#interactive fic characters

[nineblooddances-if]

NINE BLOOD DANCES

Nine Moons for the Nine Circles of Hell

Ruled by Nine Siblings. Or better known as the Commanders of Hell. Each believed to carry a role in the natural world and each a leader of the Devil’s Army. Each Commander is the personification of their circle and is made with a part of The Devil’s Body.

His Brain. His Genitals. His Stomachs. His Lungs. His Eyes. His Tongues. His Flesh. His Ears. And lastly his heart.

With each part, combined with that of a woman of a different species, flourished the consciousness of the circle, and then from a piece of the circle, a body was molded, creating each commander.

Yet with no one to rule over them.

For the Devil has many things to do and does not have the time to watch over the things he created. So, he gets an idea. A funny idea.

For he wishes not to strip himself of more. So, he goes to a mortal man. One who knew all that of the world, a man who had everything that the mortal heart could desire. Expect love–Yes love. For there is a difference between idolization and obsession and honest love. The mortal man had not that, and so the Devil laughed and lured this man to his death. And when no one showed genuine care for the man at his funeral, he fell into despair.

And the Gods who refused to hear his prayers before now stared upon him and pitied him. And sent the mortal man a gift in order to ease the loneliness.

A gift the Devil needs.

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

✶ [DEMO]

✶ [PATREON]

✶ [KO-FI]

✶ [DISCORD]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You were a gift. Now to whom? No one knows.

All that matters is that you are a gift and not like any of the others of your species. Uniqueness and importance oozes from every fiber of your being. You're important. Everyone says you're important. But why you're so important?

Who knows?

You must figure out what makes you so special and different. You must figure out what drives you through all circles. And you have to figure out why the nine commanders of Hell all have their eyes upon you and wish to have you by their side.

All before the fall of the ninth moon.

☽☽✶☾☾ Customizable MC

✶ [Name, Species(human, fallen angel, vampire, succubus/incubus, etc), Personality, Gender, Pronouns] ✶ [Appearance (markings, scars, wings, tails, horns, ears, etc), Traits, Love Language, Allergies, Diet, Piercings, Aesthetics, and more]

☽☽✶☾☾ Ability to have certain traits, likes, and disabilities

✶[Favorite Foods, Smoking/Drinking Habits, & More] ✶[ADHD, OCD, Depression + more] ✶[Hearing Aids, Prosthetic Arms or Legs, and choosing how you lost your limb]

☽☽✶☾☾ Options that have an effect on romantic and platonic relationships.

☽☽✶☾☾ Choose between nine romanceable Love Interests or None at All.

☽☽✶☾☾ Stats, Personality, and MC Characteristics that will affect the story and characters.

[Harem Route & Poly Routes Optional]

| IMPORTANT VIEWINGS OF CERTAIN FEATURES | ✶Ear Piercings

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 1ST CIRCLE—LIMBO—

COMMANDER AAPO I LIBERTAS

── THAT OF THE DEVIL’S BRAIN

✶ Personality: Aapo is an overly confident, charismatic man who is proud of the ranking he holds, being that he is ranked above his siblings and seen as the current ruler of the Nine Circles. Aapo walks and talks with a smile on his face and radiates this atmosphere of freedom, which is quickly erased by this underlying need for control, and he demands it. He has no reservations to confirm that. Many fear him despite his faux cheery attitude and overly relaxed posture.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [6’1FT ~ 188CM] with rosy pale-colored skin that is littered with warm brown freckles. He had deep-set shaped eyes while his eyes were the darker color shades of the rainbow, that fluctuated depending upon mood but remained a deep emerald green. He has short mahogany brown hair with a short fringe that seems messy. He’s lean and long, with long legs and arms. Always wearing overly vibrant and eccentric suits of greens and browns, decorated with bronze and gold.

──"CAMBION"—AMAB—HE/HIM ──PANSEXUAL [MASC PREFRENCE]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 2ND CIRCLE—LUST—

COMMANDER ANIL/AIDEN II LUXURIA

── THAT OF THE DEVIL'S GENITALS

✶ Personality: Anil is a self-assured, arrogant, aloof, hotheaded woman. Always wearing a scowl or frown of some sort. Her mood changes just as quickly as the wind and follows that of the hierarchy. She demands respect and will expect it. Many of the others stay out of her way and allow her to do as she pleases, since she has no desire to disrupt anything and follow the rules in place. Unless they get in the way of her desires.

✶ Appearance: She stands at [6’2FT ~ 192CM] with deep chocolate brown skin with no blemishes or scars. She has bedroom eyes that are a deep navy blue but appear black until in candlelight. Anil’s hair is jet black hair reaches her waist and is curly, while wet it reverts into a more coily texture. She has long legs and a waist and adds to her height by wearing dark blacks and blues, wearing heels, with a subtle male pirate aesthetic, wearing silver with everything. With the remains of two torn leather wings upon her back, with a long and heavy black scaled tail of a crocodile.

──"INCUBUS/SUCCUBUS"—AFAB—HE/SHE ──OMNISEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 3RD CIRCLE—GLUTTONY—

COMMANDER ALICE III GULA

──THAT OF THE DEVILS STOMACH

✶ Personality: Alice of the three siblings is by far the kindest of them. With a laid-back attitude. She is blunt but kind in her words, and the most approachable. She, just like her Aapo and Anil, expects respect due to her rank, though she cares little about enforcing it, especially with her "siblings". However, she has a mean streak when hungry and can become aggressive toward those who are men or those masculine in nature.

✶ Appearance: She stands at [5’7FT ~ 175CM] with warm ivory-colored skin, that’s covered in what looks to be scars, that are prominent on her throat, the back of her hands, her palms, and her knees which are small scars, while the entire along her collarbone, slanting cut across her entire stomach, and along the outside of both thighs seem like bigger scars, but they’re not. They are instead different mouths with sharklike teeth and crimson red tongues. That she keeps closed unless extremely hungry. Alice also has yellowish blonde hair that is a messy pixie cut, with an eye patch covering her right eye. She always has deep monolid-shaped eyes that are a vivid orange color. She has a sheer clothing aesthetic as while as a leather aesthetic, wearing many shades of orange, black, and white with gold. Accompanied by the small horns of a deer, a shade of white, and the tail of a deer.

──"VAMPIRE"—AFAB—SHE/HER ──BISEXUAL [FEM PREFRENCE]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 4TH CIRCLE–GREED—

COMMANDER ERIC/EDWARD IV AVARITIA

── THAT OF THE DEVIL'S LUNGS

✶ Personality: Eric is the quietest of the siblings, rarely speaking unless directly spoken to. He is a loner and prefers to be alone. He is also one of the only siblings who dislikes the hierarchy of siblings, and rarely spends his time commanding his circle, opting to be away, spending his time exploring the other parts and various layers of Hell and the unique punishments.

✶ Appearance: Eric stands at [6’5FT ~ 200CM] with pale skin. With the rest of his features hidden beneath a black cloth that hides his eyes. His black cloth also replicates bandages that covered various parts of his arms and legs. He has shoulder-length curly black hair that he keeps in a ponytail. He has a Dark Victorian aesthetic wearing black, red, and yellow.

──"DHAMPIR"—AMAB/AFAB—HE/HIM/SHE/HER/IT/ITS ──GRAYROMANTIC—PANSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 5TH CIRCLE—WRATH—

COMMANDER LOUIS V IRA

── THAT OF THE DEVILS EYES

✶ Personality: Louis is a confident, arrogant, egotistical, smart man. Who revels in his circle enjoys using his influence on lower-ranked demons and enjoys spending time with higher-ranked demons. He also throws extravagant parties and chooses to spend most of his time with the Devil, who is the embodiment/avatar of Wrath. Louis tends to his duties well, despite his nasty temper.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’7FT ~ 175CM] with limestone-covered skin round bright blue and red heterochromic eyes and short blonde hair that fades into red that cut like a jellyfish. He dresses like that of kings and queens, with a 16th-century royalty aesthetic, wearing that of gold and red. He also has the horns of a ram that are a beautiful gold.

──"HUMAN"—AMAB—HE/THEY ──DEMISEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 6TH CIRCLE—HERESY—

COMMANDER GABRIEL VI MENDAX

── THAT OF THE DEVILS TONGUE

✶ Personality: Gabriel is someone who speaks only of rumors and half-truths. Many don't trust a word he says, and you must force the truth out of it. He gets a lot of humor leading people astray with his words. Even though he is quite knowledgeable and level-headed. He prefers to use his wisdom in more trickster ways, unless threatened, he quickly breaks. Outside of his lies, he is quite kind and fair, yet due to his tongue, no one believes his kindness.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’9FT ~ 180CM] with bronze-colored skin and long straight dark brown hair that he keeps in a thick braid, decorated with purple snapdragons, lavender, and vines. Gabriel has a soft flowy cottagecore aesthetic wearing colors of white and purple. While upon his back he has two large gray feathered wings that he keeps tucked away.

──"FALLEN ANGEL"—AMAB—HE/SHE ──AUTOSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 7TH CIRCLE—VIOLENCE—

COMMANDER DAMEION VII VIOLENTI

──THAT OF THE DEVILS FLESH

✶ Personality: Dameion is laid back, mischievous, charismatic, and cocky. Since he has one of the most popular circles, he garters high respect despite being the seventh. He has overbearing pride and follows the hierarchy of the circles. Still, you will not find Dameion without a cocky smile and relaxed posture no matter where he is. Which leads him to having and being loved by many. Everyone practically swoons when he walks into the room or speaks. This doubles when amongst full-blooded bloodhounds, due to him being able to have a body, unlike them.

✶ Appearance: He stands at [5’9FT ~ 180CM] with honey-colored skin with black armband tattoos upon his wrists and ankles. He has short, shaggy black hair and deep red eyes. With a formal aesthetic, always wearing suits or a more military-type aesthetic. He has two long black tails of a wolf and wolf ears that hide amongst his hair with two red horns of a bison.

──"BLOODHOUND"—AMAB—HE/HIM ──POLYSEXUAL

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 8TH CIRCLE—FRAUD—

COMMANDER LUCY OR LUCIUS VIII FICTUS

──THAT OF THE DEVILS EARS

✶ Personality: They are an untrusted liar, fake, fraud. Dawning on various masks and looking to deceive whoever they need to deceive. Taking upon titles, achievements, and anything to further their lie, and when it all backfires, they run away and never get caught. Due to this, they are never in hell, nor in their circle, in fact, it's hard to get in touch with them. They also spend a lot of time within the different underworlds and heavens, trying to gain something from the divine. Only to be sent back to Hell without punishment. They are tricksters and unreliable, with no real redeeming qualities.

✶ Appearance: They stand at [5’8FT ~ 178CM] with thick curly gray hair with white faded ends. Their hair is short to their chin and left alone. They have hooded gray eyes and short-bison-like horns with gray bat wings that fade into black with a long rat-like tail. They have varying styles but settle on clothing far more revealing. Wearing pinks and whites.

──"IMP"—[SELECTABLE GENDER] ──GAY OR LESBIAN [SELECTABLE SEXUALITY]

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

PERSONIFICATION OF THE 9TH CIRCLE—TREACHERY—

COMMANDER TRENT IX PRODITIO 

──THAT OF THE DEVILS HEART 

✶ Personality: Trent is a sweet talking and kind person. Always understand and be sympathetic. He’s easy-going and easily trusting. He’s a very honest person and falls into his roles, whilst being obedient and submissive. Not wanting to break rules without important reason. He’s a big man with an honest and open heart and tries to live past his title.  

✶ Appearance: He stands at [7’5FT ~ 230 CM] with tan scarred skin and freckles. He has large heterochromic eyes, his right olive and the left mustard yellow. He has messy brown hair that he keeps in his face, partially hiding his eyes. He bulky and tall, but always hunching over with feathered ears that are dark brown and long wispy split bird tail that is also dark brown. Trent wears many colors yet sticks to neutral tones and dark green. 

──"NEPHILIM"—AMAB/AFAB—HE/HIM  ──PANSEXUAL 

AVAILABLE POLY RELATIONSHIPS

TO BE DETERMINED

ⓒ 2023 CVLUTOSGAMES & nineblooddances-if — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited.

#introduction post #interactive fic #interactive fic characters #interactive fic demo #interactive fics #interactive fiction #interactive fiction demos #if game #if wip #twine game #twine if #twine interactive fiction #interactive game #datingsim #dating game

[thesadadventurersgame]

The sad adventurers

Play as sadness incarnated, being revered as a deity and condemned to cry for the rest of eternity. Join an thrilling adventure with mortals you just met and, for the first time in your life, make real friends! (and try not to make them cry while they're around you and your contagious sadness). Will you help you new friends get what they want or will you get in their way?

The story will have two main points of view: Mc's and Antara Al-Amin's, other characters will also have their own POVs, but they will be shorter and won’t allow you to make choices.

(This is a wip that, unfortunately, will take time to be completed. English is not my first language and I do this just for fun, if you see any typo, please tell me!)

“In the beginning, there was only happiness. The first goddess was born from all the laughs in the world. A woman who shines every time someone laughs or smiles, never sad or angry. Love came soon after, from the desire to share this happiness, from the desire to care and be cared for. They loved and love everything they see. But, when mortal men were expelled from paradise, when they first began to feel pain and cried, from their tears emerged sadness. A deity who cried, cries and will cry forever and ever, cradling all the sadness in the world in their arms. They did not come alone though. Anger, their brother, came from the blood that men have shed and will be strengthened by it in the future. He can never be satisfied and will never be satiated, nothing makes him smile more than pure hatred. and, finally, came Fear. Born from the fear of feeling sadness, pain, fear of losing control of your own feelings, your own body, fear from being hurt and hurting. that’s where he came from.

But, before all of them, we, mortals, were born. The many fruits of the immense tree the love between life and death is. Unlike the Gods, we can feel all types of emotions proportionally and unproportionally. Only we can feel everything and feel nothing at the same time, Without us, the Gods would be nothing. But we are never satisfied, are we? we want everything until there is nothing left and will do everything, everything we can to have it. Everything to have at least one wish, any wish, fulfilled.

In ancient books it is said that if you can gather: hapinness tears, sadness laughter, the blood of love boiling with hate, a little ounce of love from hate and a demonstration of courage from fear, life itself will grant you one wish, ANY wish! That's why I brought you all together here. Together we can make history!” the man closes the book in front of him, smiling from ear to ear. “So? What do you guys say?”

𖦹 Customizable MC

ꕀ Name, personality, species, gender, sexuality, pronouns, appearence, level of naivety, hobbies, your control over your own powers and more

𖦹 Romance 1 (or more) of 6 romanceable love interests

𖦹 Choose between helping the adventurers achieve their goals or completely hindering them

𖦹 Define how you fell and interact with the other gods, as well with your own divinity

Ro’s:

Antara Al-Amin (27) | The leader | (he/him)

An adventurous and brave man. He was the one who brought your group together and is also, the leader. He makes you curious, no one has ever tried such a thing before, no one has ever been foolish enough, and yet there he is, sure that everything will work out.

Everything you do seems to mesmerize Antara, and he seems to do everything just to see your smile, failing miserably most of the times, but never giving up.

You do not know what his wish is going to be, but you know he won't give up on it, no matter what.

Species: Human

Apparence and personality: Antara is a slender but strong tall man, measuring approximately 1.80m. His umber skin is covered in scars from past adventures, which he brags about endlessly. His midnight black hair is styled in long dreadlocks and his amber eyes sparkle with a mischief that he doesn't care to hide. According to him, his stubble is his charm. He prefers masculine clothes, but likes to dress feminine in formal occasions. Antara has a flirtatious and outgoing personality, throwing himself into the arms of anyone willing to hold him for the night. it's clear to you that he cares about everyone in the group, including you, which is silly, but you don’t dislike it.

Rajinder Khan (28) | A good friend | (He/Him or She/Her)

Rajinder at first only joined the group because of Antara, their childhood friend, as they thought that Antara was going completly insane, fearing for his friends life. However, the promise that their greatest wish could be granted was also a factor, who would deny such oportunity after all?

Rajinder was the first to protest when Antara allowed you to join the group. They seem to have a great aversion to showing emotions, especially sadness, maybe that’s why he ignores you everytime they can.

Species: Human

Apparence and personality: Rajinder is a tall (2.00,m 1.98,f) heavy built person. Their golden skin is covered in freckles from head to toe. Male Rajinder keeps his hair in a military cut, female Rajinder wears short braids, both have black hair and almond eyes. They prefer more gender neutral clothing. Rajinder has a distant and cold personality, speaking only when needed.

Yueling Bai (25) | The liar | (She/Her, They/Them or He/Him)

The first thing you learned when joining the group was that you cannot trust a single word that comes out of Yueling’s mouth, for every ten words they say, nine are lies. The only thing they don’t seem to lie about is about how they feel about you and the others.

Yueling is a notorious liar and a extremely famous mercenary, that’s why Antara invited them in the first place, They have many skills that can be extremely useful. Every time the groups wishes are mentioned, Yueling is the first to try to change the subject, or they come up with a new wish. You are not going to lie, this worrys you, but there’s nothing you can do, for all you know, they can't even have a wish yet. He is neutral towards you joining in the group, and find the way you affect their emotions annoying, but despite that, they still treat you with polite deference (sometimes)

Bonus: He grew up within one of the kingdoms in your territory, which is embarrassing since you don't remember most of them.

Species: Half-elf

Apparence and personality: Yueling has a lanky body and is avarage in height (1.64), with olive colored skin, covered in tattos. Their straight short hair flows freely below their jaw, a small red clip pinning their bangs to the top of their head. They wear scarlet-red paint around their eyes which perfectly harmonizes with their jet black iris. Female and male Yueling prefer clothes generally assigned to the gender they identify with, however non-binary Yueling will prefer more masculine clothes. Yueling is a born liar, their playful personality, for all you know, could be another one of their various lies, but you like it.

Felix/Felicia Bellerose (22) | The runaway princet | (He/Him or She/Her)

F comes from the second most powerful empire in the world, Tartarus, a troubled place led by a tyrannical and sadistic Queen, their mother, Hild Bellerose, more know as the “Red Queen”. F's dream has always been to free his empire from Hild’s clutches, but they never had the courage to do so, being raised to be complient and obedient, going against their mother was like a fever dream. Luckily, he knows the right people. They joined the group with the help of their royal guard, who helped them escape from the palace during the night. They don't seem prepared to fight, at all, good thing they have their charisma.

He is easily impressed by you and your powerss, treating you with deference.

Species: Vampire

Bonus: Tartarus is one of the kingdoms under Gunnar's territory, you can choose how to feel about it.

Apparence and personality: F is an tall (1.85m 1.82f) skinny person, with pale ivory skin and red eyes. Their curly, sunset-blonde hair is tied in a low ponytail with a crimson red ribbon if male and falls on their shoulders freely if female. They use a big black umbrella during the day and round sunglasses, if female, F will prefer feminine clothes, but doesn’t have a preference if male. F is a shy, air-headed person and a huge people pleaser, but, when needed, they are extremely charismatic and flirtatious. They will do everything to please their companions. They have a really hard time making choices by themselves.

Aza Bonheur (24) | The (un)lucky one | (She/Her)

Aza is F's royal guard and their biggest co-conspirator against Hild, she’s the one who convinced the princet to join the group and is one, if not the only, of their closest friends. She can easily be considered one of the strongest person of the group and strangely, she doesn't seem to have a wish to make.

Aza has an supernatural level of luck (good and bad), which is defined by a magical coin that she carries with her everywhere. She also appears to be able to steal other people's good luck and can transfer good or bad luck to others. She never mentions how she gained these “powers”, avoiding the subject as much as she possible can.

She treats you with deference but has her suspicions about you.

Species: Human

Apparence and personality: Aza is a strong women of avarege height (1,72), with green eyes and rose beige skin, covered from head to toe in scars. Her almond-colored hair is short and gelled back, showing the scar that runs from one side of her face to the other. Aza has a tough but kind personality. She is a serious woman who doesn't fool around but has a passion for drinking games. She doesn't have a preference for clothes, when she is not wearing her armour, she likes to wear anything as long as it is practical.

Douglas, Fear itself | The one who vanished | (He/They)

Douglas is the only God to not have an counterpart. When you were younger, Douglas was a shy and fearful boy, always in the most darkest of the corners, watching everyone cautiously. Neither you nor the other gods remember a thing about Douglas, because, when you separated, all the memories you had of him disappeard...but they seem to be coming back.

You don't know how, but you will find him.

Species: Vampire

Apparence and personality: You remember Douglas as a tall and slim boy, his tanned skin was always sickly pale and he had huge, dark circles under his eyes. Deep crimson red eyes that were always wide open. His hair was dark and oily, going down his back. All you can remember is how he trembled looking at you and the others.

Non ro’s:

Gunnar, Hatred itself | your brother | (he/him)

Gunnar, your dearest brother and the most hot-headed person you've ever met. You are the only person and thing that makes him smile other than hatred and violence. You spent a good part of your life clinging to him. In times of war, where your sadness was so deep that you couldn't stop sobbing and screaming, even if his blood was so hot to the point of melting his skin, he never stopped taking care of you, staying by your side all the time.

You do know where he is.

Species: Demon

Appearance and personality: Gunnar is a very tall man (2.00) with muscular build, and appears to be approximately 30 years old. His white hair falls over his shoulders like waterfalls and his porcelain skin is often red and burnt because of his blood, which boils at the slightest provocation. He has red eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He does not prefer a specific type of clothing, but generally wears more androgynous clothing. Gunnar hot-headed, mean and sadistic

Bonus: Gunnar is aromantic

Ahladita, Hapinness itself | your counterpart | (She/Her)

You and Ahladita were always fighting in your youth. For being counterparts, the mere presence of each other could ruin the other's work in mere seconds. While she was trying to make something happy, you soon came to make the same thing sad and vice versa. If she tried to make a place sunny, you came to make it rainy, but she always had extra advantage, she was older and trained her powers much more than you did. You can choose whethever this rivalry has passed into adulthood or not

If you are not rivals in adulthood, you will know where she is ;if you are rivals, then you won't.

Species: Fairy

Appearance and personality: Ahladita takes the shape of a woman in her early 20s, who has a curvy body of average height (1.70). Her skin has a golden bronze hue and is soft and shiny. Her curly, black hair is inches from dragging on the floor and contrasts perfectly with her golden eyes. She prefers more feminine clothes. She is extremely extroverted and bubbly.

Itoko, Love itself | Someone interested | (They/Them)

Itoko has always had a peculiar interest in all the other gods except happiness, perhaps due to the fact that you are all mostly negative emotions. Itoko were always very observant and had an unhealthy obsession with your brother, but well, counterparts. You both were relatively close in your youth, and you can choose if this continued in your adulthood. They love you, for they love everything they see and feel, but is not romantic and maybe, it's not even platonic, for all you know, it can be more as if you were a... a story, an subject, an object that they are deeply invested in. After a long time, their curiosity turned to you once again, their attention is completely yours now.

You don't know where they are, but it wouldn't be hard to find out.

Species: merfolk

Appearance and personality: Itoko takes an androgynous appearance in their mid-20s. Their curvy, chubby bodie are a creamy shade and their skin is smooth with a heart-shaped scar in the middle of their chest. They are short in height (1.55) and have midnight black hair, which reaches the middle of their back, styled in a hime cut. They prefer feminine clothing, but are usually naked, with just a cloth to cover their genitals. They are calm and observant and love to flirt.

Bonus: they can shapeshift

Dunia, Life, the beginning of everything. | The creator | (She/Her)

Everything came from Dunia and Orpheus, everything belongs to them. She has looked after you and the other Gods since the moment you were born. You never had the best relationship with her, but she was always there.

You know where she is

Appearance and personality: Dunia takes on the appearance of a woman on her mid 40s with a robust and tall build (1,95), with dull brown skin. Her long, wavy hair is tied into a high ponytail and she wears silver armor, which you've only seen her without once in your life. She is a serious and cold woman.

Orpheus, Death, the end of everything | The beginning and the end | (He/Him)

Everything came from Dunia and Orpheus, everything belongs to them. Mortals fear his judgment. Creator of the 7 layers of hell and a father to you, Orpheus, unlike Dunia, has always been very close to you, taking care of you as if you were his own son.

You know where he is

Appearance and personality: Orpheus takes the form of a man in his early 50s, of average height (1,70), with a slim, frail build and a pale skin full of scars. his wavy blonde hair is cut below his ears and is always messy. He is a calm man and is terrible at giving advice.

Demo tba | Pinterest | Playlists

#if game #if wip #twine game #twine if #interactive fiction #interactive fiction wip #interactive fic characters #introduction post #dating game #dating sim #wip game #interactive fic

[the-six-that-thrive-if]

»»——THE ANGEL——-««

SUBJECT L-18

»»———-“One is born to fly,

Until thy wings are removed—stolen;

Yet heart yearns to sore…”———-««

#T.M.BASEMENT.ANGEL #interactive fics #if game #interactive fiction #interactive fic characters #oc moodboard #OCs #itchio interactive fic #twine interactive fiction #dating sim characters #dating sim

[fifthnailinstevesbat]

after the events of season 4, steve just wanting SO BADLY to be friends with eddie. just LOVING the idea of them getting closer and having eddie as a friend because hell yeah! a close male friendship with someone that is actually my age, and who i don’t have a weird history with involving bruised eyes and love triangles? count me IN! and eddie is FUN, he is actually hilarious! the way they share the same glances of understanding when dustin is being an absolute shit head, rambling on and on about some obscure topic, expecting everyone to always be on the exact same page as him. of course. and, although steve suspects that eddie actually probably is keeping up with everything dustin says, much better than he ever could, he knows that above it all eddie can appreciate the antics for what they are, and roll his eyes with steve at dustin, i concur, you dustin henderson, are a total butthead.

steve just about junps RIGHT IN to being friends with eddie. hey man, what’cha up to tonight? wanna watch a movie? get drunk, smoke a bit? hey eddie, how have you been, man? he starts calling eddie up on the phone regularly just to check in, shoot the shit, he loves it! he loves having this new friendship with eddie munson and he loves how much the other boy has surprised him with how much he actually enjoys being around him. he’s not a freak, really, well ok maybe he is a little bit, but only in the best ways. he’s kind, thoughtful, and is always looking out for the people he cares about, which is something steve can really respect in a dude. but he’s also so funny? steve never could’ve anticipated just how much eddie has managed to make him genuinely LAUGH over their short amount of time spent together. and he’s really, out there? with the way he presents himself, the way he takes up space with these big THEATRICAL movements, leaving no room for regret or shame or god forbid embarrassment. steve isn’t even sure munson is capable of feeling it at all.

eddie munson is a good dude, and steve could use a bit more of that kind of person around him. he loves all of his friends, the weird little bonded family he’s found himself apart of, and they are all good people, but it never hurts to have afew more added in here and there. it never hurts to know there are more good people out there to find.

so steve is all over eddie, it seems.

at least, from where eddie is standing. nobody else seems as phased as eddie does at this sudden change in steve’s demeanour, in his interest in what eddie munson spends his time doing these days. it seems like, to everyone else, to steve, it’s just a natural progression in their relationship, after being sort of role model figures to the same group of kids, both being the two single dudes, who fought the same monsters together last spring, it seems nobody questions too much that they’d start casually hanging around eachother more. especially since eddie has found himself to fit into his own special spot as one of the group now after it all, after he unwillingly became tangled in this whole upsidedown-superpowers-supernatural-monsters and demons debacle, and tangled quite dramatically at that, the rest of the group that’s been with this since the beginning seemed to find no trouble in taking him in and seeing him as “one of them” now.

so, steve asking eddie to smoke, to watch movies, to go for a drive with no real end destination, it’s not really something that earns them too many double takes. dustin makes a comment or two in the beginning, because steve since when did you like hanging out with eddie? you guys are like so opposite, you don’t like any of the same stuff he does? and steve barely gives a shrug and a dismissive yeah yeah whatever man in response, with a signature eye roll, and dustin had said it seemingly also not too seriously, poking fun at steve wherever he can, not really meaning anything by it, as he fidgets around and rambles in the backseat of steve’s car, eddie riding up front. after that, though, he’s dropped it. it’s never brought up again. part of eddie thinks, too, that dustin would actually be enjoying that his two older friends are becoming friends themselves.

robin seems to be the only other person to look a bit harder at their situation, lingering stares at their interactions, all squinted eyes and eyebrows raised, though from her all this seems to be almost always and only ever directed at steve. eddie’s not sure what to make of that. isn’t he the weird one? i mean, he’s the one that stands out, right? he’s the odd denominator that makes their friendship strange. why would steve harrington want to hang out with Him? HIM? but robin doesn’t spend her time studying eddie to try and search for what about him could possibly have piqued the interest of cherished steven harrington, no, shes always looking at steve. like she’s seeing him differently, almost. eddie doesn’t even think that steve notices it, either, because he doesn’t seem to be questioning or doubting anything odd or strange or out of the ordinary with their newfound time spent together. and maybe, maybe robin is seeing him differently. eddie knows he definitely has been. seeing him more, intensely. deeply. human. seeing the person that steve is, as just steve, not this idealised version of a boy that eddies starting to question ever really even existed at all, or if everyone around him just needed to believe that he did, and who was steve if not happy to comply to the wants of the people around him for who he should be?

eddie likes having steve as his friend, too. don’t get it twisted. he loves how unexpectedly expressive steve is about everything, even really small things. steve LOVES to raise his voice, rest a hand on his popped hip, scolding the kids for something stupid with no real heat or malice behind it. and steve is, like, kinda bitchy too. eddie knew he had the capacity to be a real asshole when he wanted to be, that’s all he knew steve for back in the day, when he was back in high school, hanging around tommy h and the basketball boys, the jocks. eddie would spend his days hearing only whispers and gossip in the hallways of the parties at king steve’s house and the fights king steve had started and won on the court or out in the fields, only ever getting as close as a shove into a locker with the guy at the time, but eddie knew how it could go. he knew all about what steve had done to jonathan, what he’d said to him, the words he’d used. eddie knew it all. he’d seen enough, and been through enough himself, to know how these guys acted in response to guys like him, like jonathan, people who were lower on the social food chain. so, eddie knew about steve’s “mean streak”, if you will, but this kind of snarky bitchiness was something new to him. harrington was almost, sassy, when he wanted to be. it was less so cruel and more just, just sass. if he’s being completely honest it kind of blew eddie away, at first. he thought steve was one of those dull headed jocks who thought with their fists more than their actual brains, but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. steve’s insults were well thought out, they were FUNNY, he was smart with his words. and silly. oh my god steve harrington could be so fucking silly, real honest to god goofball when the moment called for it, when he felt comfortable enough. eddie had caught on multiple occasions steve mimicking lightsabers to play fight with dustin, or the stupid fucking shit he would do or say just to make robin laugh, singing along to a song playing on the radio with a funny voice.

it was all a little, intoxicating, to watch. eddie didn’t know what gave him the right to be in on this now, to get to see this side of steve and better yet to be at the other end of some of his best qualities. it was fun, all the time they spent together, but there was always something else tugging inside eddie everytime they spent close time together, too. something, he knew steve wasn’t aware of. something he knew steve wasn’t equipped to deal with. something he knew, was him. was him, making things something more than they should be, because, nobody seemed to be questioning that they could become friends, so why ruin that? why disrupt it?

- robin and steve

“Steve.”

“-but then like, it wasn’t that I didn’t want to watch it I just thought, hey, y’know, let’s try something different for a change, but then he- oh my god he honest to god TACKLED ME Robin — I mean, it was so fucking funny and it happened so quick — and all over a fucking Tom Cruise movie-“

“STEVE.” Robin lightly slammed a hand onto the counter. She had been standing behind it for no short of 20 minutes, watching Steve as he paced around, supposed to be stacking tapes onto shelves, but ended up spending the whole time going on and on, and ON, about how movie night went with Eddie last night. She thought she was bad…

Steve jumped, almost running into a shelf and knocking down his hard work, and seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had found himself in after starting to tell Robin a story about something funny Eddie had done last night.

“Shit, sorry. Sorry, what were you saying? Were you- were you saying something?”

To this, Robin just rolls her eyes and let’s out a laugh, “You, sir, are goddamn hopeless.”

“Sorry. How long was I talking for?” Steve wandered his way over to lean his arms onto the counter from the opposite side.

“Oh, I dunno Steve, just about half an HOUR?”

“That is an over exaggeration Robin, it’s only been like-“

“Honestly, man, i’m concerned for you. You are like next level OBSESSED with Eddie. Eddie Munson. You do realise this right??? You are obsessed with him, Steve.”

To this Steve sputters, lazily waving his hands back and forth.

“No, Robin, what the hell are you talking about? I am not OBSESSED. No need to be jealous, alright, Stevie-Boy here can have more than one friend. Your spot in my heart isn’t any less special now that it’s beginning to be shared by another.” He bats his eyelashes up at her, holding both hands over his chest as if to cradle his heart.

“Oh my GOD! You even SOUND LIKE HIM!”, she playfully slaps his shoulder. “Steve. You are obsessed.”

“I am not obsessed! He’s just a really great guy, alright-“

“Blah blah, yep whatever you say, lover boy.” Robin quips, plopping down onto the chair chair infront of their staff computer, turning herself to face it.

“Wha- what? Lover boy? What the hell Robin, that is not- that doesn’t even make any sense!”

She is just smiling at him now, enjoying seeing him spiral like this. Steve let’s out a sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, and shakes his head, looking at her right back.

He opens and closes his mouth afew times, like he’s really thinking about what he wants to say next. Or like he has no idea what to say next, and his brain is not moving fast enough to formulate the next sentence his mouth knows he wants to say. He wasn’t obsessed. That’s not- that’s like- no. No he was not, Robin was just playing around with him, she knew how to get on his nerves. Get him all wound up over little things just to see him react like this.

After a minute or two, Robin realises Steve was not going to reply anytime soon, so she turns fully back toward him. Saving him from his spiral.

“So, what are you’re plans for tonight Steve-O?”

He lets out a chuckle and walks around the counter till he’s behind it with Robin, leaning his back against it so he can stand across from her and face her.

“Well, not really sure. Parents aren’t home, no early shift tomorrow, might drink afew beers, listen to some music, —“

“See what Eddie’s doin?” Robin finishes for him, quirking her eyebrows up and down as she does it.

“Oh shut up!” Steve just laughs and softly throws a tape from the counter at her chest. “As a matter of fact, yeah I will see what he’s up to. Because we are friends now, Robin. Is that a problem? Actually I was also gonna ask you what you were up to after work, too, but you know what after this I’m having second thoughts, I mean, the way you’ve been treating me lately-“

“Oh my god, you are the worst. Yes, I’m free, of course I’ll hang out with you dingus. You and your tweedle dee.”

Steve laughs at this, then tilts his head.

“Wait, does that make me dumb? Tweedle dumb?! That’s how you see me?”

“Yeah it is actually, got a problem?”

“Oh wow, she’s feisty today. Can’t believe you think I’m dumb, Rob’s. When you come knockin’ tonight, do not expect a warm greeting at my front door.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take my chances.”

- later. steve’s house. to be continued?

#just been having steddie post season 4 thoughts #been missing the era of the fandom just sort of starting during that time between vol 1 and 2 #how every fic had their own little way of resolving the upside down/vecna problem just written into afew small paragraphs #really just getting to know these characters as a pairing #most importantly before seeing them as a couple #seeing them as friends #how they would genuinely interact and get along #what their dynamics would look like #steddie early days truly have my whole entire heart #coming onto tumblr the weeks following vol1 of s4 was magical #anywho yeah non vol2 compliant steddie for you #more so just #eddie didn’t die steddie for you #they become friends bc truly i actually believe that had he lived they would have #it just makes sense #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #stranger things 4 #stranger things season 4 #robin buckley #dustin henderson #also lmk if i should keep adding to this…might abyways bc i’m enjoying this #steddie fic #steddie fic idea #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction

[notemaker]

DADS DADS DADS DADS. (Read below for a short written scene to add context)

Lucifer purses his lips, echoes of his daughter's words jarring daggers from behind his mind's eye. 

“They’re our people too, dad. People with—with hopes and dreams, and—and fears. Like you, and me. I have to do something."

That had been months ago. Same day she left home, along with most things in her room and the knickknacks that had innocently scattered around the house. Once overlooked, now the fractures that chiselled the crack in the wall.

From the corner of his eye, the man’s brow tightens. Lucifer watches shoulders stiffening under a black suit, a red beak pulling into a frown. The imp's eyes remain cemented in the same spot of the table, however, an empty murkiness tredging the edges. Too recognizeable. Too familiar.

Lucifer closes his eyes. Fine. Okay. Okay.

“Uh.” He clears his throat. “Hard day?” Perfect.

#DO YOU GUYS SEE MY VISION #I wrote the scene to visualise what I had in mind when drawing this. But it isnt a full fic (yet) #anyway #These two have absolutely nothing to do with one another but they'd bond over their daughters #i come yet with aother comic. if anyone has ideas send them to my imbox please #my art #art post #lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #helluva boss #helluva fanart #helluva blitzo #helluverse #helluvaboss #blitz #blitzo #lets make characters bond #LETS MAKE INTERACTIONS INTERESTING #WHOO #Hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel comic #comic strips #comic strip #dads bonding #dad help dad

[shrimpchipsss]

read Living With a Tiger by x_los !

#ty jacks pyrzqxyl for betaing my comicmaking #sorry to drop you guys in the middle of the scene but i just really love the dialogue here #i beg you to go read this fic #watched a lot of melts' bingqiu wedding extra storyboard and jo and laurie's proposal scene from the 2019 little women while working on thi #also--it occurred to me while rereading living with a tiger #that bingge and shen qingqiu are the only two characters who have seen the entirety of the other's story (discounting airplane) #shen qingqiu read all of PIDW and bingge watched all of sqq's memories #so even though their actual interactions are limited to that day #sqq has been insane about binghe/bingge this whole time #and bingge has a lifetime to be insane about sqq #it really makes you think #it makes you want to turn into a void of nothingness #cheers to xlos' writing the gift that keeps giving #living with a tiger #svsss #scum villain #bingqiu #binggeqiu #shen qingqiu #sqq #luo binghe #lbh #luo bingge #long post

[stevebabey]

not if it’s you.

word count: 7k summary: After the events at Starcourt Mall, you have a hard time convincing Steve that he’s allowed to be not okay. You want to take care of him. And if you harbour some more-than-friends feelings at the same time? Well, that’s nobody’s business but yours. [angst + hurt/comfort + friends to lovers]

You’re bone-deep tired.

The red and blue lights of the ambulance feel branded onto the inside of your eyelids, there even when your tired eyes slide shut. The cool metal on the ambulance door soothes your forehead and for a moment, head tilted against it, you could honestly just sleep even with all the noise.

It’s been a hell of a night.

You blink. You need to keep yourself awake, you’re not home yet. Gazing blankly across the crowded parking lot, reporters and townspeople milling between the yellow police tape, you can feel your brain begin to try to grapple with all the events of the night.

It’s like some warped horror flick of memories, parts of the film blacked out that you can’t quite recall. The elevator, the Russians, and some god-awful melted monster of people — even in your mind the image makes you shudder.

The longer you think about it, the more it feels like the stress is fusing with your bones, attaching itself to every cell in your body. It makes you shake, a forceful twitch of your head to put all the thoughts to rest.

Process it later. Make sure you can stay stitched together physically tonight. You must look a tad loony from the outside, twitching and shaking, but considering your night it’s more than warranted.

The gash on your arm is the worst of your injuries. A jagged stretch of torn skin that was gifted by one of the Russian soldiers who had hoped it would loosen your tongue. And when that didn’t work, the pliers nearly had �� you would’ve told them anything when they took them out and lined it up with one of your fingernails.

But Steve then had done something stupid — kicked to get a guard’s attention since his yelling obviously hadn’t made a difference, let one of them lean down real close, and then headbutted him with all his might.

Relief had shocked your system, some broken cry as you slumped over when the pliers moved away. Fingers saved, if only briefly.

It had all turned to dread when they had lugged him out of his chair, preparing for round two of questioning. You had felt it then, a twisted gurgle of emotion lurched up your throat — violent enough it might have made you sick if you had managed to open your mouth. You hadn’t. There was a chance you would’ve said something worse, some jumble of feelings that wouldn’t have helped.

So, you had bit your tongue. Tasted blood and pretended that closing your eyes meant you couldn’t hear Steve pleading in the room over.

He hasn’t said much since the two of you had been sat in the back of the ambulance, gloved hands of the paramedics roaming over skin to find and treat injuries. There’s just one guy left now, still hovering around Steve with a flashlight and treating him with much less care than you’d like.

Steve looks as tired as you feel and when he can’t focus enough to look ahead, the paramedic prods his cheek unkindly. Steve winces.

“Hey,” you snip, cutting into the interaction. “Are you done? Can we go home?”

The paramedic turns the flashlight on you, blinding you for a moment. It confirms your asshole hypothesis of his character and you cringe at the brightness. It’s gone in the next moment, finally clicked off. He observes you both for another moment before an annoyed drawl comes out.

“Yeah, scram. But first you,” He jabs a finger at Steve who blinks but doesn’t react. “Lots of rest. No big brain work, no alcohol, and don’t run any marathons or anything.”

Steve nods, then grimaces at the pain the movement causes. You can’t help the wrinkle in your brow as you watch - you startle a bit when the paramedic turns his pointed finger on you.

“And you. His pupils are still dilated so keep an eye for seizure symptoms. Wake him every couple of hours and get a CT scan tomorrow.”

Some part of you is perturbed that he’s put you in charge of taking care of Steve. Another part gleans and blushes because you’d accepted the task the moment he’d asked, without question.

“Tomorrow?” You ask hotly, at the same time Steve says, “I’ll be fine on my own.”

The paramedic shakes his head, tsking as if you’re bothersome school-children not patients, and steps back with his hands raised. “Figure it out, I don’t care. I’ve got a dozen other people to check over.”

He winds around the door of the ambulance and leaves the both of you alone. A cool wind skirts through the parking lot, ruffling your hair. A sigh wrestles out your chest, a pathetic attempt to alleviate the tightness in your chest.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated the colours blue and red more than right now. The blazing colours atop police cars that flood the parking lot, the colours of Steve’s Scoops uniform, the colour of blood seeping into your pale blue shirt.

If you squint, you can see your own car parked alongside Steve’s in the distance — it feels like a lifetime ago when you had driven in and parked up. Your keys are lost down, down below you, taken in the interrogation. You stand to shake off that train of thought. 

You turn back and offer your hand out to Steve. After all the blows he’s taken tonight, you desperately want to offer him kindness. Offer him a touch that doesn’t hurt, doesn’t make him flinch or wince. Steve stares at your hand for a long moment, eyes contemplating — and then puts his in yours.

He lets you pull him to his feet.

One of the police cruisers takes you to Loch Nora, Steve and you tucked away in the backseat. His hand is still in yours, barely holding it in his tiredness; when the car rounds a corner though, you can feel his fingers clench tighter so your hand doesn’t slip away.

They detach eventually when the wheels roll up on the curb outside Steve’s house, late in the night. Like the rest of the sleeping houses, the lights are all off. There are no cars in the driveway. The loneliness of it yawns out down the drive, like visible smoke plumes that escape every window.

Steve somehow looks tenser at seeing it; he still forces himself out of the car, bloody sneakers scraping against the gravel. You follow. It aches to move too much, even just shuffling out of the car feels like moving a mountain. The door clips closed quietly behind you. You hear the engine fade back down the road.

Steve is still stuck in place — you have a feeling he’s not looking at the house at all but stuck in thought, looking through the timber and paint and seeing all the horrors of the night. You step up beside him and gingerly reattach your hands.

It seems to surprise him, jumping ever so slightly at the touch and turning to look at you. “I didn’t...”

I didn’t think you’d stay. The sentence dies in his throat, a little embarrassed by how relieved he is that you’ve stayed with him - so much it shows in the quiver in his voice. Steve doesn’t finish it because then you’ll hear the other part of the sentence, even without him saying it. No one stays.

“C’mon,” you urge him to walk with you, beginning to drift up the driveway.

There’s no rush, you’ll wait as long as he needs to before moving, but it’s colder out tonight. Maybe it just feels that way with all your tiredness, the frostiness nipping at your skin. All your energy is focused on staying on your feet, on helping Steve. There’s none left to keep you warm.

He ambles after you like walking is an afterthought and following you is the priority. His sneakers drag, soft scraping noises with every step. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, his fingers squeezing as if he’s checking you’re really still here with him.

The front door is unlocked and it’s only when it snicks shut behind you, do you wonder if you’ve overstepped. It’s awkward, but only a bit. You’ve been in Steve’s house before — though, who hadn’t with all his parties in sophomore year?

But not quite like this. Not just the two of you, and never holding his hand.

The events that had transpired last fall in Hawkins had thrown Steve into your life, along with a dizzying revelation of new dimensions and an unsettling truth about monsters that came right out of your nightmares.

Though, maybe it made more sense to say you were thrown into Steve’s life. You had always known of him - he couldn’t say the same about you.

Like the hoards, freshmen you had not been immune to the boyishly good looks and charismatic nature of Steve Harrington. Once upon a time, before someone called him King Steve and it stuck, there had been a crush.

But like red wine on white linen, with time — and plenty of distance — it had faded.

Not even the adventure that bound you two together, the tunnels that snaked beneath Hawkins and your shaky hands lugging him into the car, had been enough to reignite old affections. Not his insistence on you leaving the tunnels first, not even the way he clutched you when you all made it out. Not unscathed, but alive.

Pitifully, it had been his shoddy attempts at flirting in his ridiculous sailor uniform to kick-start your heart back up.

You had sighed, chin in hand, and leaned into the foolish feelings — because going crazy over a boy felt the most normal thing you could do. And after demodogs and slithering vines kept creeping from the past into your slumbers, normal was all you wanted.

But Steve needed you as a friend, more so considering his fallout with Tommy H and Carol had become permanent. He flirted with customers, every girl you’d recognised from your year, but never you.

It felt a good enough reason to bite your tongue. Keep him close, but never as close as you’d like.

But now you’ve done it again — been pulled along on another adventure that’s brimming with terrors that will take years to forget.

Everything feels worse this time round, a decay that ebbs away your hope. It’s somehow harder to heal from wounds that come from evil, but not the supernatural. It’s all the heavier when the boy who holds your heart made himself a punching bag so you didn’t get hurt. 

The warmth of his hand, squeezing for only a moment, brings you back to the present. To now, still standing in the entryway to Steve’s house. You blink, coming back to yourself, and turn back to him. There’s a crinkle between his brow, and worry washed across his features.

“Are you okay?” He asks it tentatively like he’s afraid to spook you. It sends a rush to your system, a pleasant throb in your chest. You can’t deny you like knowing he worries. That he cares.

“Yeah,” you croak out, nodding as you speak. “Do you— I mean, you don’t mind me staying, do you?” 

Suddenly, the potential embarrassment of inviting yourself in, even with the good intentions of taking care of Steve, is overwhelming. The next words tumble out without thought.

“I just, I don’t want to be alone right now.” It’s a bit hurried, tinged with nervousness. You stammer. “And I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

Something like pure affection blooms in Steve’s chest at your words, the heat of it stealing his breath and pain for just a moment. It’s a different sort of ache in between his ribs, something white-hot and pure.

He hadn’t been able to voice his relief when you’d gotten out of the car and stayed with him — and it fails him now at your admittance.

You don’t want to be alone. You don’t want him to be alone.

Steve doesn’t think he’s deserving of your good will, nor the kindness in every touch. He can’t help how he consumes it greedily, drinks in the touches like he knows it’ll be taken from him soon enough. His eyes stay fixed on you.

There’s something so alluring about your silhouette, the golden street light let in through slits in the door. It halos you, soft amber that softens every curve. You’re enchanting, even when bloodied.

Steve’s not sure his heart has felt like this before — so molten hot, valves working overtime, ribbons of affection tied tight across his chest. He’s sure they’ll leave scorch marks, testimonies to his bleeding heart that pulses with each beat for you, for you, for you.

Because you’re still here and something in his trodden on heart perks up before he remembers to crush it. It’s not that Steve has never thought of you as more — god, the mere thought of you as more to him.

More than a friend, more than this, it’s enough to make his head spin. To make his hands shake and return a nervousness to his system he hasn’t felt since sophomore year when he first laid eyes on Nancy Wheeler.

But you’re not Nancy. In the best way, that makes all the difference,

You were some breath of fresh air, bursting into his life in all the middle of his estranged drawn out break-up with Nancy — brash in all the right ways, kind when he needed, and far too soft to be tangled up in any of this mess.

You’re still too soft for it now, and it shows in the jagged cut torn into the fabric of your skin — it doesn’t matter how it happened, Steve still feels like it’s his fault. It’ll scar, red puckered skin that twists down the expanse of your shoulder. A living reminder of the night burned into you to carry forever.  

It hurts Steve maybe more than he’s warranted to. You’re both just friends.

But when Steve thinks of how he’s accidentally pulled you too close, put you first in the heart, it aches evermore.

He’s not sure when you went from barely a friend to this — you’re a crush, an Achilles heel, the unattainable from the moment he met you, the moment he knew you. Steve feels like he’s been building himself towards you, pushing his growth to aim for anywhere near enough for you. You’ve been too good for him from the start.

It doesn’t stop him from loving you.

Steve realises after a moment that he hasn’t said anything when your fingers start to slip from his. His grip tightens to keep your hand in his.

“No, I— Stay. I...” It’s a struggle to say it, too many years of suppressing any urge to ask for comfort. “I don’t want to be alone, either. Or for you to be. Stay.”

Your lips, chapped and still with a hint of blood, twitch into somewhat a smile. “Okay.”

This time it’s Steve who drags you along, both slowly moving up the stairs. Each step threatens to reopen the scabs that have only just begun to form. It’s like some micro-dose of torture, Steve thinks, hearing your winces behind him.

The fluorescence of the bathroom lights is bright enough to make your eyes fly shut. Steve’s braver, taking only a moment to pause. He ignores how the lights dance, a sickening comparison to his experience with the drugs that had barely left his system. Though it’s the last thing he wants, Steve drops your hand to begin his search.

When your eyes blink open, prepared to face the lights, you’re a bit perplexed to see Steve hunting through the linen cupboard. He produces a towel, white and fluffy.

You cringe internally at the thought of sullying the pale colour with blood but it’s but a blip in tonight’s problems. Besides, the Harrington’s could certainly afford to replace it.

“Here.” Steve murmurs. You both seem to have agreed to keep softly spoken for the night.

He presses the cotton into your hands as he walks, ready to shoulder out and take care of himself. There was an en-suite in his own room — and sure, it would hurt like hell rinsing his wounds but he’d done it last year. Blasted the heat so he was wincing at the burn atop his skin and not the ache underneath it. 

“Steve?” You question, turning and halting his feet. He pauses, confused by the questioning expression on your face. He gestures to the shower, hiding how the movement makes his ribs sting painfully.

“You can shower here and- and the guest room’s all made up.” The words trip a bit on the way out, weakness beginning to weigh on his voice.

Somehow being back home crumbles his walls sooner than he’d like. Tonight has been heavy, a burden that lies thick on his shoulders and creeps down, taking root in his muscles.

But Steve will do what he had done last year; take the punches, burn them off in the heat of the shower — hot enough that he can’t feel any tears — and then deal with it.

“No, s’not that.” You shake your head, a strand of hair coming loose. “I... What about you?”

What about all the blood? The bruises and cuts? You’d seen the scars littered on the skin of his face from Billy, cuts that had healed wrong and left marred skin. Wounds left uncared for, only healed with time.

The question only begs more confusion from Steve. He gestures to somewhere behind him as he says, “There’s another shower, don’t worry.”

He pulls a smile to ease you. It wobbles at the ends of his mouth. Something claws into your heart, a profound heartache at the thought it doesn’t even occur to Steve to take care of himself.

“Steve,” you begin, beginning to get a sense of the wall you’re encountering.

Steve Harrington has some very thick defenses and not without good reason; they’ve got him through some treacherous times. Even now, he uses it like a crutch, a seal to hide away horrid memories. Ignored in favour of temporary strength. 

You don’t need his display of strength — you’re not one of the kids that needs to be shielded from the reality that even Steve has a breaking point — certainly not when his state is far worse than your own.

But you have a feeling he doesn’t know how to switch it off. Steve doesn’t seem to understand what you mean when you say you don’t want him to be alone. 

“Steve, you’re not okay.”

“I’m- I’ve done this before, alright?” He insists, eyes darting between yours, features turning stonier. You can see his defensiveness begin to curl his shoulders in. “I’m alright, I promise.”

“Are you?” You say, not unkind. “Tonight was— Steve, you were tortured.”

The effect of your words is instantaneous. Steve’s face falters, his icy expression dissolving with a shudder he can’t stop. You watch it warp him painfully, jaw clenching and eyes misty; he blinks furiously to clear them. You continue.

“You can’t just- just bounce back from that. Nobody can.” You shake your head as if it proves your point. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve done this before, this— this is a lot for anyone, even—”

“Well then, why are you still here, huh!” His words interrupt your own, tone angrier than you’re expecting. “If this is so much!”

His chest rises and falls quickly, brows draw together like it hurts to breathe so harshly. The words don’t sting, but his tone does. You reel in your hurt and focus past his anger, focus on what it really is.

A final line of defense. A ploy to make you upset or angry, to make you emotional enough to storm out and leave him to lick his wounds alone. Another way to ignore it, compartmentalize what happened instead of facing it head on.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to make him deal with it so soon. But you care, too much to pretend to ignore his pain. 

“Steve.”

“Don’t.” It wobbles, voice weak. His anger has already drained away in a moment.

“You’re not alright,” you insist, voice barely above a whisper. “C’mere.”

You don’t give him a choice, your free hand reaching out to snag his own, which hangs loose at his side.

Steve stumbles forward as you tug him back into the bathroom. Without his anger, he’s pliant and goes without protest. Your gentle fingers on his chest nudge him in the direction of the sink, the cool porcelain pressing through the back of his soiled Scoops top.

“Can you do something for me? Can you...” You bite your already bloody lip, nervousness sketched across your features.

How can you say this without giving too much away? It feels too intimate, like flying too close to the sun, well within the realm of potentially hurting your own feelings. You’ll do it for him gladly. 

“Can you just...let me take care of you?”

It hurts like a sucker punch to the gut. Like a breath has been forced out of his chest, because when was the last time someone has asked him that?

Silence stains the air.

“It won’t be pretty.” He croaks finally, still giving you an easy out. Still prepared to spare you the ugliness of his emotions.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” You respond, lips twitching. You bare your heart and half hope he sees it — sees it and knows he’s loved when you say, “Not if it’s you.”

Another beat of quiet.

“Okay.” Steve breathes, so faintly you barely hear it. Then as if you’ll rescind the offer any moment, he nods fervently.

Your smile is genuine, maybe the first in hours and something in you relaxes. He won’t fight you on this. He may have taken the beating earlier for you but, at the very least, you can do your best to patch him back up — let your hidden feelings translate into a gentleness he so very deserves.

It takes only a quick rummage beneath the sink to find a first-aid kit. It feels wildly underprepared; an afterthought purchase once upon a time that was only ever intended for scraped knees. It hasn’t ever been opened. The tear of the zipper is the only noise in the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles.

As expected, there’s not much in it. It contains a box of plasters in multiple sizes, one roll of gauze, a bottle of antiseptic, and a mixture of other pills and eye drops.

Some loose safety pins rattle around in the bottom as you take inventory. It’s not stellar and you’re no doctor, but it’ll do. It has to do.

When you finally look up, wondering where to begin on his injuries, Steve is regarding you with a look you can’t quite name.

If you were sure of yourself, you might call it awe.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re here, helping him, and it can be awfully easy to mix up feelings when you’re getting stitched up. You don’t let your hopes rise, not even for a moment.

Steve’s blood sings, ears rushing with the sound of it when you step closer. You’re so damn close. Steve can’t ignore the scent that carries with you, his brain involuntarily committing each detail of you that he can get to memory - lest he never gets you this close again.

You want to take care of him; Steve thinks this might be a dream.

Nimble fingers work to gather some cotton with antiseptic and then you’re holding it up, posed, and ready to mend.

“Can you sit up on the counter?” You ask, all sweetness. Steve obliges easily, despite the protests from his sore body that cries out as he shifts up. You smile, then warn, “This might sting.”

It’s overwhelming as you step closer, between his legs, and take the cotton to his face with a gentleness Steve hasn’t felt in years. His eyes close instinctively.

It does sting. The wince leaks out through his clenched teeth, soothed instantly by your soft apologies that pour out like honey.

For a moment, it’s easier this way; with his eyes closed, Steve can pretend this is usual. That when he gets roughed around, there’s someone to tend and clean his wounds — instead of just himself and the harsh rinse of the hot shower.

He tries and fails not to think of last year, his poor attempts to patch himself up. Hands too shaky, touch too rough.

The memory bites. The injuries of tonight somehow feel worse. A tinge of bile taints his mouth and Steve swallows it back down, concentrating on you.

You’re not quite humming but soothing noises, low and soft, come from your throat. Steve’s not even sure you know you’re doing it. His hands clench emptily as his side — the split knuckles make them hurt and when you’re this close, the itch to hold you is near unbearable.

It doesn’t take long for the first cotton pad to turn a violent shade of pink. Steve’s face looks a tad clearer than before but uncovering old blood means finding new wounds.

Your stomach burns pitifully as you take them all in. There are too many to count, a thousand different hues — broken blood vessels that run in all directions, little labyrinths under his skin.

Why does it hurt so much? Even with your bound shoulder that still sends out pain with every motion, it all dulls away when you look at Steve. Lashes fluttering, eyes still closed, marred with wounds you’re begging to ease. You know it hurts so much because you care.

Love is pain, you suppose, with only a twinge of bitterness. It’s swallowed instantly, consumed and disintegrated by the fact you get this. The boy you love, between both palms, trusting you to take care of him.

A year ago, you’d met only the steely exterior he’d put up — and thought it had simply been remnants of King Steve. Maybe Steve Harrington was as much of an asshole as half the town said.

He was all bite, glowers, and clipped answers. With time though, he’d softened like snow melting in the sun; all the parts of him trickling into your life until he was cemented by your side. 

He hadn’t even let you patch him up after the scrap with Billy that had taken him out. You hadn’t felt you could ask.

But this time...your throat grows a bit thicker at the trust that binds the pair of you. Affection rushes your system and forces a sharp inhale from your lungs. You step back.

The space makes it easier to breathe. Dials down the chances of pressing your lips against his skin — if only to give him a mark born of love. Hands searching through the first-aid kit again, you produce some painkillers and locate an arnica pill.

You give yourself one more moment; inhale and withhold the tidal wave of devotion that begs to spill from within you.

“Take these, please.” You say quietly, uncurling one of his fists to press the pills into. He swallows them dry.

You prep more cotton and begin again with the gentle touches, coaxing off dried blood. This time, Steve’s eyes stay open. He watches you, an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

You work away the blood from a cut above his eyebrow and when it’s clean, your thumb follows. You caress along the broken skin as if you could meld it back together with pure will.

Steve’s chest grows tight. Something about you being here, taking care of him makes the night’s memories all too present. Nausea sways in his gut. It’s impossible to shove them to the back, to press them down, when it feels like each cut is being reopened. Cleansed with a douse of love.

You’re altering the history of each wound but to do so, he has to recall how each of them was carved into his skin. It hurts. Why are you still here?

Steve’s head pulls back unexpectedly, eyes shuttering closed in a scrunched expression. You startle a bit.

“Shit, I’m sorry — too harsh?”

He makes a strained noise, effectively gutting you with it. If you weren’t so close — an inch further and you could press your forehead to his — you wouldn’t hear it. Hear the tiny whisper that scratches out the word, “Why?”

“What?” You whisper. You don’t understand.

“Why...Why are you...?” He’s clearly struggling to find the words he wants. His hand reaches up, fingers brushing the bridge of his nose before he drops it again. His chin quivers. It stops your heart for a moment to realise he’s crying.

“I don’t— I don’t understand.” Steve grinds the words out, voice thick. A tear splatters, seeping into the blue of his uniform. He won’t look at you, eyes trained on the loose thread on his shorts.

“Steve?” you murmur, wary and heavy with concern. This is— you don’t know what this is.

“I don’t understand.” He repeats, shaking his head slightly. He seems to choke on the next words. “You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody...”

He trails off, some whimper of sorts forcing its way out his throat. You’re stuck, absorbing each of his words and putting together the pattern that Steve can’t seem to voice. I don’t understand. You’re still here. Why are you...? Everybody... Everybody leaves. 

Oh.

Rich King Steve who’s got it all. The house, the car, and any girl he fancies, all of them fawning for a look from him at one of his legendary parties.

His lack of parental supervision had been lusted over in high school, furious whispers of envy over the fact he could get away with parties every weekend. That booze went missing and he never seemed to catch any shit for it. It occurs to you now that nobody was around to notice.

The absence in his life is vast and suddenly blindingly obvious — a chasm in his chest that is bleeding all his secrets to you.

Steve Harrington is lonely.

When you surge forward, injuries be damned, and your arms loop around his neck, there’s a moment of stillness. You can feel the tension in his muscles, hear his ragged inhale, and then— he sags into you, finally, finally letting himself lean on someone else.

His arms wind around your middle in a desperate motion, tugging you closer and the fabric of your shirt clenches between his fingers. His face buries in your neck and hot wet tears soak the collar of your shirt. You can hear his raspy noises, soft cries as he clings to you like a lifeline.

“Why did this happen to me?”

It fucking hurts to hear. You don’t know how to tell him there’s no why — that there is no reason that can justify why he’s gone through this much suffering. Just the bitter fact that, sometimes, bad things happen to good people.

“Steve,” you feel like you’re saying his name an awful lot tonight. You say it because you can’t begin to think of how to answer his heartbreaking question. “I—“

“I-I used to think,” The words are muffled into your neck. His grip on you is nearly tight enough to hurt but you don’t dare relent any space. His voice is barely above a whisper, just loud enough to hear. “That- that it was like karma, yanno?”

“Steve, no,” you whisper, horrified. If he hears you, he doesn’t show. 

“B-Because that first time,” He’s stuck on some belittling ramble about himself, continuing between his sniffs. “I definitely deserved it. But then I grew and I changed.”

Something twists painfully in your stomach.

“And then last year, it made sense, yeah? Billy, he was— a real piece of work.” He sniffs again, his voice a little harder at the mention of the deceased.

The tension falls away at the next sentence, voice wobbling through the thickness in his throat. “And I used to be like that, so—“

You pull back instantly, hands shifting back from around his neck. It effectively halts him, and whatever he was saying dies in his throat. Your hands move to cradle his jaw and, as lightly as you can with his injuries, you tug him from his hiding place and stare him in the face.

Steve’s eyes look bigger and browner full of tears. His nose is red, just the tip, and runs messily at the onslaught of tears. Pink splotches bloom underneath his cheeks, patchy and warm, his face etched in complete misery.

It wrecks you to see. More so to think he’s been shouldering all this alone since ‘83.

“People don’t deserve suffering, Steve.” You state it strongly enough that he can’t refute the truth, punctuating with your thumbs on either cheek, pressing light touches.

“You don’t deserve suffering. You never did.” Your voice quivers a bit, some shred of your heart shriveling pathetically at the fact you even need to tell him this. Your hands shake ever-so-slightly. A hot tear streaks down your cheek.

Steve crumbles. You don’t resist when he drops his head down, only move back in— offering a place to hide away again. You let him stay hidden away, a sanctuary in your arms, safe when he’s buried in the curve of your neck.

“And- and just ‘cause,” you say, sniffling a bit now. He holds his breath, a sharp inhale that quietens his whimpering crying. “Just ‘cause no one has stayed before doesn’t mean you don’t deserve this, Steve.”

His fingers press harsher into your back and your feet stumble a bit, pulled off balance. Adjusting your arms, you pull him tighter yet, hoping that the closeness will make all your sentiments seep in. Your shoulder aches terribly; you don’t dare move away.

“You know that, right?” You whisper, unable to stop your fingers from grazing the nape of his neck softly. “You deserve to be taken care of.”

A soft kiss to the side of his head, barely noticeable between his shakes, but it eases the strain on your heart. Time wanes and melts beneath the glow of the bathroom lights, an unending amount of tears that you suspect reach back further than just the memories of tonight.

You stay like this, holding him close. You give him all the time he needs, sweet nothings mumbled until he feels strong enough to face you— to face the world.

Eventually, Steve’s breathing slows, crying turning to trembling gasps. When he finally does retreat, you curse internally because of course, only Steve Harrington can still look devastatingly beautiful after crying.

Tears cling to his lashes, sparkling reflections. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand.

Silence ebbs. Steve gathers himself, another sniff, and wipes his nose before he lifts his head. You can see in his face the moment he’s about to apologise; the word sorry is about to come tripping out his mouth. You beat him to it.

“I’m sorry to inspire more tears,” Your voice, still quiet, aims for a comforting jest. “But I’m not quite done cleaning you up.”

You twist the cotton between your fingers to show him. Steve blinks, eyes focusing on your hand, perhaps surprised you’re still taking care of him. He forgets about his needless apologies. 

“Though, your tears did a lot of the work.” You say cheekily, a smile teasing at the edges of your lips. It makes him huff a laugh. Steve could nearly cry again; you’re so nice. He thinks about the last time cried, thinks about Tommy’s sneer, his scoffed words that told him toughen up, King Steve.

He lets you wipe them away, clear his face and patch it up as best you can. Any tension from before, the mental barb-wire defenses he had still held up to keep you out, has ebbed away. It’s softer now, easier between you two.

Trust flows from Steve in the form of his allowance, letting you fuss. It flows from you in the form of your touch, which still dances too close for just friends. You let your fingers dot the kisses across his face since you can’t.  

“You’re good at this,” Steve murmurs, breaking the silence. He allows himself the privilege of your touch, his fingers burning where they graze your sides.

Patching people up? Injuries from last year made sure you got decent practice on yourself. You’re decent, you’ll admit.

Maybe he means taking care of him. You’re proving to be very good at that. 

You want to. Somewhere rooted in feelings that sway closer to love, genuine love, is the urge to be the one who does it. The shoulder to cry on, the one who carries his woes when it gets too much — and you want him to do the same for you. Achingly, you want to take care of him; and him, you.

The thought burns so viciously through your chest, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip a bit meanly. It stings.

You don’t notice it, trying to rein in your drifting heart that sings to be closer to him, but Steve does. His fingers twitch; he wants to rescue it, pull it from your harsh grip with his thumb.

He does.

You stop moving.

His thumb is calloused, a bit rough against the supple plumpness of your bottom lip. The blood beneath it tingles, gloriously hot at the attention. Either all the air in the room has been sucked out or you’ve stopped breathing.

You’d hazard a guess it’s the second, given the stillness your body has taken on. Muscles locked, eyes frozen on his face — the only part of you that moves is your heart, thundering pumps going far too fast.

Steve’s gaze stays on his thumb on your lip. You’re desperate to find out what to call the emotion swimming in his eyes.

“Steve?” you say his name yet again, lips moving against his thumb. He blinks like a frog, one eye after the other, and drags his gaze up to your eyes.

His hand shifts, brushing across your mouth to hold the side of your jaw, cupping it sweetly. The cotton falls from your grip as Steve urges you closer with a gentle tug.

Then his eyes are back on your lips and even though it feels like slicing your own heart open to do it, you speak before he can kiss you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, eyes crushing closed.

You want to terribly. The want for his kiss warbles from deep within you, a yawning ache. But it might just finish you off if it’s all heat of the moment — a kiss that is just some twisted thank-you because Steve isn’t used to being taken care of.

You clear your throat, swallowing heavily. “Not— not if it’s just for tonight. Not just because I stayed, please.”

There’s a pause. His shaky exhale breezes across your face. It’s possible your ears might be ringing as if straining to hear the sound of Steve’s heart— dying for a clue to what he’s feeling. You’re not brave enough to open your eyes and read it in his face.

His thumb scrapes across your bottom lip again and then— then, he kisses you, impossibly tender.

The tiny gasp that escapes you is consumed instantly, swallowed up by Steve’s kiss. He kisses gentle, touch so soft that it has you searching for more the moment you’ve got a taste of it.

You barely get a moment to lean into it, to kiss him back before Steve breaks it. He hovers close, close enough that you could steal another taste of his lips if you wanted. You want to— the ferocity of your eagerness sends a shiver along your spine. He speaks before you seize the opportunity.

“I want to.” He says, voice a bit raspy and the words inspire enough bravery to look at him, eyes creasing open. “I- I’ve wanted to for a while.”

You nearly sink in your relief, knees trembling for a moment as your hand comes up to enclose the wrist of the hand that holds your face. Thumb sweeping short strokes, you clutch the tan skin and lean into his caress.

“You mean it?” You whisper, far too excited. Your heart may as well be on your sleeve, cards once played close to your chest now splayed on the table. Your tone reveals all, spilling with hope, even as you ask whether it means the same to him as it does to you.

Yes. The word seems stuck in his throat, suddenly too thick to speak. Because it’s only three letters and that can’t possibly cover what Steve means when he says I’ve wanted to for a while.

That you’d somehow snuck into his life and intertwined among all of his heartstrings, like spun gold mixing until the whole organ felt terribly tangled in a way he’d never want to change.

Nancy had given him the thump of his head.

But you? You were the thump on his heart. Not a push for change, nor for growth — but permission to grant himself a second chance in love.

“I mean it.” He says, emotion coating each word. “Yes, god, I really mean it.”

And you let him tell you over and over again with his mouth pressed to yours, searing kisses that make your head dizzy and pulse speed.

Steve knows he’s not alright — not physically or mentally after what he’s faced tonight, not with the vice grip on his chest that had clung tightly and all the ugly parts of him had all slithered out for you to see.

He also knows that he will be alright, sometime in the far future.

When wounds have healed, when scars are beginning to fade, and the nightmares start being every couple of nights, instead of every night, then he’ll be nearly okay. It’ll take time, lots of it.

But when your gentle hands coax him to bed and you slip beneath the covers beside him, leaving a warm quick kiss upon his shoulder — Steve thinks that, maybe, that future isn’t nearly as far away as it seems.

Your hand finds his under the sheets, twisting your fingers together to act like an anchor in the inkiness of the night.

There are no nightmares that night.

—

tags below! @hawkinsindiana @harringtonbf @spideystevie​ look technically there’s no tags this is just all da bitches i’m always talking to <3

#if anyone talks to me about tenses i'll come out SWINGING #not even grammarly could help me w that <3 #hopefully HOPEFULLY this is considered in character steve #in any case i spent a wee while puzzling interactions & reactions so at least u know i tried ! #its hard to pick a relationship dynamic that would work for him being surprised ur here??? while also getting a lil confession in there #i think its cute #maybeeeee lemme know what u think? hehe #anyways steve HONEY u deserve to have someone kiss all the wounds #and let u sob in their arms and yanno i VOLUNTEER #GIVE HIM TO ME AND ILL TREAT HIM RIGHT!!! #babygirl cries in this... heartbreaking but had to happen #ruby writes #ruby writes steve #steve harrington #steve #harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve fic #steve harrington imagine #steve imagine #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #wahoo #i cannot help but post fics the moment they are finished #idc if its like thursday for all u fuckers #come get ur hurt/comfort nowwww

[treasureplcnet]

assorted bodies doodles (transcript of that messy relationship square under the cut due to my handwriting/incoherency)

TAKE THESE W A GRAIN OF SALT i am like 90% joking:

hillinghead -> hasan, and vice versa: immediate mutual respect

hillinghead -> whiteman: he's incredibly smart, deceptively cunning but very kind. but he is also so annoying oh my god--

hillinghead -> maplewood: "please someone explain science fiction to me"

whiteman -> iris, and vice versa: two friends secretly think of the other as the sidekick

whiteman -> hillinghead: annoying him is quickly becoming a favorite pasttime

whiteman -> hasan: will not admit it but he wants parenting tips from her

hasan -> whiteman: has slipped a parenting book to him

hasan -> maplewood: deja vu about their future weirds her out a little, but she trusts her

iris -> hillinghead: fond of him from the time they spoke in the prison. enjoys fucking with him

iris -> hasan: SHE'S THE GOAT

#re: while i like whiteman being a funny comic relief type character in this lineup (less comic relief and more witty and funny) #i do recognise that he's not rly like that in canon. much more cunning and able to blend into whatever situation he can #able to say the right things when he needs to (right after farrell dies) and deflecting of any real observations (with calloway) #its very chameleon like to the point of giving up a very integral part of his identity to safeguard himself-- #even though he cares very much about it (the way he reacts to antisemitic comments and his face drops when farrell mentions the synagogue) #now what is actually annoying to hillinghead is that he knows karl can actually be very gracious he's still choosing to fuck with him LOL #the annoyance spreads to iris too. i rly think iris-karl buddy cop duo could be so funny #i actually really need more fic or art of them all interacting . here's how bodies s2 can still happen. #bodies netflix #karl weissman #esther jankovsky #sharara hasan #alfred hillinghead #iris maplewood #and sorry to hillinghead who is not drawn well. kyle soller 1 treasureplcnet 0 #my art #and im not quite sure why theyre having breakfast tgt in that first comic. perhaps bc the original meme has them like that LOL

[ponury-grajek]

commission for @lightyaoigami to her fic Hot Hands [rated E]

can really recommend the fic *wink wink*

#death note #l lawiet #light yagami #lawlight #commission #this fic is so good really #the dialogues are top tier #Light & L are very in character and it's a delight to watch them interacting #mwah

[mikakuna]

why do anti-jason fans always have an opinion on his characterization and how we write him in fanfic as if they've read anything beyond comics where his character is completely assassinated and written by individuals who despise him?

"you're not actually a jason fan if you remove everything that he's done in canon"

answer me truthfully: would you accept a comic as canon if it was written by someone who hates your favourite character? i'm not a tim fan so i'd mess up his entire storyline if i wrote a comic for him. would you read that and happily accept it as canon? because i assure you that i'd purposely mess his entire character up just because i dislike him. it would be full of bias because i don't understand his character as well as an actual tim fan does. would you still accept this comic as canon?

literally the majority of jason comics are written by people who don't like him and don't even know his source material. why shouldn't we nitpick what we wanna accept as canon??

#this post was brought upon by anti jason bs in the tag #we are tired people!!!!!! #please let jason fans enjoy things #antis are genuinely infuriating like please calm down and interact with other material #nobody is forcing you to read jason fics #i assure you that your fav batfam character has amazing fics where your fav isn't ruined to make everyone else look good #why do you have such a strong stance on something when you don't even fully understand it #let's practice peace of mind and interact with things we like so we don't lose it #jason todd #red hood #anti tim drake #just because i don't want tim fans to stumble upon tim hate by accident

[spinnysocks]

the frenemies of all time

it was so hard to find pictures of them in the same shots 😭 they're in the same scenes all the time but not the same shots- i think it's actually a purposeful choice by the animators to show they're not actually allied, which i think is cool

#i could watch an entire series JUST about these guys #idk they're so interesting #you can argue that their interactions are shallow & not thought out BUT I ARGUE DIFFERENT #they could definitely be developed 👀 #rip i couldn't find a photo with reirei and mzingo. tbf the vultures aren't in all the battles #or reirei and ushari #or mzingo and ushari #but its fine #this is making me realise janja is basically the main character of the outlands lol #but yeah. they're so interesting to me #the forced bonding after jasiri's reformation of the outlands would be so funny #can i just say. the shot of mzingo and kiburi is hilarious LMAO #anyway i'll stop rambling now... #ME FORGETTING I WROTE A FIC ABOUT JUST THEM- #okay i'll actually shut up now #the lion guard #tlg #tlg outlanders #tlg leaders #scar's army #janja #mzingo #reirei #ushari #kiburi

[nineblooddances-if]

Are there perhaps some kinks already for the ros?

THE COMMANDER'S KINKS

COMMANDER AAPO I LIBERTAS 

✶ Sadism ✶ BDSM ✶ CNC [Consensual Non-Consent] ✶ Asphyxiation ✶ Salirophilia

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

COMMANDER ANIL/AIDEN II LUXURIA 

✶ Body Worship ✶ Orgasm Control ✶ Praise Kink ✶ Oral Sex ✶ Tentacles

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

COMMANDER ALICE III GULA 

✶ Food Play ✶ Threesomes ✶ Vore ✶ Free use ✶ Fear Play

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

COMMANDER ERIC/EDWARD IV AVARITIA

✶ Findom ✶ Impact Play ✶ Blood Play ✶ Wax Play ✶ Nipple Stimulation

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

COMMANDER LOUIS V IRA  

✶ Sex Parties [Orgies] ✶ Objectification ✶ Master/Slave ✶ Cock Worship ✶ Salirophilia

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

COMMANDER GABRIEL VI MENDAX

✶ Religious Play ✶ Katoptronophilia ✶ Degradation ✶ Orgasm Denial ✶Edging

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ── 

COMMANDER DAMEION VII VIOLENTI 

✶ Primal ✶ Breeding ✶ Blood Play ✶ Bondage ✶ Public Sex

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──

COMMANDER LUCY OR LUCIUS VIII FICTUS 

✶ Voyeurism ✶ Underwear (Used/Panty Stealing) ✶Electricity ✶ Cuckolding ✶ Foot-Fetish

── ⋅ ⋅ ✶ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ⋅ ⋅c ⋅ ⋅ ──

COMMANDER TRENT IX PRODITIO 

✶ Humiliation ✶ Urophilia ✶ Knismolagnia  ✶ BDSM ✶ Dry Humping

#ro rambles #ro questions #romanceable options #if wip #interactive fics #interactive fiction #nine blood dances if #twine interactive fiction #if game #dating game #interactive fic characters

[the-six-that-thrive-if]

»»——THE DEMON——-««

SUBJECT F-24

»»———-“One shall endure the past

and in their sorrow remain everlasting…”———-««

#T.M.BASEMENT.DEMON #interactive games #interactive fic characters #oc stuff #oc moodboard #moodboard #interactive fics #if game #interactive fic #interactive novel #interactive fiction twine

[dooblez]

thas his emotional support animal right there

#i love the trope #where other characters call one character’s target of affection #their ‘pet’ #(ie in ofmd ajdkdkakfkg) #it’s so funny to me #like yeah that’s his doggy #he likes to teach him tricks/j #scarab is his therapy pet at this point i feel like/hj #mans is LONELY and SAD and has some ISSUES #of course the only person who he can actually interact with is gonna be his crutch #and you can bet your bee hind i’m adding that to my fic in my drafts >:) #thas his little guy and he gets sad when he’s not around because who else is he supposed to talk to :( #prohibitedwish #fionna and cake #at:f&c #prismo #scarab #prismo x scarab #i’m still trying to figure out how to draw them okAy/lh

[officialaemondtargaryen]

A Fine Line [part 4]

Summary: You've been with Aegon for a little over four years and the relationship just isn't the same. His brother isn't helping the situation, either. This is a Modern Day AU!

Pairing: Aegon x Reader / Aemond x Reader

Word Count: ~7k (holy shit)

Author’s Note: I am so sorry that this took so long! I wanted to give a special thanks to @queen-helaena & @persephonerinyes for their feedback and direction on this chapter! Also, my personal Baela, @felteppsters for her daily duty of being my best friend. I will get the next chapter out as soon as I can, I promise it will be less than the six or so months it took me to write this bitch.

Warnings for the entire series: severe angst, cheating, unprotected sex, jealousy, lying, possessiveness, stalking, manipulation, language, alcohol use, recreational drug use.

Masterlist (it's been so long you might need a refresher)

Playlist here (be sad with me)

It was light out when you heard the front door open and close. A soft groan escaped your lips as you stretched; fatigue deep in your bones from a restless night. You quirked your brow as you glanced at the window. The remnants of a pink and purple sunrise were painted in the early Saturday morning sky.

His feet shuffled against the hardwood floor. Your eyes were fixed on the bedroom wall as you heard the door open. He was fully clothed when he fell into the bed next to you; still had his shoes on, even. The faint smell of clove cigarettes still lingered on his skin. A sigh escaped his lips as he nestled himself into the mattress as if everything were perfectly fine. You shot up quickly, turning to face him; your tongue burning with all of the words that you wanted to say to him, but you just couldn't bring yourself to actually speak them.

So you don't say anything.

You don't say anything as you sit cross-legged in the living room floor; folding his laundry as he sat on the couch eating the breakfast that you cooked, drinking the coffee that you made, laughing at whatever stupid TV show was on. You don't say anything as you stood next to him at the kitchen counter, fixing yourself a plate of dinner. You don't say anything as he crawled into bed with you that night and kissed you on the cheek.

No, instead you put it away. Just like everything else. And for the next three days you hardly say anything to each other, and if you did speak, it was 'dinner is ready' or the occasional 'have a good day'. You ate in separate rooms and he had started falling asleep in his office. It was the first time since you had started dating that the silence had become this loud. Sure, you hadn't had sex in almost a year, and more often than not he just felt like a roommate to you, but the silence had becoming deafening.

It was actually Aemond who had encouraged you to bite the bullet and be the first to say something. You'd been texting back and forth since the bowling alley. It was a weird feeling, teetering between guilt and giddiness, whenever you saw his name pop up on your screen. Nevertheless, you appreciated his company, even if it was just through text. It was more communication than you were getting from your own boyfriend and best friend; you'd never known Baela to be so busy, but every time you asked if she wanted to hang out or have a glass of wine over FaceTime, she was otherwise occupied.

Wednesday night, after you had put away the leftovers and finished the dishes, you had found yourself standing in the threshold of his office. It was a room you hardly visited and the art on the walls looked foreign to your eyes; almost making you feel awkward to stand in what felt like his space. You watched as he was reading his emails; quietly speaking to himself, saying all of the things he wished he could respond back with. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't even noticed you standing there.

"Aegon?" You asked and he flinched slightly.

"Hey!" His body softened and he gave you a tired smile. "What's up?"

"It's Wednesday," you shrugged. "Did you want to come down and watch our show together?"

"Oh," he sighed. His hunched shoulders fell. "I have so much work that I'm trying to catch up on, and it's getting late."

You bit your lip and nodded, but lingered against the doorframe. His fingers went back to typing on the keyboard, undoubtedly waiting for you to make your exit. After a few moments, he looked back up at you, obviously confused as to why you were still there.

"Is everything okay, love?" He asked.

The things that you wanted to say made your mouth taste fowl as they lingered on your tongue. How long could you keep up the charade? How long could he? You were holding on the crumbling foundations of your relationship, silently begging for him to help you save it, and he still did nothing. This was the part where you wondered if he even realized that you were one foot out the door, with your bags nearly packed, or if he'd even care.

How many times had you rehearsed what you would say to him? He was sitting right there, asking you, waiting for your answer. Yet, you still couldn't bring yourself to say it.

And the cycle continues.

"Yeah," you say with a small smile and push yourself off of the door frame. "Don't stay up too late working," you told him. "You deserve a break, you know?"

"A break," he laughed dryly. "You're funny."

You turned to head back downstairs but before you could reach the first step, Aegon's voice stopped you.

"Hey," he said softly and you turned back to him. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

The words left your lips with ease but their weight lingered. At this point, you couldn't tell if they were genuine or the easy, default response. The doubt was planted; sprouting like a garden sick with disease in your mind. The more it grew, the more you wondered if this was all that there was to it after four years. Was this the end of your relationship? Would you do anything at all to salvage it? Would he? It couldn't be that easy to unravel everything you had built together, and yet it was; all it would take were two words, just two. A simple acknowledgement that things weren't working out and then someone decides who stays and who goes.

It's over.

It was the smell of bacon that woke you the next morning.

Your body ached from a restless night as you sat up, stretching your arms above your head before reaching for your phone. Your brows furrowed as you read the date and time, almost having forgotten it was Thursday. It had been years since Aegon had cooked breakfast, let alone in the middle of the week. You quickly shifted out of the bed, shuffling down the hall before stopping in the threshold of the kitchen.

He was at the stove, humming softly as he turned down the heat on the bacon. For a moment, you were taken back to when he'd wake up early and cook breakfast on the weekends. You'd wrap your arms around him as he worked, swaying back and forth as music played over the little bluetooth speaker that sat on the counter. He wasn't someone who spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but he knew how to get the bacon just right and his scrambled eggs were always perfectly fluffy.

"Morning," he greeted as you stepped into the room. You slowly approached him and wrapped your arms around his middle, placing a small kiss between his shoulders. You felt him tense for a moment before he relaxed in your arms.

"What's the occasion?" You asked, reaching around him for a slice of bacon. "Figured you'd be at work by now."

"I'm taking the morning off," he shrugged as you moved to his side, leaning against the counter. He pulled the last few strips of bacon off of the pan and laid them across the cooling rack before turning the stove off completely. "I really wanted to spend some time with you, if you can spare it."

Your lips turned softly into a smile, "I think I can manage."

He stepped in front of you, his hands finding their place on your hips, gently pinning you against the counter. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a soft kiss. He lingered there, forehead pressed to yours as he sighed against your lips. Despite everything, you craved these moments with him. Your body still reacted in such an automatic way to his touch that it was almost enough to make you forget it all.

Almost.

You didn't want to question it, but an unsettling suspicion lingered in your chest that there was more to his actions than just wanting to spend some quality time with you. After all, it had been months since he had shown any interest in you in that regard.

"I do have ulterior motives, however," he mentioned.

There it is.

"I knew there was something behind all of this," you sighed with a quick roll of your eyes.

You went to step around him but he stopped you, lifting you at the hips so that you were sitting on the counter. You brace yourself for what is about to be said. The short silence echoed throughout the room as he weighed his words. Instinctively, your negative thoughts fill in the blank as he nudges himself between your knees and looks up at you with a pout. You can almost see the infidelity in his eyes, and you know that he can see the apprehension in yours..

"Don't, it's not like that," he said quietly and you exhale a breath you hadn't even realized you were holding in. "My mother is hosting a dinner tonight, celebrating the return of her favorite son, and I'd really like you to be there."

Your eyebrows raised with surprise.

"Are you sure?" You ask tenderly as you move a strand of hair from his face, suddenly feeling guilty for thinking so poorly of him. His blue eyes were downcast, unmoving from your lap where his thumbs drew circles in the skin of your thighs.

"I don't even want to go," he muttered. "But, I'm obligated to and I want you to be with me," he took a breath before looking up to meet your gaze; you could see the sincerity in his blue eyes. "It would mean a lot to me if you were there."

"Okay," you agreed and he leaned forward with a thankful sigh, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. Your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, fingers instinctively twirling in his hair. "Why don't we go get back in bed?"

He lifts his head and places another kiss on your forehead, breathing out as he does so, "I wish I could, but I've got to go pick up the dry cleaning."

"Send someone to go get it for you," you sigh and groan, tilting your head back in annoyance allowing Aegon to place a chaste kiss to your neck.

"Mhm," he breathes with his lips still pressed to your skin. "I could."

"You should," you whisper.

Aegon hums in response as his lips trail across your clavicle. His hands gripped at your waist, squeezing as you both leaned deeper into this moment. He pulled you forward by the hips, allowing your legs to wrap around him. His hands slid slowly up your thighs, fingertips teasingly playing along the bottom hem of your shorts. You breathed out, bringing your hands to his jaw and pulling him up to meet your lips.

You couldn't remember the last time he had kissed you like this- the last time he touched you like this. Three words clung to your lips as they parted to say, "I miss you", but before they could take form, the abrupt sound of Aegon's cell vibrating on the countertop pulled you back down to a harsh reality. He pulls away reluctantly, a mixture of frustration and obligation on his face as he sighs.

"No," you whine. "You took the morning off."

He steps back away from you, and your hands instinctively reach out for him, hoping to provide an anchor. You can't help but feel disappointed as he answers the phone; Otto's disgruntled voice faint on the other end, screaming. Aegon, deeply apologetic towards his grandfather, hurries out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his office, leaving you sitting on the counter with two plates of untouched breakfast and a sickening feeling of disappointment.

One step forward, two steps back; like playing the fucking Hokey Pokey with your relationship. You sat there for a moment, allowing the feeling of his now absent touch to linger on your skin, wondering if you'd ever become numb to it. You gently slide from the counter, your feet resting flat on the cool tile, and let out a small sigh as you begin disassociating and staring out the kitchen window.

The rest of the day seemed just as monotonous.

Your mind was in a fog as you thought ahead to dinner with the Targaryen-Hightower household. Your expectations of the evening were uncertain, given the limited information you possessed about Aegon's family. You knew Aemond, and you knew enough about Otto Hightower to form an opinion- albeit not a very positive one. He never talked about his father, and the only interactions he had with his mother were when he was ignoring her phone calls. There had been a few times Aegon had mentioned his sister, Helaena, who he described as 'creative' and 'artsy'. You also had heard him mention his youngest brother, Daeron, a few times; he would call every now and then, Aegon never ignored his calls.

There was also the half-sister, Rhaenyra, from his father's first marriage. She was typically referred to as 'dad's favorite'. You knew the most about her, only because she was quite vocal in interviews, discussing her father's health and the potential scandal surrounding the succession of his business.

"What do I wear to this sort of dinner party?" You texted Aemond. The same text that you had sent Aegon hours ago hadn't received a response, and as the hours passed you grew increasingly nervous.

"Something formal but it is just a dinner," his reply came quickly, followed by a second text. "I would stay away from the color green, however."

"Noted, thanks!"

Baela was typing away on her keyboard furiously next to you as you turned to face her in your chair. She had a red gel pen stuck behind her ear and her eyebrows were furrowed as she worked. She had been particularly quiet, which was unlike her. Typically you couldn't get her nor Jace to stop bickering over the cubicle wall long enough to think of a single sentence to write.

You chewed on your lip for a moment before you decided to swivel your chair to face her, reaching for the jar of green M&M's on the island that separated your desks. "Hey, you got a minute for me?" You ask as you pop a few of the candies into your mouth, hoping to break the ice.

"Hm?" She hums but her fingers are still typing. You toss an M&M at her and she turns completely to face you. Her expression softens when you smile at her, "I'm sorry, I've just been swamped with this new project Jason put me on this week."

"Is there anything that I can help you with?" You ask, not even knowing that Jason had her working on something new.

Baela shakes her head, "I appreciate you, always, but Jace has been doing some extra credit for me."

You laugh softly, although you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that she hadn't asked you. "That's probably best, he could use something to do."

"So, what's up?" Baela asked, getting to the point.

"Aegon invited me to a dinner with his family," your friend's eyebrows immediately shot up in surprise and you nodded. "I've never met any of them and I have no clue what to wear. Aemond said it would be 'formal' but it's still 'just a dinner', and Aegon- he didn't say anything."

"D'you ever find out what happened to him Friday night?" She asked.

You shook your head and frowned, "I could really use some girl time, if you could spare it."

At precisely 4:59 PM you and Baela both rolled yourselves out from underneath your desks and grabbed your coats. The snow was barely sticking to the pavement, and a thick, dense fog hung over the city as you stepped out of the office; the two of you arm-in-arm, laughing about something that had happened earlier at work. You were thankful for her company, as the last few days had felt particularly lonely. Plus, you were hoping to get a chance to talk to her about her new work assignment and how her week had been.

Aegon wasn't home when you got there. At this point, you wouldn't be surprised if he'd come through the door just to tell you that the dinner had been cancelled last minute; and you, standing in the middle of the living room, all dressed up for nothing. He wouldn't even acknowledge the effort you had put in to looking good for him. You allowed that scenario to play out in your mind as Baela poured you a glass of wine. She was talking about Jace, but your attention was elsewhere; unable to decide if you would be relieved if the dinner was cancelled or disappointed. You did want to see Aemond, and you did want to be there to support Aegon, but the potential drama that the evening held had you on edge.

"I can always tell when you're not listening to me," she laughed as she took a sip of her wine. She had a lock of your hair wrapped around the curling iron as you sat on the toilet in your bathroom.

"I'm sorry," you frowned, knowing that you hadn't heard a single word she had said about her new work project.

"You've got a lot going on," she said softly. "Talk to me."

"It's just Aegon," you sighed. "It feels like our relationship has been dead in the water for almost two years and we're both just holding on to nothing."

"Have you talked to him?" Baela asked, moving on to another section of hair. You tossed a hand up, trying to keep your head as straight as still as possible. "You need to talk to him, Y/N."

"What is there to talk about?" You asked with a defeated sigh.

"There is everything to talk about," and she was right. Baela was always right when it came to relationship advice. "You can't just decide to throw away four years because he's not being a good boyfriend right now. Aegon loves you, it's so obvious, he just seems stressed. Maybe he's going through something, maybe it's his family, have you even asked?"

You shook your head, not wanting to continue this conversation any longer. Just because Baela was always right, didn't mean that it was what you wanted to hear. Sometimes you just wanted someone to confirm your suspicions, or tell you that he was being a dumbass for pushing you away, or that you should break up with him and free yourself from the emotional torment that you were experiencing daily just from staying in this relationship.

You were his girlfriend, not his therapist. It wasn't your responsibility to sit him down and figure out why he was no longer putting forth any effort into making this work. All that should have mattered was the fact that he wasn't, because to you, that was a direct reflection of how much he cared. The bar was on the floor, it wouldn't take much at all for him to give you something. Yet, he couldn't even do that. He did just enough to make you feel like the fact that you were still hanging on was worth it, but you knew that it wasn't.

It was only a matter of time.

"All done," Baela said shortly after. You took a look at yourself in the mirror and smiled at her through the reflection; she had such impeccable skills with a curling iron and your hair looked perfect.

"Now we just have to figure out an outfit," you smiled.

"What about that one green dress you wore to the office Christmas party?" She asked as she followed you to the bedroom. "I love that dress, I have been meaning to ask if I could borrow it."

"You absolutely can," you replied and threw open your closet door, pulling that specific dress out on the hanger and laying it on the bed for Baela. "Aemond said that I should stay away from the color green, though, I have no idea why."

"How oddly specific," she chuckled as she smoothed her hands over the fabric of the dress. "I have a date next week, and this is perfect."

"A date?" You asked, eyebrows raining in suspicion.

"Yeah," she smiled. "It's kind of new but he's really sweet, he makes me all giddy. Like kicking my feet while we talk on the phone kind of giddy."

"So that's why you haven't been answering my FaceTime calls," your tone was light, but with your back to her, you couldn't help but frown. You remembered how giddy Aegon used to make you feel. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do to make you smile. "I'm happy for you, B."

You were being sincere and she knew that.

"Alright," you took a breath, shoving those memories back down where they belonged and turned towards the bed. "I think I have it narrowed down to the red or the blue."

"The red says 'look at me'," she says and joins you at your side. "You don't want that kind of attention right now, go with the blue."

"You're right."

The dress was boring, but it still accentuated your curves, and was the perfect choice for a semi-formal family dinner. As you stood in front of your mirror, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, you could heard the front door open and close. Baela's eyes connected with you through the mirror and you gave her a soft smile.

"Babe," you heard Aegon say from the threshold of your bedroom. You turned to see him standing in the doorway. "Baela," he smiled and nodded his head at her. "The car is waiting."

"Doesn't your girlfriend look absolutely incredible?" Baela asked, obviously proud of the work she had done.

"Sure," his face was flat. "You look great."

Your smile fell- along with every bit of your confidence- as he turned back down the hallway without so much as another word. You turned back to Baela; giving her a look as if to say, 'this is exactly what I mean', but she only returned it by squeezing your shoulders and giving you a reassuring smile.

"Maybe he's just nervous?" She's trying to play devil's advocate.

You knew it wasn't true, you knew that he just didn't care, and trying to convince yourself otherwise was exhausting at this point.

"Yeah," you agree with a frown and grab your clutch from the bed.

The Targaryen-Hightower residence was a sprawling, water-front mansion about 45 minutes north of Manhattan in Greenwich, Connecticut; what Business Insider claims is the richest neighborhood in the United States. The car ride there was silent, save for the soft sounds of talk radio coming through the speakers. You kept your gaze trained out the window, avoiding making any type of small-talk with Aegon as he drove. He kept his focus on the road, his face becoming more pained with anxiety with each mile you drew closer.

He sighed as he turned the car into the driveway, and you reached across the center console to place your hand on his thigh to show your support. Even though you felt indifferent towards him at the moment, you knew that tonight would be difficult for everyone involved. You may not have ever witnessed the dynamic of this family first-hand, but if Aegon was right about any of it, the mood would be dysfunctional.

The valet opened the door and Aegon held his hand out to you, no doubt putting on a display for anyone who may have been watching. There was a figure waiting at the door; her wavy, red hair glowing like a halo- or Devil's horns- from the overhead lights in the foyer where she stood. Immediately you noticed the emerald green dress that she was wearing, now knowing exactly why Aemond had steered you away from that option.

"I didn't think you'd come," Mrs. Hightower said softly to her son as you stepped through the door. She reached out to hug Aegon, who only stiffened as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders before placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I didn't want to," Aegon replied curtly.

"Aegon," his mother spoke sternly, as her gaze fell upon you. "This was meant to be an intimate family gathering."

"Please tell me we can't stay, I'd love nothing more than to go home," he spoke in a low tone, a touch of annoyance evident in his words. You pretended to be interested in a painting adorning the foyer wall where you lingered, still waiting to be formally invited in. "Y/N is my family, mother, more so than anyone in this house."

"Aegon," she warned with a sigh.

He moved to step around her and called back to you, "shall we?"

"Just a moment," Alicent continued, holding her index finger up to her son. Aegon sighed, his jaw was clenched. "I'd like to speak with Ms. Y/L/N alone for a moment."

Aegon swallowed and glanced down at you. His lips pursed as he nodded slowly, realizing he couldn't spare you from what was likely to be an uncomfortable encounter. "I'll be in the dining room, okay? It's just through those doors, there."

You nodded and he planted a short kiss on your cheek. Turning, you noticed Alicent standing at the base of the painting you had been admiring just moments ago. She didn't seem old enough to have four grown children, and for some reason, that unsettled you. Her red hair cascaded down her back as she gazed up at the painting, a tight but sad smile playing on her lips as you watched her.

"This painting is worth more than you'll make in a lifetime, you know," she stated coldly. "You should feel privileged to even look upon it." Your brows furrowed at her words. Before you could respond, she continued, "I understand that by you being here our family affairs are at risk of being publicized. Consider it a warning when I say that your career would also be at risk if you chose to do so."

You took a deep breath and resisted the urge to roll your eyes, steadying yourself before responding, "Your concerns are valid, Mrs. Hightower, but I'm here for Aegon not a story," her expression tightened as you held her gaze. The tension in the air lingered, but you stood your ground, refusing to be intimidated. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

You didn't breathe until you stepped through the dining room doors. Your eyes immediately found Aemond as you stepped into the room. His concentrated gaze shifted down your body slowly, taking in your appearance, and you could only hope that this navy blue dress was working for you in the way that you wanted; though, the approval was evident in his stare and in the faintest smirk on his lips.

When you finally looked at Aegon, his face was undoubtedly apologetic. He offered a small smile as he poured you a glass of wine and gestured it towards you. "She didn't say anything particularly cruel, did she?"

"Nah," you replied with sarcasm and sipped from the wine glass he handed you. "She only threatened my career."

"She's harmless," Aemond interjected.

"Harmless isn't a word I would use to describe our mother," a girl you could only presume was their sister, Helaena, added as she reached her hand out to you. "I'm Helaena, by the way, it's nice to meet you."

"Shit, sorry," Aegon cleared his throat. "Y/N, this is Helaena."

You chuckled at his late attempt to introduce you to his sister and shook her hand, "it's nice to meet you, too! I've heard a lot about you."

"And I've heard absolutely nothing about you," she gave Aegon a look before glancing back at you. "No offense."

"None taken," you smiled, brushing her comment off.

"Forgive me for wanting to keep my relationship away from this poisonous family," Aegon argued as he slumped down in his chair.

The door to the dining room opened and Otto Hightower stepped over the threshold. Aegon sighed loudly, slumping even further in his chair upon seeing his grandfather. You had never met him, but you had watched him in countless interviews. He took his role as Chief Operating Officer very seriously and you respected him as a businessman. However, you despised him for the chokehold that he had on your boyfriend; for the fact that he was singlehandedly responsible for ruining so many moments over the last two or so years, including one this morning.

It was strange to watch the way this family interacted as an outsider.

Aegon was visibly displeased to see his grandfather, and yet Helaena jumped out of her seat to give the old man a tight hug before showing him a video on her phone; her smile was bright as the two of them laughed together. Then, your eyes flitted over to Aemond whom was seemingly unfazed by his grandfather's presence; sitting calm and collected at the head of the table, his blue gaze caught your stare and his lips turned up slightly before you averted your eyes back to Aegon who was actively trying to drown himself in wine.

When Alicent entered the room, the mood shifted once again. She silently took her seat next to her father and signaled for the waitstaff to begin bringing in the food before she unfolded a napkin across her lap. Otto leaned to whisper something in her ear, to which she shook her head in response.

"Are we not waiting for father?" Aegon asked, his eyes slightly narrowed at his mother.

"Your father is in no condition to join us," Alicent's tone was sharp as she looked directly at you.

It was then that you realized Viserys Targaryen wouldn't be joining his family simply because you were there. They had done an excellent job at keeping the specifics of his health condition private and it was clear that they wouldn't be taking any chances. The look Alicent gave you from across the table was enough to make you feel small; you could see in her eyes the blame she placed upon you, as if it was your fault why her husband wouldn't be joining the rest of the family. Aegon reached his hand under the table and squeezed your thigh gently and you looked up at him.

You could tell that he now regretted his decision to invite you.

The first course had been served; the sound of forks and knives scraping porcelain plates echoed through the otherwise silent dining room. At one point you had mentioned that the food was delicious, but your comment seemed to fall upon deaf ears. When the waitstaff arrived to collect the plates and bring out the second course, you thanked them, but were only met with tight-lipped smiles.

You hated every moment you spent sitting at this table. You hated the antique furnishings, the polished candelabras, the wallpaper, the fact that the china you were eating off of probably cost more than a year's salary. You wondered if it had been like this for all of Aegon's life or if there was ever a flicker of normalcy. Suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to call your parents and thank them for the childhood you had so obviously taken for granted.

Aegon finished what was his third glass of wine, and before he could even set the glass down, a butler was on the way with the rest of the bottle for a refill. You wanted to say something, but were terrified of drawing attention to yourself, so you settle for looking at him; hoping to convey your concerns silently.

It was Helaena who broke the silence as the second course was served. Her voice was soft and hesitant, but at least she was trying.

"So, Y/N, how long have you and Aegon been together?" She asked you with small smile. Unlike her mother, Helaena exuded sincerity; she seemed to actually care to get to know you.

"We'll be celebrating our four year anniversary next week," you smiled, but it immediately disappeared when you looked at Aegon; his boozy gaze remaining downcast on the table in front of him.

When the words left your lips, you heard Alicent chuckle. Both you and Aegon, and everyone else at the table looked over to her. She laughed again, covering her mouth with her hand this time, "I'm sorry, four years?"

"Why is that funny?" Aegon asked, his jaw clenched.

"It's just that- before tonight- I don't think anyone here knew you even existed," she laughed again, digging her metaphorical knife into your side just that much more.

"We shouldn't have come," Aegon said as he pushed his untouched dinner away from him. He stood up and grabbed your hand, "we're leaving."

Before you could respond, the dining room door opened and your eyes widened as Viserys Targaryen struggled into the room with a walking cane. Behind him, a nurse followed closely with a wheelchair. Alicent immediately rushed to his side, allowing him to hold onto her for support.

"Aemma, where is Rhaenyra?" He looked around the room, almost panicked, before his eyes fell upon his daughter, "Rhaenyra?"

"It's Helaena, Dad," she frowned, unable to meet her father's gaze.

"This is supposed to be a family dinner, was it not?" He asked, his strained voice becoming louder with each word. "Where is my daughter? Where is Rhaenyra? I- I need Rhaen- I need to tell her-"

"My dear," Alicent spoke softly as she tried to reassure her husband, motioning for the nurse to pull the wheelchair up behind him so that he could sit and rest. "Rhaenyra couldn't make it, she apologizes, she and Daemon will come to visit soon."

She turned towards the table and excused herself before she helped a tired Viserys back out of the dining room and down the hall.

"Let's get out of here," Aegon muttered to you.

"No," Otto interjected as he continued to eat; completely unfazed by anything that had just happened. Aegon groaned, knowing what was coming. "We need to discuss the Stark account, the board meets tomorrow and there are still details we must go over."

"We can discuss this in the morning," Aegon answered pointedly.

"The board meets in the morning," Otto argued. "There's no time. I advised you of this earlier that we would need to finalize it tonight. I am sure your guest won't mind waiting."

Otto looked at you and smiled curtly. You glanced up at Aegon, his expression regretful, and nodded at him to let him know you'd be okay. He promised he wouldn't be long, but you knew better. It didn't take but a few moments after they had left before Helaena also excused herself, leaving you and Aemond alone at the table, as the kitchen staff began cleaning around the two of you.

A breath that you weren't even aware that you had been holding blew through your lips and you could hear Aemond chuckle softly.

"First time?" He asked and you almost laughed out loud.

"What gave me away?" You asked with a smirk as you took a sip of your wine. "Is it always like this?"

He tilted his head to the side, back and forth, a few times before he answered, "We have a tendency to be a bit intense."

"A bit," you snickered as you placed your wine glass back on the table.

"Would you like to take a walk?" He asked. You looked at him for a moment before checking over your shoulder for any sign of Aegon returning. "They'll most likely be a while."

"You're probably right," you answered. "Some fresh air does sound good."

Aemond helped you into your coat and scarf and guided you out to the back terrace. The frigid, early February air bit mercilessly at your cheeks, but the sight of the full moon reflecting off of the water was worth the potential frostbite. You walked through a small garden, past empty concrete fountains, as he led you down to the water.

He held out his hand to you as he stepped out onto the floating dock; it shifted beneath the weight of him, but he stood steady, waiting for you to take a step further and join him. You took his hand and followed, trying to ignore the warmth that gathered in your chest at the feeling of his touch. He didn't let you go until you had reached the end of the dock and could hold onto the railing for support; leaning against it, you cross your arms over your chest and look out across the Sound. It was quiet, save for the lapping of the water against the rocks and the faint rhythm of Aemond's breathing.

"Thank you," you say softly, the warmth of your words swirling around you in the cold air.

Aemond turns his back to the water and leans against the railing. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, silver flask, taking a sip and making a face before holding it out to you, "what for?"

"For the distraction," you take the flask, fingertips brushing against his as you did so. It's whiskey, and you cough at the taste, but it warms your cheeks.

"What are friends for?" He asks with a soft smile. "I've been meaning to ask, did he ever say where he was Friday night?"

"I didn't ask," you admit. "He never brought it up."

"Hm," he hummed. "My brother is an idiot, but I would hope he wouldn't be foolish enough to-" He trails off, catching your eyes from the side before averting his gaze back out at the water. "Nevermind."

"Foolish enough to what?" You ask, already knowing the answer, to which Aemond only sighs in response. "You think he could be cheating on me."

"I'm only saying that he doesn't have a great track record," he turns to face you. "He's been known to be a bit thoughtless in the past."

You only nod your head as a silence falls between the two of you.

Thoughtless wasn't a word that you would have ever used to describe Aegon- not at first, not about you. People do change, and both you and Aegon had certainly changed in the last four years.

It would explain a lot and it would make things easier if he were cheating on you, however. You'd have a reason, an out, and you wouldn't have to worry about the guilt that came with breaking his heart just because you wanted more effort than what he was willing to give you. Though, it did hurt to think that he might have been putting in that effort with someone else.

In the distance you heard the faint sound of laughter and turned to see Aegon and Helaena sharing a hug and saying goodbye. You looked up at Aemond and gave him a sad smile, knowing that the evening was coming to an end. You weren't sure when you would see him again, but you already hoped that it would be sooner than later.

"In the case that no one has told you," he mentioned quietly, his elbow softly nudging you as you both walked back towards the house. "You look incredible tonight."

"You're just trying to make me feel better," you laughed.

"Maybe," he smirked. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"Don't forget about my art show," Helaena reminded Aegon one last time as you and Aemond joined them. "I know you are the worst when it comes to remembering things, but it would mean a lot to me if you were there. Y/N, I hope to see you there, as well!"

"Wouldn't miss it," you reply with a smile.

"I won't forget," Aegon groans sarcastically as he gives his sister one last hug before turning his attention to his brother.

They step off to the side and you turn back to Helaena.

"Sorry about dinner," she adds. "I promise some of us actually know how to have a good time."

"I believe it," you laugh. "I am dating your brother."

"Yeah, and he's typically the fun one," she smiled back. "You guys seem good for each other, though. I'm glad he finally found someone to be serious about."

You nod your head as you look over at Aegon; he's laughing with his brother as he takes a swig from Aemond's flask. You were happy to see that he was much more relaxed than he had been earlier, something his siblings seemed to bring out of him. He caught your stare and gave you a goofy smile before mentioning something to Aemond who then looked over at you.

The feelings you felt towards your boyfriend, and the feelings you tried your hardest not to feel for his brother were fighting a civil war inside of you. You hoped that it wasn't obvious that you were being ripped apart from the inside out, because if it was, you were in trouble.

But as you stood there, looking at the both of them, you knew you were in trouble no matter what.

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#kind of loving that reader and aegon's space is the kitchen #most of their interactions happen in their kitchen #also aemond... I see you and... I'm not sure if I like you #whew this chapter had a lot going on and there were a LOT of hints about where the characters are going in this one #we are back on track now babes! see you soon! #aegon targaryen #Aegon Targaryen x reader #Aegon Targaryen x you #Aegon Targaryen fanfic #Aegon Targaryen imagine #Aegon Targaryen fic #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #helaena targaryen #aegon x you #aegon the second #aegon fanfic #aegon imagine #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #aegon #aegon ii Targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #Aemond Targaryen x reader

[leupagus]

The degree to which Davos and Brienne are going to become reluctant BFFs, because their lieges keep coming to them complaining about each other, is UNREAL

or, more from this fic that's slowly eating my life

~

Their journey to the Northern army's camp had revealed a great deal about Lady Stark and her lords and petty chieftains: their patronizing generosity, their gruff suspicion of outsiders, and above all their mind-boggling obstinacy. Ned and Lyanna had been much the same, from what he remembered, and Stannis had seen shades of it in Jon Snow, though couched more gently than he'd expected from a bastard. He'd imagined — insofar as he'd imagined her at all — that Lady Stark would be gentler still, her mother's line warming that chilled Northern blood.

He had been disastrously mistaken. It was a wonder only one Stark had survived, but it was already clear that she had gathered the entire share of Stark mulishness.

"I have conditions, Your Grace," said Lady Stark. "If this alliance is to succeed in retaking Winterfell, I feel it right that you hear them." She placed the parchment in her hand carefully on his table and stepped back, hands folded primly.

She had requested, and been granted, this conference shortly after Stannis's army had made camp alongside the Northern soldiers. Stannis's tent had barely been erected when she came to him with this parchment, her wolf, and a determined expression. He had thought he'd listened to her enough on the journey as she'd prattled away with Shireen, but he was in the mood to be permissive.

Reading through her list of demands, he could feel the headache building along his jaw and up through his skull. "Have you lost your mind?" he said, for the second time in a week to an unreasonable woman.

Melisandre had brushed his question aside, but Lady Stark was not made of such supple stuff; she stiffened and glowered at him. "That is a peculiar way to agree to my terms, Your Grace."

"Your terms are rather more than peculiar, my lady," he said, tossing the parchment back on the table.

In truth, the first one was not so peculiar: it said that should they regain the Keep, he would recognize Sansa Stark as Lady of Winterfell and Warden of the North in her own right. He would not pass her over in favor of some lesser Northern male relative, nor would he obligate her to marry and rule only as companion to her husband. Considering Stannis's own intention to ensure Shireen sat on the Iron Throne after his death, he could hardly begrudge her this.

Considering the other two stipulations, however, he felt very much inclined to begrudge her everything.

"Supposing your younger brothers turn up?" he asked, thrusting his chin at the parchment. "Or Jon Snow is legitimized?"

This question didn't faze her, he suspected because it was a question of logistics and protocol rather than a personal remark. "If Jon is made legitimate, I don't believe he would want Winterfell—"

"Duty is not a question of wanting, Lady Stark," he reminded her. "And the Lord Commander is—"

"The Lord Commander, as you say, is the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," she retorted. "His life has already been pledged to the Wall. If he didn't abandon that cause in aid of my brother Robb, he won't abandon it now."

Stannis observed her. There was bitterness there, certainly, though less than he would have thought. Lady Stark clearly understood the ties that bound men to their duty, even if she did not like them.

"However," she continued, "Should any of my brothers wish to make a claim to Winterfell in my place, I won't stand against them." She paused for a moment, and added, "I have no wish to die at their hands out of misplaced pride."

Stannis clenched his jaw but let that go for the moment — it would be addressed soon enough. "You call me 'Your Grace,'" he said, tapping at the parchment, "Yet your second stipulation says that you will not bend the knee to me, even if I regain Winterfell for you."

"No, it says that I will not bend the knee to any claimant to the throne until they hold the majority of the kingdoms," she shot back. "The Lannisters hold the Crownlands, the Westerlands and the Reach at present. The Riverlands are still in chaos, the Vale has withdrawn from all alliances to sulk in their mountains, and both Dorne and the Iron Islands have declared for themselves, more or less. You can, at best, claim that the Stormlands still support you, though I've seen no evidence for it — they didn't march under your banner at first, did they?"

That was the second time she had brought up Renly, however obliquely. If she were trying to drive him mad, she couldn't go about it any better. "When I hold the North, my lady, I will have more land—"

"Setting aside the notion that it will be you alone who holds the North, you'll have more land and fewer men than any other region. If you wish to win against the Lannisters, you'll need more than mountains and glaciers fighting your battles. And if I wish to be Warden of the North, I can't keep the respect of my lords by swearing fealty to a man who has yet to earn it."

"I could have you burned for such talk," he said, getting to his feet and pouring himself some water, hoping it would ease the throbbing in his head.

"You don't burn nobles, you behead them," she replied cooly. "I should know. I was there when the Lannisters took my own father's head for supporting your claim to the Iron Throne. I have no intention of sharing his fate." She took a deep breath, and only then did he note that her hands had been clenched together, her right covering the balled-up fist of her left. "I won't take arms against you now or in the future, on that I give my word."

"And if I do have you beheaded?" he asked, putting the tin cup down before he crumpled it in his hand.

It seemed to amuse her. "Then my words will mean even less than they do now."

"They mean nothing, because you will not give them!" He pinched his nose and attempted to regain his composure. Surprisingly difficult, with this — child.

She regarded him for a moment. "You call me Lady Stark, Your Grace," she said, "but tell me, have you heard anyone else call me that?"

Stannis, thrown by the question, was forced to consider it. In truth, he had heard only Lady Sansa, though said with more reverence by her men and lords than he could ever recall being addressed himself. "You are Lady Stark."

"Not without Winterfell," she said, shaking her head. "It's more than just the home of the Starks, it is our…place in the world. We belong nowhere else. Just as there must always be a Stark at Winterfell, so too do we need Winterfell to truly be Starks." She gave him a pointed look. "Just as Your Grace needs the Iron Throne, and the fealty of all the Seven Kingdoms, to truly be king."

She was wrong, of course, but Stannis felt the same lurch in his belly whenever his footing slipped during a bout. "Perhaps your reticence has something to do with this last stipulation," he said instead, going back to the table and jabbing his finger at the third line. "Falsely accusing a king is treason."

"Is Lady Brienne falsely accusing you, Your Grace?" she asked, smooth as ice. Her hands were still clenched, he noted.

"I was nowhere near Renly's camp when he died," Stannis said, with perfect truth, even as he felt himself balanced on a knife's edge.

He had been nowhere near. He had woken up just before dawn with the lead weight of certainty in his belly, knowing what had happened — what the Red Woman had said must happen — and lying there, staring up at the tent's canvas, he had wept. Wept for the brothers he had loved and who had never loved him back. He would never know if Renly had had a hand in Robert's death; just as he would never know if he himself had had a hand in Renly's. Had he ordered Melisandre to kill him? Had he believed her when she said she could make such a thing come to pass? Davos had begged to tell him of what had happened in the cave that night, what monstrous thing the Red Woman had done to bring Renly's death about. Stannis had refused to hear it. Perhaps there was a sort of rough justice in facing his accuser now, the only one living who knew the truth.

"Lady Brienne has served me faithfully," said Lady Stark, "and my mother before me, at great cost to herself. I believe her testimony, Your Grace."

"Her testimony that I murdered my own brother."

Lady Stark regarded him steadily. "I will not insult either of you by declaring one more honorable than the other. But when I regain Winterfell, my duty as Warden of the North will be to adjudicate all such matters, and this falls under my purview. Even if you were crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms in the Red Keep itself, the North holds all persons, regardless of title, under its laws while they reside here."

"Renly didn't die in the North," was all he could manage to say.

"He died, Your Grace." Lady Stark looked almost pitying. "And for that, I'm sorry. I know what it is to lose your brothers. But on this point I will not waver."

"Is there any point on which you have?" he asked, curious.

She continued serenely. "Lady Brienne will be permitted to make her accusation publicly; how you respond to it is your affair, but if you prevail, you must give me your word now that she will not be held guilty of treason, nor will she be killed by any member of your party by any means." She put enough emphasis on the last two words to make her meaning plain.

"And if she prevails?" Stannis asked. "Your stipulations do not mention the outcome of the trial, only that it will take place." He smiled grimly. "Your father always said that he who passes the sentence should swing the sword, my lady. Will you behead me yourself?"

"I doubt either of us would find that a pleasant exercise, Your Grace," she said, her lip curling slightly. She didn't blanch, however; young as she was, she had seen worse. Had possibly done worse, if the rumors about the Purple Wedding were true. He'd not asked. "If you are found guilty, then you will ride south. If you win the support of the other kingdoms, the North will bend the knee to you. But you'll never come north of the Neck again. Does that satisfy?"

Stannis glanced down at the parchment again. There it all was, in black and white: the price he must pay for the North. The blasted girl had even provided a space for him to sign at the bottom.

"Not remotely," he said, but reached for his pen.

#got: bitches get stuff done #game of thrones motherfuckers #the more I write these two together the more I'm mad that they never got to meet #same with Tywin and Daenerys #(although that's mostly due to watching too many Charles Dance interviews where he gushes over Clarke's performances) #(as he should!) #but some of the most interesting characters never got a chance to meet and it's a TRAVESTY #anyway #I've read a fair amount of GOT fic and none of them so far have written Stannis-Sansa interactions the way I feel that they would go #which is as you can tell: poorly #just let them be bitches!!! god!!!!!! #also don't even worry brienne is absolutely going to kick stannis's ass even if she doesn't kill him #she should get little an attempted murder as a treat