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orbdotexe · 5 months

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The Young Wolf and the Hunter Vanguard had been very good friends, before the Prison. Cayde-6 had been left in a coma after the fight and losing his Ghost, and the last the Guardian had seen of him was the Queen’s Wrath hauling his unconscious form away from them, cursing them for trying to kill him. They had seen him die, saw his eyes lose their glow. They had gathered up Sundance’s shell after Petra was gone and had swept up the leftover Scorn, and her shell pieces were about the only well taken-care-of thing on their ship… It wasn't until Crow mentioned Cayde complaining about being stuck in the Tower “for his own safety” that the Guardian realized he had survived. Crow, however, neglected to ever mention the ‘reunion’ he had since been planning for them.

[Cayde POV]

Aaand here you go, Eternal! I'm finally posting the Cayde Hug, please don't stab me

anyway yeah! the "open secret" is that House Light is... secretly thankful to the Young Wolf for killing Lakshmi. The target is off the House's back! and... now its 10x harder to get anyone to listen that Wolf is. not trying to destabilize the City. oh yeah, and Wolf is having hallucinations from the Black Heart in this (and Fortunate Encounter) and Cayde... very much does not know. so keep that in mind--

[ao3 link]

It took days, maybe a week or two, to finally slip away—and even more planning; a Hunter’s nightmare.

It's not like he could just fly out with a favor from Amanda—even she's been on high-alert since his last attempt had been foiled and they found out he'd been trying to get in-touch with the Young Wolf (and had gotten both himself and Crow in trouble, but... they both knew it'd happen).

He's never been more glad for the ‘open secret’ and Crow's connection to the Eliksni.

But, hey, he's out now! And it feels great to be out of the Tower—This might be the most free he's ever felt since getting this job. Cayde elects to ignore just how much of a prison the Tower had turned into for him. He never thought it could get worse, before…

Shaking that unfortunate thought away, he... has some trouble keeping his initial excitement and relief at seeing them again. He can feel it fading in his gut, and he can't help but feel guilty about it. It's just the stories getting to him. He doesn't believe any of it.

He is, still, relieved—He heard how his Hunter was doing. He's seen the pictures, and the videos. He's read the reports and VanNet posts. Cayde knows they need this. There is a little doubt creeping in, though, that maybe a surprise meeting won't turn out the best–

Crow can assure him all he wants! Cayde knows his student, and he knows they've never liked personal surprises (surprise fights, on the other hand, were fine), and there's no way that dislike hasn't amplified since their exile.

Crow finds himself getting more concerned and uncertain than before. Cayde doesn't usually sound unsure of himself. Especially not half-way through a plan.

Crow already brought Wolf to the place, so if Cayde starts trying to back out now, after all of this, his hands might really be the death of the Hunter Vanguard.

—

"Soo... this is the spot you picked, Crow?"

"Oh, try not to sound so disappointed. You couldn’t do any better."

"I've been stuck in the Tower!"

"Look on the bright side—It's got windows."

"All the walls have holes in them–"

"I thought it'd help them not feel trapped!"

"Holes?? I think you'd be looking for less walls, bird boy, and no roof–"

"Do not call me that."

"You let the Guardian call you that."

"Wha– Where'd you hear that?!"

"Glint."

"I should've seen that coming... Just go! Before they think I'm pranking them."

—

After sufficient back and forth arguing, Crow just about shoves Cayde out the ship and he finally approaches the dilapidated ruins. His old student should be... just at the top... of the stairs. By his majestic horn, he has to walk up how far?

It was times like these that Cayde really wished he could still double jump.

Heaving an overdramatic sigh into the comms, he makes his way up the crumbling steps and listens to Crow mock him for it.

—

Cayde was nearer to the top of the ruins now, and the room was anything but covered. Half of the room’s roof was collapsed inwards, along with the walls of the far corner, exposing the landscape beyond.

So, maybe Crow had a point, but that’s not important.

Sat down on a pile of rubble in the collapsed corner, The Young Wolf stared out at the overlooking scape, heavy forest intercut by patches of collapsed concrete mounds and natural cobble. From up here, he’d call it the perfect place for a pack of Hunters, with the low-hanging branches and plenty of brush surrounding shadowed structures.

The Guardian stood out against the greens, browns and greys beyond the outlook like a sore thumb—almost literally, too, being draped in reds.

Though Cayde’s sure they heard him coming up the stairs, as any good Hunter would, he hesitates to grab their attention. What should he even do? Pat them on the shoulder? Kick a rock at them? What would be the right tone for this? Crow said they thought he was dead…

And there’s that budding dread, again.

Probably best to avoid anything too sudden, right? They don’t seem to have noticed him, afterall (or they were politely waiting for him to get his bearings—But he doubted it), and Crow said they were, at best, on edge.

Cayde opted to clear his throat as he carefully approached them, though the sound came out more grainy than he intended. Damn his voice module.

When they finally look over to him, their face...

It’s wrong.

Not that it had twisted into something nightmarish (though it reminded him of what he would see in the Deep Stone dreams), or something bloody and horrid, but... Their once sharp features were soft in a way Cayde never wanted to see again.

There were little nicks and larger scars, a few looked as if they had been infected at some point—usually he'd call it rugged and rough, but it only served to make them more…

He hated the thought—to pity a Hunter is to see less of them—but it was unavoidable.

Cayde realizes it feels like they were staring right through him with an, honestly? Blank look—before they look away, right back to staring out at the landscape. Not even acknowledging him.

"Guardian..? Kid?"

They flinch, something small and nearly unnoticeable that anyone else wouldn't have picked up on, and... They're ignoring him?

After all this time? What happened?

He narrows his eyes at them, trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke. If it is, it's a terrible one.

Cayde leans over and waves a hand in front of their face to try and get them to swat at him, or just to get... really, any reaction out of them. But they don't. They squint a bit, like they're trying to keep something in, but don’t even lean back away from his hand.

Don't like that.

He steps back, mockingly rubbing his chin to hide his anxiety. If there’s one thing he’s an expert at, its making people pay attention to him. Not even Zavala could–…

Cayde clears his throat, knowing the uselessness of the action.

What did he do? Did Crow set him up for this? No, the young Hunter knew how important this is… There’s a quiet but grating sound as he grinds the innerworkings of his jaw. They don’t seem angry. Drawn in on themself—which Cayde can’t fault them for; he has been as well—but not angry.

So, what is this, then? His own building frustration tells him a very in-poor-taste prank. What little logic he has tells him that’s stupid; that they just don’t know how to react, maybe.

Still, Cayde’s frustration wins over, and as he steps forward to grab their attention, he kicks some gravel up—one thunking against their back. He pauses as they startle and their hand snaps to their sword, before going jarringly still. All movement stops there, down to their breathing, and his own synthetic breath catches.

The Guardian turns, hand lowering from the handle—slowly; cautiously—to look at him, and…

Their eyes widen in what he assumes is realization, a glassy sheen building in them– Did he… No, wait, they haven’t seen him alive in years, but why would they— The very tangible realization of how they must have felt this entire time hits him like a brick, and he thinks he might have thrown up from the anxious knot in his stomach, were it not for his Exo body.

He doesn’t understand why it would take them so long to react to him, or why their reaction was to grab their weapon, but the look on their face wipes the thought and any frustration from Cayde’s mind. His mouth draws closed, and his shoulders relax, but neither of them make any moves until they shuffle onto their feet.

After a few painful moments of silence and surprised eye contact, they take a jerky step forward, and–

And they hug him.

Huh. He can't remember them hugging him before–

Oh, wait, they're shaking.

No, they're crying– He's never seen them cry before, either.

A lot of firsts happening here...

"Guardian..."

They basically claw into the gaps in his shoulder plates, even through his leather armor, at his voice– They really did think he was dead all this time...

"Whaat,” he tries to laugh as he returns the hug, “I thought Crow told you I was still kick– kicking?"

He realizes his eyes burn with phantom stings, but his damned metal face doesn't let him cry. He wishes he could cry with them. They both deserve to cry here.

Them first. They need it more than anyone.

The Guardian grumbles incoherently into his shoulder at his picking. He doesn't complain.

"Well, kid, I guess I'm just too handsome to cry, huh?” He knows his voice broke up, but it doesn't matter. Not anymore. Not here, not while he's finally got his friend back.

He leans into the hug, and lets the silence hang in the air.

It stays that way for a few minutes, just standing and hanging onto each other, praying they can weather this, but… There's just something he needs to say before he bursts, or time runs out.

"I, ah... Well. About Lakshmi." Straight to the point. Not his specialty… Cayde can feel them get tense, and dig their fingers harder into his back. They do not look up at him.

"I know why you did it. Honestly, it was... kinda brilliant, but I'd expect nothing less of my favorite Guardian! I mean, taking the target off House Light's back in one move?"

They just snort. Kinda harshly, actually, but at least they relaxed back a bit.

Right... This is supposed to be serious. He sighs, "Alright, alright. But I do understand, really. I... just wish you'd gone about it differently, though—Now it's about impossible to prove you're innocent." Well, of trying to kill him, at least.

He wishes they'd speak, though. Cayde's not surprised, but it's been awhile, and he's not used to it anymore, and... It'd be nice to have a conversation partner that took him seriously for once.

Not that the Young Wolf doesn't, it's just... The silence isn't comforting anymore.

When they finally pull away, Cayde can see the tear streaks through the layers of grime on their face, and… a swirling black on the outskirts of their eyes. He blinks, takes a breath, and opts to question it another day—despite the gnawing mark it leaves on his relief.

"You uh... You do need to clean your armor, though." Probably a bit more than just the armor. "I am not hugging you again until you do," he says, scrunching his face up to the best of his ability. They only glare back at him.

—

> “Hate to cut off the reunion, but we’re just about out of time. You almost done?” <

Of course, Cayde can’t just answer him like a normal person, and instead—

> "Y'know, Crow told me you actually spoke to him. Care to- Hey! Not the horn!" <

—Taunts them.

Crow sighs. Cayde was going to complain about that the whole ride back, wasn't he?

#destiny 2 #the forsaken exile #destiny 2 crow #destiny cayde #the young wolf #wolf is fiiiillthyyyyyy. stinky dirty guardian #and we love some corruption. yeah yeah yeah yeah <3 #wolf is not having a good time and Cayde is mentally sweating once he gets back to the tower.#just. 'oh. oh no.'#bc he *remembers* eyes like those... he remembers the prison.#But hey! He can ignore the crisis for a bit yeah??#pray that the confirmation of his wellbeing ties them over n all that!#anyway yay! ao3 and tumblr getting two different sets of my dumbass rambling!#literally i have no idea how ooc this is. i think his voice is at least accurate and *sounds* like him. but there are parts #where his thought process might not be on-parr. so bare with me

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pseudonemisis · 1 year

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Neon fruit monster bones :)

I saw your ask and this is immediately what I thought, since I've gotten three consecutive fren shaped dinosaur bones. the one thing everyone agrees on is that I am full of bones<3

#ive really enjoyed this ask game cause im always wondering how people perceive me and its really nice to get an answer #conclusion #i think at least #that i am a weird funky little guy who is pretty chill #and likes to collect things ala crow #to the best of my knowledge this is accurate #ive also worked very hard for the past two years to be a person that i actually like #so its really rewarding to see it paying off even in little ways #also #i am so flattered by this #i long for nothing more than to be perceived as a little insane #<-complely genuine

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katyspersonal · 2 years

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Gherman and Eileen (and if neither are available/you want, Micolash <3) for the character bingo :)

Hahaha, no man, never give me a right to choose! Because I will always chose all. Because I always have something to say. And if I don't, I obtain an opinion as I go because I am unhinged dfsdgh

Gehrman

If this isn't my favourite character to discuss... :smh:

I only mention how terribly he was treated in every second post about him, the dude can shake hands with Chara Undertale on having the character ruined by fandom for fandom for years. xD I started swinging between 'You can have an unflattering interpretation of the character, just quit mocking and accusing people who disagree' and 'Actually no, forget it. It is not even an "interpretation", it is outright lore-inaccurate and tone-deaf and wrong. Why I should be 'okay' with you ruining a cool character? Sure, shoving away the actual character and replacing them with what you want to see is not BAD, but it is not GOOD either. How would you feel if I completely overlooked lore and portrayal of male characters you love, for example Djura, and replaced them with a punching bag for all my grudges with the sexism this wretched world commits? Would you people be cool with that?'.

I am under obligation of being 'understanding' because, honestly, the real villain here is localisation team that turned the whole angle of perceiving the guy over - that made it easier to ignore/misinterpret the shit load of other evidence for his case. Can't easily recall victorian mourning dolls, or that when Doll held an ornament full of his feelings - she cried in joy and compassion, not staggered in disgust, after the gross comment they put in his mouth, huh? Hire fans 👏

Nonetheless, the character is pretty interesting for many reasons, and it did feel a bit odd for me that he says like... one thing and then disappears for interaction. I don't even know where does he keep disappearing as a person stuck on wheelchair? *squints at Flora very loudly* I cannot pick him as THE best character because he at the very least shares the place with Maria, Micolash and Djura - and that's just my opinion! But he certainly just has so much going on about him, having had guts to commit to a horrible fate for the sake of humanity and out of his faith in Healing Church, all that. There are just so many things about him? Training the hunters and starting a workshop, combining ruthless traits and tragedy and tender love too. (Also aesthetic alone is immaculate).

Eileen

Annnnnd it is a bit funny that after the most controversial character, you listed the least controversial one... xd There are just no ways to mess Eileen up, really. No bad fandom trends, no questionable ships, no off the mark opinions, like... you have to be diabolically inventive to mess up EILEEN of all characters? She is a bit of a fresh air as a character who is basically perfect and there aren't things to disagree on :')

And I honestly think she is one of the most needed characters for the overall setting, and the coolest way to execute a concept - because someone SHOULD be out there mercy-killing blood-drunk hunters! Besides beak mask seems to be her original one, so perhaps she was a plague doctor before, and thus no stranger to mercy-killing before Yharnam? She is just so grim, yet so sympathetic. Drama potential with Crow of Cainhurst? Awesome. But, I am yet to find a very cool justification as to why she only goes blood-drunk in the scenario where we never interact with her? Like... what butterfly effect did we cause? I feel like there is a fantastic explanation for what could have gone depending on us, that is right here but I am not seeing it @_@

There is no unpopular opinion field though, however I think that the fact that Hunter of Hunters seems to be a "hostile" concept to the League is underexplored? Oath runes logic (like Beast's Embrace vs Kin and Corruption vs Radiance), also Valtr himself seems blood drunk? And she sounds as if she's been waiting for an excuse to kill Henryk? However both her and League pursue 'gone wrong' hunters, so maybe they have rivarly over who kills them? Do they fight over whether to bury them with an honour or rip their guts in search of some bug she can't even see? I need something aaaaaa

Micolash

This IS my favorite character yooooo

I can go on about him forever, and in fact I kinda sorta did in lore and headcanons posts now? I would not say he got done 'dirty' by the fandom, more like... could have been better? Not to downvote anyone's uploads, but finding more or less model accurate fanart of the guy can be more challenging than it should be? I often see him all prettied-up, with slick straight hair (and sometimes that one anime 'ahoge' strand), with wider/stronger chin instead of his sharp weak one, smug face that is anything but his tired/eerie look, sometimes hair is brown...

It is not 'done dirty' but rather, 'if your Micolash looks at least somewhat creepy/uncomfy/unattractive, you are doing it right'. Similar with personality and portrayal, maybe it is my not-enough-fanfics-read sorry ass speaking but I feel like the fact that dude is mentally unstable, crazy, ran a literal madcult responsible for kidnapping and mutilating/reviving corpses and is stuck in the nightmare of his own desire is... overlooked? He is often portrayed as just a quirky funny guy obsessed with books that is not dangerous at all, even though he is easily THE most evil character? Right, making character worse makes my blood boil *looks in Gehrman's general direction*, but making character better...? It just makes me... confused? I am not angry, I just don't know why? Again, if your portrayal of Micolash is at least somewhat repulsive - you are doing it right x)

Well as you can tell already I have my issues with the character, but I also love him for the reasons hard to explain? It is complexity, depth, the context of the character (terminal stage of falling for the hubris, but researcher rather than cruel hunter), voice acting in either language, eccentric behaviour, him being fucking funny but you shiver if you actually THINK about him, him being such a nerd that he's the only NPC without a real weapon (only magic spells), he is just so PERFECT - both for the setting and as a tragic figure that fell from the grace as a scholar and KEEPS falling. From moral standpoint I am supposed to hate him, but he broke the limits of humanity and morality so far away that my typical measures no longer apply?

(And yes, I am adopting him because the guy clearly needs a mom figure :pensive: Everyone wants him to be Bad and Quirky on them, but who will give him a motherly hug and tell him he can rest from despair for now? /lh )

#ask replies #at this rate i should just place the 'we don't talk about bruno' post in my pinned but replace bruno with gehrman ahahaha #because when i hear his name i ALSO hear kill bill siren and can't be stopped until i rant fdshhsfdsd #bloodborne #fandomry rambles #gehrman the first hunter #eileen the crow #micolash host of the nightmare #by the way I am NOT tryna play 4D chess motivating people to create more messy mico for my amusement!#just tryna be more lore accurate guys dont mind me just tryna be accurate he is a cruel cruel man!#(ok here i dropped a reverse psychology hook hope it works)#(shit am i still clowning in the tags? hope i won't forget to erase this)#i think i've felt every emotion that exists and five completely new ones for humanity for micolash so far #(no context)#i think everything you really need to know about me as a writer is-#-the fact that 'basically perfect' characters are the ones i think about the least.#I need EVIL! I need MADNESS! I need CRIMES! FLAWS! CONTROVERCY!!!!!!#something to keep me at the edge of my seat because happiness and relaxation are alien concepts for me!#if they could be turned into water and sprinkled on me i'd melt like exorsized demon lol

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mello-when-hi · 26 days

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YOU ARE HAMSTERIEST HAMSTER HERE ! 🐹

Me as a Hamster getting to eat carrots all day... life would be amazing

#ask tag #Nov tag #whelp guess its time to rebrand from Crow to hamster ig/j #also it makes me so happy that I'm perceived as Completely non threatening?#like I've gotten 3/3 now this is kinda awesome #and very accurate like I'm the least scary guy here

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tcustodisart · 1 month

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Connecticut Tav | Wood Half-Elf | Beast Master Ranger

So, this is my sheet for @bareee's @tav-dex. Went a little overboard and made a whole ass character sheet (man the last time I made one of those was so long ago). I want to write something about my cringe boy so. Buckle up because it's going to be long and poorly written (I suck at writing).

One edit because I'm a dummy, his alignment is neutral good not true neutral idk why I did that.

He was born and raised in his mom's and step-dad's tavern called Crow's Perch (not as fancy as Elf Song but in a different category as Blushing Mermaid)(the tavern thing is just for the sake of a joke that the most popular drink they serve is called 'Connecticut Water'). He has an older brother, who's a bard. Despite the description for Urchin background ("After surviving a poor and bleak childhood") he had a happy childhood, filled with love and support. The two brothers treated the whole Lower City as their playground: breaking into places just for fun, pick pocketing nobles, climbing Wyrm's Rock Fortress etc.

His love for beasts and creatures of any kind comes from the stories told by his step-dad (both him and Tav's mom are retired adventurers). Step dad was the one who told Tav about Darkmaw the Wicked *wink wink*.

At one point he got tired of the city life and decided he wanted to become a ranger. After successfully fulfilling some contracts he became so confident of his skills he tried to build a trap all by his own. The trap exploded right into his face (he himself has no idea how it didn't kill him or damaged his eyes). After that he was sulking in his hunting hut for a month. The experience humbled the boy. Most of his adventuring prior to the nautiloid could just be boiled down to hanging around one village and talking local boars out of destroying potato fields, and occasionally getting rid of poachers.

Before the abduction he was on his way to Baldur's Gate to see his family (which he hasn't seen in months).

Trivia (because it's easier to write stuff this way):

His hair started to go grey at the start of Act 3 from the weight of responsibility and stress.

In Act 1 he was corresponding with his family thanks to Faust. After entering The Underdark he stopped sending letters (In Underdark because it would be hard, in Act 2 because he didn't want the bird to be killed by Shadow Curse).

Despite being close to his family in Act 3, he didn't visit them or send any messages in fear that Gortash and/or Orin would hurt them.

He carries with him a razor and some fancy oils for his beard.

His brother wrote one ballad about him, soon after that Tav forbid him from writing more (it was very much not accurate).

His step-dad taught him how to fight with a sword, while his mom taught him archery and the art of stealth.

Tav's biological father died when he was very young so he has barely any memory of him.

Tav's a walking Merlin app, he can identify any bird by just listening to it.

He loves climbing trees. Either to rest on a branch or to scout the surroundings.

He loves picking up herbs and making potions.

Despite growing up in a tavern he's not much of a drinker.

He's very self-conscious about his height and chest-to-belly area. He tries his best not to show it.

At one point he was persona non grata at Sharess' Caress.

He enjoys fishing.

Sir Daisy Dewdrop Fluffington is a name of his childhood plush.

He knows how to play lanceboard (he often plays against Gale and tries to teach it to Wyll).

He draws in his journal. He drew all of his companions at least once.

He almost cried when Jaheira called him 'cub' and almost called her 'mom' in response.

He's scared of Lae'zel. But tries his best to understand and help her.

He had countless heart-to-hearts with Karlach.

In his journal he described Astarion as 'his equal on the battlefield'.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #connceticut tav #character sheet #tav #oc:faust #i accidentally hit post while editing it lmao well this is the final version dhjdjd #the fact tav and faust have the same wis is sending me

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rollinouttahere-writes · 3 months

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Oh f#ck I am kinda relived , thank you so much(I was scared that I sended something stupid)😌

If so, It was the Part 3 of Searing Pain btw. (I just can't stop loving how well you captured characters's emotions there.)

Searing Pain: Part 3

Yandere Ace and Luffy x Reader

3.8k words

Part 1 / Part 2

Recovery from any injury was never easy, but for someone suffering your given injuries, it was grueling.

Pain had been expected. Between the broken ribs, absent lung, and the patched up hole in your chest, it was a given that you were going to be in agony for a while. Regardless of that, you were doing your best to remain active. It’s only been a few days since you woke up, but you’ve been able to get up and walk around. With help. Luffy’s help, specifically.

Ever since Chopper encouraged you to get up and be active to aid in your recovery and lessen the chance of blood clots, Luffy put it upon himself to be your personal helper. If you were being completely honest, you had been hesitant to accept his help initially. Not because you didn’t trust him, of course you did, but you questioned how capable he was of being gentle enough to not hurt you more.

All of your concerns had proven themselves to be incorrect. Luffy has been ridiculously careful with you. It’s like seeing a whole new side of him. You need to get up? Don’t worry, Luffy will help you stand. Need to sit back down? He’ll help with that, too. Need literally anything? He’ll get it for you. Usually without even leaving your side thanks to his devil fruit powers.

As flattering as it is that he cares about you enough to be helping you this much, it was odd to see him being this serious. While he was still showing his typical goofy attitude in some respects, there was always this air of vigilance that accompanied his every action. He would study your face every time you moved and would fling himself to your side if you so much as made a noise on the rare occasion that he had stepped away.

It’s not like there weren’t other people that could help you. The rest of your crewmates were all capable of and eager to assist you in any way you need, but Luffy wouldn’t give them the opportunity. He can help you walk and eat, and he keeps an eye on you while you sleep, so it’s fine. He’s got it covered! He even tried to help you go to the bathroom, and it had been an uphill battle to convince him that you could at least do that part on your own.

That effort had all been in vain. Just because you managed to get him to wait outside didn’t mean that he wouldn’t damn near break the door down when he saw fit. Which he did when you hissed in pain while trying to stand up after finishing your business. Your pants had still been down, much to your mortification, but at least he hadn’t commented on that part.

Outside of that embarrassing ordeal, you did appreciate his help. Walking on your own was still an impossibility, Chopper had made that clear by stressing how devastating a fall could be for you right now. Franky had thrown together a walker for you, but it wasn’t needed. Luffy had taken that role upon himself. A good thing, too, given that the walker vanished not long after it was built.

Luffy was shockingly patient with how slow your pace was. He’s standing next to you with one arm reaching around you and holding your hip to keep you balanced, while the other hand is holding your own and supporting the bulk of your weight. His steps matched yours and his eyes were boring into you, looking for any hint of discomfort on your face. Beyond the usual amount, at least.

“Hey! I can see Ace’s boat!” Usopp called out from the crow’s nest. “And it looks like there’s two people on board, one of them has to be the doctor!”

Both you and Luffy looked to where Usopp was pointing. Sure enough, there was a small boat on the horizon. It was much too far for you to be able to make it out personally, but you trusted Usopp’s eyesight to be accurate.

Luffy’s hands flexed, and he kept looking back and forth between you and Ace’s approaching figure. You gave his hand a squeeze, “You should go over and wait for him, I’m sure you’re excited to see Ace again.”

“You want to see him again, too. We can wait together.” Without giving you a chance to respond, he began gently guiding you to turn.

“You should go by yourself. I need to sit down again. Now, preferably.” Fatigue was hitting you hard. A side effect that you had not been as prepared for. After even just a little bit of activity you would find yourself feeling winded and needing to lie down. You’re pretty sure you’ve been taking more naps than Zoro lately.

At your stating of needing to rest, Luffy’s eyes shot wide with panic. He whipped his head around frantically before spotting an empty chair across the deck. Using the hand that wasn’t holding yours, he stretched his arm over to grab it. Wooden legs dragged over the floorboards as it was yanked this way. The second it was in place, Luffy wasted no time helping you to sit. It was a slow process, but he never once rushed you through it.

With you now seated, Luffy hesitated briefly before finally going to the side of the ship that Ace was approaching.

Cautiously, you slumped against the back of the chair. You hadn’t been walking for long but it felt like you’d just returned from a lengthy journey. Chopper assured you that this was a normal symptom for your condition. Without one of your lungs, you were getting half as much oxygen as your body was used to. Fatigue was to be expected until your body could adjust to the major change.

A nap sounded great right about now, but if Ace had brought that doctor with him then he would most likely want to speak with you and not wait a couple of hours for you to come to again.

Your hand drifted up to your head and pulled the hat off of it. The brim of the straw hat scratched against your fingers as they ghosted over it. Luffy still hasn’t taken it back since he left it with you when you were still unconscious. Seeing him without his hat for so long was odd to say the least. Granted, it’s not like he was far from it at any given moment since he was attached at your hip, but it was a surprising gesture on his part regardless.

Even though you couldn’t see Ace’s boat from your seated position, you could definitely still hear it coming. Striker was not a particularly stealthy ship. The roar of the engine was growing louder and louder by the second, it wouldn’t be long before he was here. Him, and the doctor.

The doctor most likely being Marco the Phoenix. You don’t know him personally, but you’ve seen bounty posters and heard tell of his feats. From the sound of it, he was as much a fierce fighter as he was a skilled doctor. You could only hope that he was a miracle worker with the severity of your injury. Not that you wouldn’t be appreciative of any help he gave you. It’s just that… Your life as a pirate is strongly hinged on him being able to fix your lung situation.

Just as the rumble of Striker’s engine was starting to become grating, it stopped.

A few of your other crewmates rushed over to where the boat was being docked to greet the duo. Chopper was notably excited to be able to talk to another doctor, especially one held in such high regard.

While you were eager to find out what Marco could do for you, you were also nervous about the possibility that what he could do for you wouldn’t be enough. You willed yourself to look away and put Luffy’s hat back on your head.

The sound of two people clambering up the side of the ship followed by the chattering of your crew tempted you into glancing over.

Ace stood out to you immediately. Everyone had assured you that he had gotten away from the battle unscathed, but being able to see with your own eyes that he was safe truly took the worries off your mind. You made eye contact with him, and he grinned broadly while slipping past the small crowd that had gathered.

“It’s good to see you awake.” Ace came to a stop right next to you. His smile faltered as his hands hovered over you, visibly unsure of where to place them. Deciding that your torso was too high risk, he settled for holding one of your hands in both of his. “Sorry I didn’t stick around to see you wake up, but I wanted to get Marco over here as soon as possible.” His eyes flickered down to the visible bandages underneath your shirt, “So… How are you feeling?”

Like the fragmented remains of a landmine.

“I’ve… been better, but it’s not so bad. Everyone has been taking great care of me. Especially Luffy.” This was probably a better response than the one in your mind. There was no use in making him feel sorry for you when it seemed he already was.

At the mention of his brother’s name, Ace’s smile returned, “I’m not surprised. He promised to stay by your side until you were better, and he’s serious about his promises.” He leaned forward and flicked the brim of Luffy’s hat, “I am a little surprised he’s still letting you wear this, though.”

“That makes two of us,” you readjusted the hat to keep it from falling off. You contemplated asking about the promise Ace just mentioned. This was the first you were hearing of it. That would definitely explain his dedication to you. Who had prompted that discussion. Did Ace make Luffy promise or did Luffy come up with the idea on his own?

“You must be (Y/N).”

The question you had was going to have to wait. You look over to the source of the voice and see Marco for the first time. His posture is relaxed as he looks down at you, likely expecting an answer.

“Yeah, that’s me. You must be Marco,” you returned his smile and held out your hand to shake his.

“That would be correct,” he gently clasps your hand and gives it a brief shake before flipping it over and pressing two fingers against the pulse point on your wrist. He mutters ‘a little high’ before shifting his attention back to you, “Would you like to have our appointment now or do you need to rest?”

You could absolutely use some sleep, or even just a longer opportunity to sit down, but you wanted to get this done as soon as possible. You can’t wait any longer to find out if he can find a way to repair your lung. Or lack thereof.

“I’m okay, let’s do this now.” It dawned on you that he may be tired after being on Striker for who knows how long, “If you’re okay with that, that is. I don’t mind waiting if you want some rest after traveling all the way here.”

“I’m perfectly fine.” He nudges Ace out of the way and holds out his arms to you, “Here, let me help you up.”

Before you can accept his help, Luffy crashes into him, “I can do that!”

Marco, much to your surprise, barely budges from the human battering ram. He looks over his shoulder at Luffy with a raised brow, appearing more so amused than anything else, “I appreciate your offer, but I would like to use this as a chance to see how their recovery is coming along.”

“Then just watch me help them, you don’t need to do it.” Luffy, never one to be deterred easily, stands his ground.

Ace clamped a hand onto Luffy’s shoulder and pulled him back, “It’ll be for the best to let Marco do this. Don’t worry so much, they’re in good hands with him. How about you stay here with me and we can catch up?”

Luffy scowled, “(Y/N) isn’t better yet, I’m going with them.”

The disagreement was only escalating, so you cut in, “I’ll be okay, Luffy. Why don’t you relax for a bit?” You pull his hat from your head and hold it out to him, “Do you want this back?” Maybe he’s getting anxious about being away from his prized possession?

The offer seems to be borderline offensive to Luffy. He snatches the hat out of your hand only to firmly place it back on your head in a way that it completely covers your eyes. “No, you keep it.”

By the time you push the brim of the hat up enough to be able to see again, Luffy and Ace are walking away, though the former looks to be dragging his feet. You cringe internally and hope that you didn’t genuinely upset him.

“Your captain is awfully protective of you,” Marco notes.

He can say that again. You nod, “He’s been like this since I got hurt.”

“Well, now that he isn’t here, let’s see what I can do about that injury of yours.” Marco’s hands find yours and he waits for you to make the first move to stand.

You’re eager to get this over with, so you only take a couple of seconds to brace yourself before beginning the arduous task of getting onto your feet. The instant you sit up, your chest suffers a stab of pain as muscles tug on the wound and you wince.

“Take your time.”

You nodded but kept pushing forward. Now that you were upright, you planted your feet on the ground as best as you could and slowly lifted your body off the chair. All the while your hands were gripping onto Marco’s like he was your lifeline, which he may very well be at this point. Every movement and twitch of your shoulders pulled on your chest wound and you had to bite back the urge to scream. Something you’ve learned to do very well over the course of the last few days.

Marco studied you intensely, taking in every little reaction you had. Once you were finally on your feet, he paused and allowed you to catch your breath. A task easier said than done. “I-I’m sorry, just give me a minute. Please.”

“There’s no rush, don’t force yourself on my behalf. You’re doing very well,” he assured you.

This really did not feel like “doing very well”, but who were you to argue with him? This would typically be the point where you lean forward and rest some of your weight onto Luffy, but you didn’t know Marco well enough to be able to assume that he would be okay with you doing that.

Your breathing was about as good as it was going to get, “Okay. I’m okay. Let’s go.”

Luckily for you, the infirmary wasn’t far from where you were previously seated. Once you were properly up on your feet, walking wasn’t too hard on you. It was just the act of getting there and your rapidly decreasing stamina that got in the way.

Unluckily for you, you needed to be laid down once you got to the infirmary. It was even worse than sitting up since it required much more movement in your torso. Marco did everything he could to ease you back onto it, but you were still on the verge of tears by the time you were fully settled onto the bed. Luffy’s hat was placed on the bedside table for the time being.

Marco stepped away from the bed and rummaged around Chopper’s desk, pulling out some papers. He didn’t spend long reading over them before dropping it onto the desk and grabbing a stethoscope. He returned to the bed and sat down next to you.

The chestpiece was lightly pressed against where your remaining lung was and he asked you to breathe in and out a couple of times. You did just that. Every breath ached, but you’ve gotten used to it the last few days. The chestpiece was moved to the other side of your chest and you were asked to repeat the action again. You aren’t entirely sure what he’s expecting to hear over there, but again, what would you know?

It would seem he found whatever he was looking for and the stethoscope was discarded. His hands hovered over your ribcage, “I’m going to check your ribs, please let me know where it hurts at.”

You nodded and his hands began tracing over each rib. It didn’t take long for you to flinch and say, “Right there.” The process was repeated on every affected rib. All of them hurt and you said as much. Fortunately, Marco was extremely careful so it wasn’t anywhere near as painful as it could have been.

“I need to look at the wound now, so I have to unbutton your shirt. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay.” Whatever he was going to see from undoing your shirt was nothing compared to the Luffy-bathroom-incident. You would live.

Marco made quick work of the buttons, then came the bandages. Rather than sitting you up again to unravel them, he pulled out a pair of scissors and cut through them instead. An act of mercy in your humble opinion.

You trained your eyes on the ceiling, not at all wanting to see the wound. “Am I going to need to roll over so you can see the exit wound on my back?” You really hope he doesn’t.

There’s a brief bout of silence as he examines the now exposed hole in your chest. A choking level of stress builds in your chest at the mere idea of how uncomfortable and painful rolling over will be.

“No, that won’t be necessary. Seeing this is enough for me to work with.” Marco leaned back, “So, do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

Your heart fell into your stomach at the knowledge of there being bad news. He hadn’t told you anything yet and you already wanted to scream and cry. “Give me the good news first,” you needed at least a little bit of time to mentally prepare yourself for the bad.

“The good news is that I can heal your broken ribs and the wound today. It’ll take some time and we’ll have to break up the sessions so as to not shock your system, but I’m confident that we can have this healed up nicely by the end of the day.” He offered you a smile, but you could see that even he wasn’t happy about what he was going to say next.

“And the bad news?” You wanted to rip the bandaid off and have it be behind you.

“There is nothing I can do about your lung. My ability to heal others is much more limited than my ability to heal myself, recreating your absent lung is beyond my capabilities. I’m sorry.”

His words hung in the air heavily, and you were trying desperately to not start crying. The efforts were all in vain, and you quickly found that you couldn’t keep it in. Frustrated tears bullied their way out of your eyes and poured down your face as the gravity of your situation hit you hard.

This was it. This was the end of your time with the Straw Hat pirates. Your body was permanently changed in a horrible way that you would never recover from.

“I know that this wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but not everything is bad. With some breathing exercises and practice you’ll be able to lead a normal life.” Marco tried to comfort you, but his words were falling on deaf ears.

“Wh-What am I supposed to do now? I can’t be a pirate anymore if I can barely breathe right! I-I’m just going to be dead weight!” You gasped for breath as all of your bottled up fears burst out of you. Your chest burned and throbbed from the activity, begging for you to stop but you couldn’t.

“No one is saying that you can’t. Who knows, maybe you’ll make a miraculous recovery and surprise yourself,” Marco attempted to ease your worries.

“What are the odds of that?” You asked bitterly.

Marco didn’t answer immediately. It seemed like he didn’t have one. Instead, he placed his hands over your chest wound and wisps of blue fire spread across the area. The flames were warm, not hot. An uncomfortable sensation filled your chest and muscle fibers were forced to regrow faster than they should be able to. You chose to close your eyes and try to ignore it.

After a few minutes of this, the fire dispersed and Marco pulled away. You glance down and see that the hole is very much still there, though noticeably more shallow. Marco stood from the bed and searched for some new bandages to cover what was still exposed.

“You know,” he started, “if you would be interested, perhaps I could make more progress with you if I had more time.”

“What do you mean?” Was he planning on staying here for a longer time?

He returned with a roll of bandages and motioned for you to get ready to sit up. You did so begrudgingly, but were surprised to find the experience not as painful as it previously was. It still hurt, but at a much more manageable level.

“I can’t stay here very long, but if you were to come back with us to the Moby Dick, I may be able to make more progress with your recovery. I can’t guarantee that I’ll ever find a perfect fix for your condition, but if you don’t think you’ll be able to stay with your crew as you are now, then what would be the harm in relocating for a while?” Marco efficiently begins wrapping the bandages around where the injury is.

The proposition leaves you speechless. Could you… Could you do that? Would it truly be okay for you to leave your crew behind for another one, even if it was just temporarily? What would Luffy think? He didn’t even want to let you have this appointment by yourself, how would he react to you actually leaving?

Sensing your hesitation, Marco continues, “We won’t leave until tomorrow, you have time to mull over this decision.” The bandages are pulled tight and tied in a knot. “I know that Ace would be happy to have you there, I can send him in to talk to you if you would like.”

“No, that’s okay. I’m exhausted and would like to sleep for a while if that’s alright.” At this point, you don’t know if it’s your lack of stamina or stress that is wearing you out. What you do know is that you need some time alone to unpack all of this.

As well as to make a decision.

#yandere one piece #one piece x reader #monkey d luffy #luffy #portgas d ace #fire fist ace #marco the phoenix #usopp #tony tony chopper #platonic yandere #emtynessinmyworld #x reader #reader insert #one piece x y/n #one piece x you

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nomizombie · 4 months

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[You could be mine...] 🎸🎤🎶

fanboy!König x GN!rockstar!Reader || [Part 1] [Part 2]

[SFW/Wholesome] ; no usage of y/n, gender neutral pronouns, insane rocking out!!!, author has never been a rockstar or to a concert 😔, not proofread, written at 12 at night

[A/N] ; i was just really obsessed with the idea of König absolutely flooring it when he gets to meet his favourite rockstar!!! And then rockstar reader has to sign his forehead or smth

ALSO this is probably one of my first *longer* little drabbles so congratulations to msyelf for writing more than 3 sentences and not taking a nap!! 🎉

You stepped out onto the stage to a roar of fans. Hundreds were in the crowd screaming your name. Many scrambling to get to the edge of the stage and see you in full.

You greet the crowd enthusiastically, a gentle breeze flowing through the locks of your hair and tickling the ends of your shirt. With one strum of your guitar, the crowd goes wild, chanting and waving lights.

Not long after, your band begins playing. Drums, electric guitars, keyboard, and your smooth vocals, all come together to form song after song. Before long, the concert is almost over.

Sweat drips down your forehead as you pant, tired after jumping from end to end of the stage to interact with fans. You scan the crowd, at the front of the pack, barely hidden by spectators is a massive man, donning your band’s shirt and hat. You quickly snap your focus back to the blaring music behind you, more cheers erupting as you play the final song of the night.

You finally drop your mic. Singing a farewell to the horde of people as you leave the stage. Your shirt is soaked, hair damp and cheeks red. You high five your bandmates before disappearing into your area to change. The memory of the man still filling your memory as you wear a fresh shirt and pants, smooth your hair and dry your dewy skin.

Rushing out one final time, you find the long line of tables where your bandmates await you.

The obligatory autographing session after every concert. Tiresome, exhausting, but also something you look forward to.

Mindlessly scribbling your initials on albums and shirts, and thanking fans, you greet the next fan. But, when you look up, instead of seeing his face, your band’s logo crows your vision.

Your eyes trail further upwards before they land on a pair of crystal blue, anxiety-filled pupils staring back at you.

“Oh- Hello!” You croak out. It’s the man from earlier, and he’s so much more massive than you thought.

“Wow, big guy huh?” The words leave your mouth before you realise.

He stares at you silently, nodding frantically after a few seconds of awkwardness.

He’s not much of a talker, huh.

Desperate to ease the tension between you two, you flash your signature charming grin before speaking,

“Name?” You smile at him.

Once again, a few seconds of silence before another frenzied nod.

“König.” He says in a thick accent.

“Sorry? Repeat that would ya?” You turn your head to the side, leaning your ear into him.

His eyes widen before he comes a little closer and places his hand on the sides of his mouth. It was only then that you noticed how large his digits were. Each finger must’ve been at least one of yours and a half. Yet despite their size, he was trembling. Vibrating even.

He yells (or more accurately, speaks at a normal level) into your ear,

“König.”

You blink at him.

“Coonisch..?” You repeat at him confused. How do you even go about spelling that?

“It’s German.” He clarifies meekly.

Well that explains it.

He shakily places an album onto the cloth-covered table, then another, then another, then another, then one from your band’s first show and- holy shit, this dude must be a big fan. Physically and music-wise.

You reach your marker out to begin signing the stack before you freeze as he reaches into his bag and pulls out… guess what, another album! Then some faded polaroids that you faintly remember taking on stage before throwing them out into the crowd… then a small band facts book… exclusive posters, and some CDs still in the wrapping! When he finally stops digging around his bag, you finally notice the wide array of vibrant pins and badges stuck to his leather satchel. Unique pins from the early days of your music and badges that were never made again after the first drop. This man is beyond a fan.

He chuckles nervously as he noticed your wide eyes and slight gaping mouth. You were literally in the band but still you weren’t even sure you had some of the merch he did.

“All right… Coonisch… How do I… spell… that?”

“K-Ö-with the two dots above it-N-I-G.”

Oh.

“You want that on… everything..?” You gesture towards the stack of albums, posters, and pictures.

“Yes.” He responds. You can almost see his wide grin through the balaclava he wore.

You sighed, clicking your pen and getting to work. By the time you finished the last poster, he was practically vibrating.

“I take it you’re a big fan?”

He nods wildly again. Eagerly stuffing the pile of merch back into his bag. Once he’s all packed up, he doesn’t leave just yet. His eyes contemplate before he opens his mouth again.

“Can- Do you- Hand- Is it okay if you… shake my hand?!” The last part comes out a bit too loud. His eyes widen again, tips of his ears turning a light shade of pink as he lowers his head.

“Of course. Least I can do for a fan like you.” You beam at him. His eyes immediately return to their squinted eye-smile state as he holds out his jittery hand.

You slowly wrap your fingers around his (giant) ones and give him a firm, tight, shake.

“That good?”

He nods madly, eyes joyfully squinting. He looks like he just went to heaven.

A string of giggles leaves your throat. You can’t hold it back. He looks confused for a moment before chuckling himself, realising how much of a fanboy he must look like right now.

“Well, hope to see you around again, König.”

He thanks you profusely, bowing and nodding his head. He almost left before he froze, turned and quickly dropped something onto your table. You swear you could see him floating with stars in his eyes as he walked off.

You stare at the tiny red present box for a second before pocketing it and signing the next bunch of albums and posters. Before long, it was an hour and a half to midnight and you were tucked up in the back of your band’s van.

Squirming to your side, your brain replayed the interaction between you and König. Every timid word he spoke, his boyish mannerisms, even the look in his eyes as you shook his hand.

It was starting to get difficult not to think about him.

You felt your pocket for your phone before realising that the gift he left you was still unopened inside of it.

Quickly, you pulled it out, gently unwrapping the carefully lined paper and undoing the small ribbon.

Inside, the most precious necklace laid. Engraved with your initials and band’s logo. It was a locket in the shape of a sparrow, your favourite bird. You clutched the necklace, grinning from ear-to-ear as your cheeks burned.

Then, you noticed something scrawled at the bottom of the box.

A phone number.

You smiled so hard your face hurt.

dividers by @mmadeinheavenn

Tysm for reading!!! Please lmk if you’d like me to continue this silly idea of mine- i think im shaking at the thought of writing this aas a full fic witj multiple parts… 😭🙏

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foreficfandom · 3 months

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Alastor - Historical Trivia And Headcanons

Alastor was a mixed-race Creole man living in New Orleans, and was in his 30's/40's when he died in 1933. We don't know much else about him, but historical context can provide us with possible additional details:

The population of New Orleans in 1930 was 458,762, more than it is now. 27.2% of the people were black, 3.1% were foreign-born, and roughly half of America's bipoc population was unemployed thanks to the Great Depression. New Orleans' original Francophonication was still strong, and it was common to run into locals who only spoke French dialects (Cajun French, Louisiana Creole). The city has had a huge Chinatown, a small Little Italy, and multiple other districts known for their immigrant African/colonized French cultures.

The Jim Crow laws were heavily enforced, as was the 'One Drop' rule. If Alastor was a mixed race black man, he would not have been able to attend a white school, use the same public transport, and would have shopped at black-local stores and restaurants under threat of violence. If he was mixed with any other race, some Jim Crow laws didn't apply, but state or city laws might specify differently.

Just because Alastor wears a suit, it doesn't mean he was rich in life. Radio personalities often didn't earn a fortune. Unless he owned his own broadcast, he was paid by a private company for long shifts of hosting music, news, and radio plays. In 1930, 40% of households owned at least one radio, which means that a popular radio host would have been easily recognized.

If he was in his late 30's in 1933, he might have fought in WW1, so long as he was over the age of 21. Some cities gave veterans small benefits, or encouraged the community to give them jobs. This often did not include veterans of color.

New Orleans was famous for being one of the least Christian cities in America, thanks to its unique immigrant and slave population. Haitian-based faiths and practices (such as voudo), indigenous cultures, Asian Buddhism, and atheism were common. But Christianity was still the official, law-enforced religion. Schooling involved reading the Bible, laws were sworn to Jesus, etc.

Alastor's outfit in Hazbin Hotel isn't very accurate to real-life American men's fashions of the time. Back then, deviating from the norm with the smallest detail would have stuck out like a sore thumb - like his white-lined lapels. Men always wore a hat. They were allowed to go without a waistcoat, but not a jacket. Belts were becoming more popular than suspenders. The silhouette was bulkier than the slimmer, Italian cuts of our modern times, especially the pants. Hair was kept short, and oiled down in a side part. Americans preferred the clean shaven look. Ties were essential unless you were a blue-collar laborer. Colors were almost universally muted neutral tones for everyday wear. The most colorful textiles for men were sporting outfits, like a tennis jacket.

If Alastor was a middle-class single man, he likely would have lived in an inner-city apartment, in an ethnic neighborhood. He probably didn't own a car, and took public transit like the streetcars. If he owned a house, it would likely have been an inheritance, and even the more opulent houses of the time would have looked small and plain to our eyes.

Because of the Great Depression, unmarried men were becoming the norm, rather than the exception. Men of the community who were sought after but remained single were suspect to gossip, but less ire than you might think; in the '30s, American queer culture was going through a very sharp revival, escaping the rigid Victorian era and before the puritan 40's/50's. But as a mixed-race man, it may have been illegal for a white woman to marry him, as the Jim Crow laws forbade the marriage of white people and Black/Asian people.

A middle class city household would have had electricity, gas heating, indoor plumbing, but may not have had running taps or a gas stove. Even with decent means, Alastor might have been using a potbelly woodburning stove, a dry sink/washbasin, wooden bathtub, and did his own laundry instead of sending it to the neighborhood laundresses. He may or may not have bothered with an icebox. Fresh groceries needed to be cooked and eaten soon, as things like pasteurized milk or store refrigeration wasn't a thing.

If he had enough money, then he almost certainly hired maids or other servants. Whether the maid came over just once a week, or did the shopping and laundry every other day, hired help was much more common back then, especially if he had no wife.

The most popular musicians in 1933 were Bing Crosby, George Olsen, and Leo Reisman. As you might have noticed, it was trendy for the lead singer to be backed by an orchestra, not a 'band' of just four other people like today. The most popular radio shows were Dick Tracy, Sherlock Holmes, and Doc Savage. They were recordings the radio station would buy and then broadcast, or sometimes the actors were live on the air. The radio host was usually not the journalist - the production team was responsible for writing his script.

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon

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daemonkitsune · 9 months

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mammon headcanons

obey me masterlist | masterlist

mammon has nests in the higher parts of his rooms and in little nooks and cranny’s for his crows to use. mammon has small windows along the high parts of his walls and near the nests that are always open so that his crows always have a way into his room. mammon routinely leaves food and water out for his crows in easily accessible areas and mammon has memorised his crows favourite foods.

his crows leave little trinkets everywhere around mammons room. near his pillows. on his bedside table. in various spots on and around his car. in the nests. his crows will even leave little trinkets they’ve found on his desk at R.A.D.

mammon either hyper-focuses on one thing, or he vaguely focuses on a hundred things. whenever he hyper-focuses his task is done perfectly and in the least amount of time possible. the only challenge is that he doesn’t tend to hyper-focus on things that people notice.

mammon is a genius when it comes to maths however he only really cares enough to use it for gambling and betting. mammon can accurately predict any gambling game but he tends to throw games so that he doesn’t get kicked out or punished by lucifer for cheating.

because mammon’s sin is greed, he can always tell when someone is feeling greedy which gives him heavy advantages whenever he plays.

(no one has ever noticed mammon’s talent in maths because a) no one expects it so no one looks for it, and b) his opponents either so frustrated/smug that they never notice)

mammon has good academic smarts (even by demon standards) but he doesn’t care enough to use them at school. mammon of course is a genius at maths, he, like most demons, is excellent when it comes to history, and he’s almost a natural when it comes to home economics.

mammon spent most of his time balancing his duties and looking after his brothers when they were younger in the celestial realm, and when he and his brothers fell mammon spent most of his time solely focusing and looking after them, especially satan.

mammon is a master of patience. between looking after his siblings (both in the celestial realm and in the devildom), adjusting to the devildom, looking after baby satan and dealing with all the insults he gets daily, his patience even outlasts some angel’s.

mammon is good at academic smarts, however his talents really lie in his street smarts. if anyone ever properly focused on mammon in public, they’d notice that he changes how he acts depending on who he’s speaking with, what he’s trying to achieve, and where he is.

mammon is actually a fairly private person. the only things that are commonly known about mammon is that he’s one of the 7 lords of hell, he and his brothers fell from the celestial realm, and he’s the avatar of greed. mammon seems like a fairly shallow and simple person on the outside, but he tends to prefer that.

the only people he’d ever want to see him as more then greed, would be his brothers but after centuries of being insulted and called scummy and useless by them, he started to accept his role and he actually accentuated his greed.

mammon doesn’t steal anything that he doesn’t plan on giving back, he ‘steals’ from diavolo however he only does so around others (lucifer, barbatos, or asmodeus typically). if he wanted to steal something, chances are that he wouldn’t actually be caught. whenever mammon gets ‘caught’ he obviously gives back the item, however he also adds in a trinket or something extra when he gives it back, an action that is mostly always unnoticed.

his crows will definitely harass whoever is particularly mean to mammon, and mammon will always stop his murder of crows from harassing his brothers.

mammon is actually very clever when it comes to his debts to witches, and he’s never once entered into a contract with someone he’s in debt to. whenever he makes his deals with witches he’s already calculated basically every pro and con the deal will cause.

believe it or not but mammon’s never been tricked into a pact. if he’s entered into a pact that he’s been ‘tricked’ into, he wanted to enter the pact and the trick had nothing to do with it.

mammon is a master at haggling and bargains. mammon can find the most luxury of skin care products or clothes for extremely cheap, and he can haggle down anything from a cheap price to an absolute steal.

mammon tends to think very quickly, usually faster then he can talk which means that he tends to accidentally skip parts of his sentences, but his thinking so quickly is perfect for when he haggles or scams people.

mammon knows all of his brothers favourite things, and occasionally he’ll sneak something they like/want into their rooms. sometimes he gets caught and whenever that happens chances are that he’ll get blamed for something, but he always deflects, falls back into his avatar of greed act and takes off (after leaving the gift of course).

#obey me #obey me headcanons #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me barbatos #obey me asmodeus #obey me mammon headcanons #obey me asmo

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aclowntiny · 11 months

Text

🦉 Seventeen as Hogwarts Students 🏰

This picture filled me with so much serotonin 🥹 y’all can refer to these headcanons as the basis for all the Hogwarts AU fics I’m going to be writing 😌👀 get ready I can’t believe I held out this long 😂

S.Coups

☆ When the sorting hat was placed on his head, it paused in thought for a moment as it decided between Slytherin and Gryffindor. In the end, though… “Must be Gryffindor!” His caring heart won out the ambitious houses’ battle! At least, that’s what the hat said, and Seungcheol is determined to prove it right!

☆ Seungcheol is a Half-Blood, but both of his parents are wizards, so he grows up pretty chill on all the purity stuff but not knowing much about how people with no powers live. It’s definitely a curiosity for him, though.

☆ His favorite subjects are Defense Against the Dark Arts because he likes the idea of being able to protect others from harm and Charms because he likes small, quick, useful spells.

☆ He signs up for Ancient Runes because it sounds cool then highkey regrets it. It just kind of goes over his head.

☆ Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team right here 😌 Athletic and a great leader, Seungcheol is honored to receive this role even though it’s so obviously well-suited.

☆ Intimidating AND adorable. Seungcheol’s Patronus can do it all! His guardian takes the form of a Rottweiler dog: brave, loyal, protective, sweet to those who it cares for 😌

Jeonghan

☆ When the Sorting Hat hits his head, it immediately rumples in confusion. “Oh, you’re an interesting one, aren’t you?” It waffles between Hufflepuff and Slytherin before finally declaring… “Can you hear him trying to bargain? Must be a Slytherin!” Jeonghan, for his part, just laughs.

☆ The Yoons are an old wizarding family and their son knows next to nothing about the Muggle world. Thusly Jeonghan makes up a bunch of bullshit at school about Muggle life to convince everyone he totally does. It works every time…so long as no Muggleborns are present at least.

☆ Jeonghan adores Charms class because it paves the way for so many useful spells and gives him a whole arsenal of things to use. He also loves Divination aka bullshitting class because he thrives, duh 😌 the professor loves him, too, because he participates so much and knows what to say, but somehow it escapes his notice how often his predictions are actually accurate.

☆ History of Magic is a lot to remember and not an interesting enough class to give him the drive to study hard, so it’s his hardest subject.

☆ He plays on the Quidditch team because his friend convince him to, but man does it turn out he’s a skilled Beater. This man is a menace with a Bludger.

☆ Thinking of his happiest memory, Jeonghan exclaims “Expecto Patronum!”, unsure what to expect until he sees the burst of light come flying out, taking the shape of a little crow that lands on his shoulder. Not what he was expecting, but the bird charms him immediately with the way it playfully tries to get his attention.

Joshua

☆ “Oh, aren’t you a fun one?” Joshua, frankly, isn’t sure how to take that. Try and be more fun? “What are you planning?” The hat chides, bringing a slight flush of embarrassment to his face. “Lot of crafty ones this year, eh? We have another Slytherin!”

☆ Joshua’s a Muggleborn, so sometimes he feels like a fish out of water, but man is he liking the air. He wants to see it all, understand all that’s moving around him, and use magic to his advantage and enjoyment as much as possible!

☆ Being skilled at languages, Joshua takes up Ancient Runes as an elective and actually really likes it. Decoding is fun and it could prove useful if he decides to become a Curse-Breaker. He also likes Potions because it’s a nice, calm class.

☆ Transfiguration lowkey stresses him out, like what if he goes to transform his stuff and it never comes back??? Or a person?

☆ Slytherin’s Keeper. Good luck trying to score when Joshua is on the pitch 😌

☆ A bunch of other students ooh and ah at Joshua’s stag Patronus because that’s the one famous people get. Or something like that. The tall, antlered figure is elegant, imposing, and yet with a gentle side as it bows its head to its caster regally.

Jun

☆ “You spend a lot of time thinking about others.” Junhui’s eyes widen- he wasn’t expecting to have so much revealed through the hat. “I- I try to,” he replied modestly, at which the hat chuckles. “An innocent mind. Hufflepuff it is!” He’s still trying to wrap his head around how the hat read him and what it meant as they help him off the stool.

☆ He’s a Half-Blood, his mother being a witch and his father a Muggle. He got more experience with Muggle culture than his brother did, so he ended up getting to bond over showing him non-magical inventions 🥹

☆ Care of Magical Creatures is absolutely his favorite class, like Jun gets so excited every day they meet wondering what amazing being he’ll interact with next. The day they had a kneazle cat was pretty much his favorite day at school ever. He also enjoys Muggle Studies because it gives him lots of materials for letters home to his lil bro 🫶🏻

☆ Doesn’t really have a class he hates, but Arithmancy takes the most work so 🤷🏻‍♀️

☆ He tries out to be a Hufflepuff Chaser, but doesn’t make the cut 💀 avid fan and watcher of Hogwarts matches who sometimes tries to follow the commentator up to his post.

☆ Can’t suppress a grin in Defense Against the Dark Arts when a cute little striped cat bursts from his wand, turning around to rub against his legs.

Hoshi

☆ “Bravery aplenty!” Exclaims the Sorting Hat, which makes Soonyoung grin even wider, his excitement growing, “Eager too. A hard worker, sure, but this one’s too daring for Hufflepuff. Better be Gryffindor!” “Yes!” Soonyoung knew he’d be happy anywhere, but he wanted to be sorted with the lions and it looks like he got his wish!

☆ Soonyoung is a Half-Blood. Pretty much all of the Kwons are wizards, but somewhere up the family tree are some Muggleborns, maybe even a Muggle or two. All are welcome in Soonyoung’s family, so he grows up with little understanding how anyone could care about things like that!

☆ Loves to fly! It’s his favorite thing ever, like good luck getting him out of the sky. He also likes Defense Against the Dark Arts because it’s an active class, one where he can move, duel, and practice being in a real-life situation.

☆ Feels like History of Magic is all in one ear, out the other 🤕 that class is a cram before the test vibe for sure.

☆ One of Gryffindor’s Beaters. A little too excited about it, so some accidents have nearly happened but hey, it makes for an exciting game 🤷🏻‍♀️

☆ When that time comes in Defense Against the Dark Arts, a bunch of his friends tease him that he’ll have a small Patronus like a hamster or something, but he insists it’s going to be a powerful tiger, and he’s right 😌 is too overjoyed at the sight of the glowing tiger to rub it in their faces, though 🐅 big memories and emotions = big Patronus??? Not guaranteed, but in Soonyoung’s case certainly!

Wonwoo

☆ “Smart kid,” the Sorting Hat comments when it’s set upon Wonwoo, “sure, you’ve got a bravery about you, you’re kind, but you’re a Ravenclaw!” Wonwoo just nods, thanking the hat- he agrees with the verdict, happily joining his table.

☆ Being a Muggleborn, Wonwoo has a drive to learn about how magic works. Why do some people have it? Why don’t witches and wizards seem to know this or care, especially if they care about bloodlines so much? He also wants to be one of the best just to put the people who doubt him in their place.

☆ One of the few Hogwarts students who actually enjoys Arithmancy and History of Magic. To him, they’re just calm subjects he can focus on and pore over, which is kinda his study method anyway tbh. It kinda works out though because then they go to him for tutoring.

☆ Boy is good at everything, none of the classes are really a struggle for him. Divination seems like the biggest waste of time, though, once he gets in there.

☆ Joins Quidditch as one of Ravenclaw’s chasers. He isn’t sure how much he’s going to like it, but he loves being part of the team! Quite an adept scorer.

☆ People all assume it’s going to be a cat, but Wonwoo casts a polecat Patronus. So, you know, he gets it in the name even though it’s more rodent. Polecats are crafty, comfortable in their home groups, and probably more similar to their caster than everyone might have originally suspected.

Woozi

☆ “Someone’s a hard worker,” comes the Sorting Hat’s teasing comment upon touching Jihoon’s head, “you’ll study well, won’t you? But that dedication…that’s Hufflepuff for you!” Jihoon is a bit surprised, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape at the news, but he likes to think the hat is right: he’s dedicated to his dreams, hardworking. Maybe that is his home.

☆ Being a Muggleborn, Jihoon has a bit of a tough time adjusting to magic. In some ways, he’s almost a bit resistant simply because he doesn’t want to rely on waving a wand for every little thing he could handle himself.

☆ There’s something so inspiring to him about looking at the stars, so he looks forward to Astronomy class. He also enjoys Transfiguration, the ability to make something new totally amazing him. He wonders what it feels like to transform like that.

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts is kind of a boisterous, stressful class in his mind. All the running around and fighting isn’t really his style.

☆ Has enough other extracurricular stuff going on that he passes on Quidditch tryouts, but enough good friends play that he tries to make it to every game he can!

☆ At first, he isn’t sure why a bat Patronus would suit him, especially when everyone thought he was going to get a cat, but bats are known for using their voices to guide their way. They rely on their music and take time to trust, and Jihoon sees that as he bonds with his little guardian. Both of them take time to themselves, but thrive best in their circles when they come out of their shells.

☆ “Bad thoughts don’t often cross your mind, do they?” The voice of the hat muses upon its placement atop Seokmin’s head. “And you’ve a big heart, yes, indeed… most definitely a Hufflepuff!” Seokmin claps, happy to be in a house with some friendly-looking people and a bit shy to hear the hat say such nice things.

☆ Seokmin is a Muggleborn, both of his parents so proud to have magical children. He thinks it’s super cool too and always says he knew all along his family was magical 🥲 all the magical stuff absolutely amazes him, even the most tedious things are things he wants to experience!

☆ He loves Care of Magical Creatures because omg look! A unicorn! A real-life hippogryph!!! Bowtruckles! It’s all so unbelievable, yet so real, like dreams have been laid out before him. That’s the same reason he looks forward to Herbology, like where else can you see sentient plants?

☆ Loves every class! They are all exciting! *Ancient Runes has entered the chat* Ok, maybe classes can be stressful.

☆ He wants to get over his nerves on a broomstick, so to do that he tried out for Quidditch and makes Seeker. He likes that position because it’s a little removed from the pandemonium of the game and he can think like a Snitch 😌

☆ He’s honestly expecting a small animal, not feeling very brave as he shouts “Expecto Patronum!” but well aware he’ll just be ecstatic if he gets any animal form. Imagine his surprise when he gets a magical creature, a beautiful unicorn leaping from his wand! “I- I made that???” He grins, immediately reaching up to try to stroke its mane, awestruck at the beautiful, pure creature even if he doesn’t realize how perfectly it suits his heart.

Mingyu

☆ “You’re a bit bold, aren’t you?” Mingyu nods, thinking he’s supposed to answer the hat. “Not exactly the most courageous…” “Hey!” “Confident, confident certainly…” “M-hm,” he nods again. “You believe you have skills to offer Hogwarts.” “Yes,” Mingyu agrees. “Send this one to Slytherin!” The hat chuckles.

☆ The Kims are an long line of wizards, Mingyu one of many Pure-Blood sons. He doesn’t know much about Muggle culture, frankly, but has more privilege in lifestyle than he does prejudice against people with different blood.

☆ Potions ace. So good at it sometimes the other students are salty at him, but he just shrugs. It comes naturally for him, whether it’s preparing the ingredients or knowing just how much to add. He also likes Divination just because it’s fun. What do his tea leaves say? He legitimately wants to know.

☆ He does have a fear of flying, so broom lessons are not his favorite 😅 he’ll stay on the ground, thank you.

☆ Obviously does not join the Quidditch team, but is on the stands cheering super loud at every game!

☆ Everyone can’t help but tell Mingyu how perfect his husky Patronus is once it manifests, the goofy, vocal, affectionate dog running around practically looking like his twin!

The8

☆ As if drawn in by his aura, the hat muses as it rests upon Minghao’s head. “An artist, eh? Kind, forgiving, wise, and very calm too. A bright one. Ravenclaw, certainly Ravenclaw!” Between what he felt was a suitable sorting despite telling himself he’d be happy with anything and all the attention, Minghao practically glows at the hat’s words.

☆ The Xus are a Pure-Blood family, but Minghao’s parents are both avid Muggle Studies enthusiasts, so their son grew up with lots of knowledge and no prejudice. They all see magic as a chance to help others with less.

☆ Nature is important to this boy here, so Herbology is where his gifts lie. He’s so gentle with the plants and genuinely appreciative of them all, it’s a rewarding class to be able to track their lives. Following the movement of the stars is another joy of his as well as sketching the sky and making star charts, so Minghao does great in Astronomy too.

☆ There’s no class he really hates, but his magic isn’t as Charms-suited as it is focused on creative magic, so those quick spells actually take him more time.

☆ Because he likes flying, he tries out to be Ravenclaw’s new Seeker when the position opens up and earns it 😌 he’s so calm yet fast as he flies, it looks like he always knows exactly where his little gold friend is!

☆ People make jokes about his Patronus being a frog or something of the like, but they’re sure proven wrong by the beautiful swan that slides out, skating gracefully on the air around Minghao.

Seungkwan

☆ The moment the Sorting Hat hits Seungkwan’s head, it shouts out “Oh, we have a loyal one here. This one is a Hufflepuff!” A very decided ceremony for Mr. Boo 😌 he’s both shook at how little time it takes and happy the hat thinks he’s loyal.

☆ A Half-Blood! His mom is actually Pure-Blood, his father a Muggleborn. He loves magic, but also really enjoys learning about the Muggle world. Totally open to differences. Would even consider marrying a Muggle.

☆ LOVES Care of Magical Creatures. One of the students who almost always volunteers for demonstrations because he wants to touch all the animals! Unless they’re, like, giant bugs or something that’ll try to kill him, of course. Muggle Studies is really fun because it’s a way to connect with a part of his heritage and understand others. It gives him social ground with Muggleborns and even non-magical people he’ll interact with in life.

☆ Who made Arithmancy a class??? It stresses him out just to look at 💀 You’re allowed to drop electives, so he straight-up nopes out of Arithmancy and signs up for Divination instead.

☆ He enjoys flying, but being up that high and being chased by sporting goods that want to break your bones? Nah, he’s good, thanks. It’s much more fun to watch and offer comment, so Seungkwan becomes the school Quidditch commentator…and often gets chastised by professors for sassing rival times and whining about missed shots that were so easy, come on.

☆ Really really hopes his Patronus is strong enough to take an animal form, so when it comes out looking big he’s kind of proud yet shook. The light forms a dolphin that bobs back over to his owner, leaping in circles in the air around him and bringing a smile to his face.

Vernon

☆ “Interesting mind on this one, eh?” Those are the first words the hat speaks when it’s set on Vernon’s head. “A perfect fit for Ravenclaw, this one!” He’s proud. His mother was a Ravenclaw during her Hogwarts days, part of the most artful and creative-minded house. He can’t stop smiling all night!

☆ He’s a Pure-Blood wizard, his maternal grandmother having actually attended Beauxbatons before settling down in England. His father’s side always attended Hogwarts, so the school is really what joined his family. People tend to assume Vernon’s a Muggleborn, though, just because he looks so spaced out or amazed sometimes.

☆ Yet another lover of magical creatures right here! They love him right back too 😌 other students get jealous of how much they approach Vernon. He’s also quite good at Arithmancy, there’s just something about it that clicks in his head.

☆ Accidentally set something on fire in Potions class once. Enough said.

☆ Enjoys playing Quidditch for fun with his friends, but doesn’t try out for the formal team. He’s happy to support Ravenclaw alongside his classmates.

☆ Can’t help but laugh when his Patronus comes out as a small turtle. It’s cute, though, he and others defend it, a good embodiment of happy memories.

Dino

☆ Another pretty fast sort. “You’d make it in Gryffindor, sure,” the hat mutters, “but I believe your place is in Slytherin!” And with that, Chan is off to his table! He’s a bit surprised, having expected Gryffindor, but hey, Slytherins are ambitious, so the hat’s probably right. He’ll do anything to succeed.

☆ The Lees have a whole-ass family tree on display- they’re Pure-Bloods. A little proud of it, but frankly Chan himself doesn’t care, almost feeling that much more like being the one to break the line just to shut them all up about it.

☆ Defense Against the Dark Arts star! That one kid that always gets called up to show everyone how to do it right 😤 such a natural dueler and just really good at dispelling negative vibes 😌 he also enjoys flying a lot, it just helps him feel free to soar into the air!

☆ Conversely, he has a lot of difficulty in Potions class, which makes him want to double down on it so he’s no longer stressing about it!

☆ Slytherin’s Seeker 😌 he’s such a nimble flyer with great control, Chan was born to play this role!

☆ He lowkey wants something big and intimidating like a dragon or a rhino, so when a small burst of light appears he fears he’ll be disappointed. The moment the otter slides into view, though, all he can do is smile and reach for it, taking its hand to run after it and play, too.

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cheesus-doodles · 8 months

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Could you do a headcanon or a short fic of Taiju falling for Takemichis sister. Taiju x reader tokyo Revengers. How would Taijus siblings react to it and the Black Dragons?

asdjnsjdnsj this is cute in a way, there isn't enough Taiju or Takemichi love - and there is no way either would ever win a poll so XD this is not irl time period accurate in the slightest, a very lighthearted piece that is a bit different from what I usually write!

Masterlist

‎‎‎‎‎‎

Wrestle-o-mania

Yandere Taiju with Takemichi's Older Sister Reader

It was obvious to the two pairs of eyes spying on you through the small open crack of the bedroom door that Taiju wasn’t trying to hurt you, not in the slightest. Moreso, their older brother was simply letting you live out your wrestling fantasy with him as your willing dummy; your excited rambling filling the normal tension that usually permeates the air of the Shiba household, the two siblings watching with bated breath as you put the blue-haired gang leader into a side headlock.

“...and did you see that double chickenwing facebuster?! That was fucking awesome! And-”

Breaths were held as the curse word slipped your lips, but against their better knowledge, Taiju didn’t even blink an eye, simply nodding indulgently and (as discreetly as possible) snuggling in against your chest; despite your bulky figure, your strength was still nothing next to his. But god only knew if either of them said such sinful words, the thrashing they would have received would be nothing short of legendary for fouling their tongues with such filth. So why you? What made you special to their notoriously foul-tempered brother?

You were an oddity in the Shiba household, to say the least. The precise type of person that Hakkai and Yuzuha would have never guessed could catch Taiju’s eye. Far from the quiet, submissive, and gentle Christian girl that they had always imagined the oldest Shiba would bring home, someone that would cook and care for him, you were loud, rambunctious and overly obsessed with all things wrestling. Yuzuha had even seen you wipe the floor with some air-headed rival delinquents who thought you were an easy mark to take down Taiju, and though you weren’t spared from being punished by your boyfriend for returning with more scapes and cuts than usual that night, he never went to the extent like he did with them, holding back his strength by a vast margin. Plus, the only thing you could cook consistently well was fried rice.

So how on god’s green earth did someone like you end up with a person like Taiju? Or more so where did Taiju even find someone like you? Did you not fear the other?

Hakkai was barely able to conceal the turbulent feelings in his chest, shock and horror intertwining like wine and honey as he watched with wide eyes Taiju chuckling along with you as he switched positions with you with ease, smoothly putting you into a facelock, with one of your ankles caught between his thighs. “Shi-” The youngest of the Shibas started, only to be quickly stopped by Yuzuha slapping her hand over his mouth. “Shut. Up,” she hissed, before the girl chanced a glance back through the crack in the door.

Fortunately for them, Taiju seemed too distracted by you to notice their presence as you shrieked in excitement at your current predicament. “The stepover toehold facelock??!!”

“You didn’t think I could learn it huh?” The Black Dragon leader crowed, lightly tugging your head backwards and stretching out your back and neck, ever so careful not to put you in any pain. “This shit ain’t that hard.”

“You absolutely have to come to my wrestling club!” You gushed, pretending to struggle in his hold, striking your hand down on the bed as if you were counting down in a boxing ring, all the while giggling. “The others would never believe me!”

But that was enough to dampen whatever cheer that the other had on his face, Taiju releasing you from his hold and pulling you back up to sit on his bed. Eyebrows pinching together, that telltale vein on his forehead started to throb once more as those yellow eyes bored down on you with his signature ferocity that had harden Black Dragon members quavering in their boots - the same hard gaze that Taiju leveled on his siblings right before pouncing on either. “I thought I already told you - I don’t want you going there to mess around with those filthy sinners.”

You, however, weren’t the slightest bit unnerved much to both Shiba siblings’ surprise. “Awww but Taiju! It’s wrestling!” You pouted. “And it’s only once a week!”

Your pleas didn’t work on the notoriously stubborn boy, who simply huffed. “I said no.”

This was one issue that you couldn’t seem to give up. “I can’t miss wrestling!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up.“You could just come with me, ya know? If you’re so worried.”

Yuzuha blinked. Were you…bargaining? With Taiju?

The vein almost popped, and both siblings flinched in unison. This was it. Having to tiptoe around their oldest brother for so many years and learning to read his moods from his body language to avoid any unavoidable outbursts, there was no doubt that Taiju was at his tipping point. Beast-like eyes narrowed, the larger boy looming over you like a tiger eyeing its prey, the shadow over his face growing as the foul mood manifested. As if on instinct, Yuzuha shoved her younger lanky brother behind her, though from the shallow and rapid breathing that could barely be heard even in the sudden stillness of the world around them, the orange-haired girl wasn’t exactly the most confident of the situation either.

As Taiju raised his hand, readying his strike, the spying Shibas couldn’t look away. It fell like the blade of a guillotine -

And landed right on your side as he dug his fingers into your ticklish spot, and you squealed, wriggling as you tried to get away to no avail, the still-stronger Taiju easily pinning you down on the mattress. “You’re going to listen to me, you hear?” He growled playfully as he dug into your other side as well, and your laughter erupted. “You’re going to quit wrestling club tomorrow.”

“Wai-it! N-no, stop that! I’m not quitting!” Your words fell on deaf ears as your boyfriend only renewed his tickling efforts, pouncing on you with vigor. “S-STOP!”

Pulling away from the cheery scene that shone through the small crack of the door, Hakkai and Yuzuha shot each other puzzled looks in the dark hallway, your giggles echoing through the otherwise silent house. Despite the relief of having gotten away scott-free after spying on such a personal situation (if Taiju caught them, there would possibly be no words to describe what would happen to the two of them), the questions remained.

What the fuck was that all about?

‎‎

A week had passed since they had first stumbled upon that domestic scene by pure coincidence and three since you had burst into their life unannounced, and despite their life somewhat returning to normal, neither Hakkai nor Yuzuha could seem to get you out of their minds. It was clear there was a growing pattern between Taiju’s good mood - one where he completely ignores their presence - and his normal demand of absolute obedience from them, which turned out to be when the Black Dragon leader was home alone and you were nowhere in sight.

“You sure that it’s alright I come over?” Takemichi hesitatingly asked, glancing between the two Shiba siblings. It wasn’t the first time the time leaper had met Hakkai, of course, just the first time he had really noticed and been noticed by the Second Division Vice Captain. “Don’t want to be a bother.”

Hakkai waved off his question reassuringly. “Our place is nearby. Won’t be an issue at all.”

But alas, it seemed that the Second Division Vice Captain spoke too fast, too soon, as the trio walked straight into a wall of Black Dragon members mulling outside their residence, pristine white uniforms gleaming under the harsh afternoon sunlight amidst the quiet Tokyo suburban neighborhood, the sound of their footsteps coming to an abrupt halt though not quick enough to prevent them from being noticed. “Hey, isn’t that the Tokyo Manji Gang uniform?”

“Toman? Here?”

Takemichi reared from the glares leveled his way, the uncertain atmosphere sliding straight into the - this was not good at all.

Unbeknownst to you on the other side of the crowd, you hadn’t even heard the initial stirs of commotion, engrossed with fiddling with the ring of the new shark plush keychain you had just received in a bid to hang it on your school bag. There was no second thought at the sudden light that flooded your eyes as Taiju pulled away from attempting to help, both of your heads having been bowed over and squinting at the small golden ring as the blue-haired delinquent barked instructions at you - it wasn’t unusual for your boyfriend having to drop everything to take calls or what not, being the gang leader that he was.

He really should join your wrestling club was what you mused to yourself, as your well-calloused fingers failed time and time again to part the rings and slip them through each other. It would probably be mighty fun to get to practice with someone as strong as him.

A few more minutes, and then a triumphant shout left your lips. “I got it!” You announced proudly, pumping your school bag into the sky, your newest attachment clinking as it jingled around the rest of your collection. “I told you-”

You paused, looking up for the first time since you had started your valiant attempt. The ruckus and rising tension rushed back into your world like the pressure of a vacuum chamber being relieved, the cries of ‘Death to Toman’, whatever that was supposed to be, coming as a sudden surprise to you; the attention of the white-clad boys you had just met turned away from you towards an unseen threat and Taiju nowhere in sight. This called from an investigation, you decided, casually swinging the brown bag over your shoulder and squeezing through the restless mass.

“Tai-Taiju!” With a final push, you popped out the other side of the crowd, though your words died off as quickly as they left your lips as your eyes landed on the unfurling scene. A blonde-haired boy wearing a middle school uniform, collar clutched in the grip of your boyfriend, what was supposed to be his face looking more like fruit pulp than an actual person. Splats of blood splattered across Taiju’s fist and down the barely-white shirt of the other’s school uniform, another blue-haired boy you vaguely recognised as Taiju’s younger brother left sprawled on the ground looking equally beaten.

For any other ordinary person, the frankly gruesome state of affairs would have been enough to set them running as far and fast as their feet could take them, let alone set off the alarm bells in their head - after all, what kind of older brother would thrash his own siblings without a very good reason? But not you, no; for there were no thoughts in your head save one.

One smooth step forward, and you had tucked your head under his arm, grabbing his arm and thigh. In the next heartbeat, up his heavy figure went, his clutch on Takemichi loosened enough to free the boy. Arm muscles bulging, it didn’t look like you were the slightest breath off despite lifting someone larger than you. And then you fell backwards, and down Taiju went, his back landing on the asphalt road with a loud crash in what his temporarily stunned mind reminded him was called a belly-to-back suplex - you would be pissed if he named it wrongly later.

“Don’t you scum dare touch her,” came his cursing from the ground right as you leapt back to your feet, and the Black Dragon members froze at the command from their leader. But you minded none of them, your ferocious, blazing gaze turning on the crouched, pathetic form of Takemichi. Marching forward in their direction, Hakkai gulped, though he still held his ground. The sense of dread knotted itself over and over in the blue-haired Toman member as your shadow came to a halt, towering over the quaking blond delinquent on the ground, his body and face already bruised from the early beating he took from Taiju. He didn’t like the look of this one bit - were you as crazy as his older brother? It would certainly explain a lot, given of all the people you could be dating, you picked Taiju.

And then you all but sang out your next words. “Take-chan!” Your eyes brightened, sparkling in the daylight as the menacing shadows lifted from your face in an instant.

Even though it didn’t seem possible at first, Hakkai swore that Takemichi paled even further, his ashen skin the color only reserved for the dead as he attempted to scramble back and away from your towering figure. “Wha-? Onee-san?” He stammered out. “It’s not what it looks like! I swear!”

The world seemed to pause as everyone present stuttered as if on cue, with the Black Dragon Tenth Generation President surprised enough to raise both eyebrows. Onee-san? The shithead of a Tokyo Manji Gang First Division Captain was your younger brother?

“I can’t believe you’re wrestling without me!”

“No! It’s not what it looks like!!” Takemichi pleaded again, but it was too little, too late, his words falling on deaf ears. You had already scooped him up into a fireman’s carry across your shoulders, swinging him round to ride piggyback, and then throwing yourself backwards and slamming the poor boy back into the ground.

“And don’t let this distract you from the fact that in 1988, the Undertaker threw Mankind off Hell in a Cell, and plummeted 16 feet through an announcer’s table,” you all but shouted at your completely disoriented younger brother, his blue eyes clearly swimming in his head as you shook him by his shoulders in front of a group of stunned Black Dragons and Toman members.

Taiju grabbed your arm, his eyes narrowing, the familiar vein on his forehead starting to throb once more. “Are you done?” He growled at you. If you had been anyone else, he would have all but pounded you into the ground, girl or not - no one treated him like this in front of his men and got away with it. But you were hardly intimidated, and of course you weren't. You were the only exception to his life, the only one whose antiques he entertained time and time again for some blasted reason. And even if he didn't share your love of wrestling, there was one thing for sure - he didn't want you sharing it with anyone else, especially not this piece of Toman shit, even if it was your younger brother. You were his.

You hummed, your thoughts moving on to your next highest priority. Picking up your discarded bag, you lightly swung it around one shoulder. “Oh Taiju! You’re up already!” You cheered, looping one arm through his and proceeding to drag him off, your mind already empty of your younger brother still lying dazed on the road. “Come on, wrestling club is starting soon, we're going to be late!”

"What did I tell you about wrestling club?" The notorious fickle gang leader flicked your forehead as the two of you disappeared round the corner, your laughs echoing down the still street. "I said to quit, didn't I?"

“Your sister is crazy,” Hakkai mumbled to the groaning Takemichi, whose only response was to hold his head in his hands.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokyo revengers x reader #tokyorev #tokyorev x reader #shiba taiju #shiba taiju x reader #taiju x reader #hakkai #shiba hakkai #yuzuha #shiba yuzuha #takemichi #tokyo rev #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev x you #cheesus answers

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ghouljams · 9 months

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https://www.instagram.com/reel/CtUMsTaI2XT/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cts-4TaMG33/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

https://www.instagram.com/reel/Cu9yQALNQOs/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==

Instagram showed these videos to me simultaneously and it reminded me of the Fae au for some reason. I have no explanation as to why but I thought I might send them to you anyway. Maybe because you mentioned Witch darling feeding crows.

I hope your having a nice week. Remember to stay hydrated and to eat well 💗

"That's not from this side," Price nods at large black bird in your arms. You glance down at the blue black feathers and clicking beak, the crow cradled close. You snap a sprig of parsley off the overgrown patch of herbs and hand it to the bird to hold in its little claws.

"He's from the city," You agree, "caught a nasty curse from the neighborhood kids."

"Folks cursing birds now?" The smile on Price's face does something to your stomach, you keep your eyes off of him. He's been pushing the threshold lately, getting closer to it as he leans against the fence. The magic warps around him, you can feel it shivering every time he gets too close.

"Of course not, people curse kids," Price hums, nodding.

"Kids that happen to live near overprotective witches."

"Overprotective is a stretch," You tell him, feeling your anxiety buzz at the accurate assessment. Price raises a brow when you look at him. Even the crow in your arms seems to doubt your assertion. What does it know, it's a bird.

"Why do you do that?" Price asks, and again you feel the threshold almost... part for him. It seems to thin at least. You'll have to fix that.

"Do what?"

"Disagree with me."

"Please," You roll your eyes, "I can't be the first person to do that."

"You're doing it again," He strikes a match against the brick of the garden wall, lights a cigar with it, his smoke seeping into your space. You swallow, not eager to be known so well by a man so dangerous. Especially when you so desperately want to tell him you're not.

Price takes your obvious silence with a smile, and you know you're caught. "That's alright sweetheart," He says low, you can feel the tendrils of his smoke swirl around your ankles, "it's hard asking for the things you want, but you'll get there."

You snap your preferred hex-breakers free from your herb garden, doing your best to ignore the stroke of smoke over your bare skin. You make a mental note that his magic can get through the threshold, and hurry inside with your avian client, Price's eyes heavy on your back.

#fae!Price #oc: witch #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price x oc #john price x oc #john price x reader #f!reader #f!oc #Witch you are going to let him in eventually and all hell will break loose #Or Price will wear down the threshold until it thinks he's supposed to be there #and then you're more fucked #I love those little videos they're so cute #holds carrion bird like a baby

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ultrone · 28 days

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what music do you think Jackie would listen to…?

very random playlist i know lmaooo i hope it’s at least a bit accurate. i tried to stick to before the 2000s as much as i could 🫡

Gwen Stefani/No Doubt for sure. I feel like she’d specifically love “Cool” by Gwen

I Touch Myself by Divinyls

Crush by Jennifer Paige

Fastlove, Pt. 1 by George Michael

The Cranberries (influenced by Shauna 🤔)

The King of Wishful Thinking by Go West (she got obsessed with it after watching Pretty Woman)

Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer

Back For Good by Take That

Some songs by Fleetwood Mac & Stevie Nicks, like Sable on Blond, I Don't Want to Know, Edge of Seventeen, Only over You…

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) by Kate Bush

Last Goodbye by Jeff Buckley

Madonna

Waterfalls by TLC

Right Here - Human Nature Radio Mix by SWV

Living On My Own - No More Brothers Radio Mix by Freddie Mercury

I feel like she’d also be lowkey into Country 😭

Shania Twain

Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus

Jolene by Dolly Parton

Amber by 311

Baby, I Love Your Way by Big Mountain

Angel by Shaggy, Rayvon

The Sign by Ace of Base (medicated Lottie got her into it)

Had a hanson phase lmaoooo 🧐

Torn by Natalie Imbruglia

Bitch by Meredith Brooks (she’d sing/yell this one in Shauna’s car)

I Try by Macy Gray

Girlfriend in a Coma by The Smiths

Alanis Morissette

There She Goes by The La’s

Two Princes by Spin Doctors

You Get What You Give by New Radicals

Fast Car by Tracy Chapman (I feel like Shauna would overplay it while driving)

Be My Baby by The Ronettes

Duran Duran

Bon Jovi

Fantasy by Mariah Carey

Genie in a Bottle by Christina Aguilera

Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus

Livin' la Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Savage Garden

Uptown Girl by Westlife

Come On Eileen by Dexys Midnight Runners

Summer Of ‘69 by Bryan Adams

The Power Of Love by Frankie Goes To Hollywood

Hero by Enrique Iglesias

Whitney Houston’s top hits

Let’s Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams

Some Aerosmith songs, like Crazy & I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing

The Shoop Shoop Song (It’s In His Kiss) & One by One by Cher

I Love You Always Forever by Donna Lewis

Black or White by Michael Jackson

Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows (from the Shrek 2 soundtrack 😭)

Alone & These Dreams by Heart

I Think We’re Alone Now by Tiffany

More Than a Feeling by Boston

What’s Love Got to Do with It by Tina Turner

Close to Me by The Cure

Blue (Da Ba Dee) by Eiffel 65 ☠️

Endless Love by Luther Vandross, Mariah Carey

Be My Baby & Divine idylle by Vanessa Paradis

Smile by Lily Allen

I’m Gonna Miss You by Milli Vanilli

Conga by Gloria Estefan 🤣

New Kids On The Block

Don’t You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds

Queen

Hey Ya! by Outkast

Dreaming Of You by Selena

extra… songs she’d listen to if she spoke spanish or was latina cuz i’m mexican and i’ve been thinkin abt this 🙂‍↕️

Tu Dama De Hierro by Marisela

Belanova, especially Rosa Pastel, Me Pregunto, and Cada que…

Formas de Amor by Calo

Mi Media Naranja by Fey

Bazar & No Controles by Flans

Gracias A Dios by Thalia

La Ventanita by Garibaldi

Ahora Te Puedes Marchar by Luis Miguel

Cuando Calienta El Sol by Luis Miguel

Mírala, Míralo by Alejandra Guzman

Virgen de las Vírgenes by Gloria Trevi

Ni Una Sola Palabra by Paulina Rubio

No Puedo Olvidarme Ti by MDO

La Calle de las Sirenas by Kabah

Enamoradísimo by Mercurio

Veneno by Ragazzi

Dile Que la Amo by Kairo

Hombres G

Oye Mi Amor by Maná

Rica y Apretadita (feat. Anayka) by El General

Moriré by La Factoria

Enloquéceme & Shabadabada by OV7

Timbiriche

Amante Bandido by Miguel Bosé

Alejandro Sanz

#jackie taylor thoughts #yjs thoughts #yellowjackets thoughts #jackie taylor #yellowjackets #jackie taylor headcanons

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

Text

Now I’m Covered In You [Chapter 3: Blood Moon]

Series summary: Aemond is a prince of England. You are married to his brother. The Wars of the Roses are about to begin, and you have failed to fulfill your one crucial responsibility: to give the Greens a line of legitimate heirs. Will you survive the demands of your family back in Navarre, the schemes of the Duke of Hightower, the scandals of your dissolute husband, the growing animosity of Daemon Targaryen…and your own realization of a forbidden love?

Series title is a lyric from: Ivy by Taylor Swift.

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+), dubious consent, miscarriage, pregnancy, childbirth, violence, warfare, murder, alcoholism, sexism, infidelity, illness, death, only vaguely historically accurate, lots of horses!

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @ipostwhatifeel @teenagecriminalmastermind @quartzs-posts @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @chainsawsangel @itsabby15 @serrhaewin @padfooteyes @arcielee @travelingmypassion @what-is-originality @burningcoffeetimetravel @blackdreamspeaks @anditsmywholeheart @aemcndtargaryen @jvpit3rs @sarcastic-halfling-princess @flowerpotmage @ladylannisterxo @thelittleswanao3 @elsolario @tinykryptonitewerewolf @girlwith-thepearlearring @minttea07 @trifoliumviridi @deltamoon666 @mariahossain

Let me know if you’d like to be added! 💜

“I wish you could join us,” Nico says, almost sulks, snow catching in her hair. She’s riding a gorgeous white mare that the Duke of Hightower purchased for her. He’s in no hurry to gift you a horse. King Viserys—epochs ago, on your wedding day, on the blood-orange July afternoon when you looked into Aegon’s glassy, shadow-ringed eyes and knew exactly what sorts of demons you’d be sharing your life with—once promised you an Andalucian for each child you gave your husband. He hasn’t mentioned it since. It’s slipped his mind, most likely; that’s what happens to the king’s notions that concern the Greens. They stumble around in his skull for a while, find a window, jump from the ledge and free-fall into oblivion.

You smile up at Nico with your feet planted firmly on the ground like fertile roots and a hand resting on your belly. Five months along, over halfway there, farther than you’ve ever been before. The season is winter, but you feel like spring. You feel like blossoms unfurling, like ivy scaling walls of frozen stone. “Next year, with any luck.”

“But what if I’m with child by then?”

“Then you’ll get to return the favor and gallantly wave me off as I gallop into the distance, a vision of Boudicca herself.”

“Didn’t that story end with mass murder and suicide?”

“Nico, not everything needs to be said out loud.”

She laughs, raucous and jarring. Horses’ ears go back; crows take flight from stripped trees. It’s Christmas, and that means it’s also boar hunting season. The feast tonight will require a boar’s head to be served—a tradition that dates back to ancient Norse pagans, to faiths of earth and thunder and sea—and the court has assembled to procure one, the men armed with spears, the women riding along to cheer them on, hounds braying and circling agitatedly, servants sprinting around with jugs of wine. “Alas,” Nico says. “I cannot help it. I am Italian.”

Then she reels her mare around and trots off to join the hunting party. Once not so long ago, you had no true friends here. Now you have at least one. Two, if you count Aemond…although you can’t decide if Aemond is a friend. Sometimes he feels like less, other times much more. He grows close and then is far away again, a tide that’s always a few hours from receding. You watch Nico depart with hardly any heartache. Your relative incapacitation will be finished soon enough, your position vindicated. The clock is ticking.

Daeron compliments you as he canters by on Tessarion, heavy hooves leaving impact craters in the snow: “Princess, that’s a lovely gown.” Lavender, purple, the color of royalty, a declaration of your own worth. That’s not something you can rely upon others giving you. You’re between worlds at the moment: neither fully Navarran nor English, not an outsider nor a future queen.

“Thank you, brother. Good luck!”

Daemon reins up beside you, peering down with glittering dark eyes. When anyone ventures too close to Caraxes—whether horse or human—he snaps at them like a wolf. Surely there is no beast better suited to its master. “I think you’d look better covered in red. Isn’t that the color of your people, Navarre?”

“Prince Daemon,” you purr, one hand still on your belly, your victory in progress. “Enjoy the hunt. I know you get restless when you haven’t murdered anything in a while.”

He should quip back, but he doesn’t. He just grins, his gaze locked on yours; and his grin stretches wider until it sends a bolt down your spine like cold lightning. You have the sudden, dreadful impression that there’s a joke you aren’t in on. “You have no idea.”

Caraxes squeals and jerks back his head as Vhagar shoves between you, massive withers and haunches making space where none existed before. Caraxes nips Vhagar’s shoulder, drawing blood; Vhagar snorts in reply, a low rumble like a storm. Caraxes retreats, ears flattened, but Daemon pitches you one last crooked smirk as he leaves, a threat, an oath.

“Perhaps we should serve Daemon’s head at dinner,” Aemond says.

“He certainly looks like a pig to me.”

“You aren’t too disappointed, I hope. To have to stay behind.”

You smile, petting Vhagar’s silky muzzle. She has a white blaze down the front of her face, white stockings like patches of snow on rich spring soil. “It’s temporary.” What was Aemond like on my wedding day? You try to remember. All you can conjure is a vision of him staring at the floor as you linked your trembling hands with Aegon’s and the priest spoke, as if the match was so ill-fated he could not bear to witness it. It took you a year to learn that he didn’t disapprove of you after all. Something else weighed on him that day, something else dragged down his eyes like an anchor moors a ship.

Aegon passes you both on Sunfyre. “I’ll bring you back something, wife!” he vows, swaying drunkenly in the saddle, his chaotic silver hair shagging in his eyes. Fortunately, Sunfyre seems aware of his rider’s limitations; his steps are lithe and cautious, almost timid. His coat is a river of gold beneath grey skies. When Aegon urges the horse to go faster, Sunfyre ignores him.

You turn back to Aemond and raise an eyebrow. “Make sure he doesn’t break his neck?”

“As always.” And then Aemond is gone too.

The king will not join the hunt. He is getting too old for it—although no one would say that aloud—and Queen Alicent, ever-sacrificial, is staying behind in the palace with him, overseeing preparations for the feast. The other royals vanish into the forest: Daeron and Nico, Aemond and Aegon, Daemon and Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, trailed by the rest of the cast of characters, Blacks and Greens alike. Joanna Montford was replaced by Agnes Stafford, who was replaced by Sibylla Beaufort, who was replaced by Cecily Chaucer. There is no shortage of young women whose fathers are rabid to push them into the bed of the man they call the heir to the throne. A servant brings you a cup of apple cider, and you sip it as snowflakes melt into the fur of your coat.

“It’s not personal,” Rhaenyra says. You whirl to see her and Syrax; they have appeared like ghosts, both pale and ethereal, both fearsome without being malevolent. “Prince Daemon’s taunts, I mean. Any of our antagonism. Distrust that swells into hated.” Her hair is long, loose, strands of ivory in the wind. Her eyes—clear water, cool and stoic—flick down to your belly and then back up to your face. She’s a lot like Aemond, you think, seeing the extent of their resemblance for the first time.

“It feels very personal.”

“I could have liked you in a different life,” Rhaenyra counters, like parrying swords. “You have just enough ruthlessness in you. A river, but not a sea. You thirst for freedom. You wear chains called obligation. But when my father named me heir, he painted a target on my back. Even if I renounced my claim, there would always be men willing to take up arms for me. I would always be a threat to Alicent and her children. Just by breathing, just by having blood hot in my veins. Either I will be queen…or I will forever be at the mercy of the Greens. Would you trust your life to the Duke of Hightower, if you were standing between Aegon and the throne?”

“No,” you admit. You can barely bring yourself to trust the Duke now…and you’re on his side.

“And so we are destined to be mortal enemies.” Rhaenyra shrugs; no great loss, she means. “I only wanted you to know that it would have been just the same if you had been sent to England from Portugal, or Sicily, or Castile, or Bohemia, or Genoa, or Naples, or France, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s not about who you are. It’s about what you’ve married into.”

And then she takes off on Syrax, joining her uncle-husband and her eldest sons in the forest, dissolving into a gnarl of branches like tangled threads. You retreat back inside Westminster Palace to do what you do best: watching, wondering, waiting for the future to decide to arrive.

~~~~~~~~~~

When the hunting party returns hours later, Prince Aegon is empty-handed. He’s also soaked to the skin. Water drips from his face, begins to freeze in his hair. He shivers and gripes as servants throw blankets over his shoulders and usher him away towards his bedchamber to be warmed in a bath cloudy with herbs and steam and rose petals. Cecily Chaucer hurries after them, her lovely brows knitted together with girlish concern. Of all Aegon’s mistresses, you like Cecily the best. She’s insatiable; she keeps him so busy that he rarely totters into your bed to paw at you before being reminded that you have been temporarily exempted from your marital duties.

“He fell into a stream,” Nico informs you, in equal parts disapproving and amused. “Aemond and Daeron fished him out like a trout.”

Your eyes scan the group: shaking snow from their hats and their coats, congratulating each other on obstacles jumped and animals killed, Prince Daemon accepting applause from his fellow Blacks for being the attendee to slaughter the requisite boar. A good omen for their side, surely. Servants carry the gigantic, bloodied carcass off to be prepared by the cooks. But one face is missing from the crowd. “Where’s Aemond?”

“Oh,” Nico recalls as she yanks off her gloves by the fingers. “He has something for you.”

“For me?”

“In the courtyard,” she says. Daeron approaches to collect her, taking her hand and kissing the back of it, his large blue eyes bright and adoring. He’s gentler than his brothers, more content, less complicated. And he’s proud of being a Targaryen. He’s growing out his white-blond hair; it’s already longer than Aegon’s. “I think you’ll find it…” Nico grins mischievously. “Perfectly bearable.”

You trudge out to the courtyard through the mounting snow, cold wind tearing at your hair and clawing pieces of it out from under your hat. Aemond is the only other person there…and he’s elbow-deep in a colossal black-furred monster. There is a pile of entrails on the snow beside him glistening like rubies, garnets, rosalines, wine. Servants ferry away bowls full of offal: a lung here, a rope of intestines there.

“What is that?”

Aemond stands and waves at it cavalierly, drops of blood flinging from his leather gloves. “A bear.”

“What am I supposed to do with a bear?”

“It’ll make a fine rug for your bedchamber. You can place it by the fireplace and lie on it on cold nights. Read your books, do your embroidery.”

“It was bold of you to assume you’d be able to find me a Christmas present on Christmas day. Not much room for error.”

“This isn’t your Christmas present.”

“Then what’s the occasion?”

“Congratulations.” He glances at your belly, rounded out like ripening fruit with his brother’s child. A stain of blood like fever rushes into his cheeks. He blushes very rarely, and only ever around you. No one else seems to know that he’s capable of it. “For being over halfway there. It must bring you great relief.”

“Yes, I suppose the Duke of Hightower won’t get to ship me back to Navarre now. In a crate, like an animal that couldn’t be tamed.”

“What a waste that would be.”

You shrug, stepping closer, though mindful not to squash any bear organs beneath your shoes. “I wouldn’t mind being sent home if there was anything for me to go back to.”

Aemond stares at you, alarmed. “You haven’t grown attached to anything here? In nearly a year and a half?”

“Well…there are a few things,” you say, smiling at him. Aemond smiles back. His long silvery hair is secured in a single thick braid, his gaze curious. You try not to imagine what is under his eyepatch; that strikes you as something he wouldn’t want you to think about.

“Vhagar,” Aemond teases.

You laugh. “Yes, mostly Vhagar.” You look up at the grey sky, thick with clouds like steel. “But I miss my family. I miss the heat, the mountains, castles and cathedrals the color of golden sand. I miss riding horses and sparring with my brothers. I miss being understood, being loved. In Navarre I was alive. But in England…ever since I arrived here…it’s like I’m locked up waiting for someone to let me out. But the prison is my own flesh.”

Aemond studies you. “It’s not for much longer,” he says at last, soft and solemn. “And I would change it if I could.”

“In any case, I really can’t go back, I think. It wouldn’t be like it was before. My siblings are marrying and spreading out across Europe. My parents are getting older. And if my husband discarded me for being incapable of producing children, no one else would ever want me. I’d never have my own household. I’d be doomed to be a spinster, forever dependent upon the charity of my parents or my siblings. Either that or in a nunnery. Although, truthfully, Navarre has some beautiful nunneries.”

“You’d make a terrible nun.”

“Because I’m too vicious or too lustful?”

“Vicious, without a doubt. Lustful…I don’t feel qualified to speak on.”

“Depends on who’s in front of me, I suppose.”

You contemplate each other across the gutted bear carcass, snowflakes filling up the space between you instead of words. Again, Aemond’s cheeks flood red. When he wrings his hands together, you notice that they’re shaking. His hair is sopping; beads of melted snow pool along the edge of his jaw, slither down his throat. He could catch his death out here.

You go to him, pull off a glove, and press your bare palm against his forehead and then his cheek: the scarred one, the ruined one. “You’re burning up, Aemond,” you say, worried. “Are you alright—?”

“Fine.” He shies away from your touch. But then, without thinking, he moves to tuck an escaped lock of hair back underneath your hat. As his thumb grazes your face, you feel the warm stripe of bear blood that he inadvertently marks you with. “Goddamn, I’m so sorry—”

“No, that’s perfect.” You smile up at him. “You know I secretly favor red.”

“Princess?” Nico calls from the doorway, and you cross the courtyard to meet her. “You’re still out here? You’re missing a riveting game of Tric-Trac—” She cuts off, her eyes going wide as they skate across your cheeks. “Sweet Jesus, how’d you get blood all over your face?”

You glimpse back at Aemond as you answer. “Carelessness.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re weaving ribbons the color of evergreens into Nico’s hair when he comes into your bedchamber, carrying a long thin box made of pink ivory wood.

“Oh, marvelous!” Nico trills, clapping her hands. “What’s inside?”

“Poems, I hope,” you say.

“I hate to disappoint you,” Aemond replies placidly. Half of his hair is pulled back from his face, the rest flowing freely. He’s wearing a dark, rich, jade-like color, just like Nico is, just like the Duke of Hightower and Alicent and Daeron will be. Someone has probably even stuffed Aegon into something green. You are the lone nonconformist in a deep purple like the skin of a plum. In truth, you can’t win. People will gossip no matter what you wear. Red makes them think of what Daemon calls you, of the wasted blood you’ve spilled. Green makes them speak of how you’ve yet to serve their faction properly. Black is out of the question. At least when they see you in purple, your name gets to live in the same sentence as the word royalty.

“Well?” Nico prompts eagerly. “Open it!”

You look at her, apologetic. So does Aemond.

“Oh,” she realizes, then sighs theatrically. “Alright. I understand. I’ll deport myself now. Ciao.”

Only when she’s closed the door behind her does Aemond open the box. The lining inside is crimson velvet. It cradles a sword. You gasp and lift the weapon out of the box by its hilt, then pull off the scabbard. It is lightweight, silvery, perfect. You can see your own reflection in the polished steel. There are shallow engravings down the length of the blade: mountain ranges, twisted oak trees, bridges and cathedrals, the flag of Navarre. You can only see them when you tilt the sword to catch the rage-orange glow from the fireplace.

“I had it custom made for you,” Aemond says, abruptly nervous. “So it wouldn’t be too heavy or too long. The hilt should fit your grasp precisely. I took one of your gloves for measurements.”

“A thief.” You marvel at the sword, twirling it a few times. The blade cuts through the air, soundless, seamless. “Aemond, this is…this is so far beyond what I deserve. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s part pleasure, part necessity. You might actually need to protect yourself one day.”

“It’s a shame I’ll only be able to bully you with it under the surreptitious cover of darkness.”

“Just until Aegon is king. He wouldn’t care, I don’t think. He wouldn’t forbid you from training.” He gestures to the blade. “And the engravings are—”

“All things from home.” You beam at him. “From Navarre.”

“That’s what the common people call you, you know. The Princess from Navarre.”

You glide the sword back into its scabbard and return it to the box. “They must hate me. For failing to secure the succession.”

“I wouldn’t assume that.”

You take the pink ivory wood box from Aemond’s hands and place it in the chest at the foot of your bed, your preferred spot for squirreling away valuables. And then you lift out Aemond’s present: a vast tapestry that he helps you unfold to reveal the design of.

“It’s incredible!” he exclaims. “It must have taken you ages!”

“Well, all I’m allowed to do currently is needlework, so I’ve done a lot of needlework. I made one for Aegon too, although I’m not sure what his hobbies are besides drinking and fucking Cecily Chaucer. So his tapestry is mostly landscapes.” You point to various scenes on Aemond’s. “There’s King Arthur and Guinevere…and Sir Lancelot, arriving to ruin them. There’s Beowulf battling Grendel’s mother. There’s Robin Hood…there’s the Rollright Stones and Stonehenge…and in the middle is Saint George slaying a dragon. I made the dragon black, with little white whiskers if you look very closely. And I’ve named him Daemon.”

“They’re from the stories I told you,” Aemond says quietly, examining the tapestry. “On that afternoon back in July. When we took Vhagar out together for the first time.”

“It must have been memorable.” You smile. “And then the border is ivy and roses, mostly green, of course…except for one little red rose I added down here in the bottom corner. And that’s—”

“That’s you,” Aemond says. “Red like Navarre.”

“Yes.” Your voice is suddenly wistful, a little sad. “You’ve made me like the sound of that word again.”

“What? Navarre?”

You nod. “Hushed, gentle…” Reverent? Awed? Protected? Cherished? “Like a prayer. Like a poem.”

You help Aemond refold the tapestry, avoiding his eye. The only sounds are the crackling of the fireplace and the muffled echo of violins and lutes through the palace halls. Outside the window hovers a blood moon, a ruby in onyx, a drop of fury in an ocean of void. He takes his Christmas gift back to his own bedchamber, and then he returns to escort you to the feast.

“Oh, darling,” Alicent says when you sit down beside her at the high table. There are sprigs of holly in her hair, but her dark eyes are glazed and melancholy. They often are. Sir Criston Cole—a knight whose family are vassals of the Duke of Hightower—is her shadow, peering watchfully around the Great Hall. “Be sure to eat plenty of boar…and bread…very good for the baby. But no fish! And not too many vegetables. Here, let me get you some of your apple cider…” Alicent waves to a servant, and they promptly fetch you a full cup.

King Viserys gives you a distracted nod but no other acknowledgement. He is deep in conversation with Jace; Luke is gawping, mildly disturbed, at the severed boar’s head that adorns the table, cherries shoved into the sockets where its eyes were this morning. Rhaena offers you a kind, demure smile. Baela glares at you as she sips her wine. She’s the most war-worthy of any of the Black children; you imagine that Daemon will have a sword and armor waiting for her when the bloodbath begins. Surely she’d inflict more damage than either of Rhaenyra’s docile, dark-haired sons, like skittish lapdogs always looking around for someone to tell them where it’s alright to sit. Baela’s Arabian, Moondancer, is small but remarkably swift and agile. She’s the best jumper of any of the royal horses.

Far from the table, in the midst of dancing nobles, Daemon and Rhaenyra are enmeshed in whispers and caresses: he tilts up her chin, she grasps the small of his back. You feel a yearning, a hollowness beneath where your ribs circle your heart and lungs like a halo. Without thinking, you glance to Aemond. He’s been looking at you too; he pretends he wasn’t and begins sawing through a slab of boar meat with a serrated knife. Daeron is asking him about sparring techniques. The Duke of Hightower is parading Aegon around the hall to pay his respects to the nobility of Southern England, men who will kill and be killed for him one day before too long. Aegon is bleary-eyed and bungling, tripping over his own feet; the Duke is practically dragging him around from his scruff like a kitten.

“Sweetheart, will you dance with me?” Queen Alicent asks Nico, who immediately leaps up from her chair.

“Of course, Your Majesty! It would be my pleasure. It’s a shame that the king cannot join us. It must be difficult having a husband so much older than you are. Nearly your father’s age!”

Everyone at the table stops what they’re doing and gapes at her.

“Oh,” Nico begins haltingly, mortified. “Oh dear. I should not have said that. I cannot express the depths of my remorse.”

King Viserys booms out a laugh, and then Nico is smiling again. “Go on,” he tells her. “Enjoy the festivities. Keep the queen entertained when I cannot.”

As Nico and Queen Alicent descend to join the dance, you remain where you are, where you always are: on the outskirts, inside the glass bowl. But not for much longer, you think gratefully, running your palm over the swell of your belly. You eat as much as you can, but you don’t have much of an appetite. Your hips and ankles ache, your body forever adjusting to a never-before-known burden; there is torsion like a sailor’s knot in your lower spine. When the discomfort refuses to abate, you excuse yourself from the table and make slow, meandering laps around the fringes of the Great Hall, draining cup after cup of apple cider as servants bring them to you. The Duke of Hightower casts you a stern warning of a frown before he resumes wrangling Aegon. Aemond, still at the high table talking to Daeron, follows you with one intent blue eye.

“You can’t honestly believe he’d make a good king,” Daemon says, materializing out of the crowd like a bat at twilight. Enormous Scottish deerhounds—Christmas gifts from King Corlys and Queen Rhaenys beyond England’s northern border—trail after him, growling at you. Daemon flicks his strange, deep-set eyes towards Aegon. “He’s a drunk. He’s an embarrassment. He has no athletic prowess whatsoever. I’m sure you can confirm that from firsthand experience.”

“I can confirm that he hasn’t murdered his first wife yet, surely an attribute by anyone’s calculation.” You watch the Duke tow Aegon from one exchange to another, and for the first time, you wonder what sort of man Aegon would have been without the weight of the throne on his back.

“But of course, it wouldn’t actually be Aegon ruling if the Greens won. It would be Otto…and Alicent…and Aemond.”

Daemon puts great emphasis on this last name. You turn to him, startled.

“Oh, forgive me, have I said something that gets under your skin? Or…rather…into it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daemon grins, baring his teeth like fangs. “Of course you don’t,” he says. “Tell me, would you happen to know who Otto is planning on marrying him to? I’ve heard rumblings.”

“Someone with parents who have ample soldiers and equipment with which to mutilate you, surely.”

“Helene of Austria.”

“Helene?” The breath evaporates from your lungs, vanishes like brief winter daylight. “The daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor?” It’s an immensely powerful match. It’s a match so ambitious it has rarely even been suggested. You summon triumph to your voice, an arrogant glint to your eyes. “This is very bad news for you.”

“And for you too, I think.”

He knows, you think, terror-stricken, aware you aren’t doing enough to hide it. That I desire my husband’s brother. That I want Aemond. That maybe I even love him. You try to fling some flippant retort at Daemon; you cannot find one, it’s like scratching your fingertips along the bottom of an empty box. Victorious, he swigs his wine and begins to saunter away, panting Scottish deerhounds on his heels. And then you call after him: “It didn’t get you far, did it?”

Daemon halts mid-step and slowly—very slowly—turns back to you. “What?”

“All that Targaryen blood. All that bone-white hair and ferocity, charisma and swordsmanship. King Viserys still chose to reject you as his heir. He still doesn’t trust you to advise him. He still denied you his daughter’s hand in marriage, and you were spineless enough to let him. You left her alone to suffer first. With a husband who couldn’t satisfy her, with a lover who could only give her bastards. And now you expect the world to forget who you’ve always been: reckless, savage, deeply selfish. All those things you stalk around here so proud of are worthless, because you’ll never have what you really want. You’ll never have the throne. And neither will Rhaenyra. You are the same as I am, Daemon. I am an asset and yet a curse to Aegon; you helped win the North for Rhaenyra, but the South will never yield to you. They will fight you with everything they have, every man and horse and blade. But there is one difference between us. When I bear Aegon a son, my curse will be lifted. You will never stop endangering Rhaenyra, her cause, her inheritance, her children, her life. And if she burns, it will be at least half because of you.”

You’ve never seen him truly angry before, you realize now; you’ve never seen him without the undeniable upper hand. His grip rests on the hilt of his sword. “I should—”

“Go on,” you dare him in a fierce whisper, your fingers closing around his wrist. “Slay Aegon’s wife and child in front of all the court. It’s the kindest thing you could do for the Greens. Make yourself more enemies, win us more friends. Everyone suspects that you are a beast already. Prove them right.”

Daemon rips his hand out of yours. “Happy Christmas, Navarre,” he hisses. “If fate is just, it will be your last.” And then he storms away from you, Rhaenyra meeting him at the other end of the hall and speaking with him there—conspiring? inquiring? scolding?—in urgent whispers.

Nico pushes through the throngs of dancing nobles to reach you. “Are you alright?” she asks, a palm laid on your shoulder.

“Fine.” Helene, you think, rubbing the aching curve of your back with one hand, sipping apple cider with the other. They’re both trembling. Beautiful, wealthy, coveted Helene.

“Are you sure? You don’t look good. What did that bleached weasel have to say…?”

But you can’t hear her, because the pain in your spine is now reaching like poison through veins to spread across your belly, to tighten, to clamp down, to gnash with steel teeth like needles, like knives. Your cup tumbles out of your gasp, spilling apple cider across the floor. You yelp in pure shock at how unexpectedly the pain comes. And then you begin to understand what it means. “No,” you plead in a whisper. You stagger backwards until you hit the wall. “No, no, no…”

“What?” Nico asks frantically. People are beginning to notice; heads spin in your direction. Tears are springing from your eyes. Blood is snaking down your legs, slick and hot on the velveteen inside of your thighs. Soon they’ll all be able to see it: your agony, your ruin. The Greens, the Blacks. The Duke of Hightower, Prince Daemon.

Nico doesn’t understand. You don’t know how to tell her. I’ve killed another child. I’ve failed again. You can feel Aegon crawling back into your bed. You can see letters from your mother—so proud at last, so full of praise—shredding themselves into dust. And then it flashes like cannon fire in your mind, not just the loss of an heir but the loss of a life: a name that will never be given, a voice that will never be heard, steps that will never leave imprints in sand or soil or snow.

I have to get out of here. How am I going to—?

An arm circles around your waist, strong, shielding, taking as much of your weight as it can. “Walk with me,” Aemond says. And then he half-carries you through the nearest door and down a passageway, Nico struggling to keep up, chatter exploding at the feast you left behind.

As soon as you cross the threshold into your bedchamber, as soon as you are out of sight of ill-intentioned observers, you collapse to the floor. Your palms and knees bruise against wood; a wail tears from your throat. “Not again,” you sob. “Aemond, I can’t do this again, I can’t—”

Nico says: “Are you sure it’s a…?”

Aemond is kneeling on the floor beside you. He’s helping you pull back the hem of your gown. You see it on his face before you see it on your own skin: there’s blood, a lot of blood, too much for it to be anything but lethal to the child. It’s all over his hands and his clothes; it’s all over the floorboards.

“Oh God,” Nico moans, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh…oh my God…”

“Get the physicians,” Aemond tells her. “Speak to no one else. Go now. Go!”

Nico rushes out of the room. You can’t stop sobbing. The pain is excruciating, not waves but one continuous, saw-toothed twisting, a feeling like being gutted, like you’re a slaughtered bear and someone has their fingers raking around inside your womb.

Aemond is trying to pull you to your feet. “Come on, I’ll help you get into bed—”

“Aemond, I can’t.”

“Yes you can—”

“I can’t!” you cry out, weeping helplessly. Then he stops trying to lift you and instead sinks down to join you on the floor. You clutch wildly at him—at his forearms and his shoulders and his long silvery hair—and he doesn’t flinch away. He draws you into him, his hands staining you with blood everywhere they land. You don’t care; you don’t want him to stop. You bury yourself in the warmth of his chest, his arms around you like the border of the moon, like a ring.

“Shh,” he soothes through your hair. “Shh, shh. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Please don’t leave me. Please stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Aemond says, his voice hoarse. “Of course I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Scenes like fragments of a dream, things that later you aren’t sure were real:

The physicians and midwives delivering your dead child, Aemond tilting a cup of strong wine against your lips. Your ladies washing blood off you with dripping rags as Aemond stands with the physicians in the doorway. They think you’re asleep, but you’re not; you’re not awake either. You’re halfway here and halfway not. Parts of the room are foggy, others are as clear as glass, as still water. A physician is telling Aemond that the child was a boy, perfect in every way except the one that matters most. He doesn’t breathe and never will. Too early, too small, beautiful and doomed.

“Don’t tell her that,” Aemond is saying. “Don’t tell her anything unless she asks.”

Now it’s later—two minutes, two hours, it doesn’t matter—and he’s dragging someone into your bedchamber. They’re fighting him, they’re trying to cling to the doorframe so he can’t force them inside.

“Get in there,” Aemond growls.

Aegon replies: “I don’t know what to say to her, what the hell do I say—?”

Your husband is at your bedside, undoubtedly miserable but not in a way that makes you feel like he sees you. There is the scent of wine and sweat drenched with perfume, lemon and lavender. “I’m sorry,” you murmur like a faint wind.

“It was not your fault, wife.” Aegon’s eyes are bloodshot, his shoulders hanging low and limp. “It is a great tragedy, but it was not your fault.” And then he glances at Aemond to make sure he’s done the right thing.

Now your husband is gone, and Aemond is holding a cool cloth to your forehead. He speaks in little more than a whisper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Just send me back to Navarre,” you say weakly. “I can’t do this. Talk to the Duke. He’ll get the marriage annulled. I know he will. He can find another wife for Aegon, another alliance. He’ll be glad to be rid of me.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I’m ruined. I’m worthless. Just send me home.”

“You are home,” Aemond insists.

You watch the firelight as it flickers over him, smooth skin, brutal scar. “What happens next?”

“You’ll try again.”

“There’s no point, Aemond.”

“Look at me,” he commands, cradling your face with his hands. “You’ll try again. And again, if you have to. But you will have children. I know you will.”

His voice is breaking. His eye is glistening, tortured. This is how the father should be. This is how Aegon should be. “Aemond, why are you so hurt by this?”

“Because you are suffering,” he says. “And because they’re pieces of you.”

You lose sight of him, float for a while, return again thinking of Aegon and the Duke of Hightower and Daemon and Rhaenyra. “No one here really knows me. No one loves me.”

Aemond is standing beside your bed. “Nico loves you.”

You gaze listlessly up at him and say nothing.

“Aegon loves you, I believe,” Aemond continues, but he won’t meet your eyes. “In his own way.”

Still, you look at him. Still, Aemond doesn’t look back.

Say it, you think, desperate, aching, tears biting in your eyes. Say that you love me too. Even if it’s just as a sister, an ally, a friend. Please, Aemond, just fucking say it.

He doesn’t say it. Maybe he leaves, maybe you are submerged in unconsciousness, maybe both. The memory dissolves around the edges until it is a pool of star-flecked obsidian like the night sky.

But this next part you know with certainty was real, because it is something you can touch, like a millennium-old relic from Egypt or Athens or Babylon. You wake in the morning to find three items on your nightstand: a cup of apple cider, a cup of strong bitter wine for the pain, and a single piece of parchment folded and tied with a red ribbon. You blink confoundedly at it for a while as muted winter sunlight seeps in through the windows, not being able to make sense of it. And then you open the parchment. Aemond has written at the top of the page in his hectic, uneven letters: Ivy. You read his words and all the anguish that went into them—smudges from his own fingerprints, wayward drips of black ink—like falling down the rungs of a ladder.

Scream into me, I’ll be the jar for your fury; I’m starving

for anything that tastes like you. I’ve been counting the lines

on your knuckles, the boards of the floor, wondering if you’ve

figured out that I’d wear fractures and bruises like amethysts

if it means you’d touch me. For seventeen months you’ve been

the ivy on my walls, vines like the needle-width legs of a spider

carving out my past, every last notch and shadow—splitting ribs,

scraping marrow—until there’s no part of me left that can remember

a time other than this, your voice and your wit and the scraps of you

I’ve stitched into me. Ask me what I burn for and I’ll whisper like

the dawn: you growing over my skin until I’m covered, tendrils

twisting down to the bone, everything I was before

ash and myth beneath your hands.

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you

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