#I personally do but that's neither here nor there

[sultrysparkles]

PATCH UP DUTY! ༉‧₊˚.

synopsis: your shinobi boyfriend got hurt on a mission, and luckily for them their trusty girlfriend is here to help! (mentions of wounds and blood, SFW) FT. Gaara, Naruto, Sasuke, and Shikamaru

a/n: finally im back!! missed writing more than I expected lol also sorry naruto fans I didn't know what to do with him really!! (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠)

☆ SILENCE. (FT. GAARA)☆

"You don't have to do this, (Y/N)." Gaara murmurs, resting his arm on the table. You ignore his comment, unraveling a roll of gauze. Sitting there patiently, he watches as you carefully formulate your supplies with precision.

Grabbing a chair next to him, you begin to treat his wound. A large slash down his forearm, yet shallow enough to not cause any substantial issues. But the bleeding alone was enough to make you pout.

Meticulously dabbing a cloth over his wound, not a single word escapes from either one of you. Steady breathing fills the empty silence, a comforting phenomenon that always came along with Gaara. He wasnt the type to speak unless he had to, even then his sentences remained short and meaningful.

Picking up a swab coated in sterile saline, then patting it along the gash, You glance up to check Gaara for any signs of discomfort, an instinct that came along with treating injuries.

Suddenly, your rhythmic movements halt abruptly.

Your eyes meet.

For a moment neither of you move. His cold teal eyes grasp yours, indecipherable but fierce. Almost like he was studying you, memorizing the way your eyebrows furrowed with concentration, the way your eyes squint slightly as you focus. There's no falter nor embarrassed look away—only fixed tranquility.

He still doesn't look away.

Gaara isn't the type of person to shy away when he's caught staring, especially if it's something he's infatuated by. Instead his gaze intensifies, as if he's trying to understand something—himself. Why does he feel this odd warmth in his chest every time he's around your vicinity? Why does his heart slow but his breathing quicken as soon as he feels your delicate touch? It's all so new to him.

You catch a glimpse of something that crosses his face. Although hard to catch, you still caught it. A rare tenderness he rarely allowed himself to show.

"...Does it hurt?" You ask gently.

Immediately, his lips part, like he wants to say something. But instead, he simply shakes his head "No. It's fine."

However, his eyes still haven't let you go. At least not yet. Not until you look away first, flustered by his silent potency. And even then, he's still watching, his thoughts unsolvable, his heart struggling to make sense of feelings he's never felt before.

☆ BIG BABY! (FT. NARUTO) ☆

"Ow, ow, OW— (Y/N), you're killing me!" Naruto whines throwing his head back like he's just been stabbed in the chest.

You glare at him, pressing the antiseptic soaked rag against the scrape on his cheek. "It's just a tiny scratch, you big baby."

"A tiny scratch?... Do you see the SIZE of this thing? I was fighting for my life out there!" He puffs, pointing at the scrape. You sigh loudly, muttering about how ridiculous he is, Naruto crossing his arms childishly at the comment.

Tossing the rag aside, you grab a glass bottle filled with ointment. "You literally get punched through walls, but this is where you draw the line?" You retort, leaning in closer to spread the ointment more precisely

But unknowingly, you closed in the last bit of space between you two, the lack of air making Naruto's brain go fuzzy. Actually, he was completely frozen. Too stunned to speak. His usual goofy demeanour falters for just a moment, his breath pausing as heat rises to his face. He's blinking rapidly, unsure of where to look. He's lost in the way your fingers gently grasp his jaw, tilting his head slightly backwards. And he's fixated on the pacing of your breathing too, feeling the warm air against his cheek.

Fuck. You were way too close. He swallows hard, "Uh..." He scrambles to find his words, for the first time, the Ultimate Knucklehead Ninja is speechless.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence as if the close proximity wasn't a part of your plan. "What? You were just talking a mile a minute, and now you're quiet?" You spit, lips curled slightly as you spread the thick medication across his cheek.

Naruto quickly averts his gaze, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "N-Nothing... Just... uh... you must be really focused, huh?" He lets out a nervous chuckle, trying to slow down the sudden pounding in his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you twist the cap back onto the bottle. Adjusting himself on the couch, Naruto tries to retrieve his cool, as if his face weren't a bright tomato red. You continue patching Naruto up, still bickering back and forth with him. Only this time, he seemed to be a bit more jittery and shaky with his responses.

But later, when you're finished and packing away your supplies, you swear you hear him mumble something under his breath. Something that makes you smile not matter how much you stifle it back.

"Man... I think I just feel for you even harder..."

☆ STUBBORNESS (FT. SASUKE) ☆

"I'm fine."

You exhale sharply, ignoring Sasuke's regular resistance. Placing a cloth over the gash and then applying mild pressure, you attempt to stop the bleeding from his neck. "You're bleeding, Sasuke."

He doesn't flinch, nor does he wince. Instead he's just sitting there, stuff but compliant. His arms are crossed, like this whole situation was just some minor inconvenience. Of course. It wasn't unusual for Sasuke to act so detached, always pretending to be unaffected yet his body always said the opposite.

You shake your head, "Just let me help, okay?"

Sasuke sighs through his nose, but doesn't dispute with you any further. That was the most compliance you'll ever get out of him.

The wound on his neck wasn't deep, simply messy. Dried blood strips near the opening, and despite his bluffed collectiveness, you could tell he's exhausted. It wasn't uncommon to see Sasuke injured, oftentimes training tirelessly, or engaging with enemies he underestimated way too much. But this time, you could tell he wasn't just worn out physically.

Too lost in your thoughts, you accidentally prod the cloth a bit too harshly, making him tense up for a moment. Not a flinch, but you swore you heard his breath quietly hitch.

"Sorry," you murmur.

Sasuke though, doesn't say anything. But as you continue, grabbing other materials, you treat his wounds with extra care. Fingers grazing his skin with gentleless, you begin to notice something. His breathing slows. His once taut shoulders are now relaxed under your touch.

He isn't just tolerating this, but he's allowing it.

There's something strangely intimate about this silence. Perhaps it's the way, you're the only one he lets close like this.

Then you feel it. His gaze locked on you.

Holding the gauze in your hand, you pause.

"Sasuke?"

But still, no answer.

You peek up at him, expecting his eyes to rush away like they always do, but he doesn't. His distant black eyes are now fixated on you, unreadable, steady, yet softer than usual. They lacked their usual sharpness, but instead grew of quiet observation.

The sight sends your heart into your throat.

"...What?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He blinks, laggard and calculated. His lips part ever so slightly, like he's about to speak but he doesn't. Instead, after a moment, he exhales and mutters, "Nothing."

Taking in his answer, you continue on with patching him up. But his gaze lingers, still focused on you. Even after you finish patching him up. Because as he stands to leave, his lips part open again, like there's something on his chest that's dying to come out.

And then, he turns away, his voice—low and nearly inaudible.

"...You don't have to worry about me so much."

☆ GENTLE (FT. SHIKAMARU) ☆

"This is such a drag..."

Shikamaru groans, resting his head against the wall as you kneel beside him, tending to the slash across his chest. He's always complaining and always acting like everything takes up so much of his precious energy. But he hasn't moved an inch since you've started.

"You say that like I'm the one who got you hurt," you mutter, blotting a rag over his wound.

A long and slow breathe escapes his lungs, "Tch. Guess that's fair."

His voice is low and sluggish, like sitting here was simply exhausting. Despite having a fresh injury, he seems to be half asleep. Typical. You should've expected him to act like this was more tiring than the actual fight.

"Hold still," you say, pressing a bandage against his skin tightly.

Shikamaru doesn't even flinch. Doesn't really react at all, really—except for the way his eyes flicker downwards watching the way your fingers dance over his chest, you brows knitting together in silent concentration.

You don't notice at first, only until the silence begins to grow way too suspicious.

You glance up, only for him to be looking back at you.

You waver, gripping the roll of bandage.

"What?"

But, he only blinks at you, hushed but calculated, unbothered at the fact you just caught him staring. In his eyes, there's no sign of embarrassment nor instant divergence. Just quiet deliberate eyes, like he's studying a foreign topic.

"You're being weird," you comment, focusing your attention to bandaging him up.

Shikamaru's lips twitch into a lazy smirk. "Nah. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

He pauses, and so do you. His eyes dart towards something—not away but lower, to where your hands are still resting on his chest, rising up and down as he breathes.

"You're pretty gentle," he murmurs.

Your breath catches to the back of your throat. But before you can respond, he leans his head back again, shutting his eyes like he's done speaking.

Shaking off the unexpected heat in your cheeks, you huff "You say that like you expected me to be rough."

"Didn't say that," He mutters, eyes still shut.

"Then?"

He exhales a small tired sigh. And then without opening his eyes:

"I think I could get used to this"

Your hands still for half a second, but he doesn't say anything else. Instead he lets the silence between you two settle, as if it were meant to be there.

And when you finally pull back, he doesn't move right away.

Like he's in no rush to leave your touch.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Viktor with 98, 71 (public), 17 (breasts, ass and thighs) and 44 please

What happens underwater... - Viktor x Reader

Summary: There’s nothing quite as relaxing as a nice, quiet morning at the spa; but Viktor really enjoys making things more challenging for you.

Pairing: Viktor x Reader

Word Count: 2.6K

Warning: Explicit (PwP)

Tags: Cockwarming, Exhibitionism, Public Sex, Jacuzzi Sex, Lap Sex, Dom/Sub dynamics, Viktor Has a Big Cock, Curvy!Reader

Collection: ❤️🌹Peach’s Arcane Valentine's Day 2025❤️🌹

Notes: First work of my personal Arcane Valentine's Day Event for 2025! I definitely went way overboard for a one-shot that was supposed to be around 1K max (and it will absolutely happen again 🤡), but I’ve been dreaming of writing a jacuzzi fic for Viktor for SO long, I knew exactly what I wanted to write for this. Anyway, enjoy, sweethearts 💕!!

“Ahh…” you moan wantonly when your legs enter the warm water, feeling the tension in your muscles vanish with the clouds of steam.

“Careful,” Viktor smirks, already seated in the large whirlpool. He's settled in quite comfortably, lithe arms resting on the cool, faux marble edge. “We would not want other visitors to think we are doing anything… inappropriate here.”

You throw him a mocking glare, making it a point to let out an even louder moan of satisfaction once your body is fully submerged in water, closing your eyes. It's heavenly: the closed room is equipped with low, dim lights, creating the illusion of being surrounded by dozens of candles. The smell of eucalyptus in the air is calming and familiar, filling your nostrils with a comforting herbal scent. Even the gentle wiring sound of the bubbling water jets is pleasant—a low, rhythmic rumble that echoes through you, dissolving the tension in every muscle.

“And that's why I booked a Tuesday morning spot,” you reply with a deep inhale, letting the perfume of the essential oils tickle your nose. Your eyes flutter open slowly, a lazy grin spreading across your lips as you glance over at him “There’s no one else here. Just us.”

The way his amber eyes twinkle with amusement leaves no doubt; he understands the implication very clearly.

Neither quite walking nor swimming, you drift towards him, the water guiding your movements until your legs brush softly against his. Leaning forward, you kiss him softly, leisurely, and he responds in kind, without any urge or signs of hurry. Had you known that a simple visit to the spa was all it took to dissolve his relentless need to be productive, you would have brought him here the day you met.

You pull away, just enough to let your breath ghost over his face, cocking your head impishly.

“Is there any space left for me to sit?” you wonder out loud with a playful grin.

He hums, pretending to be deep in thought as he looks around the completely empty room.

“I am not quite sure we can accommodate you. I will discuss with the rest of my large group of hydrotherapy enthusiasts, and we will come back to you with an answer in…” he pauses to look at an imaginary watch on his wrist, glancing up mockingly, “… five to ten business days.”

You snort, splashing him with some water to retaliate, and he laughs as he raises an arm to protect his face. It’s a contagious sound, that laugh—the kind that makes you feel light and bubbly, and that leaves you with a craving for more. You can't help kissing him again, this time messier, your tongues caught in a languid and drowsy battle of dominance.

Viktor always tastes sweet, the usual, intimate flavour of his morning sweet milk and jam toast lingering in his mouth. He’s addictive, and you’re insatiable. The thought that you want to indulge in him like dessert, to devour him, is roaring in the back of your mind persistently; but the warmth surrounding both of your bodies is making you too lethargic to quicken the pace. Instead, you opt for making the kiss more wet, pressing your chest against his.

He sighs in approval against your lips. Few things can weaken Viktor's steely focus, especially when he’s working, but your breasts are certainly one of them. He’s coy about it, but he never misses an opportunity to touch them, to rest his head on them after a hard day, to knead them with his fingers to feel their weight and hear you cry for him. The curves of your body never fail to unravel him.

He's slightly breathless when you pull away, his face tinted a pretty shade of red, highlighting just a hint of pale freckles on his cheeks. You'd make a sly remark about it, and the adorable boyish look they give him, but he'd blame it on the heat—prideful as he is.

“Would you look at that,” he comments, voice almost a sigh, eyes sparkling with hypnotic wit. “It would appear a special spot has opened up for you, right here.”

He nods casually to his lap, abandoning any pretence of innocence, and you don't hesitate for a second. You settle onto his thighs, your legs tucking snugly behind his back, locking you in place with effortless intimacy. Viktor has always revelled in the weightlessness of water, in how effortlessly his limbs move in its embrace. More than that, he loves how it lets him hold you in ways he never could on solid ground—the full weight of your body resting on his, your ass seated comfortably against his crotch.

“Lucky me,” you smile as you wrap your arms around him, the tip of your fingers tracing the sharp shapes of his back expertly. The valleys of faded scars, the slight hint of pedicle screws underneath his skin, the star-like clusters of moles—it’s all so familiar to you, a work of art you’ve studied with your touch dozens, no, hundreds of times. His hands find your waist with the same practiced ease, beckoning you closer.

It's so rare to have him like this, so wholly yours, without the weight of looming deadlines and the relentless pressure for success he places on himself. You want to enjoy this moment to its full extent, savour each second, sink into him like the notion of time itself has dissolved in these temperate waters.

But the need to enjoy him and his body to their full extent is greater; you start lightly grinding against him, letting the tidal motion of the jets bring you back and fort.

“I… am beginning to feel like you may not have brought me here out of the purest of intentions,” he smirks, voice low, his hands smoothly gliding under the fabric of your swimsuit. He squeezes the fat of your ass almost punishingly, sinking into your skin. “I thought this was meant to help my joint pain.”

“You're one to talk,” you raise an eyebrow challengingly. You grind down against him once, hard—and he immediately curses under his breath.

He loves to pretend that nothing ever gets to him, that he’s untouchable beneath his carefully crafted composure. But you know better. You know him. And right now, his body can’t keep up with the pretense that he’s unaffected: his already half-hard cock is poking you insistently under his swim trunks, and he’s not petty enough to try and deny it.

“And since when can't you multi-task?” you grin with satisfaction.

He scoffs, like he’s almost insulted, but the smile tugging on his lips sings a different tune.

“You are incorrigible,” he reprimands you, his fingers digging assertively into your supple flesh; you can tell you’ll find dark bruises there in the shapes of his digits tomorrow. A familiar pull, deep in your lower stomach, begins to make itself known, and you whine pitifully to encourage him to press harder.

“But…” he adds nonchalantly, “I did come here to relax, and I intend to do just that.”

He releases his grip on your cheeks, and you let out an indignant moan of protest. Yes, it's pathetic and shameless, but no one else is here to hear how easily you’re always ready to beg for him. And Viktor loves hearing you beg.

He tuts at your eagerness, one hand coming up to hold your chin, touch gentle, but firm, dominant, golden stare burning into you.

“I have never said you could not help me relax.”

Thank fucking God—because if the heat of the scalding vapour hadn’t made you implode soon, the cruel lack of his length inside you would have finished the job. Could anyone blame you? There’s hardly any other place in the world more steeped in romance and sensuality than a jacuzzi, the air thick with warmth and electricity. And with how Viktor's sharp gaze never draws far from your generously revealing bikini top, you know he wants you just as much as you want him.

The cherry on top? There's no one else here to prevent him from fucking you utterly stupid right inside the whirlpool.

You slide the bottom of your swimsuit to the side with little ceremony, giving his roaming hand easier access under the water. The first finger feels intimate and cozy as it pushes in, and you'd hump it with abandon if it wasn't for Viktor's other hand holding your thigh down decidedly. He seems to find your squirming amusing, toying with your walls as he observes every little tremor that goes through your body.

“Viktor…c'mon on…” you complain. You know he can feel the oily texture of lube inside you, that he can easily tell you've prepared yourself specifically for this, but the teasing has always been his favourite part, and he doesn't seem willing to part ways with it now.

“Why the hurry? Are we not allowed to stay here for another two hours?” he asks, irony laced in his voice as the long finger curves inside you with precision, and hits a peculiarly sensitive spot. You pressed your lips closed, refusing to give him more ammunition.

“So you can fuck me for the next two hours, that’s why,” you argue, biting, and he raises his free hand in surrender, the cockiness evident in his features.

“Well, who am I to deny you?

His finger vanishes almost instantly, leaving you with a vague, aching emptiness, but the promise of what you truly want coming next. His expectant gaze and deliberate stillness make it clear—he’s waiting for you to do all the heavy lifting while he simply enjoys the moment, in total control, without ever moving a muscle.

And you do just that, without a word of protest, because there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him when he looks at you with those honeyed eyes and that syrupy smile. Maneuvering quickly, you lower your thong with one hand and bring his cock out of his swimming shorts with the other, stroking his length with a firm grip as you align it with your warmth. He hums, pleased, his eyes fluttering close, and you take it as a sign to forgo any additional foreplay.

You moan in unison when he finally enters you, the stretch pleasantly different underwater than above, like the warmth makes you looser and easier to penetrate. When he’s fully inside you, the thickness of your ass flushed against his bony hips, there isn’t a single doubt in your mind this is a place you were always meant to be. In this city, in this spa, in this whirlpool, sitting on this man’s lap and filled with his cock.

Fuck, you want him. You really, really want him.

With a shaky breath, you place your hands on the solid edge behind him, ready to start bouncing up and down his length with abandon, when suddenly the sharp sound of knocking echoes through the room.

The both of you freeze, Viktor’s eyes shooting open.

A second knock. A third.

“Hello?” comes a man’s voice from the other side of the door. You gape at the thankfully still-closed entrance, your breath caught in your throat. Panic spikes through you as you whip your gaze to Viktor—only to find him utterly unfazed, his expression unreadable, as if the thought of being caught like this is of no concern to him at all.

Before you get a chance to move off him, Viktor’s hands grip your thighs, pointedly holding them down against him. You look at him with a mixture of confusion and apprehension, but his eyes hold yours challengingly, dark and lustful.

“Stay on my lap,” he whispers, voice deep.

“Viktor-” you begin, but he kisses the rest of the sentence away.

“Relax,” he shushes you, the word comforting, but his tone nothing short of a clear order. A steady hand guides your head into the crook of his neck, shielding your face from view. His voice dips lower, quiet but firm. “Don't move until I say you can.”

There’s no time left for debate; you close your eyes and bury your face deep against Viktor as you hear the door to the room slide open.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” resonates the loud voice of an older man from the entryway, the raspiness of cigarette smoke audible in his speech. “I didn’t think there’d be anyone this early, I can come back later.”

Viktor must sense how you've stiffened against him at the mere sound of the man’s voice, his fingers massaging the fat of your thighs reassuringly. You're paralyzed with fear, but you exactly deny the electric feeling that’s coursing through your body as you clench tightly around Viktor's cock, and chances are, he’s very aware of it. You can hear the smirk in his tone when he speaks up.

“No, no, there is no need for that,” Viktor replies smoothly, his tone as effortlessly composed as ever. “My jacuzzi partner has fallen quite deeply asleep. I would enjoy some light conversation.”

Oh, you piece of shit. You curse him mentally, your heart pounding in your throat. He’s effectively cut off any chance of escape, trapping you in this cruel, maddening game. The dim lighting, the bubbling jets, the shifting water—there’s almost no way the stranger could see anything beneath the surface. Almost. And that’s exactly the thrill Viktor is playing with.

It’s not about certainty; it’s about the maybe—the razor-thin chance that you could get caught if you so much as shift, if you make even the faintest sound. And that knowledge, the unbearable tension of it, is exactly what he’s savouring. You feel him throb against your walls, clearly pleased with the way the situation is unfolding as you hear the stranger’s footsteps draw closer to the whirlpool. You hear the faint splash of movement, then feel it—the ripple of the water shifting around you as the man steps in. Your breath stills, every nerve in your body on high alert, yet Viktor stays maddeningly still, as if he’s about to engage in a friendly little chat and not balls deep inside you right underneath the surface.

He's effortlessly turned you into a glorified cockwarmer, a pretty cocksleeve who can do nothing, but take him silently as he begins casually chatting with the older man. He’s a fucking evil genius.

“Nothin’ better to relax than this, that’s what I always say,” the stranger boasts. “I can stay hours without moving a muscle.”

Viktor hums, thoughtful, his grip just a little firmer, as if you needed any more reminders that he’s completely in control of you right now. “Actually, that sounds like a nice idea,” he muses, his voice smooth, lazy. “I think I will try doing that myself.”

You can’t see the expression on his face, but really you don’t need to. You can feel the amusement radiating from him, the twitching of his rock-hard cock deeply nestled into you. And as the stranger settles in, oblivious, you realize that Viktor has absolutely no intention of letting you move anytime soon.

🌸 Taglist Darlings 🌸: @soniiyi , @mischievous-piltovan, , @luv-urself-first, @girlidkthinkofsmth , @starflesh-moth , @raynoway , @just1cefor4ll , @lovebugintardis

Tip a Coffee ☕: ko-fi.com/lefruitdelapassion

[gnohomotho]

HEAR ME OUT

This request that i have is so cheesy but sounds so good in my mind, forgive me 😭😫

Junho and reader doing like a private first impression thing like u know where the bride and groom are standing back to back and then they turn around. And like Junho is mesmerised has tears is his eyes

Like i literally only have the most cheesy and romantic ideas in my mind i CANNOT help it

Btw love your works 😜😚😚😚❤️❤️

I did my best, Anon, your message truly made my day. ♥ :D I hope I didn't overdo it, then again, cheese is my livelihood. Sorry for any oddities or spelling mistakes, I'm a bit in the trenches today. :c

It's a bit longer with some wedding dress backstory and getting ready, but I think the good part is there. :3 I hope you enjoy! ♥♥♥

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The Moment I Saw You

Pairing: Jun-ho x almostwife!fem!reader Summary: And you thought the dress shopping would be hard. The first impression you wished to give your husband-to-be went differently than expected, and you are swimming in a sea of love and bliss. Warnings: Remember that one modded Skyrim playthrough where the player accidentally glitched the cheese-wheel summoning spell and drowned the whole town in cheese? Well, that's what's happening here, but worse. Fluff! Fluff! More fluff! Word count: 2.7k

Everything should have been perfect.

You were picking the dress, and it was taking long. You were standing in the bridal shop, unable to choose, tired, wanting to go home. The person looking back at you in the mirror didn’t look like a bride to you. Even though everything was in place, it felt…wrong. Fake, somehow. Ill-fitting. The shop assistant was very kind, you thought her patient – but even she could see you were not exactly the glowing bride-to-be she was used to. Nor anything like the shiny photographs littered across the front desk.  

Your close friend was there with you, trying her best, you could hear her rummaging through the dresses again, muttering – “puffy sleeves, prom dress, no, no, no, form fitting…” She had the fervour of a very hungry owl searching for that one mouse that got away. “Dumb…long…short…dear god do people actually wear this…oooh, shiny…no…hmmm…” She was already buckling under the weight of all the new ones she picked out for you.

“Hey, Y/N, are you sure you don’t like this one?” She held up a gorgeous gown, white as snow, silk, smooth, reflecting light with a soft plunge of a neckline, and a revealed back. The skirt fell in a mermaid style, you could look like a gorgeous datura flower at the bottom.

“No, no, I’m not sure…not…” You think of yourself in the dress and frown. Your husband to be…Your Jun-ho…should he see you like this? He should see the most beautiful version of you on such a day – and yet you felt more like he was going to run away the moment he laid eyes you.

“Please? How about this one?” Your friend holds up her second choice. The dress is half lace, intricately woven with flowers and soft curling patterns, with off-the-shoulder milky sleeves, a lovely bodice and a small ribbon on the back. The veil would hide more of you, you think. But still. You eye the skirt, its velvety material falling almost straight down. You know you’d be leaving nothing to the imagination and wonder, what if this is all a mistake? What if he made a gigantic mistake, from the very first moment he met you? The first date? The first touch? What if you’ve been unknowingly deceiving him, and now he’ll see you for what you are, what you look like, inside and out? You can’t hide in white.

Your friend walks up to you and gently takes your hand to help you off the platform. She guides you away from the mirrors. As she walks you to the changing room, she is slowly stroking your hand, noticing you are beginning to resemble a vibrating ball of nerves.

“Y/N, if you keep frowning like that, I’m pretty sure you’ll have to pay for extra retouching of all the new wrinkles.” She tried to joke but immediately noticed that it was neither the time nor place and changed her demeanour. You sit, feeling the small bench weigh down with you as she does too, and gently hold your stomach as you speak. You’re unsure which one of you will get the hint first, but you’re pushing it out into the back of your mind as far as you can.

“I just…” You try to speak but the words come out all wrong. “I don’t think he’ll…he’ll be so disappointed.” You sigh and trace both hands down your face to calm down and wipe the stress away, but it clings to every molecule of your skin. “Jun-ho isn’t the type to…” No, all wrong. “It’s not the dresses, it’s me.” Gosh darn it, the tears begin to form. “It’s just me.”

“Hey, hey…darling…” your friend begins stroking the back of your hand as she holds your palm. She is warm and reassuring, but you struggle to believe her.

“It’s ok. It’s ok to be nervous. But you’re beautiful, no matter the dress. To be honest,” she looks around with added drama, as if feigning trying not to be heard, “I don’t think any of the dresses could do you justice and you should just walk out there stark naked if you want them to see how gorgeous you are,” she laughs and squeezes your hand, you look up and let yourself rest with her reassuring, peaceful smile that reaches her lowered eyes now directly resting on you. Although you’re not hugging, you feel held.

Her eyes move to your hand resting on your stomach and you could swear you saw a glint sparkle in their corner and her lashes seem to fall far slower as she blinks, but says nothing. She is so very thoughtful, you think.

“Look, if I know anything about Jun-ho, which isn’t much” she continues, “that man is head over heels for you and the moment you said “yes” I don’t think he’s heard any other words of any language since.”

You let out a small chuckle through another tear. She continues, knowing she’s on a the right path, knuckle punching every guard on the proverbial way.

“I know you’ve walked past this shop year after year, before any of this, and I know you loved the dresses for their beauty, their, elegance, their promise. Y/N, you told me yourself, what was it…winter…”

“Winter dresses,” you chime in quietly. Barely a whisper. Breathing in, you try to remember those cold walks.

“I walked past, and I tried to look at the winter dresses when I knew the shop was closed. The ones with those gorgeous, long skirts, heavy velvety fabric where they met the skin, forming an A shape towards the waist.” You didn’t tell her that you liked both their protectiveness and the fact that if you decided to dramatically fall into a dark body of water, their puffiness and beauty would truly make the moment worth it. You continued after another less shaky but still reserved breath: “Hugged it and up there, the white enveloping the chest – perhaps with lace across the collarbones, but skin hidden, just a touch away…” you let yourself sink into the memory, far before you met Jun-ho, your husband to be. “With that veil that resembled a winter cape from a Russian fairytale.”

“There’s my little Vasilisa,” your friend laughed and stood up. “I’ll be right back, no eloping!”

You sat there, hand still resting on your belly, worried, excited, feeling as if you’re living someone else’s life. Thinking of what Jun-ho must be doing and feeling. Feeling worse and worse, as if you don’t deserve this life.

You quickly pull out your phone to check the time and melt. You have no idea how Jun-ho's timing is always so perfect, but only a minute or two ago, the words:

"Hey, sweet [diminutive version of Y/N], are you ok? Sorry, just wanted to check on you. I hope the dresses are treating you well! Tell [friend] to look after my wife!” light up your screen.

Another message lit up immediately after: “*wife-to-be, I just can’t stop saying it, sorry! I love you, Y/N.”

The smile that spreads from the corner of your mouth and butterflies that saunter from your stomach almost pushed all the anxiety off a cliff. But it still clung to the edge.

Your friend waltzed in and to your utter disbelief, she held up the perfect dress.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The click of your pearl-white heels was the only thing to be heard across the grass. You focused on their soft step and keeping your balance. Your heart was fluttering out of its chest, your stomach was doing its best to leave the building in excitement, in fear, in anticipation – the train of your dress followed you with a soft sliding murmur and the skirt gently touched each flower on the way. You were so glad he chose to do it this way, away from others. Flowers, a shield of wise oak trees. Bird chatter, a gentle breeze on your flushed cheeks, that’s all you truly needed. That, and him.

“I want to be the only one to see you, Y/N. The only one to witness the first sight of my wife.”

The sweetheart neckline clung to your collarbones, the off-the-shoulder fabric neatly stacked in on itself was cuddling your back and shoulders, light and nearly translucent. It rested on your skin as a light lover’s touch. The beautiful, laced veil, floating with you as well as behind you was hiding, yet still accentuating your shining hair with small white flowers nestled between locks. It fell periodically across your back and your shoulders, resting on your collarbones with each step. The heavy fabric of the dress which clung to your waist and fell once more felt cool and warm at the same time, giving you an air of ethereal slow motion. You looked like you belonged in a winter forest. A vision of indescribable, untouchable beauty. The wind gently played with your hair, as if longing to caress you as much as the man in front of you.

As you walked, the form of your husband-to-be materialised in front of you, facing the other way. Although there were many other features around, each quite beautiful, you had no eyes for them. Slowly, meticulously, as if not to scare him, you walked up the small hill towards him and lingered behind him. He hasn’t seen you, but he knows you’re there – his back is giving away the quickness of his breathing and his attempts to steady it down. Please breathe, my love…” Your thoughts leave their nerves at bay and soften into nothing but care and love for him. Finally, as lightly as a feather, you rest your back against his, feeling his breath quicken once more and his entire form tense and release, as if wishing to melt into you.

Jun-ho almost hesitates, but slowly, in what is trying to be a level manner, speaks.

“On the count of three, Y/N?”

You breathe out a tiny chuckle. Ever the pragmatic yet meticulous man.

“One…” you say almost in unison.

Your breath quickens, your heart is racing ten miles a minute, the dress seems to be tighter and tighter and the birds louder and louder yet so far away.

“Two…” he says alone and you whisper with him, mind turning to mushy cotton but enveloped in such a warm feeling of bliss.

Jun-ho takes in a last, heavy breath and as he lets it out…

“Three.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You turn around in unison and both stand frozen in the moment.

Your eyes meet.

Jun-ho stands utterly transfixed, trying to take you in, all of you, in your entirety at once. But his eyes cannot contain you, so he keeps glitching, his hands that he wished to extend to you the moment you turned, are shivering and tense.

His soft gaze tries to dart and look at you from a different side, angle, but he cannot. You’re…you’re a vision that he cannot and will not disentangle from.

As his eyes are trying to take in every inch of you and warming his heart with every molecule he manages to snatch from the photons reflecting your form, his heart is firmly on its way out of his chest.

You hear nothing but your breath now, you’re looking up into his eyes, inches away from his face, which is frozen and beginning to tear at itself. As if a mask was cracking in nothing but a barrage of indescribable beauty and feeling.

Jun-ho slowly lifts a shivering hand to his mouth and rests it across his face, fingers almost up to his eyes, as if shielding both you and him from the raw, sheer affection that has swept him off his feet – and you, you are both the waves he’s drowning in and the only lifeboat on the sea.

“Y/N…” he barely chokes out in a whisper.

“Y/N…you…you look...” his hand is joined by his other, slowly laying each palm and finger against themselves under his lips. Jun-ho doesn’t know why he cannot control his expression, a wide smile is fighting to be seen, his eyes and heart are tearing at him in springs of bliss and absolute adoration as he wishes to scoop you up to him and melt into you, squeeze you so tight you won’t know where you stop and he begins.

But you are…untouchable as this vision before him. As he steadies himself, he tries to breathe, getting a breath caught in his throat. He finally looks away and you worry, worry your worst fears came true. Worry that the girl sitting in the bridal shop holding her stomach was correct.

But on second look, he is…oh gosh…” The mixture of worry and unexpected relief, bundled up in nothing but affection and deep care threaten to drive you to both laugh and tear up.

“Jun-ho…!” A hushed whisper from your tender lips brings him back to you, turning his head slowly back. He meets your gaze with reserved fear, one eye – look away – second eye – look away – both – remain with you. You see now, with warmth growing in your chest and flutters dancing across your skin, why he was shielding his mouth, then face, then needing to look away entirely. You take both his hands into yours, caressing each finger lovingly as you lower them down to your waist. You envelop his hands, still caressing each knuckle with the ball of your thumb.

“Jun-ho, my love…” you say slowly, levelly, in a low whisper. “My sweet love…it’s alright.”

Jun-ho cannot help it, the sides of his eyes are fully sparkling now. Your eyes are fully transfixed on his own and guide his gaze into you, and he smiles that wide smile you have grown to love so dearly. Jun-ho’s eyes are now fully glistening like still lakes under a full moon.

“I cannot believe you’re here. I---I---cannot believe…it’s…you…with me…My…My…”

Jun-ho cannot speak further but you feel the hands in your tender embrace reciprocate a grip far more secure and loving than you could ever wish for. As protective as it was reassuring. Jun-ho always held you as if you could slip away at any moment, but so tenderly that should you do so, you’d be protected and enveloped in loving warmth to the very end.

“Your wife. My darling. My husband.” Your face softened as you let the words slide across your lips and into the chasm between you, creating the gentlest of bridges.

“My---wife…” Jun-ho lets out an untangled breath of relief, the full smile finally taking over his face. Sparkles turning to tears fall at the same moment, as if a weight both descended from and knocked the air out of him in a single moment.

“You’re…you’re so beautiful. My love. My everything. You are…you are everything.” He’s still smiling as the small specks run down his cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. I love you. I’m so glad. So glad. So happy. I don’t know how to---can I…can I touch you?”

As the lightly shivering voice in contrast to his imposing, beautiful form reached your ears, you lightly caressed his cheek, and he leaned into your palm immediately.

“Of course, Jun-ho.”

Without a second to spare, he lovingly, gently, as lightly as he could in his given disposition, cupped your face and gave you the longest, most tender of kisses. Slowly his hands trailed to your waist, brushing, as if making sure you weren’t going to disappear or turn into a beautiful dream.

Finally, Jun-ho everso carefully took you in fully. Without warning but still tenderly, Jun-ho lifted you up to him, as if you and your dress were as light as the breeze playing with your hair. In one movement he twirled around with you, letting your dress get caught in the moment and carried by motion, his gorgeous wife, his Y/N, nought but his – giggling in his arms, a vision of angelic beauty in his embrace – and he caught himself laughing with you, in nothing but pure bliss. As he let you down just as gently, his touch lingered – he didn’t want to let you go for one second.

Squeezing his hand, you nudged your face closer to his, beckoning without words; he covered the remaining distance.

You felt his lips brush against your own – top, then bottom, then both – before resting on yours fully. Tenderly. Reservedly. Lovingly. You placed a soft kiss where they lingered and Jun-ho finally let himself melt into you fully, kissing you as if you harboured the last bastion of oxygen in the depths of the ocean, as if you were the only thing on this Earth that he wanted, needed, yearned and lived for.    

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[ola-the-clown]

Thank you so so much @sanza-17 for the tag, ik it's been like a month, but time isn't real when one is busy and i rly wanted to draw a nice proper ref for Miiriath 💔

tagging uhh @vinyatar and @bluotbanner in case they wanna talk abt the designs for their idiot assassins (affectionate)🌸

a more in depth description under [read more]

Miiriath is of a dark-grey complexion, with a bit of a purplish tint, while her hair (very long and with a bit of a curl to them) is a deep, cool green, akin to the sea during storm. Standing at mere 152 cm, she is of a petite built, with small chest and shapely hips. Her body is kissed with small beauty marks, thought the most distinct one remain on her face, two under her left eye and one on the right of her bottom lip. Her piercing eyes are in a lovely shade of a well-aged wine, with long eyelashes and a hint of light makeup; she loves to paint her lips as well, her favourite crimson lipstick being so dark it looks near black. Red is also coating her nails — filed down into a sharp claws-like shape.

She has many outfits, as any fashionable mage would, nearly all of which are neither the most practical nor armoured, because overusing magic for everything in her life includes the protection spells. Most have some sort of insect-theme going on, be it in the details (tiny spiders) or their shape and cut (resembling wings in one way or another), and are (annoyingly) layered.

The one above I've chosen as her sort-of default.

Despite being a Telvanni (and proud) she oft chooses to wear red because (according to her personal tastes) it is simply superior to the typical brown. Please ignore any associations with a certain other (worse) House; if she could have it her way, she'd have switched it around 💋 Miiriath is also fond of purple, and if (if) she finds herself caring for someone (a very rare occasion indeed), they are likely to be gifted a plum or lavender coloured garment.

Her preferred metal is gold, though she doesn't scoff at silver. As expected, amethysts and rubies rule her jewelry box, with an occasional moissanite here and there. Rings, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, collars — she has it all, and loooves to accessorize. Gold is also present on her clothing, be it in a form of leafing, gilding or threads. She has more than enough of it to wear it, and she's certainly not shy about that fact.

Her up-dos change depending on the occasion, but she only ever lets her hair fully down in private or the intimate company of a few lucky individuals. Otherwise, she has it done into an elaborate hairdo or, for lab-work, an intricate braid. Hair-adornments vary from small ornaments to heavy headpieces, the latter of which is usually spelled to feel light.

The dark tattoo that extends from her arm all the way up to her face and the side of her torso, is meant to represent the flow of magicka, and is in on itself magical; shimmering under a certain light and moving in accordance to her moods and usage of magic, swirling, shipping and curling. Most of the time it's barely noticeable, easy to dismiss as a trick of the light, but once the movement becomes apparent-- Run💀

[starlvcied]

₊˚⊹♡ rin itoshi x f!reader " FRAMED RIVALRY " CHAPTER 002

in which your academic rival, aka the captain of the soccer team, sneaks his way into the photography club with you. ꨄ︎ CHAPTER 002

cw: swearing (a lot) , rin definitely needs therapy wc : 1.8k

if someone had told you a week ago that rin itoshi would willingly join the photography club, you wouldve laughed in their face. yet here he is, showing up to every meeting like he belongs, sitting in on discussions, and most annoying– actually being good at it. 

it doesnt make sense. rin is the the type to dismiss anything that doesn't revolve around soccer, the kind of person that scoffs at having to do anything that doesnt serve his ambitions. but every time you try to pry into his real motives, he gives you the same flat responses.

“i told you, i just like photography.” or–

“can you piss off?” or–

“mind your fucking business, lukewarm.”

but noone else seems to question it. the club members welcome him in without hesitation (except for livvy and daria, who you specifically warned to stay the hell away from him), is probably more impressed by the fact that the soccer captain is even acknowledging their existence. it gets on your nerves, especially when people start treating him like he’s some kind of prodigy. well, he sorta is– but thats besides the point.

“he’s a fast learner,” daria comments as you all review recent shots on the clubs computer. “look at this framing– i cant believe he did that.”

you barely glance at the image before skipping them with a scoff. “anyone can take a decent picture with the right settings. he’s just copying the techniques i already explained to him.”

rin, whos leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. he doesnt even react to your dismissiveness. “jealous?” he asks, his voice as indifferent as ever. 

you slowly turn around, facing him with a scowl. “of you? not a chance.”

“well thats not a pretty face.”

it becomes a pattern. rin attends every meeting that doesnt get in the way of his practice or his games, participating just enough to remain involved, and occasionally throws in dry, insulting comments at you and your clubmates, mostly you, made to push your buttons. and unfortunately, it works. you’d expect him to lose interest within days, to get bored and drop the act. but he doesnt.

and thats what bothers you the most.

you dont usually mind morning classes. if anything, you enjoy them– mostly due to most of the students being too tired to be rowdy, so mornings at your school are pretty peaceful. but that was before rin itoshi started making them unbearable.

ever since the debate project forced you to work together, things have only escalated between you two. its like a silent war– every test, every assignment, every question posed by the teacher turns into an unspoken battle for dominance.

and neither of you are willing to lose.

so when your first period teacher walks in, announcing an impromptu quiz, you already know exactly where this is headed. you get a glance at rin through your peripheral and find that he was already looking at you. obsessed freak. 

“i’ll be grading these on the spot,” the teacher says, handing out the papers. “no multiple choice– explanations are required. show your reasoning.”

you glance to your left once more, where rin is already twirling that stupid ballpoint pen between his fingers, the epitome of nonchalance. but you know better. you can feel the competitive energy radiating off of him.

the moment the papers hit your desk, it begins. you dont even bother writing your name, nor the date, nor the period.

the only sound in the room is the scratching of pens against paper. you work quickly but precisely, mapping out each answer with clear, logical steps. you’re writing harder than usual, your lead breaking a few times, and your palm begins to burn. you refuse to give rin the satisfaction of finishing before you.

a flicker of movement catches your eye. rin shifts slightly in his seat, leaning forward as he writes, his stroke sharp and decisive. he’s fast. too fast. it reminds you of how he acts on the field.

you grit your teeth. hes rushing. that has to be it. theres no way hes double checking his work at that pace. (unless he doesnt have to. maybe he is as perfect as he presents himself to be.)

your pencil moves faster.

you finish just as rin sets his pen down.

both of you look up at the same time, locking eyes.

theres a moment of intense silence. then, without a word, you both flip your papers over and slide them toward the edge of your desks, waiting for the teacher to collect them.

the rest of the class finishes at a normal, more human pace– less like a factory machine. but you and rin remain frozen in place, the unspoken competition still lingering between you.

the teacher grades quickly, making occasional sounds of both approval and disapproval. you watch as she pauses at rin’s paper (you knew it was his because you had already memorized his stupid handwriting, and got a glance at the moment she picked it up). her eyebrows lifted slightly before marking something. then she gets to yours, tapping her pen against the desk thoughtfully before moving on.

finally, she returns her focus back to the class. “excellent work from most of you,” she says, “but per usual, our top scorers were neck and neck.” 

you sit up straighter. rin remains still.

the teacher glances between the two of you, lips quirking slightly, as if she finds this amusing. “one of you scored 100%. the other, a 99.”

your breath catches.

you whip your head toward rin at the same time he looks at you. his expression is unreadable, but you could see it in his eyes– hes waiting.

the teacher places the papers down on her desk. “the perfect score goes to…” she paused. you felt as if she was creating suspense on purpose. she finally flips one over, revealing the name scrawled at the top.

and to your surprise, its not yours.

for a second, you just stare at it. the weight of that single point settles uncomfortably in your chest, and embarrassment bubbles in your stomach.

slowly, you turn to look at him. he’s not smirking, not outright gloating, but theres a flicker of triumph in his expression. the way his lips press together, the way his fingers drum lightly on the desk as if to say, i win.

you inhale sharply. one point. you lost by one point.

it shouldnt bother you this much. its just a quiz. its not like this is the first time one of you has beaten the other.

but it does bother you– no, it enrages you.

so when the teacher move’s on, discussing the correct answers, you lean slightly toward rin and mutter, “enjoy your fuckin’ moment. this wont happen again.”

he doesnt look at you, but the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “thats not very head of the student council of you.”

that stupid fucking smirk made you want to strangle him and leave him to the rats. you pursed your lips before responding, your tone the opposite of polite. “shut up, dickwad.”

he didnt seem to take it to heart. all he gave was a simple eye roll and a breathy laugh, if you could even call it that. “sounds like someones mad they lost.”

and just like that, the war continues.

rin itoshi is an annoyingly fast learner. 

that much becomes obvious after only a few days in the photography class.

youd hoped he would get bored, that the frustration of being a beginner would drive him a way. but rin treats photography the same way he treats soccer or school– like a challenge. and rin doesnt lose.

which means hes actually trying.

and, worse– he’s getting better.

you watch as he crouches low, camera in hand, adjusting his focus with practiced precision. as of right now, the photography club was taking pictures while the student government set up the school to become more valentine's day themed. currently, you had rin practice by taking a photo of a boy hanging up heart-shaped decor on the walls. he clicks the shutter, barely pausing before reviewing the shot.

you dont want to admit it, but the composition is good. the depth of field is balanced, and the framing naturally draws the eye to the subject.

he stands, his frame towering over you as he turned the camera toward you. “better?”

you tilt your head, pretending to scrutinize. “..its fine.”

rin frowns slightly. “thats what you said last time.”

“maybe you’re just ‘fine’ at this.”

his lips press into a thin line. “lukewarm critique.”

you roll your eyes. “you want real critique?” you snatch the camera from his hands and point at the screen. “your subject placement is predictable, your angles are too rigid, and you rely too much on symmetry. it looks… controlled.”

rin raised an eyebrow. “and thats a bad thing?”

“its a safe thing.” you lift your own camera. “photography isnt just about control. Its about instinct, feeling natural. feeling the shot instead of just calculating it.

rin doesnt look convinced. “feeling doesnt win anything.” 

“tell that to every award winning photographer literally ever.” you step past him, snapping a picture without even looking through the viewfinder. then you turn the screen toward him. “see?”

rin stares at it for a moment, then exhales through his nose. “so youre saying i should just take random pictures instead? thats stupid.”

you roll your eyes again. “i’m saying you should stop treating this like a competition.”

he gives you a look that is so blatantly unimpressed that it makes your blood boil. “you think im competing with you?”

you stare at him. is he fucking serious?

rin doesnt react. no denial, no confirmation. he just watches you with that same impassive expression, teal eyes unreadable. then he tilts his head slightly.

“or maybe i just like photography.”

the way he says it– so deliberately, so casually– makes you want to shove your camera down his throat and watch him choke to death.

instead, you step closer, voice low. “say that again with a straight face.”

rin blinks. then, like the shitty little menace he is, he repeats with a deadpanned expression. “maybe i just like photography.”

you swear he’s fucking with you.

the moment is cut short– the bell. the club members begin packing up, and rin, as usual, moves on as if nothing happened. you watch as he slings his camera strap over his shoulder, leaving without another word.

and you– you are left standing there frustrated beyond belief. 

because of the rivalry.

because he’s improving too fast.

and because you're starting to believe he’s damn near perfect, and you hate it.

what does this mean for you?

001<< >>003

i got lazy w this so its kinda bad sorry!! also i dont know jack shit abt photography lol just roll with it.

tags: @mixolya @x3nafix @rinniebinniebay @levihanmyotp @anqelkoz @megumismyhusband @aisqka

[maitimosrighthand]

141 x Succubus male reader( oc )

(please note that this is a series and will continue)

Author note:

Most of the characters in this story will be their usual hybrid type. Ghost( Demon ), Soap( Wolf ), Gaz( Eagle ) and Price( Dragon ).

Please note that this series will eventually contain +18 contents. Minors do not interact.

Yes this will contain heats and ruts. You horny bastards 🫵

( The reader or oc (idk) is described as rather feminine. Not like that but well they are a succubus so they a that way. Gooner bait. It’s genetics.

Just like Ghost‘s massive dic-

For more information to how I will deal with the Succubus thing please scroll down to the bottom of the page

Chapter 1: Meeting the pack

It’s been ages since animal genes had mixed with human ones. While the question of who has fucked an animal was ignored ever since, another case has been opened as of late.

Demons.

While they are rare there have been a few cases within the last years. Demons, Vampires and then you, a succubus. While that does say a lot about your parents, it doesn’t mean too much to you. While yes, people assume you are nothing but a jerk and want to constantly have sex, it’s not that easy.

It had been raining for three days straight now. No sun to be seen and the roads look accordingly. „Seems like we‘ll be stuck here for a while longer.“ Hoffmann said. He is the reason of why you are here right now. Despite ages of experience most old white man still thought that people like you had to be in a group with responsible people, such as their military. Not that you were against the idea. You had been once to the army before in your early 20 but left right after. You had become a mercenary and taken countless jobs already, so you could say you were experienced in such matters.

After a couple of failed operations within the military of late, people like you were hired to come there and give them a hand. It wasn’t voluntary at all, either you help or they put you in prison for illegal activities. You however were not about to help them after this one. Right.

You came here duo to one of their high ranked soldiers missing. You where sure you had heard his name once beforehand but you who knows. Maybe he had been a trainee just like you back in the days. That made you sound really old.

„I‘ll get out here then.“ you said not waiting for an answer. The place you where supposed to find him at was barely five minutes away from here. You could walk that. Better than to spend one more minute with Hoffmann in the same car. He stank you had noted over the 2h ride here. Something with wolf and a bit of bird in it. Perhaps he was a brothel enthusiast, especially the one with hybrids in it. But that was not your business.

While walking from the street your phone rang. „What is it Asher?“ you answered immediately. She was more or less your boss? No you didn’t have that. She would give you notes on who needs your services at the moment and you‘d watch her eating your pasta while she does so. For some reason she would always sneak into your apartment.

„Where are you?“ came through the speakers. „On a little trip. Willingly.“ you huffed a bit. „The government?“ „yeah…“ Neither you nor her were big fans. She had constant legal problems with them and now they even got to you. „I didn’t know you were such a good man.“ She mocked you. She knew you were a good person. You set yourself a couple of rules a long time ago. „Are you going to come out alive?“ she shuffled with something on the other end of the line. „Why? Do you have a job for me?“ you heard her laugh behind the phone. That meant yes. „I‘ll call you later for the details, bye.“ Oh wow. This place is wrecked.

You stood on a platform near a river. That solider has been seen here last. But it looked completely empty. There were a couple of small ruins of old houses that have succumb to the weather conditions in the area. Another thing that bothered you was that it is so close to the street. If you do something illegal most of the time you‘d wanna be away from prying eyes. So him being here made no sense. Non the less you had a job to finish.

Sliding down the muddy trail, without falling mind you, you began searching around the area. Some wet puddles, some broken trees confinently fallen onto the house roof. Wait that was suspicious. Normally the trees would have broken down something of the house but these look hardly damaged and there was little to no things under them. Lucky you, you didn’t skip your sport days during your free time.

Slowly but surely your pushed the trees away from their previous spot. You wiped away some of the dust and broken tiles and slowly open the hidden luke door. The iron seems very scratchy and for a moment you think about just not opening it. But well you wanted to go back home and the faster you found him the better.

After opening the door you look down. There was water, probably not too high but still high enough to reach until your knees. You were ready to take that risk through. Jumping down you landed in the water. It was not very nice when the water splatters on your jacket. That one was new you noted in your mind. You observed the room a bit. A few broken tables, a couple of prison cells and who would have thought…water. And a man.

You make your way through the water slowly. You didn’t know who you were looking for but it was probably him. You were unsure if he was awake so you put on a mouth mask and put on the hood from your jacket. It’s just to be safe. There may be many misinformations about succubus on the internet but you had to make sure. Occasionally you would get away with saying you were a goat but some where not convinced.

You checked on the man who was laying down in the water. He had been lucky that his head was above the water. However the water was freezing and he might have been here for days. „Oh god.“ his lips were blue. You pulled him up and onto a table. He was one bulk of a man. And an eagle nonetheless. His wings were too huge to fit through the entrance you came through. First things first: let’s call Hofmann.

„Are you sure that’s him?“ he asked. „Yes it’s him. The eagle! Now I need a truck near here!“ „Fine fine. I‘ll also send you the location of where to bring him.“ he hung up. You slowly but surely dragged the soldier through a back door you found. He was heavy and you felt sry for scratching his wings a couple of times. But you did not really have much of a choice. When you finally got him outside and forced him into the truck‘s backseat you sat down in the drivers seat.

Weird.

Why was no one here. If he had really been kidnapped and was a high ranking solider then wouldn’t someone look or watch over him? It’s was questionable you thought. You took down your mask after half of the ride to the location that was send to you, since the eagle did not stink. Their base was in the range of that but they didn’t tell you where exactly.

Nothing really bothered you with that. It seemed to be a rather secretive situation and you were not about to get into legal trouble by trying to find it. Occasionally you could hear the man behind you groan. Whenever you looked into the back mirror you could see his disheveled state. Some feathers unplugged and halfway ripped out, his hair probably a bit longer than it should be and various cuts on his arms and face. Poor guy.

About half an hour you arrived at the location you had been given. A remote area where a smaller town was not too far away. You heard there was a bar there. Maybe you‘ll go there later, it’s been a while since you ate anything beside those medications.(read info) But for now you kept waiting. Waiting. And…waiting? Why was no one here yet? Just when the sun was slowly going down you heard a car nearby. In case it may have been just some townsfolk you quickly tried to blend in. Pulling up the mask and acting like you tried to light cigarette. You did not smoke. It was too expensive and you didn’t get the appeal. To you it was like a cheap sex potion that lady’s were attracted to. The car however stopped and 3 large man came out of it. You were sure if you hadn’t already had your gay awakening this could have been it. But you couldn’t ask a military officer for a one night stand. Sadly

One had huge wings and the other a tail. The tallest one did not show any signs of abnormality. Maybe they had a human amongst them. You were about to say something when you felt a pressure on you.

Oh. That guy was some kind of demon too.

Demons could feel another. Some more than others. And some did not at all. But to you, demons stank like fish. You hated fish.

„Are you X?“ the dragon asked. „Depends on it. Who is asking?“ you just had to make sure it was them. And you tried to buy time. Just to see if that demon recognized you as one. Any reaction could reveal it. Demons were territorial after all. You were too but since nothing belonged to you and your noodles were always stolen by Asher there was nothing to protect.

„Captain Price.“ he answered. That’s him mind you. You open the car door and immediately a hawk claws at you. Lucky you, you had stepped to the side. „Rise and shine birdy. Your pack is here.“ He stood up a bit cranky from the ground he fell to. Not moments later the dog came and helped him to their car. Wait dog? No it’s probably a wolf. He was too quiet for a dog.

„I must thank you. Hope to work again with you in the future.“ the dragon said after some back and forth about your payment. „Lie.“ You knew from the way his eyes never left you that he was lying.

„I don’t trust you mercenaries. But your help is undeniable.“ With that he said goodbye to you.

That demon guy stared at you a bit longer. You could swear you saw him smell the air. You wondered what kind he was. Maybe a succubus like you!

He then followed Price to the car and you watched them drive away.

Urghh. You needed a drink. And a hookup

Notes about succubus:

They are rare very rare

They can smell sexual excitement even without wanting it and it somewhat feeds them but in the end they still need sex ( some more than others )

The need for physical contact ( sex ) can be lindert by a special kind of medicine

Succubus look like normal people but they can extend claws and tails if they want to

( and to go into actually mythology here) they cannot however hide their horns and when on the hunt for food ( sex ) they cannot hide their animal feet ( hooves )

They can like in real mythology appear to someone as another person after they know who they crave

They are not too fast

Their voice can cause sexual excitement and can be somewhat like a drug ( when they want to)

Succubus however have the problem that most of the time they do not wish to engage into such things and therefore the smell can make them feel ill and cause unwanted excitement on their part

Succubus can be bound by a spell that is specific to their own and they usually contain it in a toy or a thing they always carry around

If another person has this toy or object they can force the succubus to do anything they want

The succubus cannot disobey

[green-square-anon]

(I saw this, went "how the fuck did I miss this" and got very excited someone asked for reasons you shall see below in the next paragraph had a bunch of idea, did some stuff, had a bunch of cool ideas, wrote the first paragraph of this, then took a hot bath and had a bunch of really cool and in depth ideas of how to explain this while in it, so now it's time to see how much of the shit I wanted to say that i actually remember).

Decided to make the links blue for visibility, I should have gotten all of them if not sorry.

She does actually, so does the son. Diana and Mirian Curze respectively. But their names might be changed. "Mirian" was no joke based on some "Mirian" and "mink" and a mink theme I mentioned here (<- central post to the lore btw, check out the farm au tag) that was since completely abandoned (everything else in that post is still canon) but he's been mentally named "Miran" in my head so long it stuck and I have thought of some others but they never clicked, even if I kinda hate it. That's why he's currently tagged as "the curzeling" because I have no idea wtf to refer to him as. And "Diana" is up there with "Rose" and "Maria" as cliche names for kind gentle characters female characters who tend to be dead moms or shadow the hedgehogs maria (No, Diana here does not die) alongside just not sounding very warhammery. Her maiden name is currently Diana Ignis but I can't decide if it's cringe. The reason I haven't talked more about them is that I am ironically the kind of person who hates ocs. As in, filter the original character tag out when searching on ao3 hates ocs. Though I tend to tolerate them sometimes. So it's a mixture of having cultivated an audience of x reader fans and the like, insecurity of while I know others do like OC content I wanted to create something that some hypothetical other person who thinks like me would have clicked on in the first place. Though I cope by telling myself I tend to tolerate them more when they fulfil some sort of function, eg, "what if this character met this kind of person" rather than just "canon character x oc" which tends to make me do a U-turn. and I sorta hope I would appeal to some other version of myself with that. You should also really check out the "core" tag on this blog if you haven't already as it deals with stuff that is "canon" to this narrative (Once I start posting about other ocs I'm not actually sure if they should share the tag too, maybe I should rename it then, oh well.)

Now before we progress further some meta knowledge is required: The farm post summer last year was sort of the genesis point of this au and actually it was really a now deleted response to that from a deleted blog where it started but this is the original ask. All of this stuff originated from hurt comfort and me initially rping stuff with chatbots then mentally adding way more lore onto it (hence the farm post) I actually have/had issues with Dianas characterization. I read a bit of the fic messages for dad (in which Konrad is paired with a woman named Julia) and I also have an oc for Dorns wife named Falke, (whose name also needs to be changed because "Falke" is a default name I use for myself as self insert characters and she grew a plot, but that's besides the point) and I straight up think messages for dad's Julia and my Dorn wife (of all people lol) were more interesting characters to pair Konrad with than the initial creation of Diana was (but she got better). This right here is ironically fanwork to the messages for dad fanfic but it perfectly describes why I love Julia as a wife for Konrad, and without spoiling too much my Dorn wife (who herself is in an "opposites attract" style relationship with Rogal) is someone with an anarchistic streak, immense curiosity and who is neither pro imperium nor pro chaos. Something which would sync really well with the nightlords (Konrad is canonically very curios. and Magnus and Perturabo are actually friends in canon and also bonded over curiosity). Both of these women are people who relate to Konrad "as a person" if it makes sense. His actual personality beyond just the insanity and trauma. Diana was a generic moeblob created to synergize with Konrard when he was broken (Oh the tragic irony that would be someone helping Konrad heal only for the man who came out on the other side be someone who they did not feel attracted to or someone who did not feel attracted to them. But that makes me sad so it won't happen here because I'm a sap. Diana and Konrad love each other forever in the au where they're together.). Genereic precious cinnamon roll generic ray of sunshine x edgelord. I am once again reminded of Shadow the hedgehog and Maria. So I am desperately trying to give her more personality and actually make her more compatible with Konrad long term without making her a Falke clone. I complained about this half a year to a year ago, I think it's improved. Though the cliche is still there.

Now moving on to the questions.

I'm gonna change the order a bit and start with the last one because I think the answer to it is the funniest.

- favorite places (planets and spots on Nostramo since I'd guess she is from there):

Nope. She's actually from Ultramar. Not Macragge itself but some random agri world in the Ultramar sector. Point is she lived a very comfortable and safe life. Upper middleclass. Spoiled sweet, not rotten.

- the relationship between her and the Night Lords:

None. She's scared of them since they would attack indiscriminately and Konrad protects her from them.

- more on her backstory and orgin:

Again see farm post and this whole ramble.

- their first meeting:

Won't be revealed here because it's planned to be revealed in an actually serious post / fic in list format similar to these two that will come out once I feel able to write properly. Though it will only be mentioned very briefly. Working title is "Justice", alt titles might be snowball or avalanche, but it will likely be called justice. Don't overhype it, it will probably be about half a page. But it will explore their relationship. I can spoil that it is after he is found by the Emperor but before he gets onboard Elvers ship.

- her interests and hobbies:

I mentioned before she used to rescue animals. Biggest sap you've ever seen. Brain slides out of her ass when she finds something cute. Mother hen instincts towards everything. All of these relate to getting with Konrad lmfao.

- her live outside of the Night Lords and curze:

Needs work actually. Unless the above is good characterization lol.

Besides supposedly looking frightning, Konrad Curze's pale complexion means that him blushing would be VERY visible.

He should be reminded of this, often.

[thebardisabird]

Hello, I wanted to write something comforting because I was feeling sentimental so please take Matsus and some acts of self-care that they do for you: Osomatsu would make sure that you had something to eat/had some water. He's not judgmental if you forget, and he won't ask necessarily if you did or didn't so as not to put pressure on you. His way of making sure you're taken care of is letting you know he's grabbing something and coming back with something he knows you'll enjoy (with something to keep you hydrated). If you eat along with him? Great! If not, no worries, he'll stash it in the fridge for later. Point is to make sure you have some sort of nourishment. He'll even give you a little "Cheeeers~" with whatever drinks you have to show he's genuine, but that he's still your goofy Osomatsu. Karamatsu enjoys brushing your hair for you should that be something you're okay with. It's an act he's always enjoyed himself/has helped with his more anxious times when Matsuyo would brush his; if it's something you struggle with, fear not - he's got you. He does a pretty good job at taking care of his own hair so he's equipped to wash it and dry yours too if that's something you're interested in. If just a simple brushing sounds like a nice idea, then by all means, allow him to be of comfort to you. Don't be alarmed if he hums softly as he combs through your hair, it tends to be something he does when he's relaxed and using his hands for something gentle. He will check in with you to make sure he's not hurting you and every once in a while he may even ask to braid your hair if you have the length for it! Choromatsu will make sure you you have a comfortable space accessible always. If you're finding yourself overwhelmed in any way, Choromatsu does his due diligence as someone who cares about you and gets you outta there to get you to somewhere much more comfortable. Maybe that place is back home or a bookstore if you need something quiet. Should the quieter places not be good choices, maybe you'll go somewhere with a little more natural ambience like Akatsuka Park or even Chibita's oden stand. He's all about you feeling secure when you're out and about, especially when you’re with him. Ichimatsu strikes me as someone who is very much about you getting plenty of rest. Ichimatsu does not play about his sleep and he definitely does not play about YOU, so he's dedicated to making sure that you're well rested. Unlike how he treats his brothers however, he's much more softer with you. He'll lay down for naps here and there, patting the spot next to him so you can lay with him. He keeps things around the bedroom that he knows make you comfortable: certain scents, maybe a specific set of plushes/pillows, or even one of his hoodies if that makes you cozier. He's not pushy about when you sleep at night, but you'll find that he does little things here and there to gently coax you into better sleeping habits when he can. A big plus: he's a cuddler no less. So expect gentle back rubs as you snuggle or a little shimmy so he can hold you just a little closer while you both rest. Jyushimatsu is set on making sure you get fresh air. We all know that he enjoys being outdoors quite often; even if you're not the biggest on outdoorsy things, that's okay! He'll offer to just go on a walk with you or chill at the riverside and watch clouds if that's okay. His giant smile grows twice as wide when he sees the sun shining on your face, and seeing him happy makes it almost impossible not to smile back. He expresses how nice it is to spend time with you just being outside doing nothing and he finds little things to do or see within your comfortability that actually make your time outside worthwhile. Todomatsu helps you tap into your more creative outlets. Since he's got a resource to find things to do and places to go - he wants to help you take care of yourself by leaning into doing things that bring you joy. Do you enjoy painting? Perfect, he knows a place for that. Maybe you like baking or cooking? Come over, he'll have ingredients ready for you guys to make things together. If you like photography: wonderful, he does too and he’d be more than happy to show you some of the best sights to take pictures of. Anything that speaks to you creatively, Todomatsu wants to show that he completely supports you and enjoys being a part of the things you enjoy doing.

[menelaus-blue]

thinking about this scene from the adventurer's bible from kabru's perspective...

[saxandviolins77]

*sweating* S-Scrapper...?

Ok, whatever. Here is my list from worst to best. All based on MY own opinions... My aroace opinions, but trust me.

What I think would make a theoretically "good partner": a well-paying job, keeps to himself, is respectful, is a mature gentleman, makes time for me, and is not overbearing. (take this as a general, all-encompassing archetype.)

Edit: Just realized my "good partner" is someone who doesn't bother me and helps me pay the bills. Omfg, it's so over.

Hook: I love him, but I love him far away from me. I believe you have to be a very particular type of person to handle Hook, and that's for sure not me. He'd be so fucking abusive (on purpose or not), just that type of partner who judges your every hobby and interest as inferior and tries to change you into the perfect version of who they think you should be. Well-paying jobs though,,,

Bonecrusher: He's not an arrogant asshole like Hook... But the anger issues are a deal-breaker. For instance, if he got angry and tried to hit me or break one of my belongings, I'd hit him back. Fuck it. (OW! MY FINGERS!)

Scavenger: I don't have the grace nor the patience necessary to deal with his low self-esteem and people-pleasing behaviors. It's not him... It's me...

Mixmaster: Eh, neither of us would be putting much into the relationship; the mad scientist thing isn't even a deal-breaker, just the indifference towards navigating romance that I feel he'd have. He seems fun at parties though, sooo... Just friends.

Scrapper: a calm and collected artist with a well-paying job and a stable career. The psychopath thing IS a deal-breaker for me; I really don't feel like jeopardizing my clean record to help him in his obsessions. I also feel he wouldn't have a good balance between work-life and family-life; he lives to work, not relationships. We probably could have an okay-ish marriage for a few years until one of us gets sick of the other. Though we'd keep it civil after the divorce (or he'd run over me, who knows?)

Long Haul: Don't worry, bby girl, I'll treat you right. Biased opinion, but he's a down-to-earth realist; he's literally a normal middle-aged guy who's sick of his life! Even if his job isn't that well-paying, we could still make do. The nagging would get on my nerves, but nothing a career change or a few sessions of couples counseling couldn't fix. I don't see much love in this relationship though, more like "two people who happen to share an address" thing, and that's fine by me.

About the uh... "Decepticon that wants to enslave humanity" thing... Shhhh... Don't worry, your boy got this 😏.

Serious poll.

Vote for the most likely option, not your fave.

Of course, what makes a good partner varies from person to person, so feel free to present your argument (or not). There is no objective answer here.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I usually say that my judaism looks like conservative judaism since that's what is closest to what I do (and want to do), and also about my general beliefs... but if I'm honest, my judaism is just a tapestry filled with every little thing I adore about judaism. My rabbi described it as a smorgasbord, and that's true, as well, but in reality, I see my judaism as nothing but love

[kj-beastboy]

Pregnancy as a kink makes me uncomfortable so man am I glad your pregg Flug stuff is explicitly not kink oriented!

yeah I... don't wanna judge anyone... but it's more than that, it's downright terrifying to me. Blame my hormones bc I'm expecting irl but wow... I'm very sensitive and it feels dehumanizing. but ig that is kinda the point of the kink(?)

it's so common in fandoms!

I'm completely vanilla anyway tho, so not surprising.

I've tried to pretend for a super long time that I'm into kink, but most of them are off putting and I consider them intrusive thoughts, not fantasies. I'm kinda fluctuating between sex-repulsed and neutral (aroace) even fictional... ig kink just isn't for me. I tried so hard to get over it. I know some people in my asks/requests are gonna be disappointed but I'm sorry💔

I'm slightly ashamed of how boring I am and I have serious trouble connecting to anyone in fandoms due to this actually🤕 feel like the most NT autistic person ever.

anyway here's a doodle!

[pansyfemme]

should i drop out of college (i have no reason to and doing so would make my life signfigantly worse) please say yesssss 🥺

[greenerteacups]

oooh please someday tell us what you think of GOT

oh, no, it's my fatal weakness! it's [checks notes] literally just the bare modicum of temptation! okay you got me.

SO. in order to tell what's wrong with game of thrones you kind of have to have read the books, because the books are the reason the show goes off the rails. i actually blame the showrunners relatively little in proportion to GRRM for how bad the show was (which I'm not gonna rehash here because if you're interested in GOT in any capacity you've already seen that horse flogged to death). people debate when GOT "got bad" in terms of writing, but regardless of when you think it dropped off, everyone agrees the quality declined sharply in season 8, and to a certain extent, season 7. these are the seasons that are more or less entirely spun from whole cloth, because season 7 marks the beginning of what will, if we ever see it, be the Winds of Winter storyline. it's the first part that isn't based on a book by George R.R. Martin. it's said that he gave the showrunners plot outlines, but we don't know how detailed they were, or how much the writers diverged from the blueprint — and honestly, considering the cumulative changes made to the story by that point, some stark divergence would have been required. (there's a reason for this. i'll get there in a sec.)

so far, i'm not saying anything all that original. a lot of people recognized how bad the show got as soon as they ran out of Book to adapt. (I think it's kind of weird that they agreed to make a show about an unfinished series in the first place — did GRRM figure that this was his one shot at a really good HBO adaptation, and forego misgivings about his ability to write two full books in however many years it took to adapt? did he think they would wait for him? did he not care that the series would eventually spoil his magnum opus, which he's spent the last three decades of his life writing? perplexing.) but the more interesting question is why the show got bad once it ran out of Book, because in my mind, that's not a given. a lot of great shows depart from the books they were based on. fanfiction does exactly that, all the time! if you have good writers who understand the characters they're working with, departure means a different story, not a worse one. now, the natural reply would be to say that the writers of GOT just aren't good, or at least aren't good at the things that make for great television, and that's why they needed the books as a structure, but I don't think that's true or fair, either. books and television are very different things. the pacing of a book is totally different from the pacing of a television show, and even an episodic book like ASOIAF is going to need a lot of work before it's remotely watchable as a series. bad writers cannot make great series of television, regardless of how good their source material is. sure, they didn't invent the characters of tyrion lannister and daenerys targaryen, but they sure as hell understood story structure well enough to write a damn compelling season of TV about them!

so but then: what gives? i actually do think it's a problem with the books! the show starts out as very faithful to the early books (namely, A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings) to the point that most plotlines are copied beat-for-beat. the story is constructed a little differently, and it's definitely condensed, but the meat is still there. and not surprisingly, the early books in ASOIAF are very tightly written. for how long they are, you wouldn't expect it, but on every page of those books, the plot is racing. you can practically watch george trying to beat the fucking clock. and he does! useful context here is that he originally thought GOT was going to be a trilogy, and so the scope of most threads in the first book or two would have been much smaller. it also helps that the first three books are in some respects self-contained stories. the first book is a mystery, the second and third are espionage and war dramas — and they're kept tight in order to serve those respective plots.

the trouble begins with A Feast for Crows, and arguably A Storm of Swords, because GRRM starts multiplying plotlines and treating the series as a story, rather than each individual book. he also massively underestimated the number of pages it would take him to get through certain plot beats — an assumption whose foundation is unclear, because from a reader's standpoint, there is a fucke tonne of shit in Feast and Dance that's spurious. I'm not talking about Brienne's Riverlands storyline (which I adore thematically but speaking honestly should have been its own novella, not a part of Feast proper). I'm talking about whole chapters where Tyrion is sitting on his ass in the river, just talking to people. (will I eat crow about this if these pay off in hugely satisfying ways in Winds or Dream? oh, totally. my brothers, i will gorge myself on sweet sweet corvid. i will wear a dunce cap in the square, and gleefully, if these turn out to not have been wastes of time. the fact that i am writing this means i am willing to stake a non-negligible amount of pride on the prediction that that will not happen). I'm talking about scenes where the characters stare at each other and talk idly about things that have already happened while the author describes things we already have seen in excruciating detail. i'm talking about threads that, while forgivable in a different novel, are unforgivable in this one, because you are neglecting your main characters and their story. and don't tell me you think that a day-by-day account tyrion's river cruise is necessary to telling his story, because in the count of monte cristo, the main guy disappears for nine years and comes hurtling back into the story as a vengeful aristocrat! and while time jumps like that don't work for everything, they certainly do work if what you're talking about isn't a major story thread!

now put aside whether or not all these meandering, unconcluded threads are enjoyable to read (as, in fairness, they often are!). think about them as if you're a tv showrunner. these bad boys are your worst nightmare. because while you know the author put them in for a reason, you haven't read the conclusion to the arc, so you don't know what that reason is. and even if the author tells you in broad strokes how things are going to end for any particular character (and this is a big "if," because GRRM's whole style is that he lets plots "develop as he goes," so I'm not actually convinced that he does have endings written out for most major characters), that still doesn't help you get them from point A (meandering storyline) to point B (actual conclusion). oh, and by the way, you have under a year to write this full season of television, while GRRM has been thinking about how to end the books for at least 10. all of this means you have to basically call an audible on whether or not certain arcs are going to pay off, and, if they are, whether they make for good television, and hence are worth writing. and you have to do that for every. single. unfinished. story. in the books.

here's an example: in the books, Quentin Martell goes on a quest to marry Daenerys and gain a dragon. many chapters are spent detailing this quest. spoiler alert: he fails, and he gets charbroiled by dragons. GRRM includes this plot to set up the actions of House Martell in Winds, but the problem is that we don't know what House Martell does in Winds, because (see above) the book DNE. So, although we can reliably bet that the showrunners understand (1) Daenerys is coming to Westeros with her 3 fantasy nukes, and (2) at some point they're gonna have to deal with the invasion of frozombies from Canada, that DOESN'T mean they necessarily know exactly what's going to happen to Dorne, or House Martell. i mean, fuck! we don't even know if Martin knows what's going to happen to Dorne or House Martell, because he's said he's the kind of writer who doesn't set shit out beforehand! so for every "Cersei defaults on millions of dragons in loans from the notorious Bank of Nobody Fucks With Us, assumes this will have no repercussions for her reign or Westerosi politics in general" plotline — which might as well have a big glaring THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT stamp on top of the chapter heading — you have Arianne Martell trying to do a coup/parent trap switcheroo with Myrcella, or Euron the Goffick Antichrist, or Faegon Targaryen and JonCon preparing a Blackfyre restoration, or anything else that might pan out — but might not! And while that uncertainty about what's important to the "overall story" might be a realistic way of depicting human beings in a world ruled by chance and not Destiny, it makes for much better reading than viewing, because Game of Thrones as a fantasy television series was based on the first three books, which are much more traditional "there is a plot and main characters and you can generally tell who they are" kind of book. I see Feast and Dance as a kind of soft reboot for the series in this respect, because they recenter the story around a much larger cast and cast a much broader net in terms of which characters "deserve" narrative attention.

but if you're making a season of television, you can't do that, because you've already set up the basic premise and pacing of your story, and you can't suddenly pivot into a long-form tone poem about the horrors of war. so you have to cut something. but what are you gonna cut? bear in mind that you can't just Forget About Dorne, or the Iron Islands, or the Vale, or the North, or pretty much any region of the story, because it's all interconnected, but to fit in everything from the books would require pacing of the sort that no reasonable audience would ever tolerate. and bear in mind that the later books sprout a lot more of these baby-plots that could go somewhere, but also might end up being secondary or tertiary to the "main story," which, at the end of the day, is about dragons and ice zombies and the rot at the heart of the feudal power system glorified in classical fantasy. that's the story that you as the showrunner absolutely must give them an end to, and that's the story that should be your priority 1.

so you do a hack and slash job, and you mortar over whatever you cut out with storylines that you cook up yourself, but you can't go too far afield, because you still need all the characters more or less in place for the final showdown. so you pinch here and push credulity there, and you do your best to put the characters in more or less the same place they would have been if you kept the original, but on a shorter timeframe. and is it as good as the first seasons? of course not! because the material that you have is not suited to TV like the first seasons are. and not only that, but you are now working with source material that is actively fighting your attempt to constrain a linear and well-paced narrative on it. the text that you're working with changed structure when you weren't looking, and now you have to find some way to shanghai this new sprawling behemoth of a Thing into a television show. oh, and by the way, don't think that the (living) author of the source material will be any help with this, because even though he's got years of experience working in television writing, he doesn't actually know how all of these threads will tie together, which is possibly the reason that the next book has taken over 8 years (now 13 and counting) to write. oh and also, your showrunners are sick of this (in fairness, very difficult) job and they want to go write for star wars instead, so they've refused the extra time the studio offered them for pre-production and pushed through a bunch of first-draft scripts, creating a crunch culture of the type that spawns entirely avoidable mistakes, like, say, some poor set designer leaving a starbucks cup in frame.

anyway, that's what I think went wrong with game of thrones.

[garlic-and-vanilla]

Another day of chewing through the drywall thinking about The Emperor being very literally haunted by the past it cannot return to. Demonic possession trope reversed. A monster possessed by humanity.

[ninesugars]

the venn diagram of griddlehark and blupjeans traits is often a circle. Many are saying this