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pizzapottah · 5 months ago

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the future queen

summary: Sources say that the Wandering Princess was downright brutal to her uncle Vaemond Velaryon during the trial for his petition, despite having shown fondness of him in the years before. When he himself made her notice that, she laughed in his face, "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne."

pairings: cregan stark x velaryon!reader (no use of y/n), platonic (familial) relationship between the targs/velaryon and reader

word count: 7.0k

warnings: aegon is not a rapist not because he didn't rape dyana in the series but because I don't want her to suffer, mommy issues, i support women's rights and wrongs, vaemond is killed, my girl reader is going THROUGH it, aegon and princess' shenanigans (they hate everything and everyone)

author's note: rhaenyra when i catch you rhaenyra... but also aemond. AEMOND WHEN I CATCH YOU AEMOND THIS WAS ALL YOUR FAULT

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As always, you enter to find the tapestries back to a boring green. “Ugh,” you huff, “not again.”

“Again?” Oscar asks, confused.

“Happens every time I’m away for more than three days,” you mutter. “The wench changes the tapestries and hides the paintings. Like it’s named the Green Keep.” You bark at the first servant that passes, making him yelp, “You! Find the steward and tell him that the Princess is calling for him. I want these horrendous tapestries burned once and for all.”

The servant nods, trembling, and promptly runs away. “Aren’t you a bit too harsh?” your friend asks. You shrug. “If you think I’m harsh, then you should see the way Daemon treats the servants. Besides, I don’t treat them badly. It’s just one of the bad days. I make sure they get paid plenty enough for the trouble.”

As you keep walking, lords and ladies of all kinds briefly stop to greet you, but you move on quickly, barely thanking them back — there’s no reason for them to make such greetings for you, when you’ve been away for barely a sennight. You figure they’re mostly happy to see you because it means the Queen and the Hand will be getting off the Throne soon.

A month or so ago, your grandsire fell ill. The Maester wasn’t sure he would make it, but he did — he was just… weak. Too weak to attend court, to hold the councils and settle the Kingdom’s matters.

And so his responsibilities were passed down to you. That was because he didn’t want his vicious wife as regent nor his Lord Hand on the Throne, after the various accidents that had happened when he had let them do it. I want you to understand what it’s like to take care of the Kingdom, he had said, wheezing. To learn who you should support and how to do it.

There is no manual to learn how to rule. You could listen to the lords all day while they give you their advice, and you would wake up the next even more confused than before, so — as your mother said — there’s no other way to do it but to understand it yourself.

You think that in the end, you worked pretty well as regent. You were the only one who dared speak back to the Queen and Lord Hand, so the councils went pretty smoothly, and court was held without too much of a hassle. But then you had to go to the Riverlands to help Oscar, and the Red Keep was left in the hands of the green wench and her vulture of a father. And as it always happened, you returned to find it changed: the tapestries of your ancestors were replaced with portraits of the Seven and the dragon statues with towers, seven-pointed stars and so on.

It’s really incredible how in a sennight they've managed to turn the Keep upside down. Shivering, you briefly wonder how the castle would be if it was completely in their hands.

“Princess!” someone calls behind you. It’s the steward, who pants and bows before taking a napkin from his pocket to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. “It is good to see that the Riverlands have treated you well. I hope your travels went without any problems.”

You nod briefly, pointing at Oscar. “Yes, they were fine. Could you show Ser Oscar Tully the guest rooms while I go talk to my grandsire? He’ll be staying for a while. And, most importantly, tell the servants to bring back the old decorations; take the new ones to the Dragon Pit, Nādrēsy will take care of them.”

The steward nods, unphased; it’s not the first time you make him burn the Hightowers’ decorations, so he must not be surprised at all. “Will do, Princess.” He bows to Oscar, showing him the way. “If you’ll follow me, my lord…”

The way up to the King’s chambers feels like forever. Before you departed for Riverrun, you made sure that the guards assigned to his rooms were ones you could trust — so that no Hightower page or servant could enter and poison the King, as they have already tried numerous times. You made sure the only one who was allowed in the chambers was Grand Maester Orwyle — and Mushroom, when your grandsire needed a cheer-up — who you paid generously to make sure that the Hightowers couldn’t get to him.

“Lord Commander, Ser Erryk,” you greet the guards, right out of your grandsire’s quarters, They bow their heads, murmuring their own greetings, opening the doors for you. The smell of burned wood and the warmness of the room engulfs you as the guards quickly close the door behind you, your grandsire barely raising his head from the pillow.

“–’Nyra? Is that you?” he rasps.

“No, Grandsire,” you reply gently, taking a chair and sitting down beside his four-poster bed. You murmur your name, “It’s me, I have returned from Riverrun.”

“Ah,” he murmurs, letting his head fall back down into the pillow, raising his hand for you to take. “It all went well, I hope?”

You squeeze his hand, barely nodding, “For now, the matter has been settled. What about you? What has the Maester said?”

“That I need to rest,” he coughs, “did you know Rhaenyra has arrived, too?”

“I figured out as much; when she wrote to me, she was already on the boat to King’s Landing.”

He hums. “She has shown me the boys– oh, they have grown so much. And little Aegon and Viserys…”

Ah, yes: he had never seen them before. Your mother hasn’t come back to the Keep since Joffrey's birth, and she only ever allowed you to sometimes bring Jace, Luke and Joff to the capital, insisting that Aegon and Viserys were too young — as if you weren’t almost a dragon rider by Aegon’s age.

“They are so cute, aren’t they?” you chuckle, “They don’t look like Daemon at all, thankfully,” he adds. “They look a lot like Rhaenyra when she was little– a lot like you, too.”

You are happy to see that he remembers when you were little — he has been forgetful as of lately, calling the Queen ‘Aemma’ and referring to Otto as ‘Lyonel’. Sometimes he slips with you too, calling you Rhaenyra, asking you when you plan to do the tour to find a husband. You haven’t heard him talk about Aegon, Aemond and Helaena in ages, and when you bring Aegon or Helaena to visit him with you, he seems to be hardly recognising them.

“It pains me that we were all reunited because of Vaemond’s petition,” your grandsire says, voice strained. “I would like to keep your mother closer to me, closer to the court– but the only idea seems to repel her.”

“I’ll talk to her,” you reassure him, “you know I have my ways. Besides, I can’t always be here. The Hightowers…”

“I don’t trust anyone in this castle more than you and your mother,” he seethes, “how can I change Lord Hand, if you already have your own matters in the Seven Kingdoms and my own daughter won’t stay with me? This trial, the petition– it would’ve never happened if I hadn’t married Alicent and Otto wasn’t my Hand.”

You press your lips into a thin line. “What has happened can’t be changed, my King. After these matters are dealt with, with your permission, I would like to… clean the court, so to say, from all the snakes that have made it their nest in these last few years.”

“Of course, of course,” he coughs violently, trying to scoot enough to lean his back against the headboard. You hear a clutter outside, but ignore it for the most part, focusing on the heavy breathing of your grandsire. “Do of Vaemond what you think it’s best for the Realm.” he coughs again, trying to straighten up, “Could you pass me my quill and paper? Otto’s started to become more and more meticulous, and I suspect that without my word, he won’t leave you to handle the petition…”

You do as he asked you while the rumble outside is getting louder; if earlier it was only a few whispers and angry stomping, now it’s turning into what seems to be a full-on argument between the guards and… Oscar? Is that his voice?

Your grandsire continues writing the delegation, handwriting shaky, and you’re horribly reminded yet again of how much he’s aging. ‘Tis a wretched thing, watching someone you love slip and slip and slip until only the Stranger can catch them. You wonder when the last time you’ll be able to talk to him with him recognizing you will be.

“The seal,” he murmurs, passing the letter to you, “forgive this old man, I don’t think I should be trusted with wax as of now, or I’d spill it all over the letter.”

You shake your head, “Never apologise to me for such a trivial thing ever again, grandsire.” you smile at him tenderly, caressing his hand. “I’d be glad to seal every one of your acts and letters for the rest of my life, if it meant having you by my side.”

You are preparing the hot wax for the royal sigil, when the doors slam open and the guards yell curses as they try to keep out a panting, screaming Oscar. “The trial!” His voice is so shrill that for a moment, you wonder if it’s just a maid dressed up as him. “They’re making it start now! And your grandfather–” the guards push him back, closing the doors with a loud bang!, making your grandsire blink in confusion. “What was that about?”

You hurriedly pour the wax, only half-melted, over the parchment, blowing air upon the sigil in hopes to fasten the making. “Sorry, grandsire, I fear this was my call for the Throne room.” You press a kiss onto his forehead, leaving even more confused than before as you dash out of the chambers. “Oscar! Oscar!”

You find him outside, right in front of the doors, arguing with the guards, insisting to be let in. “The Princess’ orders were specific,” Ser Erryk reiterates, “no one, besides very few, are to be let in–”

They stop at your sight, and you wave them away, hurriedly marching down the stairs while being followed by Oscar. “So, I guess the trial is starting now?” you muse, not actually amused at all. He pants, shaking his head. “The steward– he, he was showing me to the rooms, aye? And then a guy wearing the Hightower signet came and asked him for a fine pillow for the Lord Hand so that he could sit more comfortably on the Throne during the ongoing trial. And then– gods, I looked for you everywhere, I have no idea how you manage to live in this castle– I heard some maids talking about the arrival at Driftmark of Lord Corlys, who apparently is on the verge of dying.”

Your what?! echoes through the hallway and makes a few maids flinch and some guards straighten up, but your steps don’t slow down. “You mean to tell me Vaemond called this petition because my grandfather is deadly injured and nobody thought of telling me? And even worse, that right now Otto Hightower’s arse is sitting on the Iron Throne with a pillow? My ancestors have burnt down entire cities for far less!” you gag, “Oh, forgive him, Aegon, he doesn’t know what he’s doing… sitting on the throne he forged with his fallen enemies’ swords out of dragonfire– with a fine pillow no less!”

The guards that are stationed outside the throne room clearly have no intention of blocking your way in, opening the doors for you with no fuss and bowing their heads, “Princess, Ser Tully,”

A page jumps at your sight, interrupting Vaemond’s speech by yelling out, “The Princess, ambassador of the Crown and the Seven Kingdoms and– uh… Ser Oscar Tully, accompanying her.”

Murmurs spread across the room; your mother smiles at you, moving forward but then stopping — you know she has just stopped herself from hugging you — and Vaemond tries to smile, too, but it ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. You try to think more of your mother rather than him, or else you’re going to strangle him right now, in front of all these witnesses.

“Princess,” Otto Hightower gloats from above, sitting on the Throne with his stupid, horrendous green pillow. “You’re awfully late — unusual of you.”

“Well, Lord Hand, I would’ve been on time if only anyone had told me that the trial’s time had been moved,” you hiss, “and I think that’s probably why you didn’t bother sending anyone to call for me. Now do me a favor and get your smelly and sensitive buttocks away from my Throne.”

He raises both eyebrows, forehead wrinkling. “Pardon me?”

“I am not going to repeat myself twice, Otto,” you say, harsher this time. “I am the wielder of Blackfyre, which is the royal scepter. No one can hold court or trials without it, unless they’re the King.” he moves to open his mouth, but you don’t let him talk — he doesn’t deserve that privilege. “Besides, if you need a pillow to sit on the Iron Throne, were you really made to sit on it?”

Daemon laughs openly; besides him, everyone tries to keep their chuckles as silent as they can, even if you’re sure Mushroom’s going to combust soon if he doesn’t laugh out loud. “The Throne is made out of swords, nobody would ever be comfortable in it,” Alicent butts in– you had hoped she had called in sick today. Of course not. The sight of Aegon still holding in laughter from your remarks to Otto lightens your mood a bit. “But that does not matter. He is the Lord Hand, and unless the King has given other instructions, he is to replace the void left by the regnant.”

You snort. “Yes, grandsire said that you would have given me trouble about that. In fact, he did leave special instructions.” you pass the delegation to one of the public notaries present. He nods at it, confirming to everyone in the room the truth of your words, “Well, I guess the matter is settled then.” you squint at Lord Hand dearest, “Off of my Throne, and be quick with it.” The proud expression of your mother fills you with more happiness than it should.

To say that you’ve had a rough relationship with her in the last few years would be an understatement to say the least.

For the sake of your brothers, you try your best with her. You still love her dearly, but in the years your resentment towards her has grown immensely, and even if you would still die for her, that doesn’t mean that sometimes you just don’t want to kick some sense into her. You hope that after this, she fucking wakes up. You hope that she finally acknowledges that she stole what should have been your careless years and used them as her own.

As for Daemon, you don’t necessarily despise him as much as you did once. Sure, he’s obnoxious and loud and a terrible man, but you can’t just continue to ignore him for the rest of your life. Your conversations these days mostly consist of sly remarks and jabs, but they are not made out of spite anymore, rather out of respect and complicity. In the end, Daemon — whether you like it or not — has seen you grow up, and sometimes, you think it could even be fondness the thing that softens his eyes when he looks at you — something much similar to the gaze he holds exclusively for his own daughters.

You nod to your grandmother Rhaenys and glare at Vaemond, proceeding to sit on the Throne and throw the cushion over the ends of the sheathed swords that surround the King’s — for this occasion, your — seat. You keep Blackfyre in your hand, holding onto the handle, keeping it like a scepter– like your grandsire once did. “Go on, Vaemond,” you muse, “I’m really curious about what you’ll say in your defense.”

Vaemond’s eyebrows shoot up so high that for a moment, you think they might start flying around the room. “Pardon me– defense? I am not accused of anything. I am claiming my legitimate right for the Driftwood Throne.”

You narrow your eyes. “If what I’ve heard is correct, you are issuing the legitimacy of my brothers.”

He blinks. “I am, Princess. Driftmark must–”

You huff, “That matter was settled long ago. The King himself said multiple times that anyone questioning Prince Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey Velaryon’s lineage was to have their tongue cut; besides that, our father, Laenor Velaryon, has always declared them to be legitimate. Did you think you were exonerated from such considerations, perhaps?”

“I didn’t, Princess,” he hisses, and from the glare he sends Otto, you understand that they had planned not to bring that up. “But now the legacy is at stake. With my brother between the land of the dead and the one of the living, I want to set things right for the succession.” he falters, “I– I had hoped you’d understand.” there is much more behind his words, and you take immediate notice of it.

You snarl. "Oh, dear uncle, did you hope to receive a kinder treatment than the others that come in this room and demand some fleeing claim over some land just because I hold your brother dear in my heart? Then you shall know at your own expense that everyone who tries to harm my brothers harms me and, by consequence, the Throne." you wave your hand in the air. “My grandfather is not even dead yet and you already hover around his possessions like a vulture! Has nobody told you that during a Lord’s absence, a regent is named to make all the decisions for him?”

He seems to be horrified. “The regent has much less of a claim over Driftmark than I do–”

“Yet my grandfather didn’t name you,” you counter. “I wonder why, uncle. Could it be that the regent holds his wishes more to her heart than you do?” You raise your eyes from his form, “Princess Rhaenys, a word?”

Your grandmother steps up with a smile on her face. “Gladly,” From the way she looks at you, you understand that once you get out of this room, she’s going to brag about you to all her friends and every servant that is willing to listen. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son– Jacaerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, Princess Rhaenyra just informed me of her desire to marry Lucerys Velaryon to my granddaughter Rhaena to strengthen the bonds between our houses once again.” she chuckles, “And, as it is both Targaryen and Velaryon tradition to do so, Prince Jacaerys’ and Princess Helaena’s firstborn could marry Prince Lucerys’ and Lady Rhaena’s firstborn daughter.”

“Creating an engagement between kids who have yet to be born is a little tricky,” you murmur, an eyebrow raised, “But I don’t have anything against it. We can consider this matter settled once and for all– even if, I’m sure, once he wakes up, my grandfather will waste no time in stating his will once again.” you sigh, “I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne and the next Lord of the Tides.”

“You break law,” Vaemond hisses, “and centuries of tradition that I had hoped you’d have understood by now, niece.”

You shake your head. “Don’t try that with me, uncle, you know it won’t work.” you point your finger accusingly at him, “The regent has spoken, and her word is Corlys’. Besides, what good would you do ascending to the Throne of Driftmark? You’re old and you have no heirs, no daughters, no wife. You’re just a second son who hopes in his brother’s demise to have all that he could never have by birthright. Prince Jacaerys is already betrothed to Princess Helaena; the Velaryons will be princes, Vaemond, princes!”

“The fact that I have no heirs can still be changed,” he bluntly says. “I’m still young enough to find a wife.”

You grimace, “Yes, yes, there are way older men than you that get married at their elderly ages, but it will be a great feat to find you a wife with the face you find yourself in, even for all the gold in the world.”

“You dare tell me who deserves to inherit the Velaryon name?” he rages, “I will not allow it!”

“Do not forget yourself, Vaemond!” you state back, “I myself hold the Velaryon name, and you have no right to tell me who deserves it and who doesn’t when my own father and the man that is now miles away, fighting for his life, taught me everything I ought to know to carry it with pride!”

He points angrily at Jace, “That is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine!” the whole room gasps; you get up from the Throne, surely matching the tone of anger. “Continue and I’ll have your tongue cut out for this, Vaemond–”

“You all may run your house as you see it fit!” he shouts, “But you will not decide the future of mine. The Velaryons have survived the Doom and a thousand of tribulations aside– and gods be damned, I will not see it ended because of this–”

He stops in his tracks; from the look in your eyes, he knows that if he ends the sentence, he could lose much more than his tongue. But Daemon taunts him, “Say it.”

Vaemond’s right eye ticks. “Her children are bastards!” he bellows, causing the fainting of one of the ladies standing behind and the general outrage. “And she is a whore.”

Before you can yell out every insult under the sun and call for the guards to bring him to the Dragon Pit so that Nādrēsy may feast on him, a sword comes behind him, slicing his head in two — leaving his tongue intact. Many scream and run out of the room, while both sides of your family stand there and watch his body fall forward. The guards are stopped by a gesture of your hand; Daemon merely grins, cleaning his sword with the dead’s clothes. “Let him keep his tongue,” he murmurs, “I’m sure the Stranger will be delighted in hearing his laments.”

Oscar is downright traumatised by the experience. “Do people often die here, during trials?” he asks you for the fifth time, anxiously tapping his foot on the ground. “Not if Daemon isn’t around,” you quietly reply, looking over at your uncle and mother chatting — or, better… discuss animatedly — about what has just happened. The room is filled with the murmurs of your family: Baela and Rhaena are whispering with Rhaenys as Jace and Luke chat quietly.

Anybody has yet to come to talk to you, too preoccupied with their own matters — not that you care. You’re waiting for everyone to be out of this room to be finally left alone with your mother and have a decent talk. As of now, you’re just sitting in your chair with your arms crossed, brooding. Oscar taps his fingers on the table beside him, and it irks you. “Will you please stop, before I send you out of this room?”

“I shouldn’t even be here!” he counters, shouting-whispering. “This feels like a family reunion!”

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, “my grandmother already hates you as only family can do.”

“That’s just because she thinks I’m your prostitute or something,” he mutters, offended. Though it is true that she loathes him– you have brought him with you to Driftmark many times, and every time, her despise for him was basically impossible to hide.

“Why, you think she doesn’t hate Daemon for the exact same reason?”

As Oscar stays there with his brows furrowed, gears turning in his head over your last sentence, your patience runs short. “This is madness. I am going to talk to her.” you rise from your seat, every eye but your mother’s and Daemon’s turning to look at you — and everyone knows you well enough to get out of the room before the storm can hit.

Your mother and her husband are still hissing to each other for the Seven know what reason why, so much that they don’t even notice you. “Are you finished?” you say flatly, raising an eyebrow when their heads turn to look at you, surprised. Luke is the last one to exit the room, and he makes sure to close the door. “I thought you two were adults, but clearly I am in front of children. I would’ve killed Vaemond either way; could you kindly stop arguing now?”

Rhaenyra’s face warms. “I– sorry, of course.” she still sends a glare to her husband, relenting only because of you. “Could you kindly leave us alone, kepa?” Daemon rolls his eyes, begrudgingly heading towards the door. Before he closes it behind him, he sends a look at Oscar, whispering, “I think you may want to leave now, too, whore-boy.”

Unfortunately, Oscar only hears a few muffled words and then the door closes. He focuses on trying to make himself as invisible and small as he can, as he hasn’t been excused by either you or your mother, and figures he can’t leave his little sad seat until one of you tells him to.

Rhaenyra is the first to extend an olive branch. “I wanted to thank you for what you did today,” she says calmly, smiling at you. “With Otto holding the trial, I don’t even want to think about what the outcome could’ve been.”

Your face remains still, not a smile in sight and no emotions to show. “Good. You have seen how to handle such matters. From now on, they will be in your hands.”

Your mother’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“Excuse me?” you mock, “You let me pick up your slack for the last eight years, mother. I’m done.” she’s about to open her mouth again, but you talk over her, “You called me here because you needed my help — and I will help when I can, you know that, but you didn’t even tell me that in the first place this godsforsaken petition was called because my grandfather could be dying as of now.” you shake your head, eyes clouded with memories: of all the swims you and Corlys had taken together, of him and your father teaching you how to navigate — the only thought of them both dead makes you want to throw up. “You think you may lose an asset if he dies, maybe a once good-father– but he is my grandfather. He is much more than just a lord to me. He taught me how to swim, how to survive out in the sea — and he is, besides grandmother, the last thing left of my father.”

You blink the tears away from your eyes. Blinking, you notice her eyes are watery too. “We have already talked about this, sweetling,” she murmurs.

You shake your head. “We have, but you never actually listen to me. I am tired, mother.” A tear escapes her eye at seeing you in this state — head bowed, eyes full of tears, lip trembling. She has gotten so used to seeing you act mature that she has almost forgotten that you are only six and ten; at your age, her main concerns were fighting off suitors and assuring that nobody found out that she was sleeping with her ward. Meanwhile you are trying to hold the whole realm intact by yourself while trying to keep the Hightowers as far as they can be from the Throne, handling every lord and lady that complains, and — Rhaenyra as of now doesn’t know you well enough anymore to say it, but she suspects you are having an affair too. Just in case, she glares at Oscar through the tears.

“I want to stay here, in the castle, with little to no worries until I am to be married off– oh, don’t look at me like that, mother, we both know it’s going to happen soon.” you wave a hand in the air, sniffling, “I want to finally be able to mourn my father. I want to wear all the pretty dresses I’ve bought in the last two years. I want to have handmaidens, I want to fly on Nādrēsy for fun rather than for Kingdom matters, I want to stop worrying about the Hightowers colonizing the Red Keep everytime I’m away. But I can’t do it without you, mother.”

She wipes away her tears with the sleeves of her dress, “I– I thought you enjoyed being the ambassador and having so many duties.”

You laugh bitterly. “I did for the first two years. When you give a child a cup of wine, he doesn’t think of the headache that he will have after drinking it– he only sees his opportunity to finally prove himself as an adult.” you grimace, a tear slipping from your eye, “At first it was fun. Grandsire kept me mostly away from political affairs and sent me around just to make Nādrēsy clean the Kingdom’s prisons; I didn’t have to do anything. But then he started considering me for political missions.” you spare a glance at Oscar, now trying to melt into one with the seat, clearly awkward. It was during one of the missions that you met. “He kept giving me more and more power, and I found it so funny. At ten I sentenced every remaining member of Cregan Stark’s family just because. I could have sent them to the Wall — after all, it wasn’t really clear how much his uncle’s sons had helped their father usurp Cregan, and the Wall is the usual punishment for Lords. But then, as I grew, I started feeling the weight of it. Not every situation was black and white, and sometimes I just wanted to kill both parties and call it a day.”

Your eye ticks. “And I don’t know how long I can hold it until it breaks me. I just need… time. If you pick up from where I left and become Hand, I won’t have to worry about anything until I become Queen or you become Queen and name me Hand. And until that happens, I think I will have learnt how to handle the weight just fine.”

Your mother doesn’t say anything. She opens her mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. In the end, she just hugs you and goes for the door. As she opens it, she turns towards you, eyes red. “I– I’ll send a… servant. So that you two might be… chaperoned.”

You raise an eyebrow. You open your heart to her for this? A dry laugh escapes you as she closes the door behind her, “Whatever,” and you move back to your original seat, letting your head fall on Oscar’s shoulder. You sigh. “Do you think she understood?”

He grumbles. “I hope so. I’m not willing to sit like this through another mother-daughter talk like this ever again.”

Supper is predictably going to be a disaster.

As your Grandsire enters the dining hall, wheezing and leaning against the maester, you glare at Aemond, who has graciously decided to sit as far away from you as possible — that does not deter you from cursing him to all kinds of pain and suffering in your head, though.

You told Oscar to dine in his own room, knowing that as soon as any kind of cataclysm starts, he won’t want to be around. Looking at the faces of your relatives, you ask yourself who’s going to strike first — if Aemond, Aegon, Luke or, even worse, Daemon.

Your grandsire groans loudly as he finally sits in his chair, Alicent on his right and your mother on his left, smiling as the Maester wipes sweat from his forehead. He tries to muster up a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. “How good it is… to see you all tonight, together.”

His wife hums. “Prayer before we begin?” as the others move to intertwine their hands, you and Daemon stay still, sending each other amused looks. Neither of you has ever been the greatest believer, not of the Seven at least. There’s a lot of things you believe in — your mother’s right to rule, the legitimacy of your brothers, Aemond’s utter and clear idiocy…

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love. May the smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods make him rest.” you roll your eyes at that; you hope they make him burn for the rest of eternity.

Your grandsire takes the word again. “This is an occasion of celebration. My grandson Luke will marry his cousin Baela, strengthening the bonds between our houses.” he turns to your mother, giving her the biggest smile you’ve seen him make in a while. “And my firstborn Rhaenyra has asked me permission to stay here in preparation for her role as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, making her the first Lady Hand to be named in history.”

You perk up, surprised. Looking over at Otto, you find him staring blankly at the King, no hand pin on his chest. You instead find it on your mother’s dress, pinned right above her breast. You look up at her to find her already smiling tenderly at you, eyes full of affection. “She also requested that her daughter be lifted from her duties until she is to be married, so that she may enjoy the last years as a girl that she has left. I think her reasoning is right, and with her by my side, I know my granddaughter will be able to step aside and spend freely the next few years.” he takes his goblet of wine, barely managing to raise it in the air. “So, a toast to the young prince, his betrothed and the princesses!”

You all clank your goblets and dive into your food, as silent as ever. Aegon nudges your side, “You’ve planned this well, haven’t you?” he whispers. The smirk on his face tells you that he couldn’t care less if his grandfather has just lost his position as Hand. “We should go visit the Free Cities together now that you have no more obligations, niece. Ever heard of Tyrosh’s pear brandy?”

You roll your eyes, holding in a smile. “Always thinking about drinking, aren’t you, uncle? I’m surprised you’re still so awake this late in the evening with all the cups you down usually.”

He huffs. “Mother kept me from drinking today because of the trial.” he shrugs, grabbing his goblet and motioning for a servant to fill it up again. “Guess I’ll have to make up for it now.”

The chit-chatting goes on for a while; mostly everyone keeps to either themselves or the ones beside them, keeping their eyes on the plate and eating as fast as they could to get out of here soon. Your grandsire coughs, making everyone raise their eyes to look at him wheezing. “It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” he shakes his head, making both you and Aegon grimace while looking at Aemond, who is nodding like he’s not the one who has mostly caused all of this.

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings into our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside all your grievances — if not for the sake of the Crown, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all dearly.”

Either he doesn’t see the whole situation clearly or he keeps being a hopeless romantic, because you doubt anyone in this room will ever set their grievances aside. Even if you were to forgive Aemond for what he had done to you, your brothers would still hate him, and Baela and Rhaena would continue to resent him for stealing their mother’s dragon. Otto made your last six years a living hell, as you continuously tried to keep your grandsire from being poisoned by his stupid maesters and pages, and Alicent did the same to your mother, terrorizing her in her own home, making her walk right after giving birth to Joff and such.

You’re about to open your mouth and protest on your family’s behalf when your mother herself rises from her seat, goblet high. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father, but I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.” The look Aegon sends you says loyally?, and you have to look straight ahead to the windows to not burst out laughing.

“She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love, and honour. And for that, she has my whole gratitude — and… my apology.”

The Queen presses her lips into a thin line, getting up and raising her cup. “Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers, and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.”

You and Aegon share a doubtful glance. “Are we the problem?” He asks you quietly, concerned about why everyone’s accepting this so quickly. You shake your head. “I have no idea, uncle. Maybe we are crazy.”

Jace clears his throat, raising too. At this point, you think you might actually be the problem. Is it possible you’re the only one who’s spiteful in this room? “To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” He sits back down, friendly punching Aegon’s shoulder. Your uncle coughs, “To you as well.”

Baela boldly gets up, and you’re starting to wonder for how long the toasting will go on. “I would like to toast to Rhaena and Princess Helaena. They'll be married soon, and even if I do not wish to marry, I am sure they’ll find good husbands in Prince Jacaerys and Prince Lucerys.”

The rest of the night goes fairly well, with bards starting the music and Mushroom fooling around, raising everyone’s spirits. Without him, you think, the family wouldn’t stand half as strong as it did. Once, Alicent tried to ban him from court, saying he was too obscene- as if your grandsire would’ve ever allowed that, with the way the fool made both you and your mother laugh.

At some point during the evening, your grandsire leaves for his chambers, not feeling well; and as soon as he leaves the room, your fears become reality.

Aemond gets up from his seat, cup raised, malice in his eyes. He has waited for grandsire to retire to speak– he knows the King would not have appreciated what he has to say. “Final tribute. To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… and strong.”

Jace flinches. Alicent grimaces, reprimanding, “Aemond.”

He doesn’t listen. “Come — let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”

You and Jace both get up. “I dare you to say that again.”

“Why?” He laughs, “'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”

Jacaerys strikes first, attacking Aemond with a punch on his face. Your mother is horrified, “Jace!” Aegon whistles, laughing until you push his face into his food. “Not now, you dumb fuck!” She turns to you, eyes lost, “Not you, too!”

“S’fine,” Aegon chokes, face covered in sauce and peas and a piece of a roasted potato up his mouth. “She usually does worse.”

Luke is on his feet the moment Jace’s knuckles touche Aemond’s face, but the guards stop him– they don’t come for Aemond quick enough to stop him from sending Jace tumbling to the ground, though, and your brother falls down only to rise up again, even more enraged– and that’s where the guards decide to step in.

“That is enough!” Alicent yells, getting up and going to her son as your brothers struggle in the guard’s hold. She takes her son aside, raging, “Why would you say such a thing before these people?”

Aemond only snickers. “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” he then turns to your brothers, still fighting the guards’ hold, “Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs.”

Your mother hushers your brothers and cousins out of the room, “Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.”

Daemon goes to stand in between your uncle and your brothers, hands joined and sword on his hip. His gaze is clear: if you have something to say, say it to me. Aemond opts for the better option — the one that will allow him to keep his head steady on his shoulders — and decides to just flee the scene, exiting the chamber.

You sigh, looking at your mother. “Well,” you mumble, “I’m departing for Driftmark early in the morn to see my grandfather,” you tell her, patting her shoulder. “Good luck with everything else though. It’s rare around here that supper doesn’t end in a fight.”

if my calculations are right, the slow burn will start burning next chap

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daylighted · 4 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤBABY ! READER.

meet baby . . . again, because she's not someone that you should be unfamiliar with, if you know the winchester boys ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ a hunt gone wrong leaves dean without a car, and a personified version if it in its place ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ resilient and reliable, loyal and loving, baby is more than happy with the shift in dynamic ㅤ — ㅤ so long as it keeps her alongside her favorite person in the world, dean.

LEATHER & LACE !! baby arrived into human society in nothing but a worn, faded black leather jacket and a pair of lacy panties, prompting shell-shocked dean to fork over his jeans in efforts to preserve the modesty that she could not care less about. the black jacket is the human translation of dean's car's black coat of paint, and the panties have no explanation beyond dean's petty-driven theory of a final nail in the coffin of the witch's curse.

NOT CALLED BABY FOR NOTHIN' !! the name was given to baby, first, as a show of affection and appreciation that dean had for the car he inherited. now that said car was a girl with her own identity, dean has stuck to calling her such due to her innocence when it came to existing as a human being. and, though he'd never admit it, the affection he felt lingered tenfold now that he'd come to terms with her existence.

BIRTHMARKS !! baby has two "birthmarks," or scarification marks that came with her shift from car to girl. pale skin knits together neatly in the form of two scratchy initial signatures over each clavicle: D.W. and S.W. dean's, on her left side, directly over the beat of her heart, and sam's, on the right, never far behind when it came to being at dean's side. it is not known for a fact if either winchester knows of the existence of these marks; though it's highly likely they know of some sort of mark existing there, with how often baby tends to casually undress.

LISTEN TO HER PURR !! of all things that the winchesters have encountered, a car turned girl is not a repeat offense that they've witnessed. every day, something new is uncovered about baby; how she reacts to things, how much fire one girl's mouth can spit, how many memories translated into her head from the leather of the seats. there is not often a moment of silence or peace, not with baby around, though the lapse from routine is a welcome one, with how hard the job they do can be at times.

SO THIS IS LOVE !! it is without a doubt that baby came into existence with a predetermined love and devotion to dean. whether it is another jab from the witch's curse, attempting to poke a thorn into the soft press of dean's side, or if the bond between a man and his first love, his car, exists as true thing. dean chooses to not think about either option, simply wanting to believe that baby picks him everytime on her own free will. he does not, in fact, think about why he wants her to be consenting and aware in her devotion, either.

POCKETFUL OF SUNSHINE !! it is unknown if any special abilities or powers came in baby's human form, as the car information booklet that'd been collecting dust in her glovebox was now lost to the void. however, it is known that the leather jacket she came to fruition in seems to have bottomless pockets, holding things lost with time and forgotten, like sam's old toy soldiers, or a stuffie, wedged so deep under the seat for so long that neither of the winchesters remember it existing. perhaps the updated '67 chevy impala instruction manual is lost in the depths of those pockets, too.

—ㅤㅤㅤFOLLOW THE MAP !! ㅤ ๋࣭ ㅤ ⭑ ㅤ ⋆ ㅤ ⭒ ㅤ ˚ ㅤ ｡ ㅤ ⋆

. . . or, the chronological timeline of baby!reader. full map, including pitstops, unraveled here ㅤ — ㅤdiscuss baby!reader nation here !! official join the roadtrip post coming soon.

live out your baby!reader dreams in the interactive version, only found on c.ai.

01. how baby!reader came to be. 02. someone's gotta tell sam. 03. he cuddled with her anyways. 04. the girl behind the wheel. 05. baby's first case! 06. not off the hook. 07. learning about reading and feelings with sam winchester. 08. baby does not, in fact, know how to drive.

—ㅤㅤㅤPITSTOPS !! ㅤ ๋࣭ ㅤ ⭑ ㅤ ⋆ ㅤ ⭒ ㅤ ˚ ㅤ ｡ ㅤ ⋆

. . . or, the pinnacles of thoughts and headcanons about baby!reader. join the discussion in the link above !!

ㅤㅤㅤ✇ baby does not take shit from no man! + sweet dean stuff or whatev ㅤㅤㅤ✇ baby's thoughts on castiel. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ the one where baby calls dean on his shit. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ kiss it better! ㅤㅤㅤ✇ mary's revival. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ social anxiety HATES her! ㅤㅤㅤ✇ meet matilda, the witch who started it all. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ baby learns her abcs. sam is sick of the alphabet. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ dean is NOT raising a beige baby. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ how the lovebirds fall into love. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ baby beefs with someone's big black jacked up truck. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ loving each other & all their broken pieces. ㅤㅤㅤ✇ coping mechanisms.

notes. this took me 5k years and cost me my left leg. if it takes me 619238499 years to update this / keep it updated... mind ur business i have only one leg now and 5k less years to my lifespan </3 u can find all other discussion related stuff not listed here + all of this in the baby!reader tag on my blog <3 on the chance that i start slacking on keeping this up to date.

layout inspired by my pookie twin @deansbeer <3 !!! seriously don't know how u did this still bc my GOD.

tags. @titsout4jackles @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra + all of the rest of baby!reader nation if u needed a central hub to catch up LMFAO.

#dahlia's ☆ journal #baby!reader #dean winchester x baby!reader #sam winchester x baby!reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jared padalecki #jared fucking padalecki #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x you

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itsnesss · 2 months ago

Note

LANDO NORRIS x reader? Just walking around, having a cute little date

𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 | lando norris × fem!reader

summary | a quiet, cozy date with lando turns into the sweetest evening—just walking, talking, and falling a little more in love with every step

warnings | extreme fluff, tooth-rotting sweetness, mild teasing

word count | 1.0 k

🖇 more ln4 🖇 f1 masterlist

He takes your hand without asking. He just laces his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like holding your hand is already part of his routine. Maybe in his mind, it is.

“I don’t want to do anything crazy today,” he says, turning toward you as you walk through a quiet city street. His smile is soft, almost lazy, like the world has paused just for the two of you. “I just want to... walk with you.”

And that’s exactly what you do.

No plans. No fancy reservations or carefully mapped-out stops. Just your steps next to his, moving at a slow pace while the sun begins to dip and paints everything in gold and orange.

“You know what I love about this?” he asks, still holding your hand, still focused only on your face.

“What?”

“That you’re not in a rush.”

You frown a little, curious. “And that’s a good thing?”

“It’s amazing.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m always surrounded by people who are in a hurry. Literally. Mechanics, engineers, fans… me. Everything is always fast. But you…” His thumb brushes your skin. “With you, everything slows down. And I like that.”

You stay silent for a moment, letting his words settle into your chest, warm and fluttering.

You don’t answer with words. You just lean in a little closer, your arm brushing his.

You end up in a park neither of you knew. There are kids running around, a guy walking an enormous dog, and an elderly couple on a bench, sharing an ice cream.

Lando tugs you gently toward a snack stand.

“Hungry?” he asks, scanning the small menu. “Because that Nutella waffle is calling my name.”

You laugh. “Everything calls your name.”

“I’m just that popular,” he says with a dramatic pose that makes you burst out laughing. “But not as popular as you, clearly.”

“Me?” you ask, surprised.

“Yes, you. You’re the only one who can make me disconnect from everything. You’re basically a rockstar.”

You blush. He notices. And he grins proudly, knowing he caused it.

You sit on a bench with your waffles, sharing one napkin and playfully bickering every time one of you gets chocolate on the other.

“Hey! That was cheating!” you protest when Lando dabs a bit of Nutella on your nose.

“Cheating? No, no,” he says, pointing at you with his plastic fork. “That was sweet justice. Literally.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he sticks his back, of course. He leans in, wipes the chocolate from your nose with his finger… and licks it.

Your eyes widen in surprise. He just grins, shamelessly. “Hmm. Sweet. But you taste better.”

And there it is again. That stupid smile that always manages to make your heart race.

Later, when the sun is fully gone, you wander the softly lit streets. Streetlights and shop windows light your way. Lando stops now and then, not because there’s anything interesting to see — but just to stretch the evening out a little longer.

You pass a closed shop with a display of old books. He pauses in front of the glass, tilting his head.

“Do you read much?” he asks.

“Depends. Do you?”

“I read manuals,” he jokes. “And WhatsApp messages. That counts, right?”

You bump your shoulder into his, and he stumbles back with exaggerated drama, laughing loudly.

“Honestly, I should read more. But I have trouble focusing... unless you’re around. Strangely, you make everything feel quiet. Peaceful.”

You stop walking too. You look at him. No cameras. No fans. Just the two of you, standing in front of a dusty window, under a flickering streetlight. Lando steps closer, still holding your hand.

“You’re my safe place,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Even in the middle of anywhere.”

You lean in first. Or maybe he does. Doesn’t matter. What matters is the kiss — slow, soft, full of all the things you didn’t need to say.

It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t need a reason. The kind that blooms during an ordinary evening because your heart just can’t keep holding it all in.

“You realize this date has absolutely no plan?” you say after, still walking, still with his fingers tangled in yours.

“And it’s the best date I’ve ever had,” he answers instantly.

“Even better than that time you had dinner with Tom Holland?”

“Obviously,” he says, pretending to be offended. “Tom’s cool, but he doesn’t laugh like you. He doesn’t look at me like you do. He definitely doesn’t take slow walks with me just to check if the stars are out.”

You glance up. And there they are. The first stars.

“What now?” you ask.

“Now I get you something warm to drink,” he says, pointing at a small, cozy-looking café with glowing lights. “And then… we keep walking.”

“To where?”

“Until the world says stop. Or until your feet get tired. Whichever comes first.”

The café is tiny and smells like vanilla. You order one hot chocolate with marshmallows — just one — and sit in a quiet corner, sharing it like two teenagers who don’t want the moment to end.

Lando looks at you like you’re his entire universe. Like this unscripted evening is the best gift anyone’s given him in a long time.

“Thanks for not rushing,” he says, gently tracing your wrist with his thumb.

“Thanks for walking beside me,” you answer.

He leans in and kisses your forehead. Slow. Soft. Like it’s all he needs to breathe.

You step out of the café with warm hands from the drink and even warmer hearts.

The city has gone quieter. Fewer cars. Fewer voices. Everything feels hushed, as if it knows you’re having a moment.

Lando stops again.

“Look,” he says, nodding toward your reflection in a shop window.

You look tired, windswept. Your cheeks are flushed. Lando’s eyes are glowing. And you’re both smiling.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he says, turning back to you. “But I like you. A lot.”

You don’t say anything. You just wrap your arms around him.

Because you feel the same.

Because this aimless walk turned out to be the best path you’ve ever taken.

#🖇️ lando norris #lando norris f1 #lando norris one shot #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine

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jeonstudios · 4 months ago

Text

dextrocardia | 17

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 3.4k

warnings: uhm... blood, injuries to hands and feet...

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 17/?

Determined, Jeongguk drives west, soon swapping his car for another black one at the rental. While he waits for the staff to grab the right key, he enters an address into his phone’s GPS, scanning through the satellite images in preparation.

Ideally, he would’ve scoped the place out beforehand. In person. But he doesn’t have that option, so he tells himself that it’ll be fine. He just has to be careful.

A few moments later, he gets into the driver’s seat, driving the new car back east, passing both the station and not too far from your apartment building. There’s a part of him that wants to stop by, to beg you to come back with him, but he ignores it, knowing full well that you wouldn’t appreciate it.

Luckily, the sun has already set by the time he arrives at the address an hour later, providing him the cover of darkness. The street in front of the two-story suburban house is quiet, and he slows the car to a stop at a safe distance. He’s relieved to see a few other cars parked along the street, making it easier for him to blend in.

Despite not being trained in surveillance quite like you, Jeongguk tries to think two, even three steps ahead. He manually switches off the interior lights before killing the engine, ensuring no harsh lights give him away if someone happens to be watching. If that someone also happens to know him, he’s fucked.

Surrounded by darkness, he quickly scans the area before slipping out of the driver’s seat and into the back. Hidden from view, he picks up the binoculars he borrowed from the station, leaning against the seat in front of him as he peers through them.

Although it’s dark, the streetlights and the glow from inside the house are enough, and he starts by inspecting the cars parked outside. They’re ordinary cars with plates he doesn’t recognize. Unlocking his phone—the brightness set as low as possible—he writes the plates down to look them up later.

Then, he turns his attention toward the house. It’s a white-painted home with a decent-sized porch that almost reminds him of the house he shared with you during the mission, only smaller. He keeps his gaze on it, noticing movement through the mostly curtain-covered windows on the bottom floor, but it's impossible to make out any details. Just shadows dancing against the beige fabric.

A sudden sound interrupts the silence, and through the side-view mirror, Jeongguk spots a vehicle approaching from behind. He ducks, staying completely still. The dark car passes, and a few seconds later, Jeongguk peeks out from behind the driver’s seat again. The driver is parking outside the house, and so Jeongguk holds his breath.

The door on the driver’s side opens, but the man inside is distracted by something in the passenger seat, and as he begins to step out, his face remains hidden from Jeongguk’s view. He’s wearing dark clothes; a thicker winter jacket of some kind, and his hair is black. Nothing incriminating or identifying.

Come one, come on.

With both feet on the ground, the man turns his head to quickly scan the street, and Jeongguk sinks back down in his seat, his eyes wide.

JJ.

Jeongguk watches his coworker slam the door shut, only to round the car to seemingly grab something from the backseat floor out of view. A second later, JJ emerges with a small black bag in his hand—just like the one Sana briefly described to Jeongguk after he’d stumbled across her and Jihyo buried in papers and questioned them.

JJ heads for the front door of his “stepsister's” house, taking the two steps up in a single stride. Jeongguk watches him knock and then how he stands there, waiting for someone to open. Again, Jeongguk holds his breath, praying that tonight will lead to a breakthrough.

It’s almost as if they know that Jeongguk is waiting, on the edge of his seat, because whoever is behind that door is taking their goddamn time. Additionally, his phone chooses the worst time to ring, the vibrations unnoticeable for his target but distracting for him. Then, the door opens, and Jeongguk’s dextrocardic heart skips a beat, and maybe it also fills his veins with anger.

Ryung.

You have a hard time putting your feelings into words, somehow satisfied by your recent breakthrough but also jittery and nervous about what it might mean. You could be one step closer to finally putting some very bad men behind bars, or at least try to, but you’ve also realized that, yeah, there’s a risk that you’re in more danger than you thought.

On one hand, you’re probably farther away from JJ (at least), but on the other hand, you’re alone. Although you didn’t stay with Jeongguk that long, it’s still taken you some time to get used to not living with him anymore. Your apartment is smaller than his house, but it’s a pretty home; recently renovated but with a homey feel to it. At least you try to convince yourself that.

“Okay, my phone’s about to die, but you have a safe flight. Bye,” you tell your mother, waiting for her goodbye before hanging up and slipping your phone into the front pocket of your black hoodie.

Your mother. You’ve tried to keep her as unknowing and uninvolved as possible, and although she knows that the city’s police force has been dealing with some corruption, she doesn’t know that you’re in the middle of it. It’s been relatively easy to keep her in the dark, or at least in the shadows; she’s not the most updated person, preferring to stay off social media and only read physical newspapers now and again.

For the longest time, before everything unfolded and while you dealt with the harassment at work and the tampering of your car, you thought your end was inevitable, and you didn’t want to worry her. Now... well… you guess you still don’t want her to worry. It would be useless as there’s never been anything she could do to help you. If anything, she’d be in danger too.

Living alone again, you've set a new bedtime routine in place. It includes a hot drink—usually tea but sometimes cocoa—along with lazily scrolling the internet on your laptop with the lights dimmed while the TV hums in the background. It helps take your mind off things and the human voices make these dark nights feel less lonely.

Tonight, however, the nine o’clock news reported a mass shooting involving multiple gunmen not too far from your station, and you watched in horror as the news anchor described the chaos. Squad cars from neighboring districts had been called in to help your understaffed station handle the panicked crowds and roaming gunmen. As a criminal investigator, there’s nothing you can do to help; you’re not trained to handle a task like that. You think about your colleagues, mainly all the officers called in, hoping none of them get hurt tonight.

To calm your nerves, you put the kettle on and rummage through the cupboard in search of your tea. Maybe chamomile will calm you until there’s an update.

But you don’t have time to pick out a tea bag before there’s a sharp knock on your door. You freeze. It’s late—almost ten p.m.—and you haven’t really made friends with your elderly neighbors.

Swallowing hard, you turn around and very slowly make your way from the kitchen to the door. Your heart pounds against your ribs, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Maybe it's Jeongguk?

Holding your breath, you rise onto your toes to press your eye to the peephole. A chill runs down your spine, and your blood freezes.

It’s not Jeongguk. It’s Hoseong, and he’s dressed in black, staring right at you, smiling.

You stumble backward, body locking up in fear.

He looks the same as you remember him—tall and muscular with dark eyes. But his hair is longer now, nearly reaching his jaw. He used to seem so charming to you, but even if he mostly looks the same, all you see now is how unsettling he is.

“I know you’re in there,” he sings, hos voice teasing. “And a little bird told me you’ve been having trouble with your door. The latch, was it?”

He knows about your door? You step back slowly, heart pounding. What do you do? You always lock your door—like now—but lately, the latch has become misaligned. It’s a small issue. Barely noticeable. Just enough to make locking and unlocking tricky sometimes.

But there’s a gap. A weak spot.

Then, you hear it. It’s a faint, eerie sound, like someone sliding a thin object, maybe a credit card, into the door. As if to wiggle the latch loose.

What do you do?

Your first instinct is to scream for help, but when you think about it… Your neighbors are elderly, and Hoseong is definitely armed and on the warpath. The best thing they could do is call the understaffed, already busy cops. They can’t help you.

Instead, you rush to the kitchen, yanking open a drawer and wrapping your trembling fingers tight around your sharpest knife. A second later, you hear the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open, followed by quick, angry footsteps.

Hoseong is smiling when he steps into view, a knife glinting in his hand. The smile is twisted, never reaching his eyes, and instinctively, you start to back up against the counter. He looks angry, frustrated, maybe even worn beyond the smile. You guess life on the run brings an element of stress.

“Finally, I’ve got you alone,” he seethes, striding toward you. “You’ve ruined my life, you know that? Fucking whore.”

You hold your knife out, preparing to defend yourself as best you can. But the truth is that Hoseong isn’t just a good bit bigger and a lot stronger than you—he’s also faster and more athletic. And most importantly, he’s trained to defend himself and disarm others in a way you just aren’t.

So when you thrust the knife toward him as he closes in, he dodges with ease and uses his free hand to grab your wrist hard. In one fluid motion, he clamps his knife between his teeth to get his other hand free, harshly yanking your knife from you. It clutters against the floor somewhere out of view. Next, he’s taking his knife back, shifting his grip on it, and preparing to strike.

With one hand still trapped in his grasp, you don’t get the angle or opportunity to disarm him like he did you. Instead, your left hand only manages to grab the blade. You’re not sure if you feel how it hurts or if you just know that it does, but something warm starts to drip down your hand as you try to keep the knife away from you, gritting your teeth.

Somehow, you manage to land a kick to his crotch, and despite the less-than-perfect angle, the pressure of the knife lessens as Hoseong stumbles back. Seizing the opportunity, you push him away with all your might, sprinting toward the only place with a lock.

The bathroom.

Almost instantly, Hoseong regains his balance, and he’s so close that you briefly feel the graze of his fingers in your hair as he sets off after you. Panicked, you grab anything within reach, hurling it back between you to slow him down. A tall, vintage vase crashes to the floor, a frustrated ‘fuck’ drawn from Hoseong, and it’s what buys you just enough time to reach the bathroom and lock the door behind you. A split second after you’ve twisted the lock, he’s yanking on the handle. Hard.

Alone in the bathroom, gasping for air, you fall to your knees. Blood is quickly collecting on your gray tile floor, and you have to look away from your shaky, torn-up hand. Your other hand reaches into the pocket of your hoodie, fumbling with the phone as you pull it out. It’s nothing more than pure luck that it didn’t fall out during the commotion.

Suddenly, a booming crash shakes the door, and you both see and feel the impact as Hoseong tries to kick the door in. Quickly, you scramble to sit in front of it, pressing your back against it and planting your feet firmly on the floor.

You glance at your phone, already knowing there’s no use. The police won’t have anyone to send, and even if they did, Hoseong’s going to get you before they’ve even dispatched someone. Eyes blurry with tears, you press on a contact, lifting your phone to your ear and listening to the signals.

“Hello?”

Hearing his familiar voice, the deep but slightly surprised greeting, is what does it, and you break further. He sounds like he didn’t expect you to call, probably because you’ve made it clear that you don’t want him around.

“Jeongguk?” you sniffle quietly, shakily, knowing that there’s nothing he can do either. All officers were called in, so he’s at least thirty minutes away.

He must hear the overwhelming emotions in your voice because his next words are clearer, sharper, as if he adjusted the phone to hear better. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s here–” you whisper, your voice trembling—especially when Hoseong kicks against the door again, the shockwaves hitting you.

“–What?” Jeongguk questions, and you hear rustling in the background.

“Yeah, Hoseong’s here, and he’s got me,” you cry, nearly dropping the phone as the door is hit again. You do your best to grip the device tightly. “I’m not gonna make–”

Silence. Not even the rustling you heard on his end. You lower the phone to look at the screen through tears, only to find it black and dead.

This time, you’re not gonna make it.

Closing your eyes, you try to get a deep breath in. Maybe two. You know it’s inevitable, but are you just going to wait for it? Desperately, you open your eyes again, looking around the blood-stained bathroom for something—anything—to use as a weapon or shield when Hoseong inevitably breaks the door down.

But there’s nothing, and hit after hit rattles the door against your back. You’re not sure why he didn’t bring a gun. Of course, he’ll succeed tonight anyway, but a gun would’ve spared him some effort and you some unnecessary terror. Sure, someone might hear a gunshot, but he’s not being very quiet now either. You have a feeling he saw his undisturbed opportunity with the mass shooting happening and the police stretched thin. If someone in the building has called, it will still be a while before anyone arrives. He'll be done and on his way by then.

Despite the lack of weapons and protection, your eyes focus on something you can use to at least buy you some time. You stand up on shaky legs, quickly heading over to the bathtub, and with all your might, try to drag and push it in front of the door. Adrenaline still pumps through your veins, but you’re starting to feel the pain of your hand, blood smearing across the white porcelain.

The tub is incredibly heavy, but even in your state, you manage to wedge one end against the door. You’re fairly certain that it’ll keep Hoseong from breaking the door in, but the tub only reaches your thigh, and Hoseong might break through the door above it. After all, it’s of the flimsier kind, and you’re surprised it’s held on for so long already.

Or, he might realize–just like you have–that the door doesn’t swing inward. It swings out.

“You can’t hide in there forever,” Hoseong pauses his assault on the door, his voice the angriest you’ve ever heard. “You won’t be able to weasel your way out this time.”

“Why can’t you just let it go?” you finally yell, your voice strained.

“Let go? Let go?” He spits the words with fury, his rage palpable. “You’ve ruined my life, you understand that, right?! Either I live the rest of my life on the run, or I risk rotting away in jail just because you couldn’t let it go.”

You want so badly to yell obscenities at him, insult him for being too stupid to realize that he ruined his own life. He decided to assault you, turn everyone against you, and make attempts on your life. He took the risk, and he only has himself to blame now that karma is chasing him. But you don’t voice those thoughts, fearing that it would only fuel his anger and that’s the last thing you need.

“But how does this help? Coming here to hurt me now? If anything you’ll only risk a longer time in jail?”

“I don’t care,” he argues, his voice still dripping with hatred. “Life on the run will be better knowing that you’re six feet under and that your heroic boyfriend couldn’t save you.”

And then, there’s silence again. It doesn’t last long, but there’s something eerie about those four or five seconds before you hear a sharp metallic sound.

Eyes widening, you realize that yeah, he’s also figured out that the door swings outward—he doesn’t need to kick the door in if he can unscrew the latch instead. That's what the metallic scraping is; his knife working the lock.

Your heart pounds as you frantically scan the room again. Maybe if you could wedge a broomstick or something under the handle and across the door frame? But there’s no broomstick. There’s nothing. So you’re left holding your breath and waiting for him to succeed. It feels like ages, but it’s probably only a minute or so before the lock falls to the floor with a metallic clang.

You back away from the bathtub and the door, knowing that it most likely won’t make any difference. And you’re right—the door swings open half a second later, a raging Hoseong setting his eyes on you and charging.

You try to dodge him, but he grabs you by your wrist and pulls you out of the bathroom. You stumble as he drags you out, your hip banged violently and painfully against the tub.

“You fucking whore. You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done,” he promises, making sure to drag you across the vase shards on the way back to the kitchen.

In vain, you try to avoid them, wincing when they cut your feet. Your pain makes Hoseong—who’s of course wearing shoes—laugh, but he stops when you surprise him by throwing yourself to the floor.

The shard you grab cuts your skin, but you try to ignore the pain as you drive the sharp point into his back, piercing through his thin black jacket. Hoseong curses and his posture falters, but you doubt it did any real damage even if it hurt, and you’re right. You barely have time to blink before he whirls around, swinging his knife at you. Unfortunately, you don’t dodge the blow completely, and you feel how it swipes your side.

Still holding your wrist in a tight grip, it’s Hoseong’s turn to stumble when you yank on it in an unexpected direction; the kitchen sink. You manage to get a few steps closer, and that’s all you need. As he swings again, you reach for the kettle, hurling the scalding water over him. Some of the scattered drops hit your face and hands, stinging as they land on your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the pained yell Hoseong lets out as he drops your hand and staggers back.

Exhausted and in pain, you'd hoped it would be the end of it, but it's not. Seemingly running on nothing but fumes, adrenaline, and anger, Hoseong straightens up, and then he’s focusing on you yet again, gritted teeth and angrier than ever.

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sculkapologist · 10 months ago

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I finally finished a NEW CUSTOM MAP ART!!! "Visitor," a portrait of an enderman, is extra exciting because it's my first full-palette map painting, meaning I used block height to access all the highlight and shadow colours available!! More on the full process under the cut, but the short version of what this means is:

ITS A VERY COMPLICATED CONSTRUCTION. I created the art, then planned and built this manually, without any mods or schematics for construction. Huge props again to everyone else in the server for helping me gather all the materials to make this absurd thing possible!!!

This was the original art I made for it! I'm a huge fan of the "compressed" look of the vanilla paintings, so I've been starting with a large image and shrinking it down, though there were a lot of pixel tweaks to get it to read well. After shrinking it to 16x32 (for an art made of two maps), I convert it to a limited palette that I've set up to match the colours minecraft actually has available:

The map palette is actually tremendously limited, so figuring out a painting that will still look good with that constraint is a challenge in and of itself!

Anyway, the way minecraft maps work, a block that is Taller than the block to the north of it shows up with a slightly lighter colour, and a block that is Lower than the block north of it shows up on the map with a slightly darker colour. So when making a key for this one, I marked all the squares with a little arrow if it's the lighter or darker version:

Each "pixel" here is a full stack of blocks on the mapped area: 64 blocks, 8 rows of 8. In order to achieve the affect of every block in a given pixel being taller or shorter than the block to the north of it, dark and light shades need to staircase either up or down. Because staircasing downwards in survival sounds even worse than this madness, I did some planning to make sure each of the "downwards" staircases would touch the ground, so I could simply staircase up from south to north instead. This involved figuring out how many up and down movements were in each individual column and planning out 32 little layouts:

It's worth noting that if you look up minecraft map art on Youtube, most of what you'll find is either, the simple realisation that placing blocks allows you to make custom map art, or an explanation of how to use a generator that will let you plug in any picture and then produce a schematic for you. It's very cool that these exist, but I wanted to do full palette art myself, without an auto-generated schematic, and at the time THERE JUST WEREN'T ANY TUTORIALS FOR HOW TO DO ALL THIS?? Now, having the experience of finagling all this, i think perhaps the reason is that this is a mad undertaking.

ANYWAY: PROGRESS SHOTS!!

I actually love how the staircases look..... its like some kind of modern sculpture

Fewer shots of the second half since I did it on call with friends; the last screenshot is one Thren took of me activating the new locked map to use for the gallery.

Once these paintings are done, I lock the finished maps, make copies, and stock them in the art gallery so other friends on our server can also put these paintings in their homes! It's a lot of work, but really rewarding to see my art decorating various buildings around the server. ;u;

I have one more custom full-palette painting I've done the art for and gathered all materials for; I still need to do the full key and plan staircasing for it before I can start, but HOPEFULLY if my resolve doesn't waver there'll be at least one more of these!!

#minecraft build #minecraft screenshots #minecraft #block game liveblogging #minecraft map art #GENUINELY SO PROUD OF THIS ONE #bsl shaders #im so tempted to make some sort of tutorial on doing this by hand sometime. you shouldnt do it by hand. but a tutorial should exist!!

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shakethediseeas · 5 months ago

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ALIEN STAGE CHARACTERS WITH AN ALIEN READER

alien stage x reader

maybe ill make more (ivan, hyuna and sua)

CHAFACTERS: TILL, LUKA, MIZI

On your 15th birthday your parents decided to give you a planet as a gift, they took over and made a stage to keep you entertained! its so fun! its humans trying to survive by performing music you've never heard of before.

One day, you decide to visit the garden to take one for yourself and when you saw that figure running by, you knew you want that one.

heads turned at the sound of children going 'woah' as you twirl and walk past them, looking at them as if they were animals in a zoo. two aliens behind you as you keep searching and start getting frustrated-- no one was appealing for you.

just when you were about to turn and head home to complain you finally spot one. they were running after someone with flowers in their hand, and more kids chasing after them.

they stopped when the kid bumped into you, and it went silent. They fell to the floor as you brushed your outfit clean of their filth before pointing down at them.

"i want this one."

to take them of the joy and friends they had in here didnt really matter to you. to you its like picking an animal from a shelter, bringing them to a better home where the only one they would rely on would be you.

that smile you saw before you picked them no longer existed. They were quiet and nervous of getting any negative reaction out of you which only made you mad but you had to be patient with them in order for them to be happy!

'first few months'

how come these humans dont come with a manual because this human was shattering things in rage when they thought you werent home and they hide in a corner so they dont get caught.

You heard of their behavior problems before picking them up, but you didn't care as long as you got to see that smile they had—but since they weren't smiling, you'd have to fix that.

you took Till to visit the garden for a bit, even though your guards were against the idea but who were they to tell you what to do?

He was so happy—the happiest he's ever been since you took him away. When you came to pick him up, he shyly asked if he could ever visit again, to which you nodded.

'you werent THAT bad' is what he thought after you gifted him a custom guitar. you noticed he played with an imaginary one so you decided to build trust and gift him a fancy new electric guitar!

and you still took him constantly to see his friends even though he heard you being scolded for it, that fake argument made him feel more appreciated.

'a few years later'

he jumps to sit down on your bed before demanding to visit a friend who was with their owner, you half listen, too busy painting your nails and kicking your feet in concentration.

mid rant you push the nail polish to his face and say "paint my nails first then ill think about it"

and he does so with a red face.

'first few monthd'

you were pretty sure you were speaking their language so why the hell was this human just staring off into space while drool escaping its mouth. you recoil in disgust and start regretting your decision a bit.

it took you a lot of patience and time to figure out what he likes, you ended up spending a lot of coin on the human for him to at least look at you with stupid big eyes.

you had to spoon feed luka unless you wanted him to starve to death, he couldnt sleep or change properly without you there glaring at him before reluctantly helping him.

you suppose it was okay, if he relied on you too much that would mean he couldn't really leave you, you were in charge.

'.....' though you wished he was a bit more vocal, you thought about it for a long time, if he didnt have the brain capacity to say a nice thank you maybe he could sing for you.

so he did. you bought him whatever you deemed necessary, and he sometimes mentioned another small thing and u gave it to him.

'a few years later'

you dont know why he wanted to sing for anyone else other than you but you allowed it. ever since you took him to see the stage in the VIP section he finally voiced out 'i want to do this' well not really but his face said it.

you get back home, a bit tired and hes tailing behind you as always. you land on the bed exhausted before flicking your hand in the air to signal him 'sing me a song'

after hes done he asks if you requested anything else, noting how tired you looked. but you just shook your head and tell him do whatever you want.

what you didnt expect him to hug you from behind. you couldnt see his face but youd assume its that blank face as always. only he knew that you were wrong.

it was face of pure adoration, a face that said 'you will never leave me' and he held tighter before saying to himself 'im in charge'

oh how you jumped around excitedly at this well behaved human! so sweet, like a cherry, they tried to have a conversation with you by asking "do you like making flower crowns?"

of course you havent who those this human think you are? but instead of saying something like that you shake your head and deny, before asking if they would teach you.

you make flower crowns with Mizi. you demanded to your guards any flowers she would ask for and bring batches of them to her before saying 'where do we start?'

shes happy at first but then you notice that she starts looking a bit sad, you ask her whats wrong and she looks at you with big eyes and says "when will i see my friends again?"

oh well with that sweet face how could you not take her to see her friends every day. and with a big smile she cheers and every day she makes new flower crowns or crafts for them.

'a few years later'

you start thinking 'maybe i spoiled her too much. maybe listening to her every request was a bad idea' as you cross your arms, on your custom designed chair in the center of the audience, the VIP section.

you stare as shes almost shot down by soldiers. you stare as shes taken away from you. you stare at the 'MISSING' message with her face plastered on it.

of course, you knew where she was. you had a tracker on all your pets. but for some reason, you let her run around. it wont be long until she realizes she wont have anyone left anymore.

it wont be long till she realizes she has no one else but you.

#alien stage x reader #x reader #alien stage

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ineed-to-sleep · 2 months ago

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Don't wanna be a bother but I bumped into ur touchstarved oc stuff and do you have any pointers for drawing in the touchstarved style? I can't really nail it down 100% but you do so... pretty please?

Hii yeah ofc, it's no bother at all no worries! You sent me this at the right time actually jsdhksd I'm in the middle of redesigning Emma right now and I've been taking a close look at the art style again, so it's all fresh in my mind!

Assuming you already have your design ready and have found a pose or composition you like, replicating the art style will probably come down to getting the lineart and shading to look similar.

About the lineart:

Probably goes without saying, but you'll need a pen with the opacity turned off to get the clean, ink-like lines. If you use CSP I recommend the default textured pen, which I think has a similar look, but honestly any pen will do.

The thing you have to look out for the most when doing the lines is the darkest shadows. It's a bit tricky to explain, and I think a lot of it comes with practice, but you have to look for the places where the darkest shadows would be, or where the light could barely reach. Once you spot them, instead of shading them you create a sharp shape and paint them black, like so:

I also recommend varying the thickness of your lines, but not at random. Instead, try to keep lighting in mind while you draw them. You could draw one continuous thin line for something, and then only thicken it where it falls away from the light, or where it'd create an occlusion, or wherever you want a shape to stand out from another. A thick line will essentially either "push back" or separate things in space, while a thin line will pull it forward or make things look like they're closer together.

You can also exaggerate the shadows in order to create more contrast. Like in the case of Kuras' sleeves and coat, for example- you could argue that some bounce light could still get in there, but with the shadows exaggerated it creates a really nice, clean shape. You can also separate these shapes from other lines by leaving a small space between them and the lines.

The metal might look a bit different, but it follows the same logic as everything else- your darkest shadows will be pure black. It might look like it has more shadows but that's just because it's more reflective, so the light is usually concentrated on highlight and bounce light areas, so the tones around those areas will be darker.

About the shading:

From what I've noticed, it's all about keeping it subtle and simple. If you color pick the characters, you can see the variation between light and shadow is subtle and not all that contrasting. Most of the contrast is done with colors, not values.

The light source is usually from the top right, characters are pretty well lit, and there's a little bit of a blue backlight from the left that helps them stand out against the backgrounds.

The shading is mostly sharp, cel shading, rarely blended. Wherever there's blending, it's usually subtle or a gradient

They also use gradations to indicate color shifts, like the colors in Leander's coat. You can do this with the gradient tool or an airbrush.

I recommend picking 1 color for light, 1 color for shadow, and maybe 1 inbetween midtone to use sparingly in places where you want a very subtle shadow. You can go more fancy if you're trying to create something that looks more like the game's CGs, but if you're going for the same look as the sprites, it's better to keep it simple.

You can shade manually each part of the character, or you can try using a multiply layer. For multiply, I like shifting the color towards a warm or pinkish tone and keeping it light and desaturated to get a similar look as the sprites.

Highlights are used very sparingly, only on a few places like the nose, mouth, eyes, and a few on the hair. Maybe occasionally somewhere else, but only if necessary, like in the case of very reflective materials like metal, gold, glass and leather.

The characters also usually have subtle textures on their clothes, and you can quickly create something similar by using a textured brush and an overlay or multiply mode. Like so:

It's subtle, but makes a difference in my opinion! You can try this with a lot of different textured brushes to get the exact look you're going for.

That's all I could think of right now! If you have any questions or wanna know anything specific I didn't mention here, let me know!

#hope this helps! :]#touchstarved #touchstarved game #asks #art tips #art advice

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sylusonychinus · 2 months ago

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The IKEA Chronicles

It started with the twins.

Not the pregnancy glow, not the midnight cravings, not the ultrasounds.

Nope.

It started with a phone call.

“Two?” Sylus repeated, standing in the middle of his office, staring blankly out the window.

Nezu’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Yes. Twins. The agency says they’re ready for placement.”

Sylus was silent.

“I—” Nezu hesitated. “I know we only planned on adopting one at first, but they’re brothers, Sylus. I don’t want them separated.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened. “Of course we’re taking both.”

A long exhale from Nezu. “You sure?”

“I’ll build them a room tonight.”

A pause. “Sylus—”

Click. He’d already hung up.

—

Nezu arrived home to find Sylus standing in the middle of a freshly painted room, staring at a giant pile of IKEA boxes stacked like ominous Jenga towers.

“…Did you buy the entire baby section?” she asked, blinking.

Sylus crossed his arms. “They deserve everything.”

She looked at the four cribs. “You know there’s only two of them, right?”

“They need options.”

“…We live in an apartment, Sylus.”

He frowned. “We’ll knock down a wall.”

“No we won’t.”

—

The IKEA War: Twin Edition

Nezu sat on the floor, flipping through the manual. “This says Step 1 is… calling for help?”

Sylus glared at the drawing of a smiling stick figure holding a phone. “I’m not calling anyone.”

“Babe, it’s literally step one—”

“I AM THE HELP.” Sylus ripped open a bag of screws like a man challenging fate.

Nezu sighed. “Okay, dragon.”

An hour later, Sylus sat inside one crib, legs folded, surrounded by three dismantled cribs and a suspiciously large pile of leftover screws.

Nezu poked her head in. “Need help yet?”

Sylus glowered. “No.”

“...You’re inside the crib.”

“I was testing the weight limit.”

“And?”

He paused. “...I broke a slat.”

Nezu wheezed.

—

Eventually, through sheer stubbornness and mild threats against inanimate objects, the twins’ room was complete.

Luke and Kieran arrived to a space that smelled like fresh paint and determination, with matching cribs, tiny bookshelves, and glow-in-the-dark stars Sylus had stayed up till 3 a.m. hanging one by one.

“You gonna be okay, big guy?” Nezu asked, watching him stare at the sleeping boys.

Sylus nodded, voice low. “They’re home.”

—

Round 2: Amelia

Two years later, Nezu walked into the kitchen with a nervous smile.

“I’m pregnant.”

Sylus froze mid-sip of coffee. “With…?”

“…Just one,” she assured him.

Sylus set the mug down. “IKEA.”

“You don’t have to buy everything again—”

“IKEA.”

“SYLUS—”

He was already grabbing his keys.

—

Amelia’s room was pink. Not a soft pink. Not a gentle pastel.

A BOLD, dragon-approved pink that screamed “MY DAUGHTER WILL RULE THIS KINGDOM.”

Nezu stared at the wall. “It looks like Peppa Pig exploded.”

Sylus held up a matching pink curtain rod. “It’s empowering.”

“…It’s blinding.”

“Powerful.”

“…Okay.”

—

The crib assembly this time was worse.

“I SWEAR THESE PIECES MULTIPLIED,” Sylus hissed, covered in sawdust and sweat.

Nezu filmed him for Instagram. “My big scary husband versus a baby crib.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t post that.”

She posted it anyway.

—

By the time Amelia arrived, her room had a miniature castle bookshelf, a fluffy canopy, and a mural Sylus had painted himself (badly, but with heart).

Nezu held Amelia up to see it. “What do you think, princess?”

Amelia burped on Sylus’s shoulder.

“…She loves it,” Sylus said solemnly.

—

Round 3: Daniel

This time, Nezu texted Sylus at work.

“Guess who’s cooking another one 🥲”

Sylus stared at the message. Then at his phone. Then at the IKEA app he’d never deleted.

He sighed deeply. “IKEA.”

His employees watched him leave the building without explanation.

—

Daniel’s room was jungle-themed.

Sylus insisted on assembling a giant giraffe bookshelf himself.

Three hours in, Nezu walked in to find Sylus lying flat on the floor, the giraffe’s neck detached beside him, a manual crumpled under his head like a sad pillow.

“Why… is its head upside down?” Nezu whispered.

Sylus didn’t move. “IKEA’s testing me.”

Nezu kissed his forehead. “You’ll win, dragon.”

“I’m losing.”

“You’re winning in spirit.”

—

Daniel arrived home to a jungle kingdom—complete with glow-in-the-dark vines, a giant stuffed snake, and a rocking chair Sylus refused to admit took four days to build.

Daniel cooed in his bassinet. Sylus whispered, “Welcome to the pride.”

Nezu laughed so hard she cried.

—

Final Boss: Baby Shu

Nezu held up the test. “Last one, I swear.”

Sylus stared at her. “Twins again?”

“No. Just one.”

“Girl or boy?”

“Girl.”

“…IKEA.”

“NO—”

“IKEA.”

—

Shu’s room was quiet. Gentle. Pastel purples and soft grays, sensory-friendly textures everywhere. Sylus spent days researching “nursery designs for nonverbal toddlers,” wanting everything perfect.

He built every piece himself.

When Nezu peeked in at 3 a.m., Sylus was sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding a tiny sign that read “Shu’s Safe Place.”

“You’re spoiling her already,” Nezu whispered fondly.

“She deserves it,” Sylus murmured. “All of them do.”

Nezu sat beside him, head on his shoulder. “You’re a good dad, dragon.”

Sylus looked at the four rooms he’d built, every wonky shelf and backwards panel, every star sticker and tiny fort.

“They’re gonna outgrow these rooms,” he said quietly.

Nezu smiled. “But they’ll never outgrow knowing how loved they are.”

Sylus kissed her temple, pulling her closer. “I’ll build it again. Bigger. Stronger. For every step they take.”

And from the nursery, Shu pressed her tiny hand against the wall, signing a small, quiet “thank you.”

Sylus’s heart squeezed so tight it hurt.

“…You’re welcome, little star.”

—

And in the years to come, no matter how many rooms, no matter how many IKEA wars he had to fight, Sylus would build every single one.

Even if there was always a mystery bolt left over.

Because every piece, every room, every stubborn screw was a love letter to the family he’d fought so hard to make his own.

And he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Wife: @nezuswritingdesk

#love and deepspace #sylus qin #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus #qin che #lads #nezuandsylus<3

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forgrtashes-blog · 2 months ago

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Hello, Ashes! :o]

I wanted to ask how you get your lines to look Like That! Do you color them manually or do you use a filter/gradient map?

Hello there! Hm, I'm not sure if I know what a gradient map is. I assume you mean how do I make my lines look "burned" like this?

It's a really easy process! Only thing I do is create a layer above the lineart, paint it completely orange and put it in overlay mode, then I merge them together. Make sure the lineart doesn't have a transparent background, but a completely white one, then it should work.

Now, bad thing is: you have to color on a higher layer, with the multiply mode. Same with rendering. Also, the lineart must be black. So it's pretty limiting when it comes to style. Personally I apply the effect only when I draw sketches without color.

Surely there's a better, much less complicated way of doing it here in Paint Tool SAI (which, of course, I'd love to learn), but this is how I do it! Hope this is what you were referring to. Otherwise, feel free to ask again and I'll answer!

#art #drawing #tips #q&a #lineart

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mysteryshoptls · 10 months ago

Text

SSR Riddle Rosehearts - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Riddle: Look at this massive collection of masterpieces… This museum truly is spectacular.

Riddle: Now then, I should be coming up on the exhibit displaying the Queen of Hearts soon… Aha!

Riddle: It's a painting depicting the scene where the Queen appears before her card soldiers… She looks so majestic.

???: Both her expression and the way her lithe fingers grasps her dress is utterly refined. Moreover, that red and black dress looks spectacular on her!

Rook: This work of art expresses just how charming the dignified Queen of Hearts was.

Riddle: Charming… you say? I shouldn't expect any less of an observation coming from you, Rook-senpai. I have to admit that I'd never thought of it that way.

Riddle: It's said that she would always make sure to wear this dress and her golden crown even during the most important of trials.

Rook: It must have been her regal formal attire, then. Heh, now I can't help but be curious what she wore in her own time.

Rook: I'm also curious as to what casual wear you partake in, as well, Roi des Roses.

Riddle: Eh, me? I wouldn't think it's anything that would catch the interest of the Pomefiore Vice Housewarden...

Riddle: As a rule, I don't tend to wear anything more lax than smart casual. My parents always said that I should never forego a tie, after all.

Rook: An elegant assortment that suits you well!

Riddle: Thank you. I am quite fond of the style, so it pleases me to hear you say that.

Riddle: However, there are times that my usual attire doesn't fit the situation…

Rook: Oh, is that so?

Riddle: Yes. Once, I and three others traveled to Foothill Town in order to purchase new equipment for my club activities from a store there.

Riddle: When I arrived at the appointed meeting place, everyone looked perplexed, asking if I planned on truly wearing what I had on to town.

Riddle: Since this was an errand for our club, and we would be carrying heavy objects, I had opted to wear my PE uniform.

Rook: Oh là là! True, it may be easier to move around in that uniform… But it may have been a tad impractical to wear out to town.

Riddle: Yes… I should have worn my normal clothes. Unfortunately, I didn't own a single casual outfit to wear while doing manual labor.

Riddle: So, I decided to ask Ace and Cater for help, since they're much more cognizant of fashion trends.

Riddle: Perhaps they could help me figure out what sort of attire I could wear when going shopping with my clubmates.

Rook: Those two do seem to have an eye for fashion, I agree. How did they react?

Riddle: They agreed that my normal attire was much too formal, and would look out-of-place while alongside my clubmates.

Riddle: However, it's uncertain when I may be required to join others for an errand again.

Riddle: It would be bad form to cause my compatriots to feel uncomfortable. So, I came to the conclusion that something must be done to rectify this situation.

Riddle: When I voiced that to those two, they gave me a few pointers that would allow for my current wardrobe to look slightly more casual.

Riddle: For example, I could wear my usual shirts with no tie, and with the top button open.

Rook: That makes sense, it would loosen up the stiff formal wear and make it seem more casual.

Riddle: Yes, I suppose… Although, it seems I just cannot get comfortable without my collar closed all the way, even if it to try for a more casual look.

Rook: Hm, so you're saying that change wasn't to your taste, then?

Riddle: Exactly that. I mentioned that to Ace and Cater, and after much discussion…

Riddle: Instead of changing how I wore my clothes, we decided to adjust the material and sizes of the clothes to help dress down more casually.

Rook: I see! Even a jacket can look more casual if it's made of linen or polyester.

Riddle: That's right. It was a thought that never would have occurred to me. …Heh! My card soldiers are quite excellent thinkers, aren't they?

Riddle: After that, I traveled to Foothill Town with those two and they helped me select a few new outfits…

Riddle: Next time I am to go into town with my schoolmates, I intend on wearing the clothes I bought then.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Rook: This is a painting depicting a tale of the Son of the God of Thunder, I see. It's quite awe-inspiring with how both he and the pegasus beside him strike such gallant poses.

Riddle: Indeed. It is said that whenever he went into battle, this pegasus fought right alongside him.

Riddle: Whenever I come across one of his historical anecdotes, I cannot help but bring to mind a good partner of mine, as well.

Rook: That partner of yours wouldn't happen to have a beautiful coat of hair, now, would it?

Rook: I heard that you achieved high marks at the most recent equestrian tournament.

Riddle: You heard correctly. I believe Vorpal and I have a deep, mutual trust between ourselves. However, it was quite difficult for us to reach this point, I must say.

Rook: Oh, really?

Riddle: Yes. A little while after I joined the club, the horse I was assigned to ride was Vorpal.

Riddle: However, Vorpal was extremely prideful and would be very particular of which humans could ride him.

Riddle: No one else was ever allowed to ride atop his back in the three years since the previous club captain graduated.

Riddle: For some time after I joined the club, he wouldn't allow me to even place a saddle on his back, let alone ride him.

Riddle: Not only was he a prideful horse, but he was also temperamental. I was often vexed that I couldn't tame him well…

Riddle: But nowadays whenever I visit the stables, he'll come up and nudge me as if he had been waiting for my arrival.

Rook: I suppose that means all those days you zealously spent getting to know him finally melted his icy heart.

Rook: Beauté! What a beautiful relationship.

Riddle: I-I feel as though calling it beautiful may be a slight exaggeration… But I will say I was very pleased when he finally accepted me as his rider.

Riddle: I only learned of it later, but I heard that I was given responsibility over Vorpal intentionally as some sort of hazing.

Riddle: It seems they hoped that I would complain about how difficult it was to tame him and quit the club.

Rook: That sort of harassment shouldn't be tolerated. I'm curious as to why that sort of situation occurred.

Riddle: From what I was told, it all came about because I would chide them whenever they would slack off on training or while cleaning the stables…

Riddle: I simply spoke frankly, there should not have been any ill-will between us.

Rook: Essentially, you overcame the challenges presented to you, and claimed victory over your opponents alongside your partner.

Rook: Fufu, how wonderfully dramatic. Almost as if you were the fated protagonist of a story, going the distance to seize his destiny!

Riddle: A-Another exaggeration…

Riddle: Although, I am very proud of the fact that Vorpal and I were able to become good partners.

Riddle: No form of hazing would ever prove to be an obstacle for me. This story simply proves that.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Riddle: This painting… It depicts the moment the Sorcerer of the Sands acquired that scarab.

Riddle: See the dark blue night sky and the bright golden light… This artwork is highly praised for the beautiful color play.

Rook: This scarab was a key that would lead the way to a magical cave when its two halves were made whole. Do I recall that legend correctly?

Riddle: That's right. It's said that the Sorcerer of the Sands granted a lavish reward to the person who brought one half of the scarab to him.

Rook: That must have meant it was something of great importance to him.

Rook: Once he had obtained such an important key, I'm sure he would have had to take great measures so as to not lose it.

Riddle: True, it is vital to keep keys safe.

Rook: Oh? Riddle-kun, do you have some treasure of your own you've kept hidden?

Riddle: I wouldn't consider it a treasure… But I do have something that I wouldn't wish for others to lay their eyes on.

Rook: Oh, my! Have I touched on a private matter? If so, I apologize profusely.

Riddle: It's nothing to fret over. I'm simply speaking of my Housewarden journal. It contains minutes from the Housewarden meetings and documentation of my duties as Housewarden, among other things…

Riddle: I also have recorded down certain information about my dorm's students, so I would not like it leaked to anyone outside of myself.

Rook: Fufu, I can see just how seriously you're fulfilling your duties as Housewarden, Riddle-kun.

Riddle: If I can keep records of even the most trivial note, I find that it allows me to understand and manage every situation that occurs within my dorm.

Riddle: Only, recently there are more things to write about. It's as if the number of incidents that require more description are increasing.

Rook: Well, that's fascinating. If it isn't asking too much, could I perhaps ask what sort of situations those are?

Riddle: That have been such incidents such as when an argument broke out between Ace and Deuce that I had to involve myself in…

Riddle: Or the time the two from Ramshackle caused a ruckus at one of our Unbirthday Parties…

Riddle: As the number of incidents that need to be recorded increase, the more effort it takes.

Riddle: My days have changed considerably from when I first assumed the duties of a Housewarden, almost unimaginably so…

Riddle: Now that I've had to report on more incidents per day, the number of notebooks I go through have also increased.

Rook: It's as though you're more keeping a diary than just keeping records! Wouldn't you say that the whole reason you've found more to write about is because…

Rook: Your daily life has become even more magnificent and satisfying compared to before?

Riddle: A diary…? I wonder if that's truly so.

Rook: Oui! I myself cannot stop the flowing composition of poems that spill from my hand whenever I am feeling inspired.

Rook: Oh, my, it seems I've kept you for far too long. I should take my leave. I'll talk to you later, Riddle-kun.

Riddle: Of course, Rook-senpai. Well then, I should head towards the next exhibit as well… Hm?

Riddle: This is a painting that shows the tea party scene from the stories of the Avidly Curious Girl.

Riddle: Not only did she invite herself to the tea party, she also drank some potions without permission. Her rude behavior is what leaves a lasting impression.

Riddle: It is said she was searching for a path home… But I'm sure at the rate she was going, she would not be able to find a path to redemption.

Riddle: Regardless of where she came from or where she wanted to go.

Requested by @farfalla049, @sakurakudo, and @a-s-k--g-a-b-i.

#twisted wonderland #twst #riddle rosehearts #rook hunt #twst riddle #twst rook #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: ace #mention: deuce #mention: cater #mention: grim #mention: yuu

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gr4cier4cie · 2 months ago

Note

i dare you to act upon the lh44 x assistant thoughts. 😍😍😍

no bc i am DISGUTING W MYSELF I NEED TO STOP I NEED TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN (here's a snippet of a lil something im working on hehehehe):

the spreadsheet had glitched again. a flicker in the dark, a stab in the back, a fucking betrayal. your breath hitched as the screen panned to white.

"tell me we didn’t just lose everything," you whispered, voice low. tight. rather hastily restrained. barely held together by the fraying thread of three restless hours of sleep and six hours of logistical level-headedness, of suzuka transport schedules (confirmed), red-eye flights (booked), sim runs (scheduled)—

behind you, lewis exhaled. heavy with sleep. worn. (you'd begun to resent it—his way of saying things without saying them.)

"you didn’t save it," he said. not accusatory. not cruel. just… flat.

you refused to look up. "you didn’t save it. this is your laptop. which, by the way, is a hundred years old." then, under your breath: "no one manually saves anything anymore."

a beat. the window was cracked open an inch, tokyo air damp and warm and electric, buzzing with the neon heartbeat of a city that never really slept. you'd turned off the lights an hour ago, the dim glow of the laptop screen on your lap painting your features in panic. (you always wondered when the day would come. the day you took it too far.)

"i’ll redo it," you said after a long moment. "it won’t take long."

you heard lewis shift on the bed, sheets rustling beneath his weight as he lifted himself to his feet. he hadn’t meant to fall asleep. you hadn’t meant to watch him. you could still feel the ghost of it lingering: his body stretched taunt across white cotton, shirt bunched around his navel, jaw slack with exhaustion. the way his mouth twitched in his sleep. (you couldn't help but wonder what he had been dreaming about.)

he was behind you, now. close enough to feel. close enough to touch. "you should rest."

you snorted softly. "that’s rich. coming from you."

somewhere down below, a car horn blared, then faded. lewis didn’t move. didn’t speak. not at first. and yet, the heat of him, the weight of his presence, stifled the words sitting limply in your throat.

"take the bed." his voice was gravel under velvet. something scraped from the bottom of a glass you weren’t supposed to drink from. "i'll do it."

your fingers began to fly across the keyboard in professional earnest, but you were simply typing gibberish. anything to keep from facing the slight downturn of his lips, the languid, sleep-mused drop of his eyes. "don't even think about it."

soft footsteps (one, two, three, four). then the slow press of his chest against your back, the tingling heat of his frame against yours. he didn’t really touch you. not yet. but his arms bracketed yours, palms flat on either side of the laptop, caging you into the desk without force. your eyes dropped to the ink on his fingers.

"tell me to stop," lewis murmured, his words ghosting over the back of your neck. (oh. oh. oh, god.)

your voice didn't seem to be yours. "we have an early call time."

"tell me. to stop."

"i can't."

"you never can," he said, breath ghosting over your jaw, your temple, the shell of your ear. "don't know why i asked." and then his mouth was against your neck, a press of lips just beneath your pulse, soft and scorching. feeling for the racetrack of your heartbeat. (and that's light out and away we—)

"that's not fair," you whispered, fingers stilling against the keyboard. "i'm just trying to do the right thing." (the clock on the desk read 2:43 am. too late for sense. too early for sleep. what else was bound to happen besides this?)

"this is the right thing," he said, mouth tracing a line down the column of your neck, the curve of your jaw. memorizing the shape of this mistake. your eyes slipped closed; you let it happen.

this couldn’t happen. it couldn’t.

(which meant, of course, that it would.)

♡

am i ever gonna post this fr?? prob no BUT OMG LET'S CHAT ABOUT THIS CONCEPT I LOVE IT MWAH 💫

#gracieanswers #my love mikeyspinkcup #I LOVE YOU GIRL #mikeyspinkcup #lewis hamilton #gracie'spreviews

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thornrings · 4 months ago

Text

SCROLLING ON NOELLE'S TIKTOK ACCOUNT

"HOLY CHEESE AND CRACKERS..." *video of noelle quickly flicking her room's lightswitch on and off. she quickly gasps and points the camera down at her hooves.* Holy cheese and crackers, guys... It's Uboa...

"I FOUND MEW UNDER THE TRUCK??" *footage of catti's dad under his car changing the oil* Yeah, holy crap, guys, I thought it was a myth, but... *noelle giggles* *she turns the camera towards herself* *text reading "XDDDDDDDD" appears on screen*

"PART 2/? - I FOUND A BAD EGG!!!" *noelle holds an egg painted to look like one from pokemon up to the camera* Yeah, I tried throwing it out again, but it just came back... *she very gently places the egg in the trashcan, closes the cabinet, and opens it again. the egg is gone.* I just can't seem to... get rid of it... *she walks over to her fridge and opens it, the egg is there* Yeah, I think my fridge might have had a bit too much fruitcake, *she zooms in on the fruitcake in the fridge* haha... Sound off in the comments if you have any ideas on how to get rid of this thing.

"WEIRD CAT PETTERZ RPG GLITCH" *noelle is pointing her phone camera at an old-looking tv* Uh, yeah, I don't even know how to describe what's going on here... Did somebody, uh... *she laughs* Did one of you shove fruitcake into the VCR when I wasn't looking? Seriously, if anyone knows what's going on here, leave a comment...

"LITTLE-KNOWN DRAGON BLAZERS SOFTLOCK?" *more of a scripted tone here, but her mic still sucks* Most people know that in the original Dragon Blazers, you can get softlocked in the cross-shaped maze if you don't bring the character who knows the way through. It's even acknowledged in the manual as "one of the bad guy's magic spells". But did you know that you can actually get softlocked even earlier? If you save in the area just south of the forest dungeon, then avoid saving riiight up until your sister gets cursed, then die, you can actually warp back to an area that's impossible to traverse without one of her debuffed spells. If you save there, you'll never be able to get out. Spooky!

"60 seconds of OG Cat Petterz ambience" *a wide shot of noelle's desk, including her computer (open to Cat Petterz), a few school books, and an open window. it's a beautiful day outside. the camera jitters slightly with the natural shake of noelle's hands.* *there is text on screen that reads: "It looks like you've been scrolling for a while! Maybe you should take a break with some cozy Cat Petters ambiance."* *there is something dark outside the window* *it lurks, it writhes* *it seems to greet you* *noelle holds the camera just as steadily as before. does she not notice?* *how could she not...?*

You feel compelled to scroll back on her profile, as far as you can go. You open one of the oldest videos you can find.

"FUNNNY Ice-E Snow prank on sister" *noelle's finger covers most of the camera. the edges of a snowy forest scene are visible around it. she speaks in hushed tones to another child.* You're sure about this…? Okay, you're probably right… If it's for a funny video, then… Right, it's fine… I'll relax, you just watch me! *the camera's perspective changes.* AAAH!!! I JUST SAW ICE-E OVER THERE!!! … YEAH, OVER THERE!!! *the wet crunch of a hand compressing snow is heard. noelle huffs, dashing forward. a taller person fills out the edges of the frame. a rustling of fabric nearly peaks the microphone, and then the person shrieks.* -- HEY!!! WHAT THE-- *the camera backs up again.* Elly, why would you… … You little shit…! Wait! They didn't-- It was me that-- *the video cuts out. it resumes to a closeup of noelle's face.* I just realized… I had my finger over the camera the whole time, fahaha… Uhh, I guess I'll post the video anyway… Yeah, yeah, I'm still posting it! I'm doing it right now! **END.**

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saintvainglorious · 1 year ago

Text

My First Fanbind! A Black Sails Fic Anthology Series

It took me a year (and a lot of anxious research) before I worked up the courage to bookbind fanfiction, and after months of on-again-off-again work, my first fanbind is finally done!

I knew that if I was going to bookbind fic, I had to bind something from the Black Sails fandom, aka the fandom and show that have had the biggest impact on my life. Y'all, I almost went into academia to study slavery in the 17th-18th century Caribbean because of this show - when folks say this show rewires your brain chemistry, they are NOT kidding. THEE show of all time. Happy 10th anniversary to Black Sails! This fandom is small but mighty. May we continue to get our hearts and souls blasted to smithereens by this show for many years to come.

Ao3 abounds with magnificent Black Sails oneshots, so I decided to put together an anthology of my favorite Silverflint fics under 20k, which I split into two volumes. Included are works by @justlikeeddie, @vowel-in-thug, @balloonstand, @annevbonny, @francisthegreat, @nysscientia, and more! Thank you, thank you all, you brilliant wonderful people, for gracing the Internet with such amazing writing. When I read the fics in these anthologies I want to fling myself into the sun.

More on the design and binding process below the cut!

Vol. 1 Page Count: 270 (12 fics) Vol. 2 Page Count: 248 (11 fics) Body Font: Sabon Next LT (10.5 pt) Title Font: Goudy Old Style Other Fonts: IM Fell English, pirates pw

The typeset (which I did in Word) took a while, mainly because I'd never done it before. Manually adjusting the hyphenation line-by-line was especially tedious. After making these books, I abandoned Word in favor of InDesign, in large part because InDesign gives you way finer control over your justification and hyphenation settings.

Regarding my actual design choices, I'm happy with how the ocean motif on the title page turned out (it's not the same pattern as my endpapers, but they're complimentary) and I'm very fond of my divider dingbats, which are little swords! Goudy Old Style was a fun title font to use, since it's the font that Black Sails uses as its logo. The stories in Vol. 1 are divided into parts based on what Silver WAS at that point in the show (cook, quartermaster, or king), and Vol. 2 is split up into comedies, histories (AUs set in the canon universe) and tragedies - befitting Black Sails' Shakespearean ~vibes~.

I stuck to a flatback binding, as I wasn't feeling quite ambitious enough to try rounding and/or backing. I've learned that I ~Anakin Skywalker voice~ hate sanding, enjoy folding/sewing, and don't LIKE edge trimming but enjoy the results enough to make it worth it.

The real adventure was decorating the cover, which remained bare for months. After agonizing over Illustrator and experimenting unsuccessfully with HTV and lokta paper embossing, I ultimately turned to using stencil vinyl to paint on the designs. There was a bit of seepage under some of the stencils, but I was able to scrape off the excess with my Cricut weeding tool without damaging the coated surface of the bookcloth (probably Arrestox Blue Ribbon from Hollander's). Even though it was very time-consuming, I'm so happy with the end result of the stenciled paint job and I intend to stick with stencils for my foreseeable future binds.

Are there things I would change? Sure. It was humid out when I printed, so the pages have got a wave. There’s an extra two pages in Vol 2. that I have no idea how I missed, and I got a line of glue in the middle of one of my Vol. 2 endpapers. I’m pretty sure I didn’t case in quite right, since my endpapers pull away from the case at the spine. I think the inner margins are a bit too big, and despite going line-by-line there’s still some wacky justification spacing in the typeset. But man, am I proud of these books! It is so satisfying to learn a new skill - MANY new skills, if we’re being honest - and to make something both beautiful and practical. If I’m still binding in two years or so, I can see myself redoing the typeset in InDesign, cutting out the existing text block, and reusing the cases. I’m also already planning for Vol. 3, which will be Silverflint Modern AUs.

Thanks for reading!

#bookbinding #fanbinding #ficbinding #my books #black sails #silverflint #fanfiction #bsanniversary #10yearsblacksails #10bsfest

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oceansssblue · 6 months ago

Note

Perhaps, tech and cross being twins ,,,, chaos vibes.

Perhaps tbb twins and the domino twins getting into trouble together

Mmm... Fun little idea sparkling! ✨😈

Xx, Blue.

PS. Still acepting xmas clone reqs!

"CHAOS COMES IN PAIRS"

– NO ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP.

– FEATURING: TECH, CROSSHAIR, FIVES, ECHO. 💖

WARNINGS: CROSSHAIR CURSES A LOT. TINY PHYSICAL (PLAYFULL) FIGHT.

"I've found another set" Fives proudly proclaims, stepping into the empty office his brother had chosen to hide in in order to study his eleventh manual of the month without anyone interrupting him.

Too bad; Fives is a man on a quest.

"A set of what?" Echo asks, glancing up at him over his datapad with a suspicious look on his face.

He knows his brother well enough by now to guess Fives is planning something; and he's looking for a partner in crime. No matter how ridiculous his ideas are, Echo has the strange tendency to tag along. Fives has mastered the art of convincing him.

"Another set of twins, brother of mine" Fives almost sings, an excited grin on his lips. "And right in time for Life Day".

Echo chuckles; eyes shinning in recognition. They have a little tradition, him and Fives; each year, on Life Day, they try to prank another set of clone twins. It had started as a silly joke when they were children; with Echo mumbling twins weren't even a rarity in Kamino anymore and a mischiveous Fives trying to cheer him up and stating that at least they should try to make sure they were the coolest and best known ones. It had moved towards a small plan to mess with other twins from time to time –just innocent playfull games, nothing major– and spiraled from there. Nowadays, Fives and Echo's almost eternal twin rivalry was a known funny story in the GAR.

"What company are they in?" Echo asks with interest, for once abandoning his reading and paying undivided atention to Fives.

The clone grins as if he had been waiting for this specific question all the time.

"They're not even on one" he corrects. "Have you ever heard of the bad batch?"

Echo frowns in confusion; trying to figure out where had he heard that before, why it sounded so familiar. Then an image pops in his head; and Echo's eyes widen in surprise.

"They are twins?" He asks in disbelief. "But they're so different!"

Fives laughs.

"Well, it's not obviously "long hair" and the big guy, but the other two... It's just haircut, tattoos and googles, really".

Echo snorts. Fives continues with his monologue.

"Personality and attitude changes one's physique so much, vod'ika. That's why I'm the handsome twin".

Echo rolls his eyes. He turns on his datapad and slumps down on the chair again.

"Alright, Fives. The smart, realistic twin will come get you when he comes up with a plan of action" he deadpans, sarcasm heavy in his tongue.

Fives has to have the last word. After all, he is the annoying one...

"Ah, Echo, you're gonna' make me blush".

"This is fucking discusting" Crosshair hisses, an angry, irritated expresion perked on his face, dragging his feet inside the Batch's barraks.

"For once I find your words completely accurate" Tech agrees, following him.

They're both covered in some sort of red slime. They had been attempting to give a fresh layer of paint to their armours; but someone had replaced the red paint for a stickier substance, and it had been impossible to get rid of it. It somehow stuck to the skin; a viscous, unpleasant feeling they couldn't wait to take off.

Crosshair was the first to jump on the shower.

"What karking material is even this? And who the fuck waisted their time to pull this on us?"

Tech hums while methodically folding his clothes into a pile.

"I suspect this substance is a mix of Naboo's Faera's flower pollen and the usual starch and glue they often use in children's toys" he explains, hopping in his own shower as well. "As for the later... I have two solid main suspects, but I shall slice into Kamino's security system to confirm it".

Crosshair asks him to elaborate and then just listens. Tech jumps into a long argument based on his proofs, knowledge and deductions; and when he finishes, there's a weird smile perched on his face. Crosshair doesn't think he's ever seen that expresion on him; wasn't even aware his face could do that.

"The fuck are you smiling for?" the gray-haired clone snaps.

Tech ignores his sharp tone and suggests "we could always prank them back".

Cross is shocked into silence, not expecting this need for childish revenge to come from his mature, level-headed brother; but he can see a dangerous glint in Tech's eyes through his yellow googles, and the idea sparks excitement in the snipers heart.

"I think it's time for you to show off your brain game, Tech" Crosshair smirks. "This Echo and Fives won't even know what hit them".

Tech dries his body with a towel and quickly slip into his nightglove.

"I'll have a plan by tomorrow".

Crosshair rests in his bunk that night with a satisfied smile on his face. "Fuck those regs" he thinks, right before falling asleep.

Tech hacks into the 501st barraks and unlocks the door for Crosshair; and the sniper uses his quiet stealth to move through the bunks and cuddle piles without being discovered –and in a room full of soldiers, that's saying something–. He carefully places the small stickers on each of the regs' foreheads with a similar haircut to Fives and Echo; replicating the first's only distintive tattoo on everyone else.

When the troopers wake up the next day and start to interact with each other, inmediately mistaking others for Fives a million times –a confused, lost expresion on their faces– Tech and Crosshair are laughing their asses off watching the scene from the safety of their barraks.

"Oh, that was great".

In the screen of their datapad, the real Fives bursts into laughter. The trooper turns to the other Domino; and grins happily.

"Seems like we've got competition this year, vod'ika. We've got work to do".

As always happens with this kind of things, the pranks escalate. In the few days prior to Life Day, the two set of twins find dozens of ways to mess with each other; from hair dye –Fives thinks Crosshair looks fabulous in pink– , to stealing armour –Echo almost suffers a heart attack at that–, and fashionably decorating each others barraks. A bet starts going around; of which pair would pull the last prank before kaminoans force them to stop the circus.

On Life Day, the bad batch twins arrive to the mess hall covered in multicolor glitter –a half irritated, half resigned expresion on their face–; and the Dominos are estatic to see them. Echo is the one who planned this, and Fives executioned it perfectly. Glitter is one of the most annoying things to try to get rid off; and it quickly spreads everywhere.

"Looks like we've got two new shinies joining us for breakfeast today!" Fives shouts, grinning wildly, further teasing them.

Echo has a smug smile on his face as well. Troopers around them snort and laugh in amusement.

"I'm going to kill him" Crosshair hisses, and to be honest, not even Tech feels the need to stop him.

Crosshair tackles Fives to the floor; the reg making a surprised sound before laughing and blocking his puch, twisting the two of them around. Tech inmediately jumps to help his twin, trying to inmovilize the clone from his back; though Echo is quick to intercept him and join the fight.

A small circle forms inmediately around them; new bets being made while everyone cheer for their favorites. They aim for the other twins to get inmovilized and forced to surrender more than to make each other bleed. This is nothing but common clone traditions; playfull fighting.

It's only when the trainers separate them that they're able to properly see the state the four troopers are in; covered in glitter from head to toes, panting slightly. Upon identifying the Dominos, the trainers roll their eyes, walking away; all but one of them, who shoot the four clones a disaproving, annoyed glance.

"Get rid of this new fashion choice" he snaps, glancing at the glitter on Crosshair's hair. "And make sure this is all cleaned up for when I come back. You're all on cleaning duty for a month".

The silver haired clone shoots him an irritated side eye; but they all take the punishment in stride.

When the trainer leaves, Fives turns towards the Batch twins.

"Good prank war, vods" he offers with a satisfied smile.

Crosshair looks them up and down.

"Not to bad for some regs" he condeeds.

Fives draps an arm over Echo's shoulders. They're both sporting matching grins.

"We're the best of 'em. We'll be ARC's in no time".

For the present being, they would enjoy Life Day.

THE END.

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