not you.

He gets up and walks over to you, his eye roaming over every curve of your gravid body. Your belly grew larger with his children every day, your breasts too were round and swollen. 

They must hurt, he thought to himself from time to time, but until the milk would finally start to flow there was nothing he could do to provide relief. He had tried more than once already, ever the impatient man he was, though it seemed not to be the time for it yet.

His hand placed on your arm he firmly nudges you back and to your side. Lying there like this, on your side with your legs pulled onto the mattress, gave him easy access to indulge in you while also giving him a good view of the body he so worshipped. It was one of the very few positions in which he could take his sweet time without you struggling to breathe under the weight of his children pushing into you. 

He starts taking off his clothes when he strikes up conversation. It was odd, the calmer he took you, the more need for talk he seemed to have. Though the frequency in which he did this nowadays did make it normal to some degree.

“Tell me your fears. What worries you most about the coming birth?”

“Huh?”

Taken aback by his question, you struggle to find an answer. After many moments of tense silence, purely filled with the sounds of his clothes tossed away, you eventually reply. 

“I… I suppose dying…” 

It sounded more like a guess than an answer, Truthfully, you had never though of this yourself. 

Too hopeful that this birth could finally set you free from him, you had never nurtured any negative thoughts or critical questions about pregnancy or birth.

“Dying?” He seemed surprised. His hands worked on you with practised routine, pulling your body closer to the edge of the bed and pushing your legs forward to make space for him. 

He presses his bare manhood against the flesh of your core as he leans forward, hands roaming all over your stomach and breasts, firmly grabbing and playing with the nubs on them as if to check again for any precious liquid. 

“I take it you don’t worry about the lives of my children then. Only for yourself?”

“Of course I do!” You reply, voice a bit firmer now than before, feeling an immediate swell of anger and fear bubble deep inside you. Weird, that never happens. “I just… I think if I'm cold in my grave I can no longer worry about them at all. So, first should be the worry about my own life. Then, if I am to live through the birth, I can worry about them.”

“Interesting…” He says as he now turns his attention to his cock, taking it in his hand and running it through your folds several times. He was never a man that took much time to prepare you, he felt little need to do so. 

Your body responded within seconds of knowing what was about to happen, providing the necessary slick for him either way. On times he took you by surprise and pushed in without notice, it too had taken mere moments for your cunt to embrace and welcome him.

All mine. Responding just how she should.

“Then just trust me.” He says, grunting and huffing softly as he buries himself in the comfort of your walls, gripping onto him in familiar tightness. “You’ll see there will be little to worry about, sweet thing. Just relax. I’d hate to have you dead, too. You’d be of little use in a cold grave for both my children and me.”

Rutting into you at an increasing pace he is soon moaning and groaning with each thrust until he has rid himself of all his spend, grinding it into the deepest parts of you with deep growls and laboured breaths as his own body collapses forward onto yours, his forehead resting on your temple as his hot breath on your skin sends gooseflesh down your body. 

He could not describe it, there was no reasonable explanation for it, but it was you who he had always taken the most pleasure from. No whore or his wife could compare. You had brought him a sense of comfort  he would find nowhere else.

While pleasure wasn’t guaranteed for you in all his takings, it was times like these you did feel it. Times like these where you felt less like a slave and more like a lover. When his bare, sweaty skin would cling to yours, the sensation of his hot breath on your neck making your own hitch in your throat, the inaudible words in what you think to be valyrian growled in his deep voice would make your stomach tighten in a familiar fashion.

In moments like these, you didn’t mind your fate too much.

The days pass and soon turn into weeks.

You never found out what the potion or herbs were about. Soon after that day however, Aemond had given you your own chambers for the first time ever since you came into his service. They were small and humble in comparison to his but still a far cry from what any servant or peasant could wish for.

A large bed with enough blankets and pillows to make it through the coldest winter nights, a table with two chairs, a sofa, two cradles, a wardrobe and other furniture, all made of richly coloured wood with intricate patterns and carvings. 

The chambers were far from his. He did not want screaming babes keeping him up at night, thus the adjustment needed to be made, even if the thought of your impending absence from his bed soured his mood already.

You may have been the prince regent’s favourite and were to have his bastard children, yet you were still a lowly bed slave, thus expected to give birth with only the standard precautions taken and to take care of both babes yourself. No wet nurse or handmaiden to help you. That much you were made aware of as soon as you had arrived in the Red Keep all those moons ago.

What is a frightening thought, to be so young and left to care for two babes alone, did give you a feel of hope regardless. 

Hope for some peace and quiet away from Aemond, hope for being able to sleep and wake up without his hands all over you, and the hope of him finally growing bored of you and relieving him of your service to him. 

There was only a small chance of that happening, you knew, yet you held onto that hope until the day he left for battle again.

He had indulged himself in you daily until then, knowing he would soon have no more chance to do so - at least for a while, until you were fully healed. 

When he had to leave for a long military operation he bid you goodbye before making his way to Vhagar. You watched him leave before retiring to your own chambers, happily confining yourself to your new chambers with books and yarn.

Less than a fortnight after Aemonds departure, the day had arrived. Going into labour in the late hours of the afternoon you had been bed bound for a whole day before your babes would finally make their arrival.

Two sons, healthy and strong despite their small size - the maester had assured you this was a common occurrence for twins. They would fill out soon, he claimed, aiding in calming your fears. 

To your surprise, you were not left as abandoned as you had expected to be. The maester cared for your body as you learned how to nurse your sons, how to change and bathe them. 

You were provided nourishing, large meals, lotions, oils and herbs, your belly bound by ever changing maids. You could tell these were benefits granted to you at the order of the prince. He must have instructed them to do so before he left.

Whether he did this out of the kindness of his heart or purely because he wished you back in his service as quickly as possible in the best possible condition you were not sure, yet you would not complain either.

All you did was focus on your sons who you named Aurelius Waters, the elder one, and Patroclus Waters, the younger one. Briefly had you considered naming them in the traditions of house Targaryen to appease Aemond, but he was not here. 

He could not interfere. They were bastards after all, so you took the liberty of naming them to your heart's content - the first time you've felt in control ever since being forced into his service.

Meanwhile, Aemond was busy on the battlefields, travelling back and forth between the crownlands and riverlands, aiding in one battle after the other as he brought victory after victory to his brother’s cause.

He found his days eerily quiet without the presence of his beloved bed slave by his side. His days seemed dark and gloomy, empty and devoid of life. He looked forward to when he would be reunited with you but to his dismay, his presence was needed for far longer than he had anticipated.

As the days went on, you had soon taken notice of both the maids and maesters who were seemingly fascinated by the fact that both babes were actually growing very fast and became more active than ever. Both were feeding at your breast all day long, soon turning plumb and full of life.

Why were they so suprised? Had they lied to you when they said all would be well?

You could not help but grow increasingly worried and suspicious at the maesters seemingly heightened interest in your sons, the words and warning of the mysterious old lady plaguing your mind even in your sleep. You started locking your chamber at night mere days after giving birth, finding yourself unable to sleep whenever you knew anyone could walk in and do something to your children while you slept.

You tried to stay calm, tried all you could to ease your mind. You tried to take a walk once. To go into the gardens you usually avoided for you knew there were often ladies whispering hurtful insults behind their hands. 

Walking there with both sons tied to your chest with a long, silken piece of fabric, you stopped dead in your tracks when you overheard the hushed whispers of who you assumed to be servans. You stayed and listened, like a deer hearing a branch snap. 

Really? One said. They wouldn’t do that. The other said. I’m certain! I’ve heard it with my own ears! Another proclaimed.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart skipped several beats as you continued to listen in on their conversation. You clutched your sons tighter and turned around on your heels, hurrying back into you chamber and shutting the door behind you with a loud thud, immediately turning the lock closed.

From that day on, the door would stay locked at all times.

You unlocked the door only on few occasions. Whenever a servant brought you food or came to clean, or whenever you put dirty nappies out for someone to take and get rid of. 

Maesters were no longer allowed in your room at all and no one was allowed to touch your sons. You did it all yourself. You could not bear the sight of anyone else touching them, too bad had your paranoia and fears gotten.

You kept the cradles right next to your bed and the babes tied to your chest more often than not. You slept only when they slept and fed, bathed and cleaned them yourself.

By the time Aemond finally returned two months after you welcomed your sons, you were a sleep deprived mess. Paranoid as ever with the door firmly locked at all times.

Something Aemond would be informed of by the maesters soon after his return.

masterlist part 2 >

[montybooks]

Part 2 of my light x reader headcanons

Enjoy!

⸻

8. Late-Night Conversations:

• You’re the type to ask creepy hypotheticals at 2 a.m.—like “Do you think souls get bored waiting in the afterlife?” or “If I vanished tonight, would you still dream about me?”

• Light usually gives you logical answers… but your questions stick with him—especially when he’s Kira and living in moral ambiguity.

• He low-key loves that your brain works differently. You’re unpredictable in the quietest way, and that intrigues him.

⸻

9. Jealousy & Possessiveness:

• Light doesn’t show jealousy outwardly. He doesn’t get loud or dramatic. Instead, he’ll suddenly know everything about the guy who looked at you wrong.

• If someone gets too friendly with you, they start having strange misfortunes: rumors, detentions, being “coincidentally” excluded from things. You never know it’s him.

• When you finally ask, “You didn’t… do something to him, right?” He just gives you that perfect smile and says, “You think I’d need to?”

⸻

10. You Disarm Him:

• You’ll say something weirdly romantic like, “You scare me sometimes… but I still think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” and it hits him harder than anything else.

• You don’t praise him constantly like others. When you do compliment him, it’s real—and that authenticity is addicting.

• You’re one of the few people he can’t fully read. That unsettles him, but it’s why he keeps you close. It’s almost like you’re a mirror, showing him what he could be… or what he’s lost.

⸻

11. Affection Styles:

• You’re not super physically affectionate in public, which suits Light just fine. But in private? You’re clinging to his arm while rambling about creepy dream logic or your strange theories about human behavior.

• Light lets you play with his hair when he’s studying. It grounds him more than he realizes.

• He might not say “I love you” often (he’s Light), but when he does, it’s quiet and intense—like a vow.

⸻

12. Shared Secrets:

• You once casually admitted that you knew how to lie so well it scared your parents. You thought it was just a funny anecdote.

• Light filed that away immediately. You’re more useful—and more dangerous—than he thought.

• There’s a part of him that wonders if you’d actually understand Kira. He’s almost tempted to tell you… to test the limits of your loyalty.

⸻

13. Your Freaky Side in Full:

• You collect strange objects or write little horror vignettes in your journals. One time, Light read a page and said, “Is this about me?” You just smiled and didn’t answer.

• You talk to animals like they understand full conversations. Light caught you whispering something to a crow once, and he was genuinely unsettled for a minute.

• Sometimes your energy shifts mid-conversation—quiet to intense, sweet to unsettling—and Light’s the only person who finds it captivating instead of off-putting.

⸻

14. His Worst Fear:

• Deep down, Light fears that you’ll find out who he really is and leave.

• Not report him. Not betray him. Just… leave him behind, quietly, without a trace. Like a ghost.

• That thought terrifies him more than L or the police. It keeps him up some nights.

____________________________________________

Ok! Someone said they likes my other light x reader headcanons so i wrote mooooore!!!!!

[marriedtosuku]

Headfirst

Collage made by me, but I dont own any pictures. Middle photo was made by @heybiji on Twitter.

an: This is a non-jjk drabble. A quick little drabble about Caleb of Love and Deepspace since I can not pull for Xavier's event card because I pulled a 5 star Caleb. Which in theory is insane because I literally do not want to pay extra for a possibility (do I still sound bitter at not getting my omega). Anyway, enjoy this fluffy piece and I cant wait to hear from you all.

Pairing: Caleb x reader

genre:fluffy, kinda self-depricating, pregancy, chapped lip Caleb, baby apple

word count: 600ish

Hmph, stop pipsqueak.”

I ignore his pleas, a tube of my favorite lip balm in hand on a mission to moisturize my boyfriend’s lips. He has a habit of biting his lips when he’s nervous, chapped skin prickling against my neck while we wait for the timer. 

“ no Caleb, your lips are scratching me.” 

“ let me just lick em.”

“No,” I counter. “ that makes it worst. This is going to make your lips smooth and buttery.” 

“ do I need smooth lips to wait for a pregnancy test?” 

I stand against him, his exposed arm wrap securely around my neck. The test tempts me with each grueling second pass by in steady ticks. This is our first pregancy scare since our wedding and the tension of it all has me reeling on Caleb’s broad chest. Idealistically, a child would be the missing piece in our family dynamic. A girl or boy, favoring mostly me with a few feature of my staggering husband sounds blissful, but our trauma combine could make Dr.Phill plan an early retirement. To put it bluntly, we’re damaged goods. 

Caleb, an ex Colonel commander, still wake up in cold sweats. His hard body quivers, hands tightly bounded around the fitted sheets, heaving in utter distress at whatever memory tormenting him that night. Some nightmares were worst than others which is why he prefer I fall asleep before him. 

But I’m not any better. 

A cluster of misguidance, mistrust, and misfortune all wrapped up in a short tempered body. I had my fair share of death and misery to make even Heartbreaker weep. Some things I haven’t even told Caleb about and never will. 

Because a hunter has to be strong, especially in the face of an adversary. 

“do you think we’re ready for a child?” I asked. 

He purse his lips. “I think we could try. We know how rough we had it growing up and know not to put our child through it. Therapy has been working, so I’m not experiencing nightmares as much.” A hand caressed my shoulder blade. “You’re just in your pretty little head again.” 

I hate when he does that. 

“ m’not in my head.”

“Hey, “ he turns me around, his bright indigo eyes stared at me so tenderly, hands firmly on my arms to keep me steady, and a kiss from his chapped lips on my forehead. “We are ready for this. Our child will be loved, nourished, and cared for. They will not a go a day without hear an ‘I love you’, and I know we both would go hell and high waters to protect them. I can promise you with my heart that I’ll do whatever it takes to make you and them happy and safe.” 

“Caleb,” 

My heart skips a beat when the timer echoed in our bathroom. It felt like a hot cast iron skillet on my hand. 

“Are you ready to look?” 

I nod.

Our strides differed. Caleb practically glide over towards the white, plastic stick while I strayed behind like a skittish cat. Caleb reassurance made my heart a little lighter but that pestering voice lingered. 

“Am I good enough ?” 

“Can I be a naturing mother?” 

“There’s no rules to parenting, pipsqueak.” 

“Stop reading my mind!” 

He chuckles. “Come here,” 

I zoned in at the test and Caleb’s glimmering face. 

Positive.  

“We’re going to be parents.” He practically lifts me up. 

“Heh, I can’t believe it. I’m still doubting my parental abilities, but I know that we have each other and we’re going to give our all so baby Apple will never be without.” I finally say. “It’s just one more thing.” 

“Yeah?”

“Their daddy shouldn’t have chapped lips.” 

an: I love this man, but I know he doesn't own chapstick.