#but!! i think they look good there at least!! AND IN GENERAL THEY ALL LOOK SO GOOD THANK YOU
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Danny always knew tax evasion ran in his veins. His parents hadn’t been the most… morally sound of people, and less so as ecto-scientists.
He just didn’t think their lessons would ever result in a criminal empire that spanned the entire city and then some. Danny hadn’t seen it coming. His parents definitely wouldn’t have.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Fox.”
Danny ‘the Phantom’ Fenton sat down across from a rather tense looking (to Danny’s enhanced senses, anyways) Brucie Wayne and his right hand, Lucius Fox. He smiled pleasantly, matching Brucie’s vacant smile with that touch of Midwest suburban mother smile.
With his acquisition of multiple Gotham companies, his rather newly established Fentom Co. became one of the largest holding companies in Gotham, the first being Wayne Enterprises and the second being Drake Industries. After months of constantly working his butt off while fending off assassins, reforming Gotham’s slums and cleaning up some of the streets, and taking care of his nest of street kids, Danny garnered enough power to even stand close to Wayne Enterprises in terms of financial powers.
The topic of this meeting was, of course, the proposed merger of Wayne Enterprises’ Medical R&D division with Fentom Co.’s pharmaceutical department. Usually, Wayne Enterprises wouldn’t even consider such an offer, as their Medical R&D division was the most well funded and least likely to be part of a Rogue’s scheme- and therefore most beloved- department of the same nature in Gotham. However, Danny had something the other offers didn’t.
Blackmail.
His overly polite smile widened as Bruce’s mask twitched. His eyes slid over to Lucius Fox.
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’ve heard much about your genius in… research and development.”
By that, Danny meant that he knew Lucius Fox helped develop Batman’s tech.
He did a lot of stalking that week. It felt rather… invasive, even if he did get a bunch of juicy secrets.
You know what they say: dead men tell no tales… but halfas are generally blabbermouths.
“Is that so? It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Fenton.” The man quickly glanced between the youngsters, accurately predicting that this might have something to do with Bruce’s active nightlife.
“Yes, it is such a pleasure to meet you.”
Wow, Danny didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone sound both so perky and dead inside at the same time, except for Susan at Gotham High’s bake sale.
Bruce wishes he could be a Susan. He’s at best a Becky.
“Will you be staying, Mr. Fox? You’re the head of the R&D department, correct?”
“Ah, yes-”
“Oh, Lucius! I think you had an appointment with the finance department right now! I heard Sally talk about it, you know!”
Lucius Fox sent an unreadable look at Bruce before rallying.
“Oh, it must have slipped my mind. My apologies, Mr. Fenton, it seems as though I can not skip this appointment.”
“That’s alright. I suppose it gives you… plausible deniability… should things go wrong, haha!” Danny allowed his smile to widen a little further than natural. Bruce tensed but Lucius Fox simply politely smiled and left the room.
Ignorance is bliss and all that, Danny amusedly thought.
As the door shut with a click, Bruce dropped the vacant Brucie smile and sighed.
“What do you want,” he gritted out. Danny wasn’t about to let that slide, not after he spent the better part of this month wrangling Bruce’s problem children.
“Ah, it must be because I’m from the Midwest, Brucie, but where I come from, we value these things called manners.”
You uneducated jerk, he doesn’t say.
Danny leaned back in his chair, loosening his smile into something relaxed and sharp.
“…” Oh, boy, Danny could just hear the other man’s blood pressure rising. “What is the purpose of your visit, Mr. Fenton?”
“Relax, Brucie,” Danny sing-songed in a non-relaxing way. “I’m just here to discuss a possible merger that I’m sure you’ll agree to, and give you a couple of updates on your… wayward bird.”
He heard Bruce take a slow, controlled breath. “Very well. Where. Would. You. Like. To. Start.”
Danny ignored the gritted out sentence. He passed a contract to Bruce, who took it like he was handling a live bomb.
“Here’s the proposal, Mr. Wayne. Please, look it over.”
He watched as Bruce looked over the contract with an eagle eye before lowering it, scrutinizing Danny.
“This is… very fair.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. Of course it was fair. Danny wasn’t interested in exploiting the Waynes, despite them being very able to afford it.
He’d brought fifty manufacturing sites for pharmaceuticals, and offered up a building where both companies could send their workers. He provided top notch security- that definitely didn’t have any talons on staff, what were they talking about?- that came from his own security division. Granted, most of them were reformed and trained goons, but hey, creating jobs can only help Gotham’s economy and help break the cycle of poverty, right? Guaranteed by the Wayne name and, most importantly, uncompromised medicine that was accessible to everyone would be a damn good start. He’d also have Penguin’s empire to distribute it to those who couldn’t make it to a clinic or a store, and there were plans in there to work with and establish contracts with Gotham’s welfare department. Well… once Danny finished replacing them with people who wouldn’t try to take a cut of the funds and actually cared about the people. He was thinking… the multitudes of poor grad students and parents that need income. He’s in the process of building childcare centers and…
It’s a good thing he managed to save money from the taxes (thank you, Gotham’s morally ambiguous tax experts that were in desperate need for clients! He could do it himself but having a team of accountants at the ready was seriously so helpful.) because ancients knows the government weren’t about to step into Gotham and help the people here. He needs so much money to pull all of this shit off and a lot of it has to be clean.
Danny inwardly sighed and marked another thing onto his to do list.
Make money laundering fronts.

“Of course, Mr. Wayne. You didn’t think I’d come in here demanding money, did you?”
“I considered it.”
“I am, in fact, trying to help Gotham. You might not agree with my methods, but I’d rather not damage Wayne Enterprises when it’s doing so much to help the people.”
Ugh, he was doing too much work. Danny just wanted to- hah- chill at home and read bed time stories to his kids.
Bruce Wayne, the specific blend between Brucie and Batman, regarded him silently. Danny felt like he went up a few notches in the respect ladder.
Nice.
“You’re a criminal.”
“Says the man in the bat-suit breaking into places and assaulting people.”
Bruce’s hands spasmed around the contract. Danny smiled at him, taking a sip of the coffee they’d prepared. Oo, nice!
“Ah, I heard you’re adopting- pardon, fostering- Tim Drake. Getting empty nest syndrome, Brucie?” He slipped back into using Bruce’s first name. The proposal was formal. This… was very much not.
“What about it?”
“That’s very kind of you. Speaking of which, well, of your birds, I was wondering if you remembered what I asked you to do.” Danny continued, not giving Bruce a chance to reply. “Didn’t I ask for you to keep your birds in line, Brucie?”
The CEO straightened even further, form filling out to be Batman’s imposing figure. “I did.”
“No, you didn’t. Do you know where your charge is, right now? No, not the formerly dead one,” Danny tilted his head, smile shrinking.
“Don’t you dare do anything to Tim. I swear, if you even lay a hand on a strand of his hair, I’ll-”
“Sit your Armani clad ass down, Bruce.” Danny snapped. “Your son’s in your office. I don’t harm children, and your assumptions are deeply insulting. Threaten me again, Bruce, and I’ll make sure you know exactly how much I know about your birds, your cousin, and the commissioner’s daughter.”
Bruce snarled but leashed his anger just enough to sit back down. He itched to go check on Tim, but leaving a threat like Phantom unwatched felt inherently wrong.
“Your other son,” Danny continued. “Is doing quite well. He’s learning that he has hobbies again. He’s actually working under me, you know.”
“He’s what.”
Oh, yeah, that tracks. It figured that Jason wouldn’t tell Bruce about anything. He’s still conflicted about his death. Danny got it.
“Ah, that’s precious information. You’ll have to offer something of equal value if you want to know. There is, on the other hand, a piece of information I’ll give you for free.”
Danny paused for the dramatic effect. It was lost on Bruce, the ultimate drama queen of this world.
“The League of Assassins are hanging around Hotham lately. It’s getting tedious, getting rid of them. I suggest talking to your old flame, you know, with words and what little communication skill you’ve got rattling around in your noggin to get them to pull back. Her interest is… unnaturally focused on Jason.”
Danny read the dark agreement swimming about Bruce’s face and inclined his head. “Should negotiations fail, rest assured that Jason will be protected.”
“…Thank you.”
“You are most welcome. Go ahead and discuss the contract with Mr. Fox, I am sure you’ll find little problems with it. Ah,” Danny stood up, fixing his suit jacket. “And you should probably check up on Timothy. He’s probably having a great time in your office, Mr. Wayne.”
“I’ll see you out.”
“Of course.”
Having Batman escorting him out should probably be more intimidating.
Danny stood in the elevator, waiting for Bruce’s contemplative silence to put itself into words.
Sure enough, “What… what kind of hobbies does Jason have now?”
“I’d tell you to ask him, but you two aren’t on speaking terms, are you? He likes books, of course, but recently, he’s found an interest in glass blowing. He made quite a bit of progress on his attempts at sun catchers.”
“I see.”
Well, Danny’s not about to step on that landmine any more than he has to.
——
“Danny.”
“Oh, hey, Jason. Sit down, we were about to have dinner.”
Jason clambered into the window. Danny sighed. He had a door, but by the way Jason never used it, it was like the door didn’t exist.
“Mind telling me why the old bastard showed up on my rooftops with a bunch of glass and glassblowing tools?”
Danny smiled. “No idea.”
“Uh huh.”
Danny placed a hand on his chest and put on his best woe-is-me expression. The teen’s face twitched in annoyance. “Doubt? At me? Why, I never!”
A bread roll thwacked him in the face.
#dpxdc#danny phantom#batman#bruce wayne#jason todd#tim drake#dc x dp#red hood#bamf danny phantom#crime lord Danny#accidental crime lord Danny
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Discovered your virgin Lilia content and I'm in LOVE
do you think he would be embarassed if he's given him a condom for his first time ?
Perhaps...hehe. I have a short idea about this... 18+ minors DNI I can't imagine he has had much sex education, so the first time you ask if he has a condom, he stares at you in mild confusion with a blush upon his cheeks.
"A...condom? I wasn't aware I needed such a thing. Isn't that optional?"
You had to stifle a chuckle at his mild innocence and confusion, it seems he perhaps had a general idea of what condoms are used for, so you open your drawer and pull one out (you knew this day was coming, you had to be prepared!). When you hand the plastic covering to him, he holds it with an unsure hand and bites his bottom lip with furrowed eyebrows. He sat back against the plush bed on his legs, almost looking like a confused little puppy... instead of helping him (as you probably should)
"It's only optional if you wish to impregnate me, or if you don't mind the prospect of sexual diseases." He looked up at you with wide eyes and a slight blush upon his cheeks, opening and closing his mouth as if choosing his next words wisely.
"Do you not clean yourself properly?" You raised an eyebrow at this and your lips quirked up uncertain if you were amused or offended at his brazen statement. After a second of deciding the humor in the situation, you let out a laugh of astonishment.
"Lilia, I don't wanna judge you or anything, but how much sexual education did you get in the Valley? Or...at all, for that matter?" the flushed cheeks and averting gaze told you enough of that matter, and you let out a slight sigh between parted lips. You took the condom out of his hand and started to open the wrapper, explaining that condoms are more important than just getting someone pregnant. It's also to protect you from diseases, which you can get, REGARDLESS how well you clean yourself." Lilia nodded as you continued to lecture him, watching as you open the condom.
"Now. I presume you know how it goes on, at least?"
"I..." Lilia faltered, "I have a brief understanding it goes over my.." He gulped.
How cute, the way he couldn't even say it. 700 years old, and he couldn't describe how to use a condom.
Lilia removed his pants and allows you to assist him, his hands pressing against the bed behind him where his chest puffed out slightly, where you could see his rapid breathing of anticipation and watchful gaze as you rolled the condom over his stiff cock. You felt him twitch as you put it on, Lilia letting out a low whine.
"I must wear this the entire time?" He complained, "It feels weird..." his hips moved slightly, "And it looks horrid, wouldn't you agree? I still don't fully understand the point of this thing. Can we not just throw it aside and deal with any issues later? I feel this isn't completely necessary," he huffed with pouty pink cheeks. You looked up at him with a mischievous smile upon your lips, and let out (yet another) sigh of defeat.
"Well..." you pondered, slowly removing your clothes, "if you're a good boy... maybe I'll let you take it off. Maybe."
#twst#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst x reader#lilia vanrouge#twisted wonderland headcannons#twst headcannons#twisted wonderland fanart#twst smut#twisted wonderland smut#Lilia vanrouge smut#Lilia vanrouge x reader smut#Lilia x reader smut#Lilia vanrouge headcannons
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kook!reader and jj, in which reader gets jj a job and country club but the other kooks are pretty mean to him :( .
warnings: light flirting, fighting, rafe is jealous you like jj and not him, name calling
“so how are they treating you here?” you took a seat at the bar where jj was making a round of drinks. “how do you think?” he looked up from under the wisps of his hair. “okay, cool it with the sass. i was just asking.” he shook his head, huffing out a laugh. “look, i appreciate you getting me this job and all, but this shit blows,” jj glanced in the corner where rafe and his friends were dowing their beers, “and those assholes are the worst part of it all.” you turned around, rolling your eyes when rafe blew you a kiss.
“they’re so annoying, just ignore them jayj.” you sighed, eyeing the veins on his arms. “at least you look hot in your uniform.” jj pushed one of those fruity drinks you liked in front of you, leaning in as he did so. “you think so?” you hummed, a smile forming on your lips as he trailed his fingers down the side of your wrist. “yeah, i like-” before you could finish your sentence, a familiar, aggravating voice cut you off. “i see you’re still doing charity work for this piece of trash.” rafe took a seat next to you, fully aware of the way jj was glaring at him.
“how about you run back there to the kitchen and get us something to eat like you’re supposed to, pogue.” rafe spat the last word, his lip curling in disgust before landing his focus back on you. “do you always have to be an ass?” you shrugged him off, silently begging jj not to do what you knew he was fully capable of. “getting food isn’t in my job description, moron. i think you’d know that if you actually filled out an application.” jj winked, making rafe scoff. “why would i when we have people like you who need it more than i ever will?”
“rafe get out of here, seriously.” you shooed him, only for jj to intervene. “people like me? people who don’t have to depend on their daddy still?” you sighed when you saw rafe get up, his friends all somehow making their way over in unison. “let’s not do this, please, let’s just go jay.” you adjusted your little purse on your shoulder, motioning for jj to follow you out. “jay? you have a nickname for this loser?” rafe narrowed his eyes, “you know your parents would never approve of this scumbag.” jj reached over the bar, grabbing rafe by the collar of his shirt.
you stepped in front of rafe’s friends before they could team against jj. “and if her parents knew who you really were, they wouldn’t approve of you either. how does it feel knowing y/n will never choose you?” jj smiled. rafe was seeing red at this point. pulling his fist back, rafe swung and landed a punch square on jj’s cheek. the club then broke out into complete chaos. while rafe and jj were full on fighting with nothing but the bar between them, you were pushing rafe’s friends, telling them to let rafe and jj handle their business alone.
“what the hell is going on here?!” the director of the whole place came rushing in, his face beet red as he glared at jj. “just a little falling out, sir. they’re already done.” you flashed him a sweet smile, hoping he could just drop it. “you let go of that cameron boy right now, young man! his father is a very generous patron here,” rafe smirked as jj shoved him away, “and give me that apron, you’re done.” you sighed, shoulders falling in defeat as jj rounded the corner of the bar. this is officially the third job jj has gotten fired from on figure eight.
you followed jj as he balled up the material, chucking it in the director’s chest. “good, this job fuckin’ sucked.” you gasped, apologizing for him as you two walked out of the country club. “what the fuck?!” you stopped him, pulling his shoulder so he could face you. “look, i’m gonna do my own thing on the cut, and get money how i want to, alright? this shit isn’t for me. if you want to be mad at me for how i reacted towards rafe, fine, but i’m done with figure eight.” you watched him get on his dirt bike, pinching the bridge of your nose as he rode through the flowers.
#‧₊˚✩彡 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒#my first jj maybank post on here!!#leave jj requests <3#outer banks#jj maybank#jj maybank fanfiction#jj maybank smut#jj maybank x reader#jj obx#jj outer banks#obx#outer banks smut#outer banks fanfiction
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Belladonna, Forget-me-not, Hyssop, dwarf sunflower 🌻
ouagh thank you for sending a request <3 check out the list here! <3
Inc: Lilia (both present and general), Reader, Silver, Sebek mention
WC: 3.5k
Warnings: War mention, arson, crimes committed during war time (all my homies hate Silver Owls). Lilia cussing, as he should.
Flowers: Belladonna (a confession given without words aka we are pining mentally in the club), Forget me not (the one thing I remembered and how it brought me back to you), Hyssop (one last walk through a house—sort of), Sunflower, dwarf (how many ways do I have to confess for you to believe me?). Some flexibility with these.
Summary: A trinket he had forgotten pulls him down a path of memories that he wishes he could forget.
There’s a sunflower in the garden this year.
He thinks it’s quite curious when he first sees the bud, its petals still closed tight as though afraid to enter the world. He’s standing outside of the front door of his cottage with a mug in hand as he gives it a scrutinizing look. The silence of the forest surrounding his home lets him focus ample attention on how this oddity came to be. Silver has run to town and won’t be back until the evening, aiding Sebek in purchasing school supplies for the coming year, and Malleus is likely packing in his eagerness to get out of the palace for another ten months.
It’s just Lilia, his mug, and the sunflower.
“Shy, are we?” He murmurs in amusement as he raises the mug to his lips before they twist to a wry grimace. Perhaps being alone is not good for him—he’s beginning to speak to his gardens like an old man already.
He wisely turns heel and re-enters the cottage as he downs the bitter coffee before discarding the mug in the sink. He’ll wash the dishes before Silver gets home, only because he knows the boy will do it all himself if he doesn’t, which would do nothing but make Lilia feel guilty. Silver insists it’s fine, he’s happy to help his father—but it shouldn’t be that way. His brow furrows in dissatisfaction as he weaves through the cottage's halls to arrive at his bedroom.
Contrary to his room at NRC, this one is so barren it looks downright unoccupied, like no one has ever lived in it to begin with. Lilia had moved most of his valuables with him when he had received notice of his pending enrolment alongside Malleus. This at least makes sorting out what he’s to wear today much easier as he pulls open the closet to peer inside. His fingers dance along the various fabrics as he hums, and haws, and already knows he’s going to wear the same outfit he wears essentially every day.
Lilia Vanrouge has become a man of consistency—another factor that serves to paint him as ‘old’.
“Decrepit, even,” he grumbles to himself as he tosses his clothes onto the bed. Perhaps he can spice it up a bit to combat these self-perpetuated accusations through the application of an accessory. The thought pleases him enough to make him reach for the top shelf of his closet, his hand hitting against objects and shoving things around in his bid to grab something useful. Maybe he would have benefited from just floating up to see what he needed to get, because his hand soon hits an item that topples off the shelf and nearly clocks him in the face.
“Shit!” He snarls as he moves back. The box clatters to the floor by his foot with a loud rattle, causing him to glare down at it accusingly. His eyes narrow as another low curse slips out and he fumbles to pick the box up.
It’s made of carved wood—oak, by the weight of it. Each etching along the sides paints a tale that draws Lilia to a stop as he turns it over in his hands. A figure perched on a tree branch with another sitting beneath, a blade and wood in hand. The two figures are next in a home, with a few flowers hanging to dry from a window. Then they are standing beside each other by a body of water; the carving here is detailed enough that he can see apprehension in one’s gaze and sternness in the others.
The final carving is incomplete, only because a blackened char mark has burnt the wood to an unusable state.
Ah.
He remembers why he didn’t take this to NRC. He remembers why he had it shoved in the back of the closet like something rotten, something meant to be concealed. He feels his mood darken as he turns the box over again. Each nick, each mark, tells a tale of something that stirs a burning shame in his gut. His hands tighten enough that he hears the wood creaking under his strength before they relax once more.
Then, he pauses. Silver won’t be back until far later in the day. He has nothing to do but wash a mug that now sits fermenting in his sink. Beyond this, he’ll simply be wandering from room to room in his cottage like a ghost, perhaps cutting some firewood, perhaps seeing if the bloody quails that have been tormenting his vegetable gardens are back.
Lilia moves until the back of his knees hit his bed and he sits down, cradling the box more gently now. A sudden urge—a bit of masochistic curiosity—tugs at his heart as his lips curl into a sneer. His thumb brushes against the carving of the figure crouching in the tree.
Well, if he needs a good way to kill an hour or so.
“All is as if it were days long past. No matter where it takes us, it will all be over in the blink of an eye. Far cry cradle.”
_________________________________________________________
The memory begins as it always did any time that he did this. He’s just over 300 years old, his hair long and his body perched on the branches of a tree. He forgot that if he’s personally in the memory, his magic has a habit of tossing him headfirst directly into his body again. The scent of pine overwhelms him as he looks across a Briar Valley that once was just as full of life as he. Green, as far as the eye can see, and the songs of birds that have since gone extinct filling the warm air.
He shifts on the branch and closes his eyes for a moment as he drinks it all in. Things long since gone, things he wishes he could experience just one more time in his current life. He almost loses himself in the memory—a dangerous risk—before he hears the faint sound of scraping from beneath where he’s perched.
Lilia’s eyes snap open and his gaze travels down to see a figure with a cloak sitting against the pine tree, their hood pulled up as their hands expertly carve a piece of wood with their blade. He can’t quite tell what it is they’re making—and truthfully, he’s long since forgotten.
But the sound of their voice as they hum an old folk song he hasn’t heard since the war times makes him tense all the same.
You.
Fuck.
The uncomfortableness of the situation, the realization that perhaps doing this was a mistake on his part, makes him shift back on the branch. This is enough to make a few twigs snap and force your attention to jerk upwards to where he lay. His red gaze locks onto yours as every sound in the forest falls silent and all he knows is the confusion in your eyes.
“How long have you been up there?” You blurt out, your voice sounding exactly how he hears it in his dreams for the past four hundred years. A strangled sound leaves his throat, and with all of the energy he can muster, Lilia jerks himself free of the memory.
_________________________________________________________
He stutters for air as his eyes open once more and he grips the box tight. The carving of his body on the branch overlooking yours at the base is now just a mockery for things he foolishly lost. The only way he can know you now is through the use of magic, and even that cannot return you entirely.
He shouldn’t be doing this. A glance at the clock on the wall tells him he was in the memory for fifteen minutes, despite it feeling only like mere seconds.
He shouldn’t be doing this. He turns the box over in his hand to look at the next carving. The two figures in a home, with a few flowers hanging to dry from a window. He notes with a bitter amusement that they’re all sunflowers.
The box should go back on the top shelf. He should lock it away again and forget it, leave it for Silver to find only once his father is dead and rotting under the earth. Perhaps the boy can finish what the humans started—burning it to nothing but cinders.
He shouldn’t be doing this to himself, and yet…
“All is as if it were days long past. No matter where it takes us, it will all be over in the blink of an eye. Far cry cradle.”
_________________________________________________________
Lilia finds himself standing in a small cottage eerily reminiscent of his own. He knows a few months have passed since the first encounter by the way there’s snow falling heavily from the skies outside. Briar Valley’s winters are vicious—as untamed as the land itself once had been before metal teeth had torn it apart and left the fae to clean its viscera. His gaze travels to the window nearby to look out at the landscape before it’s drawn upwards to the flowers hanging down from the sill.
Sunflowers, which look as fresh as the day they were likely picked, paint a cheery picture against the bleak backdrop beyond.
“I am afraid it isn’t quite perfect, but it should do the trick to warm you up.” Your voice's soft cadence causes his shoulders to tense as he doesn’t turn around to face you. He can hear you humming, the sound of a bowl being set on a nearby table, and the aroma of something so intoxicating it makes his stomach twist in phantom hunger. “Why were you rushing through this blizzard to begin with?”
Lilia blinks as silence falls. You’re waiting for his response. This likely won’t play out unless he gives it.
“Her majesty bid me to deliver a missive to Princess Meleanor.” He murmurs, eyes still fixated on the sunflower. They almost look real to him despite the knowledge that this is nothing but an illusion. He hears you hum in disapproval. You often did that—hummed a lot, laughed a lot.
“Terrible weather to be doing so, but I suppose if it’s urgent, you can’t sit on it. At least have something to eat before you go braving Briar Nation once more.”
His head turns slightly so that he can catch a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. Your back is to him as you scoop more food into a second bowl. You’re not unique—just another fae in a nation of many—but you stand out to him. Four hundred years later, he still struggles to rationalize why.
“You must like sunflowers a lot.” He comments abruptly. He didn’t say this in the memory, and he can tell by the way it seems to stutter around him. You still turn and look at him in confusion, however. “You only have sunflowers hanging on your window.”
“Oh!” You seem surprised, and then delighted as a smile graces your face. He wishes he had never seen that again. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
He wants to say something, perhaps ‘I know’, but the memory melts away before the words can leave his tongue.
_________________________________________________________
Lilia tastes copper when his eyes snap to the clock on the wall. Thirty minutes have gone by now—another fifteen in the previous memory. His hands shake slightly as he turns the box over like a man under a compulsion. The carving of two figures by the water seems to be taunting him as his thumb traces across your body.
He doesn’t even bother speaking the phrase clearly this time. It comes as a mumble, and suddenly he’s falling into darkness again.
_________________________________________________________
Tension is palpable when Lilia opens his eyes. Although it’s spring, the warmth seems nonexistent in the air as deafening silence fills where he stands. You’re by his side, your arms crossed tight over your chest as you stare at the pond beyond. By your feet, a patch of sunflowers smiles up at the bright skies above.
“How much longer do you think it will last before they wipe it clean?” You ask, your voice containing barely concealed rage as your nails dig into your sleeves. His jaw clenches as he shrugs one shoulder.
“A week. A month. A year. It could be any amount of time. They have new machines that they’ve been using—new means to rip open our nation to reach its heart.” He scoffs and turns sharply. “Fucking humans. Why did they need to come here to begin with? We were fine before they came crawling onto our shores, with their bitching, and moaning, and noxious fucking machines!”
“Lilia.” Your voice is calmer as he feels your hand touch his arm. His fury simmers slightly under this action. “At least we’re gaining some ground against them, right? And they haven’t reached all of Briar Nation yet. I can still provide game and herbs to the neighbouring villages—there’s an abundance surrounding my cottage.”
Lilia wants to say that’s because all of the animals are being driven deeper into the woods, but he holds his tongue as he meets your steadfast gaze. In the period of time since he’s come to know you, he’s also realized that your stubbornness will have you refuting every claim with an optimistic one of your own. Already you had staunchly refused to leave your cottage despite the looming threat drawing ever so nearby.
“I need to go soon.” He finally sighs as he tears his gaze away from you to the pond again. He hasn’t seen this pond since the war era simply because he knows it was drained for the Silver Owls' use. He hears your own sigh slip out as you remove your hand. The skin that you touched aches in its absence.
He steals a glance at you and tries to preserve your side-profile in his mind. If he could, he would carve it onto every surface he possessed, marking every line and bump that comprised the masterpiece that is you to his liking. He has already devoted himself by this point to mapping these curves with his fingers under the shadow of Briar Nations endless nights. He has memorized every sound you make, as sweet as any song can be, and which places on your body elicit such music. You had both entered this dance as a means to release stress—but now, four hundred years later, he knows it meant so much more.
He wants to sweep you in his arms. He wants to pull you to safety, to silence your protests with hushed whispers and utterances of his devotion. He wants to pour his heart into your hands until he’s empty and belonging entirely to you. He is a man who, once he devotes himself to something, gives endlessly until he remains a ghost of who he once was.
He loves you in this moment, where the sun dapples your skin, and he can pretend he’s still in the Briar Nation he knew. So, he breaks conduct again.
“You should leave.” The memory wavers at his words. In the past, he had simply turned at this point to begin returning to your cottage so that he could ready his travel pack. “You should go to the next village over. Go somewhere safe.”
The memory wavers again, fraying along the edges, and yet still Lilia finds himself persevering. “Please. I don’t want to see what’s going to happen next.”
You turn to look at him as his vision begins to darken. Your brow furrows, confusion etching your face as the last words you speak feel like a nail in his own coffin.
“Lilia, this is my home.”
_________________________________________________________
He doesn’t immediately speak as he comes back again. The clock shows forty-five minutes have passed now, and the lighting in the bedroom he sits in has altered to reflect this. A numbness has crept into his body and settled just below his skin. It fluctuates and writhes like an insect and causes him to shiver as he rotates the box once more.
The last carving is incomplete. The black marks that mar its surface guarantee this. Faintly, he can smell smoke on both the box and his hands as he traces his thumb across this, as well.
It comes back filthy.
Lilia’s expression schools itself to a blank look as the silence of the empty cottage perpetuates. Only his breathing breaks the still air, stuttering slightly as his lips part.
“... far cry cradle.”
_________________________________________________________
Lilia can smell it before he sees it. Wood, smouldering in the unforgiving winter sun, accompanied by something more pungent and feral. He’s already running by the time he snaps into the memory, his feet dragging through heavy snow as he fights against the elements to reach the treeline. He can see dark smoke pluming upwards.
It’s always too late by the time he arrives.
His steps slow, his feet drawing to a stop as cold snow soaks through his pants. Before him lays a painting of carnage, crafted by human hands, and displayed for the eyes of any fae passing by. Footsteps trample in the aged snow that surrounds the smouldering husk of the structure. Your words regarding your cottage being in a hot spot for game and herbs ring as a mockery now in his ears as he slowly, slowly, inches closer.
“Hello?” His voice cracks as the words leave him. The forest echoes them back—hello? Hello? Hello?
Stone dust scatters across the white earth as his hand comes to touch the frame you had been so proud of when you had first shown it off. Burnt, with embers still smouldering in the wood. He feels afraid to step further, but he knows that if he doesn’t then he’ll never get the satisfaction of knowing whether you may have survived it or not.
Lilia passes through the door frame. He looks up to what remains of your roof, to the space where sunflowers once hung, and then just beyond the large wooden table you had carved for yourself as well. A small box sits perfectly on its blackened surface, like it had been placed on display intentionally for his discovery.
The memory begins to blur at this point. Things that should be there soon bleed into black outlines, dripping down onto the floor with a rhythmic thump. He can see static in what looks like the shape of an arm peeking out from behind the table leg as his stomach twists, and rage begins to flood through his veins in place of blood. A stuttering breath leaves him as the static arm remains still.
He is General Lilia Vanrouge. He is a soldier. He is meant to protect his people, and yet, and yet—
_________________________________________________________
Lilia snaps out of this memory by throwing the box to the floor. It clatters at his outburst before he kicks it viciously into the closet, his breath leaving him in ragged gasps as he does. His mind is a blur as his one hand grips the sheets beneath him and the other grabs his collar, trying to ground him in the moment before the whole world spins out of proportion.
He is not General Lilia Vanrouge. He is not a soldier. He is not walking into the home of the person he thought he loved, forced to bury what was left of them in a pauper's grave—just another loss in the wartime.
He is a man, sitting in his cottage, with a son who will be home by evening and a school he needs to pack for.
“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his face into his hands as he shakes himself free of the thoughts. “Fuck... fuck!”
A brief glance at the clock shows an hour has passed by now. His chest feels heavy, and his mind full of cotton as he dresses in a mechanical manner before going about his chores for the day.
By the time Silver returns, he’s fought off the quails, weeded the garden, cut firewood, and cleared the gutters. What he hasn’t done is clean the mug that’s been sitting in the sink since the morning—a task that Silver happily takes on after Lilia looks close to losing it.
If his son notices anything else off about his father, he says nothing about it, but Lilia does note the way Silver seems a bit more talkative than usual this evening. Lilia’s mind continues to replay the memories he experienced in a macabre theatrical viewing as he tries hard to listen to what Silver is saying. Eventually, they both fall silent as Silver washes the mug, along with the dishes from dinner in addition. The sun is beginning to set when he pauses to peer out the window with a curious expression.
“Did you see the sunflower in the garden?” Silver asks, his voice soft as he finishes drying off the mug. Lilia raises an eyebrow as he looks up again.
“What about it?”
“It opened up.” Silver looks surprised, and then delighted as a smile graces his face. Lilia’s eyes widen as he notes the similarities between the childish joy on his son's face, and that which he once saw on your own.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
#lilia vanrouge#lilia x reader#(ish)#twst#twst x reader#twst fanfiction#twst spoilers#yeah#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twst lilia#phew ok girlies i think that hits it#anyway went off kinda... oop
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Don't feel Bad about your draws, Macaque is not that good in it too (he just lie about it)
MASTER POST
Previous 💙
Next 💙
#lego monkie kid#lego monkie kid fanart#monkie kid#monkie kid fanart#lmk#lmk fanart#lmk mayor#monkie kid mayor#blue and violet#I think Mayor sees art in a way in terms of ideas rather than skill level#Macaque's ideas are very clear when he draws - even if it looks like shit he can clearly convey his point#especially with his self portraits#so Mayor thinks Macaque's is good at making a point when he draws#they themselves on the other hand? not really#When they drew themselves it was not clear that it is even them to begin with#and thats not because they suck qt drawing#its because they don't now how to convey a point or an idea - let alone express themselves#in fact this guy barely has ideas at all in general- they might be one of the least creative people in existence#so I guess what I'm trying to say in the tags (which I rant too much in) is that I have thought about this too much LMAO
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Something that just occurred to me: With all the apprentices at warrior age, would Pinepaw even know enough to become healer? Corm and Daff ofc have enough knowledge to be warriors, but with Cootstorm refusing to teach Pinepaw does he even have a chance at graduating lol
No, Pinepaw's training hasn't been completed! If I'm really being honest - I doubt Cootstorm ever taught him much in the way of real, effective healer's training. Let's look into it. He did have occasional exams, such as this one in Issue 10, and it's implied that Cootstorm had been teaching him how to care for pregnancies:
And in Issue 2, he's skilled enough to do checkups on the elders. Because of the lack of herbs on BarrenClan's territory, a lot of Pinepaw's medical knowledge revolves around the body, signs of sickness, good health, and injury, rather than how to "cure" things.
From early on, Cootstorm makes it very clear that she never wanted an apprentice, at least not this early (she still thinks of herself as on the younger side in her mind). Other BarrenClan cats have also voiced this doubt that Pinepaw's role as a healer apprentice is necessary. These are from Issue 3:
And this is from Issue 6:
Cootstorm does seem to teach Pinepaw the basics of healer knowledge. He knows about all the types of herbs in their territory, basic emergency care, and how to treat wounds. From Issue 19:
From Issue 11:
From Issue 7:
But overall, she seems to treat him more as extra labor than as a student, ready to learn, who will one day take over the responsibility of caring for BarrenClan. Beyond general knowledge, Pinepaw isn't trusted with advanced care or ability by Cootstorm, except for the pregnancy test he did. From Issue 5:
From Issue 9:
And of course, in Issue 20 their relationship breaks down and Cootstorm refuses to teach Pinepaw anything beyond that. So... yeah! Despite how badly Pinepaw wanted to be a healer, and how eager he was to learn, Cootstorm never respected him enough as an individual to trust him with the future of the Clan. Perhaps she would've chosen one of Blacknose's kits to become the next healer, or maybe she believed she was the only one who could handle the job. This generation is full of problem children, says Cootstorm.
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Sketch dump!
I haven’t been posting a lot for the last couple of months. March through May tend to be struggle months for me in general and I was all set to embrace that this year and try not to feel guilty but - on top of that - there have been a lot of real world factors playing into the fact I hadn’t been motivated to draw. My job went through a lot of changes and as someone who struggles with abrupt changes, every day I got home I just wanted to decompress and not even think about drawing.
But I’m trying to get back into the swing of things. These are all sketches I started either at the end of March or during the last three weeks of craziness. I haven’t been happy with how I keep trying to advance them into full art pieces but I don’t want them to be on my ‘art shelf’ and potentially forgotten about so this is why I am posting here!
I’m hoping life feels a little more stable and balanced starting in May! The good news is this year my allergies aren’t that bad [thanks Flonase and stinging nettle] so I can at least look at my iPad and draw and not have it hurt my head haha.
I know this time of year can be wildly up and down for everyone so I’m hugging you if you need a hug and holding your hand if you need a hand to hold! We’ll get through it!
#wiggleart#destiel#spnfanart#spn art#my sketchbook#usually when this happens it4 also means I need to explore something style wise or method wise#so I will probably be doing that#also I had taking my septum piercing out thinking it was going to#make my sinus issues bad this year like it did last year#but I had it out since the beginning of March#and indeed the hole has closed#I’m so sad
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GIRL DAD OR BOY DAD? - sunday, boothill x reader
- or more clearly, to what gender would they want to have more, and general headcannons of them as papas ☺️
- brainrot brainrot brainrot BRAINROT AHHH... i love these guys and i can do a part 2 for others later but godd theres absolutely not enough dad stuff for these men (especially sunday... if there is its all yandere) so never fear novas here! ahem anyways enjoy
- warnings none! pure fluff!!! wc 711
Sunday is so a girl and boy dad.
Reason why I say this is because he likely needs an heir to take over his position when he gets too old to do so, but he also wants a baby girl he can spoil as well.
Don’t worry! He loves both of his kids the same! They’re the greatest things that have probably ever happened to him and he cherishes them with his whole life. He thanks the stars above every single day for the opportunity he received to be a father to multiple beautiful children, and thanks you for granting him the chance.
Dunno, but I could see this man wanting a handful of kids. He wants at least one girl and at least one boy, but I could see him shooting for 3-4. Will he be around to care for them? Not all the time, but he tries his hardest (and he definitely has the resources to care for that many).
Considering they’re half halovian and half human, they look pretty much just like their father! Some have your eyes, but they all have his hair. His hair and his gorgeous wings. They have your features though, such as your face, body type, etc.
His favorite part of the day is when he gets to collapse on your shared bed, his kiddos following behind him to cuddle their dad, and most of the time you all fall asleep together. Normally, you wake up just you and him because he’s good about putting them in their own bed once they fall asleep.
Once his kids get older, he’ll teach his son(s) combat and good form. He wants them to protect, and wants to raise them to be strong and independent. With his daughter(s), if they ask to be taught combat, then he won’t see much of an issue with it. He also wants to teach them independence, but in a more subtle form.
Just expect that his children as teenagers are going to be the prettiest kids around holy shit. They’re obviously enrolled in a private school due to their fathers high status but they always come home and list the compliments they’ve received that day. Thankfully you two have raised them well enough for them to realize that it’ll be bad if all of these get to their head and stroke their ego too hard…
Supportive father asf! All I’ve gotta say here
Don’t play Boothill is SO a girl dad hello have you met the man
He’s so excited when his little girl is born ahh he’s always dreamed of being a father to a girl and his dream has officially come true!!
Obviously, if you had a boy, he’d love him the same. He just wants children of his own tbh lol
His daughter knows western culture fresh out of the womb my friend. It’s like she was born for little cowboy boots and the cutest little cowboy hat. She’s even got a western name, he brought it up and you liked it, so the name you two settled on was Cassidy.
She has his hair! It’s absolutely gorgeous once it starts coming in- a pearly white color with little black streaks stemming from the roots. She has your eyes and your face, and his slimmer body type (before he was turned into a cyborg. This isn’t canon I actually have no clue what he looked like pre cyborgification lmao).
Oh lord, your daughter is so spoiled. On every mission he goes on he’s always bringing something back for her. It could be a super fancy necklace or even just a little trinket he picked up from a street vendor, but she has a whole shelf full of the things her daddy gives her.
She thinks it’s so cool he has a metal body. She asks about it alot but she’s really fascinated with it tbh. She likes to call it “daddy’s special feature!” and he always melts to that sentence gosh
He probably teaches his daughter how to use a gun when she gets older. He, similar to Sunday, wants his daughter to learn self defense tactics and learn how to fend for herself when necessary.
She totally has his accent. Change my mind period.
#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail#hsr#hsr x reader#honkai#honkai x reader#sunday#sunday hsr#boothill#boothill hsr#boothill x reader#sunday x reader
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The Sapphire Spell
Ghost Aemond x Female Reader
Part Two - Cabinet of Curiosities
Summary: Can a spell cast by Alys long ago bring Aemond Targaryen back to life centuries later in Westeros? When the remains of the Kinslayer are found and put on display in a Cabinet of Curiosities, the ghost of Aemond discovers the proprietor’s beautiful daughter is the only person who can see or hear him.
Word Count: 2290
Warnings: None
The Sapphire Spell Masterlist
Aemond Targaryen Masterlist
Enjoy! Reblogs and Comments are much appreciated.
Centuries later
“Good morning, father,” you say cheerfully, leaning down to kiss his cheek before joining him at the small dining table. Once you are seated, he says a short prayer before beginning to help himself to breakfast. “What are your plans for today?” you inquire while taking a sip of your tea.
“Ah, my lovely girl, today is the day,” he exclaims, looking at you with a twinkle in his eye and a happy smile on his face. This morning, I will receive my latest additions to the collection. We have a great deal of work to do, much of it to prepare for our newest arrival.”
You stare at him with surprise. ”Oh, I finally get to know what this wondrous item is." You truly cannot remember seeing your father more excited than he has been recently. He still has an almost childlike wonder for new things, an enthusiasm unmatched by most for the curiosities of the world. “Will you at least give me a hint? You have tormented me long enough,” you ask him playfully.
Smiling mischievously, he says, “I suppose I could tell you that a former resident of the Red Keep will be brought to their new home today, but that is all I will say."
“The Red Keep? I didn’t think there was anything left in that old ruin,” you say, looking at him curiously. “What could have possibly been found there?” you ask him.
“Let’s just say that everyone in this city knows my reputation for paying good money for interesting objects,” he smiles, finishing his meal. As he gets up to leave, he tells you, “I’ll be next door; I’ll see you there after your lessons.”
After he leaves, you continue to linger over your tea, intrigued by your father's excitement. Long abandoned, the Red Keep had fallen into ruin for well over a century. New rulers had built palaces and government buildings. A fire several months ago mostly destroyed what remained. Workers have been toiling away for weeks, clearing through the rubble. What could have been found to cause him this much excitement, you wonder?
When you hear your tutors' arrival in the front hall, you hurry off to begin your lessons. While you are grateful for your father’s insistence that you continue your education, focusing today will be a struggle.
After seeing the tutor out, you rush to find your father in the adjacent building. Walking past the numerous displays of natural and man-made artifacts and oddities, you cannot help but smile, thinking about how your family’s fortunes changed in less than two generations.
Your family originally came from Flea Bottom, eking out a meager existence for generations. Your grandfather was born as one of six children. As a young boy, he dreamed of the sea, spending as much time as he could outside the city's old Mud Gate, where ships docked. Willing to learn anything he could about sailing and willing to do any task, he managed to gain favor with a ship's captain, who took him on as a cabin boy. At a very young age, he began a life at sea, steadily working his way up, taking on more responsibility with each voyage, and eventually meeting the great explorer, Lord Swann.
He was a member of Swann’s crew when the lost treasure of the Stepstones was found. With his share, he bought a respectable home in the city, away from Flea Bottom, married a pretty widow, and began a family of his own. He continued sailing with Lord Swann for several more years. During his sailing years, he amassed a number of unusual items he found during his travels to far-off lands. After an injury ended his career at sea, he dedicated his time to his growing collection, eventually buying the property next door and opening the first Cabinet of Curiosities Museum in King's Landing.
Your father inherited everything when he passed. Growing up with a love for the collection, he also possessed a flair for the dramatic and a sharp mind. He saw opportunity in the public’s fascination for things never seen before and kept expanding the collection. While he acknowledged the authenticity of most items in the collection, he also acknowledged the inclusion of a few forgeries.
There was still quite a bit of work to be done before the grand reopening of the collection in two days. Since your family had been adding oddities and artifacts for over fifty years, the assortment was getting quite large. It now takes up the entire first floor of the building. The new exhibit is part of an expansion to the second floor. Flyers had been distributed throughout the city, promising something new and exciting. The collection's temporary closure also allowed your father to have renovations done to the building. The major improvement is the installation of the new innovation of electric lighting, not only in the Cabinet of Curiosities Museum but in your own residence next door.
Once you find your father, you immediately understand his excitement these past few weeks, because this particular display is like nothing else in the collection.
He sees you standing back with a look of shock on your face and laughs. Coming over to put his arm around you, he says proudly, “I’d like you to meet the Kinslayer, Prince Aemond Targaryen."
The Kinslayer is the infamous second son of King Viserys. He claimed the dragon Vhagar as a boy and started the Dance of the Dragons when he murdered his nephew. He was named Prince Regent when his brother, King Aegon II, was seriously injured. After his half sister, Queen Rhaenyra, took Kings Landing, he went on a rampage, burning the Riverlands.
Besides his horrific deeds, not much is known about him. It’s as if he was a stain on House Targaryen that they tried to erase from memory.
The remains of a man are on display before you; his bones lie on black velvet within a specially crafted glass coffin, his skull still bearing the damage from the sword strike from Dark Sister. The suit of night black armor he wore, sword and dagger attached, has been cleaned and reassembled next to the case, as if standing a ghostly guard. Hanging on the wall over the case is a somewhat damaged painting of a young man wearing an eyepatch. He has the trademark silvery-white hair of the Targaryens.
Stunned silent for a moment, you finally manage to ask, “How did you find this? I thought the Targaryens always burned their dead."
Your father explains, "While clearing the rubble from the fire, an underground chamber was found." As you continue to examine this new display, you glance at him. "Most of it had collapsed, but one corner of the room remained unscathed. They had placed these remains in a stone sarcophagus and stored the painting and armor nearby."
“Why his body was not burned, I cannot say, but the fact that he was found under the Red Keep, along with the research I’ve done, convinces me that these are the remains of the Kinslayer,” he continues. “Now we have him, his armor, and his portrait. Once word spreads, people will be lining up outside to see him. He is going to make us a fortune.”
"The only thing missing is the sapphire he reputedly wore in place of his eye," you remark, noting that the prince was a rather tall man by the looks of his skeleton.
"That remains undiscovered, likely in the depths of the God's Eye." Small chance of anyone ever seeing that again,” your father sighs.
You chuckle. “If it is ever found, I’m sure you will find a way to acquire it.”
Smiling, he says, “I would try.” Gazing at the empty crates and packaging that the artifacts arrived in, he declares, "I'll assign the boys to tidy up. We still have a lot of work to do if we are to be ready to reopen.”
Taking a last glance at the portrait of the Targaryen prince, you follow your father to see what you can help with.
The next two days go by quickly as you spend most of your time making sure everything is in perfect order. Your father’s enthusiasm is contagious, making the work more enjoyable. You are both optimistic that more people will be eager to see the new and improved museum, and they will be willing to pay the increased admission price. While you are not wealthy, it is a profitable business that affords you a very good living. Despite society’s expectations that you should be looking for a husband, you are happy with your life.
You also find yourself drawn to the painting of Aemond Targaryen, standing in front of it several times. You can’t help but notice how regal he is, unsmiling but strikingly handsome; he has a strong jawline, good cheekbones, and a natural curve to his lips. His characteristically Targaryen silvery-pale hair, pulled back from his face, is long and straight. The eye patch over his left eye, with the scar trailing above and below, gives him a rather dashing appearance, you think.
As you remind yourself there is work to be done, you become aware of the freezing cold air around you, and you swear something grazes your hand. Startled, you whirl around to look behind you, only to find yourself alone in the exhibit. Nervously brushing back the tendrils of hair that have escaped your loose chignon, you sense there is another presence here with you.
Trying to steady your breathing, your eyes dart around, but you see no other person near you. You can faintly make out the voices of some of the staff you employ, but they are distant. With a quick shiver from the cold, you shake it off and head downstairs.
Finally, the time has come to reopen the Cabinet of Curiosities Museum to the public. With a glance out the window, you can already see that a crowd has begun to line up for the ticket window. Joining your father just inside the entrance, you can’t help but think he looks rather distinguished today. Your father is a natural showman, which is one of the reasons the collection has remained a popular attraction in the city. You love watching him, dressed elegantly in a tailcoat tuxedo, enthrall an audience with history and somewhat embellished tales of artifacts.
Playing your part as well, you are dressed in a fashionable gown with your hair styled up and adorned with jeweled combs. You act as a hostess for the collection, guiding visitors and answering questions.
You smile, knowing your father will be in rare form tonight, telling the tale of the Kinslayer from the Age of Dragons.
The afternoon and evening pass by in a blur. The grand re-opening is a stunning success, with high society rubbing shoulders with common folk. It seems that regardless of one's status in life, all share a fascination for the unusual and mysterious.
Several times, your father holds court, telling the tale of Aemond Targaryen. He captivates the crowd with the tale of the villainous prince who murdered his nephew to begin the Dance of the Dragons, declaring himself Prince Regent, mercilessly burning the Riverlands, and consorting carnally with a witch.
It was long past nightfall when the last patrons were ushered out and the doors locked. Your father brings out a bottle of the finest Arbor champagne for you and your small staff to celebrate the night’s success.
By the end of the week, you're exhausted from the nonstop activity and the throngs of people surrounding you, and you're relieved that the museum will close tomorrow for the weekly day of worship of the Seven. After you and your father visit the Sept in the morning, you look forward to a more peaceful day with a pleasant walk if the weather allows. However, as you get ready for bed, Prince Aemond occupies your thoughts once more.
Whenever you are in the museum, you feel compelled to visit his display. You’ve found yourself looking down at his remains that lie on black velvet, staring at the bones of his hands, noticing how long his fingers are and how much larger his hand would be compared to your own. You've even had the strange urge to open the glass case, reach in, and touch him. But it is his portrait that captivates you the most. While his angular features may not be considered conventionally handsome, you see a strikingly unique splendor to his image. His scar and eye patch only deepen his mystery for you.
You confess to yourself that you find it difficult to reconcile this portrait with the accounts of the cruel monster he was said to be. The story of his short life and terrible deeds should repel you, but they intrigue you more. You have an intense curiosity about him. 'What was he thinking as he sat for this portrait? What did his voice sound like?’ Questions like these have been going through your mind all week.
Also on your mind are the odd feelings you have when in the museum.
Many times, you have the feeling of being watched. You experience sudden, icy cold drafts that come out of nowhere and make you shiver. A few times you feel as if someone is standing beside you or behind you, much closer than would be proper, and each time you are alone with no one around. And tonight, as you were preparing to leave, you thought you heard a hushed voice whisper your name.
As you drift off to sleep, your final thought is that everything started when the museum received Prince Aemond's remains.
#aemond targaryen#house of the dragon#aemond#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#prince aemond#prince aemond targaryen#aemond fanfic#aemond fic#aemond hotd#aemond smut#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen fanfiction#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond the kinslayer#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#house of the dragon aemond#ewan mitchell#dark!aemond x reader#dark aemond#dark!aemond#dark aemond targaryen
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Okay so this is actually part of a much longer (series of) post(s) detailing/speculating on what I'm calling 'Ruby's and Yang's Family Reckoning' in Volume 10 and beyond, but I thought it'd be fun to throw this up as it's own little thing for now:
I actually completely understand WHY some fans keep defending Tai as a 'good'/'not-actually-a-total-fuckup' parent.
Because the show/writers are actually pulling a long-game, subversive narrative rug-pull with Tai just like they did with Ozpin, Ironwood and Qrow.
Think about it; Tai is introduced early on in the story as the seemingly 'Good Dad'. And he certainly LOOKS that way on the surface, given his lack of typical 'shitty dad' traits he see so often in stories. He's even first mentioned alongside what SEEMS to be a typical 'Bad Mom' who left her kids in Raven.
Just like Ozpin, Qrow and Ironwood were introduced as similar 'good-guy' archetypes; the Wise Teacher, the Quirky Mentor and the Heroic Soldier.
All while planting NUMEROUS and evergrowing hints, clues and red flags in the margins, between the lines and just outside our audience field of view, all in preparation for when the story is ready to yank the proverbial rug out from under both the audience AND our heroines that the adults they've been trusting this whole time are actually MASSIVE screw-ups who have been making a mess of everything.
The hints to Ozpin's general shadiness, the clues to Qrow's self-destructive alcoholism and depression, the red-flags that Ironwood was actually on the fast-track to fascism, and all the indicators that Tai was actually a complete and total fuck-up of a dad.
The only difference with Tai is that the show hasn't decided to shine the light of narrative focus ON all of his numerous problems and fuckups and force our heroines to confront them like it already has with Ozpin and Qrow in Volume 6, and Ironwood in Volume 7.
At least, not YET.
And do you remember how we actually had plenty of people who MISSED all those hints, clues and red flags surrounding Ozpin, Qrow and Ironwood? Specifically people who were denying that those meant anything right up until the moment they DID mean something?
Yeah, I'm not actually surprised at all we're seeing the same thing with Taiyang.
#rwby#rwby analysis#rwby theory#taiyang xiao long#character parallels#ozpin#qrow branwen#james ironwood#archetype subversion
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☆ DARK RED. ☆
Frat!Satoru Gojo x F!reader
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
⚠️: fluff and angst!!, ooc characters prob!! mention of alcohol! not proofread!
WC: 1912. whew!
A/N: guyz!!! im sorry if it isnt good enough!!! and so very sorry because the timeline is confusing!! i hope its more unerstandable when yall read part 1 tohogh!!! and..very sorry for the amout of pov switches!! very sorry in general!!
part 1 part 2
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
*/ after you ran out
"Seriously! Who in their right mind would even call in the— huh?" Shoko's voice immediately softened as soon as she read your contact name. even more so when she hears your sniffling voice and heavy breaths. "im— 'im s'sorry Shoko.. can you, uhm.. pick m' up?.." already grabbing her car keys, she asks you to hold on and wait. you tell her the location, she speeds to you, not even bothering to change out of her pajamas. the one who called literally wasn't in their right mind. damn.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
the both of you stop over at Satoru's apartment, Shoko helping you pack your essentials, so you can stay over at hers for a few days.
When you finally arrive back at her own apartment, she immediately asks if you were okay. making sure she wasn't pushing you to tell her everything. it was a while for somebody to focus on you. not even Satoru did. That thought alone made you break down in ugly tears, hiding your face on her shoulder as soon as she allowed you to as you were embarrassed of your state.
but you couldn't help but continue crying and venting out everything, even with that angel on your right shoulder shouting curses at you for leaving Satoru and pleading for you to "shut up" you still did, from your doubts, your absolute heartbreak the first time you found out he was cheating on you, to your latest and last. everything about your whole relationship, you spat out.
Shoko let you vent it out, let you take the stage and talk until your throat hurt from speaking and your eyes were too sore and tired from crying, simply wanting to close, then did she try to give advice as she knew you were still listening to her.
Only when you slept did she start thinking about other things. She internally gags. why was she even friends with him back then? hell, though she sees him as an acquaintance, why does she still keep contact?
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
*/ when satoru went back.
Where the hell were you? it was in the middle of the night!— or was it the crack of dawn... he can't remember anymore, all he could remember was how fast his heart rate sped up and how it felt.
it's been thirty minutes since he looked around the apartment for you. the only thing he noticed was gone was the disappearance of one of his duffel bags.
the devil on his right shoulder laughs aloud. "oh? guess she's acting a little now, Satoru! you've really done it! it's as if she won't come back after a few days!" and Satoru himself laughs with pride. it was right, you were going to show up after your little tantrum, why did he have to care? there were other better fish in the sea than you! little, wimpy you.
At least he could finally catch a break without you clinging next to him. he could finally stop worrying about having to make excuses for him to leave and secretly go to parties for hookups. it was your fault for feeling sad, anyway. can't you understand he's in his prime? you can't just stop him from enjoying it!
bur if there was the devil on his shoulder, the Angel would always be at his left. "oh Satoru. I warn you now. something bad is 'bout to happen to you." for some reason, he felt anxious. he doesn't know. he doesn't know why he feels that way. he never felt like this when he'd return from his parties, so his solution was to sleep it off instead.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
You thank whoever's watching you from above weekdays were over, coming from the fact you woke up at 9am. your eyes were still slightly sore, so it hurt when you would blink. the same with your throat when you made a sound from yawning.
though you were physically and emotionally drained, you sat up and eventually stood up. prioritizing to thank Shoko for letting you vent and stay at her place.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
Waking up at 10am feeling like shit is what he expected, after the amount of shots he had. it was okay though, feeling hungover was normal for him, what was not was the empty feeling of his bed, how the other side was empty, and the warm aura that usually greeted him was also gone. but what he noticed almost immediately was your missing touch and the way you wake him up by pampering him whenever he felt like this— well... you would actually always wake him up like this..
the world was cruel for making him feel your ghost touch.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
The both of you decide to go to a nice coffee shop to cool down as the extremely hot rays of the noon sun almost melted the both of you. "Shoko, do you really think this is a good idea?" you murmur as you take a sip of coffee. "yes, I do. but if you don't agree to it, that's completely fine." "no, no...I do! its just that its kind of.." "scary?" she takes a sip of her coffee. "well, yeah.. what if I see him? what will I even do?" you respond, twirling your hand in exaggeration. "I wont deny it, you would definitely cross paths with him since we're going to a party.. but all you have to do is to have fun and ignore him, its not like I wont be there myself."
"Shoko, as much as I love you, we both suck at socializing. we're both cursed with awkwardness." "we'll be fine! as long as you give me a few drinks, people wont even notice our 'awkwardness'." she half-jokingly responds.
"any how, I don't even have an outfit for a party." "Guess we have to go shopping."
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
"Yo, Satoru!" His best friend immediately greets him as he accepts his video call. "Suguru!" He responds back with the same enthusiasm. "hey, is your girlfriend with you?" Suguru asks. "nah. she threw a small tantrum so I'm all alone.."
his expected reply. Now it's time Suguru pauses. he has to act normal. he cant and wont let Satoru know he was the reason for your "tantrum". he was already guessing the scenario. maybe you and Satoru had a fight, or similar to that. oh how far his answer was.
"so.. are ya goin' to the party tonight?" Suguru asks him right after. Satoru laughs at his cautiousness, but he raises an eyebrow. "what party exactly?" "that one blonde chick's party!" he pauses for a moment before the light bulb in his head lights up. "oh, her. I think I remember her from the last party we went to." Not taking his chance, Suguru quickly ends the call with a see you later.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧🎧⊹★
As much as you try to pull down your skirt, you still didn't feel less uncomfortable. "Shoko.. uhm. can I maybe call it quits?" you complain the first ten minutes after the both of you walked into the blazing lights of the party. unluckily for you, your moral support already took shots. "you really are a cute one, aren't ya?" Shoko giggles through the loud music. "you're going to be fine!" she shouts, making sure you hear her.
When she hears people screaming and calling out others to play spin the bottle with them, she quickly takes your hand and grips it as tight as she could, before dragging you and herself of the circle of strangers nearby.
and as you try to pry away, your eyes which was nervously looking around the crowd of people, soon meets wide, bright blue ones. your heart drops. He even saw you first.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
"Satoruu! my man!" the other frat guys shout out his name as they lounge on the couch, the desperate girls from the other sorority batting their eyelashes at them.
he walks over to them, leaning on the arm part of the soft couch. "you've been coming to parties more often lately." one of the guys casually bring up. ' yeah! are you back to being single? you finally pried your insecure girl off of you?" another guy continues, and the whole group laughs aloud. whenever they make fun of you, he'd always join in and laugh. but why does he feel irritated?
Before he could talk, a woman's voice interrupts him. "guys!~ we should all calm down! maybe a game of spin the bottle will!" the hostess of the party giggles as she puts her hand up, showing an empty beer bottle.
and of course, he couldn't miss the forced doe-eyed 'innocent' look she gave him, with the additional batting of eyelashes. psh. you could've done so much better.
as the guys invite people to join the game, he slips away from them. If he has to be with that blonde chick, he wanted to do it with alcohol in his body.
as he tries to find his way to the kitchen, his eyes scan around the room. but what he found was not the kitchen. it was your eyes. your oh-so surprised eyes.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
now here you are, sitting with random strangers, Shoko by your side. you notice one reserved space around the circle as they start to spin the bottle.
you notice Satoru a few minutes later, walking back to the said reserved space. you quickly whisper to Shoko about going to get drinks for the both of you before rushing off.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
you cautiously walk in the kitchen. luckily, barely a few people are there. with your head down you go grab two bottles of cold, open beer and once again, you speed walk away.
but you come to an abrupt stop as you bump into somebody's back. "what the fuck?" a menacing voice mumbles as the guy turns around. you're dead. you have to tilt your head up to make eye contact with the guy. he has pink hair, and tattoos. all over his face. shit. you remember hearing about him. Sukuna, was it? a pretty infamous guy around the campus.
before he could curse at the person who bumped him and spilled cold beer on his back, he was met with a woman. a woman who captured his interest. wait. was this one of Satoru's chicks? even better! he decides to stay quiet and eye you up and down, silently waiting for an apology.
and an apology he gets. "ah, shit..I— im so sorry! i really am! I didn't mean to!—" mm.. he doesn't mind an ego boost. He leans down, his mouth right next to your ear, then he talks. "doll, as much as I love pathetic apologies, you should shut your mouth." is it bad you feel butterflies on your stomach?
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
Satoru was about to sit down to play spin the bottle with everyone, but he notices Shoko, and you rushing away. He's not dumb. he knows why you went away. you were scared of him.
He grins. it won't hurt if he decides to play with you for a while, after all, you were his playtoy.
without excusing himself, he continues to walk, now to the direction you went.
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
he did not expect to see this. at all.
he watches a few meters away, fist balled. why were you talking to Ryomen? with a cup of alcohol, too! you know he's his enemy. were you doing this out of spite? everyone knows you're his!
he wanted to grab you by the hand and pull you away, but he'd look desperate. even more so when there's people who know the both of you had a silent fight. so he watches.
his jaw drops when the pink haired man leans down to whisper something to you, and the way you furiously blush right after?! oh how much he wanted to make Ryomen bite the curb. He was the only one who had that effect on you! weren't you smitten with him? why were you letting him do this?
★⊹🎧‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧₊˚🖇️✩ ₊˚‧ 🎧⊹★
A/N: @the-parasites-control-me THERE. SUKUNA APPEARANCE. HAPPY?? n e ways! very dissapoiinting, i know 💪 i couldnt make up my mind how to end this so im stopping here. im rying with the amount of paragraphs i deleted cause i couldnt pick. arg!
once more, n e ways, a few notes!!
has anyone found out about that one thing i kept highlighting and its meaning? im not gonna tell it yet though!
i know im so far away from the song dark red now. but at this point.. idc 💪 (i bsolutely do. sobbing in a corner rn)
erm!! taglist! gasp!
@sukioyakio @ilovebattinson
#Spotify#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#x reader#jjk#fanfiction#☆— 【 fanfiction !! 】#Gojo#satoru#gojo satoru#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#satoru x you#satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru x you
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Hello there. This isn't my first time requesting, but it is my first time requesting to you. I read your rules carefully, if I somehow still managed to get it wrong, let me know. There is human baby that is very affectionate. They are always excited to see the Autobots and always giving them a kiss on the cheek or hugging them everytime their feeling down (Platonic). Ratchet and Arcee, please and thank you.
A/N: I wrote this with the reader having a baby/toddler, that they bring to the base occasionally, so the reader is the parent in this case. I didn’t really know how else to write this. There's also this post, this post, and this post about a similar topic
~Arcee~
•When you first brought your baby to the base they were just a few weeks old, so they’ve basically been around the autobots since they were very, very young
•Arcee ended up being the baby’s favorite autobot, and she became very attached to the baby too
•It’s not like you can leave the baby alone with the bots for like the first year, at least not for longer periods of time
•A big part of that is that the autobots are all so big, and might have a hard time holding and handling the baby
•Arcee is smaller than any of the others so she has an easier time handling small creatures, such as a baby or a toddler
•Arcee thinks it’s very interesting to watch your kid grow, and she also finds it very hopeful, like how a creature as weak and fragile such as a baby, can grow into someone so resilient and strong as you
•The kid comes to think of Arcee as a part of the family, and she’s their favorite babysitter
•You’re good friends with Arcee as well, so you spend a lot of time together, and your kid of course is there too
•The kid loves to hug Arcee and be held by her, and Arcee loves holding them and keeping them safe
~Ratchet~
•Ratchet isn’t exactly ecstatic about a baby at the base, because he feels like a baby might disturb his work
•As if that doesn’t happen with the team and the kids too, but surely a baby would be too much
•But when he meets your baby for the first time, it’s an absolutely awe-inspiring moment
•Ratchet has never seen a real baby before, and they’re so tiny and fragile and… adorable?
•Sure the baby sometimes makes some unwanted noise, but in general, they’re a pretty calm and happy baby
•Ratchet looks after your baby when you’re busy with work/studies, so you can work freely
•You’re still at the base when you work, and he comes get you when he doesn’t know what to do with the baby or when they need something
•Ratchet grows very attached to the baby, and he does his absolute best to keep them safe and happy
•In a weird way, the baby also does the same for Ratchet, they give him hope about a better tomorrow
•Ratchet is like family to you and your kid, and you all take care of each other, the baby too, even if it’s more on an emotional level with them
•Sometimes Ratchet just holds the baby while he works, because he wants to be absolutely sure they’re safe
#transformers#tfp#transformers prime#autobots#arcee#ratchet#tfp headcanons#transformers fluff#reader insert#platonic transformers x reader
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Yandere Spencer Reid Headcanons (General)
"I promise to keep you safe." — Spencer Reid.
❝ 🕵 — lady l: It's been a while since I wrote a general hc, so I don't know if it's good, but I did my best! I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes. 🤎
❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, stalking, invasion of privacy, breaking the law (?) and very implicit murder.
❝🕵pairing: yandere!spencer reid x gender neutral!reader.
Spencer Reid is a genius, in every sense of the word. He is not only intelligent but a true genius, someone who hunts criminals with pure skill, and you, his obsession, his darling, even if you are not a criminal, will be hunted by him. He will have you in every meaning because you belong to him, just as he belongs to you.
He is known for his brilliant mind and his exceptional ability to analyze complex patterns. His eidetic memory allows him to retain vast amounts of information, making him an invaluable asset to the FBI team. Too bad for his darling, however, because he will use his skills and resources to get you at the end of it all.
Spencer is fully aware that his thoughts about you are disturbing, to say the least. But is it so wrong to love someone? He believes not. Maybe the graphic and explicit violence he thinks when someone hurts you isn't exactly healthy but he doesn't care as much as he should.
You are like an enigma that he wants more than anything to decipher, to unravel all your mysteries. If he could, Spencer would read your mind to know all of your thoughts, even the most intimate ones. His insatiable curiosity would drive him to explore every corner of your mind, seeking to understand every thought, every emotion and every facet of your personality.
Spencer is driven by his desire for curiosity and his obsession with you. He values his work at the FBI and his friends but he values you even more. You became an extra motivation for what he does; hunt down criminals to keep the world safe so you can live in it.
He would be disturbingly uncomfortable at the thought of losing you, and his analytical mind could lead him to investigate and monitor your activities closely, perhaps even crossing some ethical lines in the process. Spencer can and probably will become a meticulous and highly effective stalker, watching your social media, searching anyone who was/is close to you.
Spencer doesn't know the word "privacy" when it comes to you, he will look up everything he can about you. He can't bear the thought of not knowing everything about you, he hates the thought of you keeping some kind of secret from him. His willingness to cross boundaries and violate other people's privacy shows how far he is willing to go to maintain his control over you.
He would love to be able to read your mind, just to know what you're thinking and if you're thinking about him because Spencer is always thinking about you. His thoughts are always about you, about how he can make you happy, how he can make the world a better place for you to live. Everything is about you and always will be.
Spencer is extremely possessive of you and it becomes evident very quickly. He is not the master of hiding his feelings for you, including the most dangerous ones. He will stare with hatred evident in his eyes and make strange expressions when someone gets too close to you.
He doesn't want to be controlling and he isn't, but Spencer gets jealous very quickly due to the fact that he's insecure about your love for him. He won't kill someone out of jealousy, he's from the FBI and knows better than to do that, but he can become more aggressive, and bitter if you don't show that you just care about him.
Along with his possessiveness comes absolute overprotection. Spencer is suffocating and ruthless when it comes to protecting you. He will go to great lengths to take care of you, being your own armed escort or having the FBI protect you. When it comes to your safety, he doesn't mess around.
He wouldn't be the type to kidnap you that quickly, no, it would take a lot of motivation for him to take you like that. Maybe you kept rejecting him or you were in a situation where you could have died, in both situations, Spencer would know that he would have to increase your protection. And the best way would be for you to move in with him, without your prior consent however.
Spencer Reid isn't the worst yandere to have, he's just very overprotective and a determined stalker. He will never hurt you, not on purpose at least, and he will make sure you are always well taken care of. He can become very smothering when he is jealous but he means well. Just don't hide anything from him and everything will be fine because Spencer can't stand the idea of not knowing everything about you.
#criminal minds#Spencer Reid x reader#yandere criminal minds#yandere spencer reid#yandere spencer reid x reader#yandere spencer reid headcanons#x reader#yandere headcanons#headcanons#yandere x reader#criminal minds x reader#dark!spencer reid
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General attitude of the Dead Three towards their followers that I've observed in the Time of Troubles and sometimes other sources.
Bhaal seems to like his followers the most; Myrkul would love you more if you were a zombie; and Bane:
Bhaal: Can be attentive to his followers, apparently. Bhaal loves his clique of murderous fanatics (or at least he loves their murders) and they may "personally warrant [his] attention", multiple times, if he's particularly in awe of their skill at murder.
Seems to take it badly when people who aren't him kill his followers - and he's willing to resurrect his favourites if they die while in his favour. But that's hard to gauge if he takes it that badly because that "numbness", fear, then rage response seen in the novels was also in reaction to almost all of his followers getting massacred (although this being pre-3.5e, his power was not dependent on the amount of worshippers he had at this time, so it wasn't as big a deal, more of an inconvenience).
Myrkul: Seems to hate the living more than Bhaal does. He thinks you'd be much cooler if you were undead. Or - memorably - an horrific, mindless, body-stealing soul-eating abomination. Tendency to eat his follower's souls or inflict horrific withering curses on them as a show of "favour". He happily supports the dreams of his undead followers though! Still, he advises his living worshippers to take protective measures and has to look out for them, because otherwise he's rapidly going to have zero followers because he's insanely unlikable. Funny, but unlikable.
Bane: Plays favourites. Bane's interactions in the Time of Troubles were a little skewed, due to having mortal emotions at the time, but the fundamentals stay the same: Most of humanity is beneath his notice, but he does crave the attention of those few he values who may receive leniencies and such. He also refuses to acknowledge that he values them emotionally, and he will still treat them terribly and says there's still a good chance he'll leave them for dead if it's more convenient. Still, even as a god he made the decision to elevate Fzoul to demigodhood when he died instead of just tossing him aside, so some of that remains?
While this is more of an insight into the mortal who predates the God of Tyranny, imo, he has an interesting response to grief, progressing from shock to murdering people around him in a blind rage, to this:
"I will not grieve, the god decided coolly. Blackthorne was merely a human. A pawn. His loss is regrettable, but he can be replaced.
Then Bane thought of his endless talks with Blackthorne. He remembered the strange emotions that coursed through him when he had realized that Blackthorne had saved him, and aided in his recovery.
The Black Lord looked at his hands and noticed he was trembling. Then the God of Strife screamed a cry of grief, loud and long. All over Bane’s Dark Temple, people covered their ears and shivered at the sound of the Black Lord’s pain."
Then more murder time, so we can stop having disgusting emotions and channel it all into hate on the battlefield:
"A fire crackled in the eyes of the Black Lord and Fzoul stepped back from the angry god. Then Bane’s lips curled back in a frightful grimace. There was fire behind the God of Strife’s pointed teeth, too, as his eyes narrowed and he said, “Now.” "
#babbling#the idiot three#I feel like “the trainwreck three” would've been a better tag in hindsight. ah well.#do I tag this with their chosen? idk
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The selection pt.1
Unable to feel emotions, a deadly weapon, unable to empathize with the enemy, a calculated killer. It was as if you were listening to a presentation about yourself. So this was your new place now, musty, dirty, and you needed to work with men. Unbelievable. You were so much better alone, so why send you with a team? But order is order.
Your new boss was like every other boss you had in the past fourteen years: white, old, and unable to protect himself. He relied on you, didn’t trust his allies, closest friends, and sometimes not even himself. But it was easy to trust a mindless creation, someone who shouldn’t be able to feel or think—at least that's what he says. Did he really think you hadn’t got a voice in your head? You had it—it wasn’t always there, but it was sometimes. You weren’t dumb.
"Welcome to the Team," Price said, extending his hand to you. Shepard introduced you to him and his team of barbaric monkeys. You didn’t bother to shake his hand; you hated fake niceties. Was he your boss too? You hoped not. There were already enough useless men in charge of you.
"Shake your superior's hand," he grunted out, not amused by your behavior. Superior—only more men in power. How usual. You ignored him, only rolling your eyes and looking at Shepard, your real boss. If he said shake this man's hand, you do; if not, you don’t.
"John, she doesn’t work with ranks," Shepard tried to explain. I’m an assassin, not a soldier, you thought. Soldiers weren’t something you were particularly fond of, nor were your teachers. Well, if you don’t count him, but that’s not important right now anyway.
"Well, bad for her. I don’t need someone on my team who can't show me a tad of respect," he snorted, glaring at you like he wanted to kill you—sweet, you thought, how naive he was. He really didn’t know what you were capable of.
"There is no discussion. She is on the team as long as I need her, understood?"
"Understood, General."
The boss left, telling you to try to listen to John but always listen to him first. Reasonable. You’d heard weirder requests.
"So, we're stuck with her now," the boy called Gaz, what a stupid name, asked.
"Yes."
"At least you aren’t hard on the eyes, lass," Soap joked. The man with the stupid name and the worst haircut chuckled while his hand touched your shoulder in an attempt to tease you and soften the tension between you and the new team.
By instinct, your hand grabbed his, putting it in a position where it would be so easy to break his hand. "Прикоснись ко мне снова, и я убью тебя!" you hissed, and the men only looked stupidly at you.
"Ah, she just doesn’t understand English, poor lass."
"I understand English perfectly fine. I said if you touch me again, I’m going to kill you!" The monotonous look in your eyes sent shivers down Soap's spine. He knew you weren’t playing; crazy, that’s what you were to him, and you didn’t mind, as long as he didn’t touch you again.
"Okay, why don’t we all calm down?"
"Great, Cap."
"Tell us your callsign or something about you," the older man said, and you asked yourself what would happen if you just stood up and left. But the mission was more important than your ego or annoyance for all of them. Well, except the ridiculous masked man; at least he knew how to keep his mouth shut.
"Love, 19," was all you said. The truth was, you didn’t remember your name anymore. It was all gone, buried deep between all the sessions you needed to endure until the final selection. You knew that you were called 0694 most of your life, until the accident which made them call you Love.
"You don’t seem like someone with the callsign 'Love,' more like Medusa."
"Gaz, stop!" the old man scolded. You could see the wrinkles on his face. He was at least 40, you thought. Was he more like Shepard, or Durinov? Well, he wasn’t a good guy, that's what you knew about him. But who is a good guy after all?
"Okay, Love, the Lieutenant will show you your room."
"Хорошо" You bark at him, getting ready to follow the Ghost masked guy to your new room.
"Speak English, Love."
"Fine, Captain," you scoffed at him. You were sure you wouldn’t like it here. Why couldn’t a better boss get you someone who just gave you orders? You were good at following orders: Kill him—done, torture him—done, make him pay—easy. Just this American sitcom family situation was too nauseating for you. Your thoughts went away to the prospect of skinning some of them alive, but not allowed.
You walked with Ghost to your new place. He was taller than you and bulkier, but that didn’t mean he was stronger. You fought a lot against guys like him—brutes—and they always lost. Strength isn’t enough without a brain, but he seemed smarter than the other ones; he didn’t talk, and you could appreciate that.
"This is it," he gestured to a single room with white walls and a twin-sized bed in the middle. It was one of the better places you’d slept in, if you forget Budapest, Moscow, and Prague. Stupid girl, you thought to yourself. Don’t dwell on your memories; they're gone, gone, gone.
"Okay."
"You don’t talk much," he observed.
You only nodded firmly, not bothering to use your lips to form words.
"Good," he said before walking away.
You threw your bag into the corner. You didn’t have much besides your uniform, weapons, and that washed-out picture of him, which you should have thrown out a long time ago. But it's like a warning for you, you thought. Maybe it was indeed sentiment, which you wouldn’t admit—not after that day.
In search of the training room, you walked past the meeting room where the men still sat as if time stood still.
"Shouldn’t the TF 141 have just four of us, Cap?" the man with the cap asked. If you remembered right, he was called Gaz or something like that.
"Shepard only approved of this task force if she would join, so it's off the table."
"She is crazy," Mohawk guy stated.
"Maybe so, but she's great in the field."
"How do you know, Ghost?"
"Met her in Lisbon four years ago, but as an enemy."
"Four years ago, she was 15."
"Indeed."
"This can't be true."
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Lisbon, March 2018
The storm howled through the gloomy streets of Lisbon. It was one of your first solo missions: just kill the target and finish. Nothing special, but lying on the rooftop with your sniper gun was more uncomfortable than you had originally imagined. Of course, you were used to discomfort, but the missions were always your safe space. Sleeping outside was easy—safer than there.
But now you were soaked through to your underwear, and the damn target was taking his sweet time. You were trained to lie here on the rooftop for several days, and you won't mess up your first mission; it all factors into the evaluation. And you already messed up that hard. You needed to improve before the grand selection.
Footsteps echoed behind you. You had the choice to turn around and fight off the intruder or to keep focusing on your mission. If he caught you turning around, you would fail, and you really didn’t need this. You decided to foolishly turn around, aiming your gun at him. He was tall, bulky, with blonde hair and several scars on his face—a soldier. Probably, your survival rate was around 75%.
Of course, he pointed his gun at you too, making this even more annoying than it already was. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” He had a British accent, probably SAS, judging by his uniform.
“I’m a NATO soldier just keeping watch. No one shoots the governor,” you tried hard to speak with an American accent, maybe he was a brute and not a brain. The uniform you wore didn’t have any flags, atypical for NATO.
“Don’t bullshit me, tell me the truth before I put a hole through your head,” he barked at you, at least only half an idiot, you guessed.
“Bold of you to assume that I won’t put a hole through your head first.”
“As if you were able, little girl.” Before you could form a cocky remark, you already had a bullet in your shoulder. He thought you would leave your position because of the bullet, but you stayed put; you needed to finish the mission. He hunched over to you, turning you around while drawing his knife out.
“Блядь, неужели ты не можешь просто позволить мне быть,” you cursed under your breath, drawing your knife too, standing up without a hint of pain in your eyes, making him wonder how this was possible.
“NATO, huh?”
He tried to bring you down with his pure brute strength, but as always, he forgot that strength isn’t everything. “You shouldn’t have such a bad stance,” you smirked before he could defend his technique; you already put a knife inside his hip.
The big, incapable soldier winced on the ground as if a knife wound hurt that bad. Before he could reach for something, you were already on your way to your rope, grabbing it to jump from the rooftop.
“By the way, never disturb my work again, сука,” and with that, you shot him in the shoulder, eye for an eye, and jumped from the rooftop.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
"That's how the governor died?" Price asked, and Ghost only nodded. It wasn't one of his proudest moments; he would have won if he hadn’t been so unfocused. Since then, his missions were always about constant focus and never underestimating an enemy.
“She is a terrorist, we don’t work with terrorists,”
“Have fun fighting me, you lose, short man—all of you will lose,” you said, showing yourself from the corner where you had been hiding. They needed to tolerate you for their silly little task force.
#cod#cod mw2#cod mwii#cod x reader#call of duty#tf 141#tf 141 x reader#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#ghost mw2#captain john price#ghost cod#ghost#ghost headcanons#ghost fanfiction#ghost fanfic#ghost call of duty
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[Mistaken Identity] Chapter 2
Rating: General
Fandom: Good Omens (Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett)
Relationships: Aziraphale x Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley
Tags: Angst, Fluff, Heartbreak, Love, Georgian Era
Summary: The year is 1797. King George has just gotten over a bout of illness and a member of the English royal family had just gotten married to a Duchess of Holland, so why not throw a masquerade ball to celebrate the occasion and invite all the noblemen and women of The United Kingdom and surrounding areas?
Crowley and Aziraphale meet at the ball. Crowley, though, mistakes some identities.
Chapter one can be found here
Notes: Thank you for all the love for chapter one! <3
😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈😇😈
If you'd wondered how big the ballroom was, it could hold an entire 60-person Classical orchestra. You might not think that's a lot. But consider the musical instruments and then also consider how many hundreds of people would appear at the ball; Dukes, Duchesses, Barons and Baroness, Kings, Queens, Princes, Princesses, foreign diplomats and attachés, counts and contessas. Then a whole armoury of staff plus the dresses and clothes they were all wearing. So it was no surprise to Aziraphale when he had lost Crowley for nearly three and a half hours. In his tipsy-nearly-drunk state, he had thought that he'd seen Crowley at least four times but it was just a mask that looked similar to his.
It was nearly ten o'clock when Aziraphale had spotted Crowley by the open doors of a balcony absent of the Swan lady he had danced with earlier. He was leaned up against a doorframe idly and looked out downwards out into the sconce-lit courtyard. Crowley had found out that the name of this woman was Frederica (but he hadn't found out that he had bedded crown Princess Frederica Charlotte of Prussia - daughter in law to the king) and that she was rather good in the bedroom. His hair was ever so slightly out of place but this wasn't extremely noticeable unless one had paid scrupulous attention to his hair before and after he'd vanished into a guest room. The demon was enjoying the cool summer night breeze (not that he actually needed it) and was also, rather squiffy.
"Having a rather good time, aren't we?" Said Aziraphale with light amusement.
"Mmh." The demon hummed, not looking at him. Probably just too drunk to speak.
"She'll confess you realize?" It wasn't a question but more or a statement. It still came out with a wistful, dreamlike tone. "We'll get her back on our side-"
"You're gorgeous, y'know that?" The demon cut him off. Aziraphale blushed deeply. "And - And - And - I would like to, to very much dance. With you. Now." Crowley, still not paying mind to Aziraphale, took his hand awkwardly and stumbled out into the center of the room. It all happened so quickly. Aziraphale's head spun from the sudden and unwarned movement - like when you stand up too fast and become dizzy and when he came to his senses, he found himself being thrown into an underarm spin by Crowley. He winced slightly as he drew the alcohol out of his system and sobered himself. The angel's heart raced. He suddenly became very aware of the situation: Crowley's slender fingers firmly grasping his waist, his smooth palm resting against his, both their chests pressing together and the feel of other women's dresses brushing against his legs and ankles as well as his own coat tails on the backs of his calves and knees. His heart fluttered and his face and ears glowed a brilliant bright red.
"Crowley-"
"I've been admiring you all night, you know."
"Well, Crowley, I must admit that I-"
"You're- you're angelic. Positively glowing in brilli- in brilli- you're beautiful." The demon slurred.
"Oh well, thank you, my dear-"
"And-" Crowley spun Aziraphale again. He was quite a skilled dancer even if he was drunk. He placed his hand firmly on the angel's hip once more and rested his chin on top of his head as they both fell back into a simple box step.
"I'm quite sure that you want what I'm after," His voice came out low, sensual. Almost a purr that would weaken anybody's knees. Aziraphale nearly melted.
"O-Oh, Crowley, I feel the exact same way I've just been rather too shy to admit! I thought it would be far too forward of me."
"- Frederica." Frederica. Bloody Frederica.The angel's heart sank down to the depths of hell and he could now feel his face heating up for another reason. This was now humiliation. His face fell, he tensed every muscle in his body. It was clear now that the demon had confused Aziraphale with the swan woman. After all, they did have similar masks and their heights and frames were similar. Similar enough for a drunkard to draw the conclusion that they may have been the same person. He hadn't even been listening or looking at him. He was far too drunk to even realize that she was not him. Tears stung his eyes. He wished, after nearly 6000 years of being on Earth, that he had never been sent down to this infernal planet!
"Crowley." The demon continued muttering things. Aziraphale ripped his hand out of Crowley's and threw his hand from his waist. He ran as fast as his legs could carry towards an open balcony before anybody else could catch on to what had just happened. The humiliation! Oh good heavens how could he have ever believed for one second that Crowley had meant those words for him?! Of course, he didn't! Couldn't! Wouldn't. Ever. A hard lump formed in his throat and he felt his lip quiver. He collapsed behind the door and bought his hands up to his forehead, staring down at the paving stones. He had let himself be tempted by the very force he was meant to have thwarted. How dare he! The stupid, foolish, hopeful angel.
Crowley stood in a daze in the middle of the ballroom. Then he realized the full weight of what had just happened as he miracled himself sober. A handful of couples stared at him in disgust - or maybe it was annoyance that he'd upset the mood of the party. His insides churned and twisted in a way he was quite sure shouldn't have worked in this human body. He felt like a true demon for the first time in centuries.
"Aziraphale...Aziraphale!"
Aziraphale leaned his head against the stone of the balcony railing. His head was thrumming. He could quite clearly hear the calls of his name getting nearer and nearer to him. The angel slammed the balcony door with such ferocity that the pigeons on the roof scattered scared into the night and the glass pains almost shattered. The last thing he wanted was to face Crowley and cause any more humiliation on his own part - thank you very much!
"Oh! Oh!" His face scrunched up in almost pain. "OH! Will you please just fuck right off!"
#aziraphale x crowley#aziraphale/crowley#chapter 2#mistaken identity#good omens#crowley#aziraphale#fluff#angst#aziracrow
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