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mochasenby · 1 year ago

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𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚄𝚜

Valeria x F! Reader She’s your obsessive ex. You broke up with her after a harsh realization that she would literally kill for you. She’s been sending you flowers for months to win you back over. She won’t stop till she has you in her arms or beneath her.

Tags: face-sitting, cunnilingus, strap-on use

"You fucker!" Y/n snapped as the men roughly dragged her into the warehouse. Her body ached from the rough rope that wrapped around her limbs, immobilizing her from running away. Cold metal jammed harshly against her spine, making her wince.

"Watch your tone, bitch." A man snapped at her, forcing the gun to drag against her skin. Y/n yelped in pain, looking over her shoulder to glare at him. How did it end up like this?

Hours ago, Y/n stood alone in her kitchen, glaring at the bouquet on her counter—another bundle of red roses. She knew who sent them; she didn't even have to glance at the notecard. They were beautiful, in full bloom despite the harsh winter storm that brewed outside.

She grabbed the stems, noticing that each thorn had been meticulously twisted off except for one.

She quickly drew her hand back, cursing as a thorn pricked her palm. "Fuck." She hissed, snatching the bouquet and tossing it into the trash along with the rest. She grabbed the notecard, preparing to toss it, but paused.

She stared down at the gold ink, her thumb tracing over each detail. With a heavy sigh of defeat, she turned it over. But just before she could read whatever devotion of love and worship was written on it, a loud whack echoed as she fell to the floor.

Her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw was a pair of boots that looked all too similar to a particular war criminal.

And that's how she ended up here, arms bound together with itchy rope that was so close to cutting off her circulation. And a pounding headache that made her want to shriek. She glared at the bald man who held her captive, wishing death upon him and his next of kin for generations.

Just before she could tell him off, a bullet flew through the air, lodging into the man's shoulder. It happened so quickly that Y/n could barely process it. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head as she stared in horror at the man. He writhed in agony on the ground, his hand cupping his oozing shoulder.

"Who do you think you are, pendejo? You think this is a game?" A hiss echoed as Y/n's heart raced. She knew that tone all too well.

"Valeria." Y/n whispered breathlessly as Valeria appeared from the shadows, gun in hand, and her eyes blazed with malice.

Valeria stepped closer, pressing the heel of her boot into the man's head. "Apologize, hijo de puta, or I'll blow your brains out." She uttered, moving the gun to tap against his cheek.

The man gritted his teeth before his eyes darted to Y/n. "I'm sorry."

A click echoed as Valeria moved to point the gun between his eyes. His body stiffened as he quickly scrambled onto his knees.

"Sorry! I'm so sorry! Please forgive me, El Sin Nombre!" He pleaded desperately as she scoffed.

"Get the fuck out." She hissed as the man scrambled off the floor, darting out of the warehouse alongside the rest of her men.

Valeria rolled her eyes, stuffing the gun into her hip pocket. Y/n watched in disbelief, her jaw agape. "What the fuck?" She whispered as Valeria's attention turned to her.

The malice quickly vanished, only to be filled with longing and adoration.

"Mi Vida," Valeria cooed, reaching to cup Y/n's face. Y/n flinched back, her body defensive from her touch.

"Valeria, what the fuck. Do you know how fucking crazy you are? Why the fuck did you kidnap me?!" She shouted in anger.

Valeria seemed unaffected by her words, the adoration in her eyes only shining brighter.

"You know exactly why, mi amor," Valeria uttered, her voice laced with desire and possessiveness.

"How long must this game of cat and mouse continue when I can just do this?" She reached out, her hand finally resting on Y/n's face.

A shudder ran down Y/n's spine. "Valeria, this isn't right. It's over between us."

Valeria's grip tightened on Y/n's chin, her eyes narrowing as she leaned in closer, her breath brushing against Y/n's lips.

"No, mi amor, it's far from over," she whispered, her voice laced with determination. "You think you can walk away from me? Think again."

“You’re fucking crazy,” Y/n whispered, her harsh words causing Valeria's eyes to start to fill with annoyance.

“You killed a man without any regrets right in front of me, and you expect me to forget it ever happened?” Y/n uttered as Valeria tapped her lips.

"Regrets?" Valeria laughed, her voice dripping with venom. "That man meant nothing to me, mi amor. I did what I had to do to protect what's ours."

Her fingers trailed along Y/n jawline, her touch simultaneously gentle and possessive. "I killed for you, Y/n. I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means getting my hands dirty."

Y/n stared at her in horror. She knew deep down that Valeria's love came with a dark side that frightened her. Valeria's love was obsessive. Valeria's love had no end to it. And she just happened to fall into Valeria's web. But no matter how far Y/n tried to run or how hard she struggled, she trapped herself even more.

The pull Valeria had on her was intoxicating. And something about the crazed look in her eyes made Y/n shudder. And Valeria knew it.

"You call me crazy, but look who's responding to my touch?" Valeria uttered, her hand moving to cup the base of Y/n's neck. She could feel the beats of Y/n's heart, how it raced from each glide of her fingers.

"Sabes que no puedes dejarme." Valeria cooed in her ear, her grip on Y/n's neck tightening just enough to make her gasp.

"You still want me," Valeria whispered as her gaze met Y/n's. Y/n stared at her with frustration and anger, yet hidden behind was want. As Valeria's lips brushed over her ear, she shuddered. The possessive grip she had on her neck made her knees almost buckle.

When was the last time they had been this close?

"I fucking hate you," Y/n spat, her hiss weak as Valeria's lips twitched upwards.

"No por mucho tiempo."

Y/n grunted as she was shoved, her back colliding with the mattress. The rope that still bound her arms ground against the bed, making her groan in pain. She stared up at Valeria with fierce eyes as Valeria straddled her thighs.

With a swift motion, Valeria reached down, her fingers deftly undoing the restraints that bound Y/n's hands.

"Now, mi amor," Valeria's voice dripped with authority, "Show me just how much you hate me." She mocked as Y/n's eye twitched.

"Bitch." Y/n whispered before she reached up, her hands gripping the edge of Valeria's shirt. Their lips crashed together in a passionate clash, a battle of dominance and desire.

It was a battle that Y/n quickly lost as Valeria kept her pinned beneath her. One of Valeria's hands wrapped around Y/n's neck, squeezing firmly enough to make Y/n's head spin. Her other hand slid beneath Y/n's shirt, her fingers skimming up her stomach toward the edge of her bra.

Y/n moaned beneath her, arching up into her touch. "Valeria," Y/n whispered breathlessly.

Valeria took the opportunity to press her tongue through the gap of Y/n's lips. Their tongues glided against one another as the kiss deepened. The need to breathe grew stronger as Y/n quickly broke the kiss, panting as Valeria smirked.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Valeria's hand slid lower, tracing the curve of Y/n's waist before slipping beneath the waistband of her pants. Her fingers danced along the edge of her panties, teasingly brushing against her sensitive skin.

Y/n's breath hitched, a quiet gasp escaping her lips as she arched into Valeria's touch. Valeria's lips brushed against Y/n's ear, her voice a low, seductive whisper.

"You're mine, mi amor. Every inch of you belongs to me."

Valeria's fingers slipped past the fabric of Y/n's panties, delving into her wetness. Valeria's eyes darkened at the feeling, the slickness of Y/n's arousal coating her fingertips. She began to explore and caress with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her touch growing more insistent and demanding.

Y/n's body trembled beneath her, her moans growing louder and more desperate. "Valeria--" Y/n gasped as Valeria's thumb traced her clit.

Valeria's grip on Y/n's neck tightened slightly, a silent reminder of her control. With each stroke of her fingers, she pushed Y/n closer to the edge, her gasps and moans filling the room.

But Valeria was not satisfied with just this. She wanted to push Y/n further, to make her beg and plead for release. With a wicked smile, she withdrew her hand from between Y/n's legs, leaving her gasping and on the brink of climax.

"Valeria!" Y/n cried out in frustration as Valeria moved her fingers to her lips. She lapped the fluids that coated her fingertips, her gaze turning hungry.

Her voice dripped with seduction as she leaned in closer, her breath ghosting over Y/n's ear. "Oh, mi amor, you have no idea how delicious you taste," she whispered, her words laced with a hint of sadistic pleasure.

Y/n's breathing grew uneven, a mix of desire and anticipation coursing through her veins. Valeria's hand trailed down Y/n's body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake until it reached the apex of her thighs once again. Without warning, she plunged her fingers back into Y/n's wetness, resuming her relentless exploration.

The sensations overwhelmed Y/n, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her moans grew louder, her body arching against Valeria's touch.

"Please, Valeria," she whimpered, her voice laced with desperation. "I need to come."

A wicked smile played on Valeria's lips as she quickened the pace of her fingers, her movements becoming more forceful and demanding. She reveled in the power she held over Y/n, how she could bring her to the brink and deny her release.

"I thought you hated me," Valeria mocked, causing a string of curses to leave Y/n's mouth.

"You'll come when you submit to me," Valeria hissed, moving her head lower. A cry left Y/n's lips as Valeria's tongue began lapping her clit with deliberate and needy strokes.

Y/n's hips bucked upward as Valeria forcefully held them down. Her lips wrapped around her clit before pushing her tongue deep into her folds. Y/n groaned in pleasure, her body buzzing with want. She could feel herself growing closer to the edge of release, but just before she tipped over--- Valeria pulled back, licking her lips.

A frustrated cry left Y/n's lips. "Please, Valeria," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. "I need to come. I can't take it anymore."

Valeria's eyes darkened as she reached upwards, grabbing Y/n roughly by her neck. She yanked her closer, their bodies practically grinding against one another.

"Louder," she demanded, her voice low and commanding. "Beg for me, puta."

"Please-- Fuck I-- I just want to come. I'll stay with you and stop running away; just please let me come." Y/n begged with teary eyes.

Valeria's eyes darkened as she roughly pressed Y/n down, straddling her thighs. "You sound so needy, preciosa," She cooed, moving back to spread Y/n's legs.

"I've imagined so many different ways I could have you beneath me again, crying and begging for me," Valeria muttered, her nails tracing Y/n's thighs. Valeria moved back, her hands pulling her pants down, along with her panties.

Y/n's breath hitched as Valeria climbed on top of her, pressing her deeper against the mattress. "You want to cum, mi amor? You'll have to earn it." Valeria uttered.

Y/n stared up at Valeria before it clicked in her head. She moved back, propping herself on a pillow. She reached forward and pulled Valeria closer. Valeria smirked and raised her hips as they hovered over Y/n's face.

"Go on, prove yourself," Valeria uttered as Y/n swallowed thickly.

Without hesitation, Y/n leaned forward, her tongue darting out to flick against Valeria's clit. A hiss escaped Valeria's lips, her hands tangling in Y/n's hair.

Valeria's grip tightened in Y/n's hair, guiding her movements. Y/n surrendered herself to Valeria's control, a moan leaving her lips as Valeria yanked at her hair.

Valeria rocked her hips, grinding against Y/n's mouth. "Good girl," Valeria hissed as Y/n's tongue traced patterns. Y/n's hands gripped Valeria's thighs, holding her in place as she continued to worship her with her mouth.

"Meirda." Valeria moaned, feeling her thighs begin to tremble slightly. She looked down and let out a breathless laugh. She yanked Y/n's hair, causing a cry to leave her lips.

"Look at me," Valeria uttered as their gazes met.

"You look so pretty like this," Valeria cooed, grinding herself on Y/n's tongue. Y/n shuddered at the praise, her hands cupping Valeria's hips to pull her closer. The ache between her legs was so intense she had to fight the urge to move her hand down.

And, of course, Valeria noticed as her eyes flashed with amusement. "You don't get to touch yourself, not yet." She whispered.

Y/n whimpered at the denial, her body aching with need. Her tongue worked fervently against Valeria's throbbing clit, forcing a moan from Valeria's lips.

Valeria's movements became more urgent, her hips grinding against Y/n's mouth with a fierce intensity. She felt her climax building, the coil of pleasure tightening within her core.

"You're doing so well, mi preciosa," Valeria moaned. "Make me come; show me how much you want it."

Encouraged by Valeria's words, Y/n intensified her efforts, tongue flicking and swirling with a newfound determination. She could feel Valeria's grip on her hair tighten further, her moans growing louder and more desperate.

And then, with a shuddering gasp, Valeria's orgasm crashed over her. Her body trembled, her walls clenching around Y/n's tongue as waves of pleasure washed over her. Y/n panted heavily as Valeria raised her hips, allowing her the oxygen to return to her lungs.

Yet as soon as she got it, the air in her lungs seemed to vanish as Valeria reached into the dresser next to them and pulled out a strap-on.

"Oh." The only word left her lips as Valeria grabbed and yanked her closer. Valeria smirked, her eyes darkening with hunger as she fastened the strap-on securely around her hips.

Valeria moved closer, her hands caressing Y/n's thighs, spreading them wide open. Her fingers danced along the slick folds, teasing and testing Y/n's readiness.

"You look so pretty beneath me," Valeria uttered before pressing the strap tip in. Y/n let out a choked moan, her eyes widening at the intrusion.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her body convulsing in painful pleasure as their hips slotted together.

"Open your eyes," Valeria hissed, pulling out slowly before setting a rough pace.

Y/n quickly obeyed as tears began rolling down her cheeks. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through Y/n's body, her moans growing louder and more desperate with each passing moment. The room was filled with the sounds of their bodies colliding and the echo of Y/n's wails.

Y/n's nails clawed into the sheets, her body arching to meet Valeria's thrusts, craving more. "V-Valeria!" She sobbed as Valeria's hand connected with her neck once more. The sensation of being filled and stretched by Valeria's strap-on was overwhelming, pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

She squeezed before bringing their faces closer together. "You can't ever leave me, my love," She whispered before crashing their lips together.

Valeria's pace quickened, her thrusts growing more forceful and demanding. Y/n's body trembled with each thrust, her pleasure mounting with each passing second. She could feel the coil of ecstasy tightening within her, the need for release growing unbearable.

"Valeria," she gasped, breaking the kiss. "Please, let me come. I can't-- I can't do it anymore--"

Valeria's grip tightened on Y/n's hips, her thrusts becoming more relentless. "Beg for it."

Y/n's body ached with both pleasure and frustration, her desperate pleas filling the room. She begged and pleaded for Valeria to grant her release, her voice filled with raw need.

Valeria's eyes gleamed with a mix of satisfaction and control as she continued to thrust into Y/n. But as the intensity of their connection grew, Valeria could feel her climax building. The coil of pleasure within her grew tighter, driving her closer to the brink.

With a final thrust, Valeria couldn't hold back any longer. She let out a moan of Y/n's name, her orgasm crashing over her in waves of ecstasy. The sight and sound of Valeria finding her release was enough to push Y/n over the edge.

Y/n's body tensed, pleasure consuming her as her orgasm washed over her in a powerful wave. She cried out Valeria's name, her voice a mix of ecstasy and satisfaction. They stilled for a few moments as Y/n panted heavily.

Tears were still streaming down her face as she felt Valeria's hand wipe them away.

"Nothing could ever separate us, Y/n." She uttered, leaning closer to press their lips together once more.

"Aún en la muerte, siempre serás mía."

#smut #valeria garza #valeria garza smut #valeria x reader #valeria cod #valeria garza x reader #valeria mw2 #val

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hecates-corner · 7 months ago

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Things I Started Seeing Differently After Becoming A Hellenic Polytheist

Ants: instead of getting itchy from the insects, I smile and call them Myrmidons.

Spiders: still not a huge fan of creepy-crawlies, but at least I know it's just Arachne's kin.

Nudity: I've always been comfortable with it, but it's simply the true figure and form. all bodies are beautiful.

Kindness: closest thing to complete godliness as can be done.

Rain: Zeus' blessing upon our flora and fauna.

Trees: before pulling twigs off to use, I thank the dryads for their care.

#reblog with your own!#hellenic polytheism #greek mythology #greek myth #mythology #hellenism #hellenic polytheistic #hellenic pagan #ancient greece #hellenic deities #hellenic community #hellenic gods #hellenic polythiest #tagamemnon

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nik-knight · 7 months ago

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A More Gentle Touch

He had hardly spent more than three hours in his human-shaped corporation, yet he was already winded by the time he managed to lower all the shop’s curtains and finally lock the door. A quick miracle was sent behind him to flip the sign to “Most definitely closed” as he trudged into the back room to rest for the evening.

There had been no other way around it. It had seemed like a brilliant idea at the time to invite the book dealer over for a few negotiations; after all, she was an old colleague of his and a delight to have conversations with. However, when spending most of an afternoon around a human, it was nearly impossible to keep up the vague impression of being a human without actually becoming humanoid. Overall, it was easier to spend that time in a human corporation than holding on to a miracled façade for that long.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t still exhausting, though.

It was like walking around in clothes that were much too tight. Humans certainly were not the largest of Her creations, but they were still quite clumsy forms with arms and legs that had to move at the same time, heavy skin, dense bones, and weighty organs all packed inside a cumbersome package.

He transformed as soon as he sat on the sofa. The relief of it all was soothing at least. Fluffy feathers took the place of stuffy clothes, white wings replaced his heavy arms, and those pesky legs thinned to a comfortable weight that could easily be tucked under his body.

Finally, he could be soft and small in all the right ways. He had no idea how Crowley could be humanoid so often without facing similar fatigue. Perhaps that was why the demon spent most of his spare time asleep.

Despite finally being back into his much more comfortable form, the extended period in that skin suit had ruffled his feathers just as literally as metaphorically. There was an itchy irritation under his feathers, but he was much too tired to groom himself right now. All he wanted to do was curl up with a cup of tea and a good book, but the thought of gathering the necessary materials to do so (or even miracle them up) made him want to do nothing but settle into the cushions and stay there until he had the energy to move again. He allowed his tired eyes to drift shut, letting the quiet and dark of the room calm him for just a bit.

He had only been in his weary siesta for a few minutes when he smelled a rather familiar aroma in the back room. He tiredly blinked open his eyes just in time to catch a fresh cup of tea on a saucer delicately placed in front of him. He looked up to see Crowley, in his humanoid form for some reason, pushing the cup closer to where Aziraphale could comfortably dip his beak in for a sip.

“My dear?” He asked, unsure why Crowley was in that form so late in the evening. By now he was usually a snoring pile of coils wrapped around the base of one of Aziraphale's table lamps.

“You looked a little flustered, so I figured you might need a pick-me-up,” he shrugged as if he hadn’t done anything special. Aziraphale could feel his feathers fluff up at the amount of love that was coursing through his tiny body.

“Oh, my darling, how very kin—”

“Anyway,” Crowley coughed, not letting Azriaphale hit him with another four-letter word. “Your feathers are all ruffled, and since I have hands at the moment, I figured I could… Help you straighten them out a little. ‘F ya like, that is.” He turned his head away, trying and failing to hide the embarrassed flush on his cheeks. Luckily Aziraphale’s happy cooing had him looking back just in time to catch the angel’s happy wiggle and flutter.

“Oh, that sounds like just the thing my dear, if you don’t mind terribly?”

“Not at all.” Without a moment's hesitation, Crowley’s hand was held open by Aziraphale, letting him step gently onto his palm so Crowley could bring him to his lap as he sat down.

Aziraphale stretched his wings out as best he could to give Crowley room to work, and soon enough the demon’s fingers were gently grooming Aziraphale’s wings. It wasn’t anything too deep or intense, but just a slight straightening of a few ruffled feathers along with long gentle strokes across the wing to calm the rest of the dove’s frayed nerves. They paused every few minutes so that Crowley could bring the teacup back to Aziraphale’s beak to drink, then it was back to the relaxing grooming that soon had Aziraphale looking like a fluffy melted marshmallow in Crowley’s palm.

“That good, angel?” Crowley asked after about thirty minutes of grooming and an extra ten minutes of gentle petting that neither one of them brought up.

“Very good, my dear. Thank you so very much.” Aziraphale opened his eyes that he hadn’t realized he had shut during the grooming. He turned his head so he could look back at his darling demon. “I hope it wasn’t too taxing for you to stay in that form just for me.”

Crowley simply gave him a small smile and shrugged. “Some things are worth shifting for.”

There was only the briefest tingle of a miracle before Crowley suddenly found himself with a lap full of human-shaped angel. “Too right, my dear.” He swiftly leaned in, pressing his lips against the demon’s. Crowley stiffened in surprise, but quickly returned the kiss, keeping it gentle and soft just for his angel. When Aziraphale finally pulled away, he only had a moment's notice before suddenly there was a large snake in his hands and lap.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle. “Getting tired, darling?”

“Just get down here, already, angel,” he grumbled, doing his best to keep himself from hiding his face in his coils.

“Oh, gladly.”

Then there on the sofa was a significantly less ruffled dove resting in his favorite nest of black and red coils. The book Aziraphale had been reading earlier that day was conveniently placed against the long loops of the scaley nest so that Aziraphale could easily read and the serpent’s tail could easily flip the pages. (Aziraphale was yet to discover that his feathers poofed up the slightest bit when he was done with a page, giving Crowley the wordless cue to flip to the next one.)

“Oh, you’re too good to me, dear.” With a happy little wiggle to settle comfortably in his love’s nest, he set his eyes on the beginning of the chapter.

“Shaddap…”

And if Crowley buried his head right into the soft feathers under Azriaphale’s breast to hide his face, well, no one bothered to mention it. After all, Aziraphale had a good book and good company to enjoy.

And enjoy it they did.

[by @nik-knight for @katiefrog217]

#good omens fanfiction #Good omens ficlet #Good omens #Good omens au #for katiefrog #Wrote this in maybe two hours #so I hope it's all right #Dove aziraphale #azirabirb #snake crowley #knight writes

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marthawrites · 10 months ago

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Red Lions and Hidden Dragons

Unnamed male character x Lannister!fem reader & Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!fem reader

Word count: 2.9k+

About: Close kin to Jason and Tyland Lannister, you arrive to King's Landing with a party of fellow lions to celebrate the birth of Prince Maelor Targaryen. You weren't expecting to catch Prince Aemond's eye, but once you do, neither of you can forget it.

Includes: SMUT. This is porn with plot to set it up. Featuring lust at first sight, allusions to obsession (from reader and aemond), voyeurism, unprotected vaginal sex, male masturbation, allusions to exhibitionism, stalking, male receiving oral sex, reader receiving oral sex, minor degradation, vaginal fingering, and somnophilia

Note: Hello lovely reader! This might be one of the filthiest things I've written. Double warning: This fic is heavy on the voyeurism and Aemond is a creep. If you do not like that then do not read this. Reader is a Lannister and is implied to have blonde hair. Everything else is up to you! Reader's lover is implied to have ginger hair. Everything else about him is up to you. As always, I hope you enjoy this (filth)!

Golden sunlight warmed your honey curls as they cascaded down your back in gentle waves. Following close behind was a guard armored in the colors of House Lannister. A woman walked beside you who also donned your House's colors in a more practical attire–sword not included. “Is it everything you wanted it to be?” She asked you with bright curiosity as her gaze swept over the Red Keep's gardens.

Spring's blooms weighed heavily in the air and if it weren't for a forgiving breeze all of those fragrances would be unbearable. Your nose tickled with an edge of a sneeze you could never quite expel. “It's absolutely lovely,” you replied with a happy sigh, leaning into your friend and lady-in-waiting. “Although… if I don’t go inside soon my eyes will be pinker than a pig’s bottom and leakier than a cracked chalice.”

She laughed. “I can bring supper up to your chamber if needed. Sneezing on any one in the royal family could be punishable by death!” She gasped with feigned severity.

You rolled your eyes. “The only one I’m worried about sneezing on is Princess Helaena. With her little Maelor only being just born the last thing she–and he–needs is extra germs.”

You and your family, closely related to King Viserys’ Master of Ships, Tyland Lannister, had only arrived this morning. It had been a long trip. Jason Lannister, Tyland’s elder twin, sent a party of lions to King’s Landing to celebrate the little princeling's birth. “Perhaps you will catch the eye of a lord–or Prince–while you’re there,” he had whispered to you with a wink upon your departure.

Politicking had never been your strong suit. Would it truly be so wrong to marry someone for happiness instead of glory, lands, and wealth? You thought not, but the rest of your family thought yes.

“If the Princess even attends a public dinner,” she answered slyly.

With a light-hearted shrug you looked over your shoulder and asked the knight, “Ser? Do you remember the way back to the Great Hall?”

“I do, Lady Lannister. Ready to return?”

“We are.”

Once inside the Red Keep you immediately felt better. No more tickly nose, or itchy eyes, or scratchy ears. You arrived back just in time, too! Judging by the collection of people and their plates, supper had been served only a short time ago. You and your lady found a seat where you could. Nodding a polite greeting to Tyland, you sat and fixed a plate. While politicking wasn’t one of your strong suits, people watching was.

You ate, and you watched.

Who observed the watcher?

Smearing creamy butter on a still warm roll, you tried to keep tabs on the conversations around you. Truthfully, it was half a bore. Sooner than later it all jumbled to indistinct murmurings. Paying half attention at best, and once you finished all the savory flavors of meats and potatoes, you helped yourself to fruit for a sweet palate cleanser. Wonderfully ripened berries and crisp grapes took over your senses. On one particular juicy bite–when you barely covered your mouth in time to catch a dribble of springtime strawberry juice–a blush rose to your cheeks as your gaze swept over the crowd to see if anyone witnessed your etiquette mishap.

A few seats down, and across the table, the glint of a single violet eye danced with your mishap.

Aemond Targaryen. Prince Aemond Targaryen. Your napkin nearly slipped from your fingers as you realized he watched, and saw, and didn’t turn away from your guilty gaze. His one seeing eye trailed from your chin, down the front of your bodice, and back up to your face. The combination of his perfectly neutral facade and naturally bowed mouth made him impossible to read. But the glint in his eye? You swore it gave away his amusement. Perhaps even something more.

The blush in your cheeks dispersed–spreading and lowering–and with a delicate curve of your mouth you gave the King’s second silver-haired son an entirely different look. With extra care, now, you bit into a plump grape, daring to hold his gaze. Your heart hammered with anticipation and excitment and part of you wondered if he could see the pulsepoint in your neck thumping.

He squinted at you; so slight you might have missed it.

Desire roared in your belly.

It was nearly the end of the hour of ghosts when Aemond made his way to the library on silent feet. The castle was quiet except for a few guards and servants carrying out night shift duties. He paid them little mind as he walked with a small stack of books tucked beneath his arm. Sleep eluded him. Even reading did little to settle his mind. He thought, with a hint of hopefulness, that a walk might allow him to finally relax.

A slight squeak of door hinges was the only sound announcing his arrival. It seemed no matter how many times it was oiled it always squeaked. Most of the time it didn’t matter much. But, on late nights like this, it made Aemond feel as if he interrupted something holy. Sacred.

He’d always been a studious boy–so much so that it followed him into adulthood. Perhaps that is why he felt a pang of guilt upon midnight arrivals; he found as much solace in this place as he did the training yard. Sometimes he had half a mind to bring a pillow and blanket here to sleep in one of the chairs, the floor, or, more comfortably, a settee.

Quietly, out of habit, he walked between the rows of books, tomes, and scrolls, and placed each piece of borrowed literature in its place. Before he truly heard anything, the fine hairs along his neck stood. His pupil widened to take in the dark. A little voice in his head told him to stay quiet and look.

A phantom? He hadn’t felt the fright of ghost stories for a long, long time.

But, no, it wasn’t a thing of nightmares lurking in darkened corners of this peaceful place that caught his attention. It was someone. And, judging by the sounds that perked the fine muscles behind his ears, it was more than one person.

Soft sounds made their way to Aemond’s ears as he stalked on silent feet. Heavy breathing. An inward hiss of breath. A muffled voice–low and sultry–sent his cock stirring to life in his pants. And then, right at the peak of a barely contained moan, a giggle.

Staying to the shadows Aemond peered around a bookshelf and what he saw knocked the wind out of his lungs. A woman–not just any woman, but you–straddled over the lap of a man with your skirts bunched up around your waist. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, its legs thumping against the rug-covered floor with the force in which you rode him–in which he bucked up into you. Aemond saw why you giggled and a hot rush of blood flew up to his head and down to his cock alike. Your breasts were free from your crimson supper gown and they bounced as you fucked whosever cock it was that you were riding. One of the man’s hands squeezed a mound of your soft, perfect tits, letting it bounce against his palm as his mouth sucked your other nipple.

Stepping further back into the shadows, Aemond, as discreetly as he could, moved a few books upon the shelf so he could watch between the newly formed gap. He had the best–truly the best–sight of you. Your cheeks were colored so prettily, lips parted in the epitome of bliss, and your eyelids fluttered as you ground down against him. Aemond saw your hand push through and squeeze your lover’s ginger hair as he nipped and suckled over your peaked nipples.

“Think anyone will show up here?” You asked, rolling your hips against him in a gloriously wonderful grind.

If Aemond were any further away he wouldn't be able to hear you. His ears were perked right to you, however, and he heard your voice–all raspy with pleasure. He palmed at his cock over his pants, the bulge prominent and uncomfortable in its confides.

“If you keep being loud I bet someone will,” he teased before kissing you. He gripped your hips firmly with both hands and began to coax you up and down on him again. Before you could break away from the kiss those same soft sounds from before filled the air. This time they were louder, sharper, both of you chasing pleasure to climax. “Can't believe you wanted me to fuck you here tonight. Of all places in this big castle. Shit–Gods, yes, keep bouncing like that. Keep fucking bouncing like that.”

You barely held your moans back and the little ones that slipped free had Aemond palming at himself firmer. Your moans, and slapping skin, and bouncing tits had the prince dizzy with desire.

How in the actual Hells was this happening?

He nearly spent in his pants when climax washed over you. You were so lovey, and so perfect, and so greedy with your need it made Aemond want to tie your lover up and fuck you right there too.

You could take it. He knew you could. You'd be debauched enough to take two men and still claw at them for more.

Your lover's seed covered your belly in a splattered mess and Aemond nearly groaned out loud.

He'd lingered too long. He shouldn't have even stayed like he did–should have left as soon as he realized what was happening. But that didn't stop him then and it didn't stop him now as he lingered behind for an extra moment, watching you fix your clothes back into place.

The edge of your desire was finally sated. For now, at least. With a satisfied sigh you smiled and tilted your head, looking down at your lover while he whispered something to you. You laughed and rolled your eyes.

That's when you saw him. What? No… it couldn't be! The shadow of the prince just there! Just behind that book shelf.

Aemond side stepped and ducked slightly. Shit shit shit. But it was too late.

“I think I saw someone,” you gasped with an excited warble to your tone.

Whatever else you said, or whatever your reaction might have been, would remain a mystery. That's all Aemond heard before slipping out of the main doorway–the door's squeak the only evidence that anyone else had been in the library.

As much as Aemond wanted to see you during the morning meal, he didn't want to risk it. Would you squirm in your seat beneath his gaze, or would he beneath yours?

Once finished, he exerted himself in the training yard–the image of your blissed out face and bouncing tits still seared onto his mind.

Fuck.

How long were you visiting the Red Keep? Surely Aemond would go mad before long.

After training and before lunch, the prince found himself loitering along a balcony that faced the gardens. It was a quiet spot, one not often frequented, and it served as a perfect place for him to relax and collect his thoughts after training. It proved to be an uneventful rest until a glimmer of golden hair and red breezy gown caught his attention from below.

You.

He stared, watching like a hawk from above. You were on the arm of the same man from last night. Based on his attire Aemond recognized him to be one of the Lannister servants.

Pathetic. The man was a servant. Not a husband, or betrothed, or even someone worth your name. You were a loose wanton thing. Licentious. Aemond watched you drag your male servant off the main pathway until you were out of sight.

And then, on a jolt of lust filled curiosity, he grabbed a nearby spyglass and looked for you again.

A few minutes passed before he saw you through the reflective lens. And when he did the front of his pants immediately became tighter.

Hidden amongst the garden's layout you and your secret lover kissed and touched and pressed together. He saw your mouths move with words he wished he could hear. You were light and playful and eager. Fuck–so eager.

Aemond watched as you sunk down to your knees and pulled his cock out. You took it in your mouth over and over, again and again, like you’d wanted nothing more than to have him in your throat.

Did you enjoy this more, you pretty little whore? Or did your red headed lover?

Aemond's need screamed for friction–for anything–but he remained painfully hard and untouched as he watched, not wanting to miss a single second.

Time ticked by so slowly, so quickly, and before long Aemond saw you swallow, smiling up at your lover as he tucked his spent, softening cock back into his pants. You turned your head, then, looking along the balconies, and Aemond barely had time to step out of sight.

You saw his silver hair and the reflective glare of his spyglass in the late morning sun.

The prince wasn’t half as sly as he thought.

You barely spoke to Viserys’ second-son–barely knew him–yet it did little to stifle the lust drowning your blood.

Two days had passed before Aemond caught you for a third time. Duties kept him busy and he wasn’t able to stalk around the castle after you.

The first time he stumbled across you had been a complete accident. So had the second time. Well… mostly. If he hadn’t caught sight of you entering the gardens he wouldn’t have begun spying on you from the balcony.

The third time, however? He hoped for it.

Might have even prayed for it.

Watching from within the safety of a slim corridor behind the room’s main wall, Aemond peeked through a series of small holes specifically made for spying; servants and their incessant prying. You were sitting in a chair with your legs draped over each arm. Your male servant knelt between your spread legs and feasted on your cunt. His soft groans and slurps, combined with all of your sweet gasps and moans, made the sounds of Aemond freely stroking his cock nearly non-existent.

It was too much. Too fucking much.

You were too perfect. Putting on a show for him and everything. He knew you liked being watched. Why else would you be taunting him, luring him, snaring him in your lewd traps time and time again?

The man slipped his fingers into you while staying on your clit, and the way you tugged at his hair sent Aemond biting down on his lip.

“So sexy like this,” the ginger’s raspy voice rumbled up at you. “So sweet and tight.”

You sighed and giggled, turning his face back against you. “I'm not done. Keep going,” you said, sultry.

He did and you lost yourself.

But before you could finish he asked, “shall I wear an eyepatch next time? Lean into your little fantasy with the prince?”

“Gods, yes.”

He worked you with fingers and tongue again, pushing you to the edge of pleasure. “Say his name. No one is around to hear. The one eyed prince here, right now, eating your sweet cunt.”

You squeezed both hands in his hair and came undone; a tiny, shuddered, “Aemond..!” escaped your lips at the peak of your climax.

Aemond's cock pulsed mightily in the choke of his hand; streaks of his seed dripped down the finished wooden wall. He had to have you.

It was the hour of the owl when Aemond prowled into your chamber. You looked peaceful sleeping, so pretty.

He stood at the side of your bed, head tilted slightly as he looked down at you replaying all the visions of you in his head over again. The backs of his fingers traced along the slope of your face; silken. He dipped lower, sliding down the curve of your neck and across your exposed collarbone. You didn't yet stir and so he slid lower. The swell of your breasts were wonderfully soft beneath your thin shift; nipples peaked beneath.

You teased him even in slumber.

He gently squeezed the mound–testing the suppleness of your body–and reveled in the sensation. With curious delight he pinched the bud and smirked when a small sound hummed between your lips. He did it again. Harder. Your nipples pebbled tighter and saliva built in Aemond's mouth.

That made you stir. Your eyelids trembled over your eyes as if you'd startle awake.

Aemond's hand sunk beneath your blanket and whispered up your smooth thigh. Within the span of a few breaths he found the waist of your smallclothes and tugged the ribbons open. His heartbeat thundered. He couldn’t help it. He had to know. Grazing his fingers lower, still, he ghosted over that delicate space between your thighs. You were warm through the thin cloth of your smallclothes. Insanity threatened to take him over.

Again, you stirred. And this time your eyes fluttered open. Those pretty pools widened and for a moment you couldn’t tell if you were still dreaming, or if this was truly happening.

Prince Aemond. In your room. How did he get in? You’d lusted for him since arriving. Now, here he was; perhaps the Gods indeed answered prayers.

“Shh,” he hushed, fingers lifting to his lips to shush you further; a smirk visible at the corners of his mouth. “Why pretend when you can have the real thing, lady Lannister?”

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @aemondtarqaryens @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @aemonddtargaryen @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @connorsui

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #aemond imagine

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hskinhome · 1 year ago

Note

Is it possible to get a pendulum as to whether my relationship with Itchy from the Felt was platonic or romantic in my Diamonds Droog timeline? I swear we were close, but I’m not quite sure. Thank you in advance.

Hey! My pendulum says you were romantic!

#homestuck #homestuck kin #pendulum #diamonds droog kin #itchy kin #felt kin #midnight crew kin #mod meu

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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago

Text

When Shiro hears news of his mother’s death, his first thought is good riddance.

His second thought is fuck. Loudly, and repeated many times in his head. And out loud. In the middle of the night, sitting straight up in bed, startling his fiancé awake.

“T’kashi?” he mutters, eye squinted as he blindly pays the bedside table for his glasses. “What’s going on?”

Shiro’s mouth works on autopilot. “It’s my mother.”

As it always does when she is brought up, which is frequently due to her many life decisions, Adam’s face wrinkles as if he just bit into something very sour.

“Oh. What the fuck is she up to now?”

“Uh, the afterlife.”

Adam’s face freezes. Shiro chokes down hysterical laughter. It doesn’t work, and comes out kind of reedy and strangled.

“Mr. Shirogane,” comes the tinny voice from his phone, and Shiro startles.

“Oh, shit, yes. Sorry. Um. I wanted to ask about my brother. Where is he? When can I pick him up?”

There’s a hesitance from the other end that Shiro doesn’t like. He sits up straighter, if at all possible, and Adam’s face hardens — it has been a four year long fight, with his mother, to try to get Keith over as often as possible for even an ounce of stability, and not a fight they have won very frequently, but it is not one they’re willing to give up. Shiro has no doubt that the state will fight just as hard as his mother did.

Adam and Shiro will simply fight harder.

“The safety of the child is the state’s first concern,” the lawyer says neutrally.

“Great. Give me an address and twenty minutes, then, and I’ll bring him right home.”

The lawyer’s voice is steely. “He is home, with a lovely young couple who are happy to have him.”

“There is a lovely young couple who he is related to and whom he has familiarity with right here,” Shiro grits out. “Tell me where my brother is.”

The lawyer waits a moment. “It might be a difficult transition, you know. It would be nice for Keith to have a mother and a father, for once.”

Before Shiro can even blink, a hand reaches over and snatches the phone right from his face, and Adam throws it open onto the bedspread, presses speaker, and sets off.

“You listen here, you gristly assed motherfucker. Takashi has the right of next of kin. Failing proof of neglect or abuse, which you have tried and failed to invent on our end so many times the court as all but banned you from trying again, Keith is legally required to be placed in our home should Shirogane Saori be found incapable of care. And, as you can imagine, lying on a table in a morgue renders one quite incapable. If you don’t provide an address clearly and concisely in the next fifteen seconds, I will sue not only you and your firm, but you mother, your father, your children, and you dusty tailor, you ugly brown suit wearing hetero. Are we understood?”

There’s another stretch of silence, wherein despite the gravity of the situation Shiro considers proposing to his fiancé again, before the lawyer finally speaks.

“…Group home on 4th and King.”

“Thank you,” Adam says tersely, and slams the phone closed. He scoffs at it. “Fucking jackass. Someone should kill him.”

Shiro snorts. Then he giggles. Then he starts laughing, and then he can’t stop, and he laughs so hard tears come to his eyes, and then they don’t stop, either, and his breath hitches and a lump forms in his throat and his whole face starts to get itchy. Adam pulls him into him immediately, cradling him into his lap like he’s a child, and he goes without resistance because it’s Adam doing to holding, and because he doesn’t know where this sadness is coming from. He has hated his mother for more years than he has loved her. The only time he’s thanked her for anything in the last eight years was one he held Keith in the hospital, skipping his first day of high school to do it. She has been crueler than kind to him for most of his life.

But she was his mother, in many ways. In all ways except the ones that mattered. And apparently that counts for something.

“We need to go,” Shiro whispers, trying to lift his head. Adam gently presses it back into his neck, holding his arms around him.

“It’s four in the morning, starshine. Maybe we wait a few hours?”

“No.” The hoarseness of his own voice makes him wince. “He can’t…Adam, I don’t even like my mother, and look at me. Keith is going to be inconsolable. She carted him around like a baby doll. He loved her.”

Adam winces. He knows it’s true as much as Shiro does. Their mother’s erratic lifestyle has gifted Keith an assortment of attachment issues, as evidenced by the tantrums whenever she dropped him off at their apartment when she was bored.

Not that Keith understands the issue. Because he is four, and because he has gone through more things in his four years of life than many children will before they are even ten, but not enough to stop thinking his mother is the most important person on Earth.

Quickly they dress, shoving in whatever clothes are near without worrying about looking presentable. They don’t bother with much more than brushing their teeth, skipping shaving and breakfast and coffee in favour of speeding to the parking garage.

It only takes them fifteen minutes to get to the group home the lawyer has mentioned, and they waste no time in rushing up the steps, uncaring of social norms or etiquette as they ring the doorbell and stand fidgeting at the front door.

It takes a long time for the door to open. Shiro can’t help feeling like that is intentional.

“What,” barks the man at the door, as if their intent isn’t expressly obvious given the circumstance.

“I’m here to pick up my brother,” Shiro says as politely as he can manage. “Keith?”

“He’s sleeping,” says the man, who Shiro presumes is one of the foster parents running the home. “Come back tomorrow.” He tries to slam the door shut, but before he can register his own movement Shiro is slamming his hand against the door. The wood cracks under his palm.

He doesn’t bother saying anything. He doesn’t have it in him. He simply shoves the door open, sending the man stumbling, and strides in, remembering at the last second to try and keep quiet so as to not wake any other sleeping children. It takes him three tries to find the right room, but when he finally swings open the right door he knows, from the very second he sees the lump of blankets on the bottom bunk in the far right corner. He stands frozen for a moment at the door, watching his baby brother breathe, seeing the dried tear tracks on his face, the stutter of his breaths and shake of his chest. His thumb is firmly in his mouth, a habit he’s had broken for two years.

Shiro’s eyes begin to leak again. He feels Adam squeeze his bicep once in comfort, then wordlessly he walks off, gathering the messy scattering of Keith’s things into a large backpack. Trusting him to know or guess what belongs to his brother — all largely things they’ve bought him — Shiro approaches the bed, kneeling carefully at the edge of it. He reaches out and brushes Keith’s hair out of his face, gliding his thumb across his forehead. It wrinkles as Keith wakes, squinting his eyes up at Shiro in grogginess and confusion. It takes him a moment to register what’s going on, but Shiro knows the exact second it does, because his indigo eyes go blank the way they do when Keith is so far overwhelmed he can’t even come close to starting to process how he feels. Shiro braces himself for whatever vitriol, likely directly quoted from their mother, is about to come out of his mouth.

“I don’t want you,” Keith cries. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, cracked and strained; a long, keening cry. His face twists up and he glares at Shiro in what can only be described as betrayal, as if it’s Shiro’s fault their mother is gone, as if it was Shiro’s evil plan to take her away forever so he can never go back.

He wouldn’t even be surprised if that’s what their mother has told him. It hurts anyway.

“I know,” he chokes out, hushed. He brushes his thumb over Keith’s forehead again, slow, from temple to temple, and to his surprise his brother leans into it slightly as his breaths hitch with sobs. “I know, baby.”

He exchanges a look with Adam, who, God Shiro loves him so much, understands immediately: they have ten minutes.

Two years ago, when their mother dropped Keith off at his doorstep one day and fucked off to Atlanta for a week, Shiro decided enough was enough. Keith was convinced she was coming back to get him every morning and was devastated when she didn’t. It was an endless, sisyphian cycle. Shiro took the day off school, took his limited funds, and brought Keith to a paediatric specialist. It was of course not the most thorough evaluation, as that was something that could only be done with time, but there was almost definitely some valuable input. Shiro learned, in harried, layman’s terms, that their mother’s flakiness meant Keith always believed he was about to be left behind. Her babying of him lead him to believe that he was at fault when that happened. When he was actually happened, he was prone to tears and affection, trying to win back his mother, trying to prove that he was a good enough baby doll for her, basically.

And if that doesn’t work…well. Then the hurt and the anger start, and God knows how long it will last.

“Ten minutes,” Adam mutters, stuffing one last thing into the backpack and shoving it over his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

Taking the blanket with him, because fuck these guys, Shiro lifts his baby brother up, holding him tightly to himself, pressing his face into his neck. He starts to powerwalk down the hallway back to the front door, Adam close behind him. He vaguely hears the same man who opened the door start to argue with them, start to try to stop them, and he trusts Adam to handle it, because all he can hear in his head is a countdown. If they don’t make it to the car in time and Keith starts really wailing, they are going to take him away, and Shiro knows he will never get fucking visiting rights because the family court system is the most broken thing in America, and Keith will be shoved into some random group home that doesn’t care about him and won’t care about him and he’ll be treated like shit or worse not treated like anything at all, and he will grow up thinking that there is no one who loves him and no one to turn to and Shiro will never forgive himself or his mother or the world.

He needs to get his brother to the car.

He rushes down the beaten down concrete steps as fast as he can while still being careful in the dark. The car is half a block away, the only place they could find parking, and he starts to jog, ignoring the ache in his arms. He’s held Keith for longer. At the seven minute mark, he registers yelling voices and a door slam and Adam’s rapid footsteps behind him, and by the ninth they make it to their beat up piece of shit fourth-hand car, throwing open the back door, setting Keith down gently, bucking the kid in as quickly as they can manage.

Shiro has lost count of how much time they have, if they have any at all. His heart pounds so rapidly he can feel it everywhere in his body. He’s bitten the inside of his cheek so harshly he can taste blood. He feels like he’s gonna throw up.

He’s barely thrown a seatbelt on by the time Adam shifts into gear and tears out onto the busy street, cars honking at him. Shiro meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, trying to find strength in his look, in his support. He tries to tell himself that the worst part is over, now; Keith is with him, beside him in the back seat, Keith is going to stay with him forever, now, he is going to make his baby brother’s life stable from now on. They are starting to swim their way out of the deep end.

And then the wailing starts.

It’s loud. Keith takes a huge, deep breath, then lets out a noise that Shiro can only describe as agonised, so big and heavy that it pulls on his little body, straining against the seatbelt. His face is bright red from the force of it, and Shiro can count his teeth with how wide open his mouth is. Bizarrely, Shiro wonders if he’s loud enough for the windows to break, or their eardrums. He’s not sure if his own pain comes from his ears or his heart.

“I want my mama!” Keith sobs, shouts, screams, cries. “I want my mama! I want my mama!”

“I know,” Shiro whispers again, for what feels like the millionth time that night. Between Keith’s stuttering breaths Shiro hears Adam’s soft cries, looks up to see tears streaming down his face. He’s surprised to find his own face dry as a bone, the lump in his throat he’d felt earlier completely disintegrated. He feels hollowed out. “I know, Akira. I know. I know.”

Shiro wonders if this is what it feels like to drown.

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beautifulskye · 2 months ago

Text

Corvid hrt: month 1

It has now been officially one month since starting the corvid hrt and the dragon hrt treatments. So far not much has happened. I have some bumps starting to form on my arms and my legs; mainly my forearms and calves, and other parts of my body have been prone to getting itchy, especially my back. The most noticeable changes so far have been mental. My memory has seemingly improved, I’ve just had an easier time remembering things I would otherwise forget... However I’ve noticed that I’ve gotten… snappier. I’ve been quicker to anger lately, but I’m not sure if this is because of the treatment itself or just because of the itching.

Want to thank: @devin-kin-ward for some of the wording and advice

Previous Next

#therian #animal hrt #therian hrt

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sgiandubh · 11 months ago

Note

What makes a very mature and educated woman confuse the charisma of Jamie and Claire and fall behind the illusion of Sam and Cait?

Look at this picture and many others, look at Cait's smile and the happiness in her eyes

Look at the color of Tony's lips, I don't need to continue

Below this picture are many pictures of them from many years ago

This man has been a reality since 2015, so let us accept reality even if we do not like it

Note: I would love to read everything you write aside from Outlander and S&C

Dear (b)Itchy Anon,

Ah, yes. You folks are definitely a very predictable bunch, because you simply cannot help yourself and just have to do it. Every. Single. Christmas. Eve. For reasons transparent enough to make you & your kin instantly unlikeable.

I was just thinking, the other day, believe it or not. I was thinking of the disingenuous way you - or someone like you - engaged with @cb4tb on another Christmas Eve and told myself: 'I bet the farm this year it's going to be me'. And here we are, with a rather long - and also, rather curious- comment. What am I going to do with you, Anon? Just write a rather long and ironic answer to your delirious rant, what else?

Calling me 'very mature' made me spit my Pepsi - always better in Romania than the eternal Coca-Cola - and I have to dubiously and cheaply congratulate myself, too. In about six months, you were forced to transition from 'Christ, shippers are stupid' to 'Golly, some -if not most - of them really are educated people'. An apparent paradox that never made you question your surroundings.

For instance, I do not need to wear a turban, sport a cigarette holder, rent a garish tent and call myself Miss Cleo, in order to tell with eerie precision English is not your mother tongue, either. You still do have a big problem with phrasal verbs, because you couldn't have possibly meant I 'fell behind the S&C illusion', but rather that 'I fell for that illusion'. You see, falling behind is 'failing to do something in time' or 'being late with a due payment' or 'being unable to make the same progress as one's peers'. We, shippers, naturally have this kind of superpowers. And seasoned bullshit-o-meters, too.

For your information, I haven't. I explained it at length. There is no possible way to do it if one uses common sense and street smarts only. What I did see, along with thousands of other people, mind you, had absolutely -forgive me, Father, for I am about to sin again - fucking nothing to do with Seamus and Sorcha. I mean, d'oh - is this your best argument, Anon? That sad, wilted talking point? Wow. Just wow.

Then, you totally lose control and take The Scarecrow out of the closet (yes, pun totally intended), in the hope you'll make me screech with dread & horror, I suppose. Exactly which one of the five to ten max Tait pics am I supposed to look at? The one at the marathon, where he checks her pulse? The one in Australia, when he pitifully dangles that stick on a beach? The one with the flute? The fist-in-hand one? The one at this year's IFTA, where she looks through him and he begs for a smile? I shall never know, because you do not add any picture and since I am not Miss Cleo, there's no way I could ever guess. Instead, you describe Neverland in Technicolor, lips included (so help me God, I never looked at McIdiot's lips: I take pride in being mentally sound). Indeed, there is no need to continue, Anon, lest you would insist to ridicule yourself.

This man has been a (questionably) useful prop since 2016, in order to give credence to a narrative. You all know it. You all deny it. You live in a parallel reality, currently embraced by PR. Amen. That does not give you the right to police this fandom and no, your derailed zeal will not get you any Brownie points from C.

Speaking only for myself, I will tell you one last time: I will never blindly accept a convenient compromise fiction just because TPTB and/or PR tell me so.

Note: I doubt my writing interests you. I really do, because I don't deal in fanfic. And even if I am an Oriental, know flattery never worked with me. In fact, I can't stand it.

It's Christmas. Take a break from all this pathetic hatred, Anon: if you have but a cell left of humanity in yourself, you can't possibly be proud of this message and there are far more interesting and meaningful ways to spend this special day. He came for you, too. And that is the most important thing in the world, right now.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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h-didanart · 3 months ago

Text

Don’t mind me, just uh, felt like writing in a fancy way I guess? Idk, I kinda just made this so yeah :P

———

“I would die for you” thinks the former killer, the little fox that’s now their little sibling yelling over some game he lost.

The cub is fierce but not yet trained in the ways of the world, he’d be ripped to shreds were he left alone. They have to make sure he won’t be thrown to the wolves, won’t spend days in hunger or long for comfort over the freezing nights, won’t run to the arms of a monster, that he won’t follow in their path.

He’s their brother, whom they may not have met before but will love as if they did, they’ll watch over him and strike any menace down, they’ll be the best older brother there ever was.

“I would kill with you” say the runaways, the smarter of their group not amused despite the compliment.

Realistically in a fight it would not be able to do much, having such injuries that limit its movement, not like it’d like to join in, death being that thing that’s better away than up close. They may annoy it by poking fun at its work, or its art, or its style, yet a better bud they couldn’t have, it understands the snide remarks, the accusations and infantilization, of others deeming you the crazy one, telling you your life is a lie.

It’s their friend, their sole source of support during all these years, and they’ll help complete its research as silly to them as it seems, just as they’ll come back at the end of the day and annoy it to no end.

“I will die with you” grumbles the warrior, the actor’s core still beating in spite of their broken chassis.

Such delicate machinery, a survivor of those ashen remains, it must be careful if it doesn’t want to lose its leg again. It’s that care he has such trust on, even through their first impressions, he knows it does what it must, they both do what they can, never exactly at peace in the world lest within the other’s arms.

They are his friend, the one who brought him back alive, who may not understand his way of feeling but will still be there to pat his back, he’ll do his best to keep it alive, and if he can’t then better to stick together, neither has anyone else as it stands.

“I will die for you” feel the twins at once, firmly entwined amongst their family.

It was a miracle they had stuck together, original three as compatible as identical magnets, the now five or six as united as a fly in a deadly glue trap. To have heard as life passed while they remained frozen had been a sweet agony, once the stasis traded with separation a new horror dawning, yet they managed to all hold together through the lies and manipulations and disappearances and pains.

They are their family just as much as they are to each other, they’ll keep them safe, they’ll keep them happy, to show they too can change and to truly join the whole family.

“I will kill for you” the demon tells the virus, holding her arm as they bounce towards the unknowing victims.

Calling themselves their Father and taking them in, they hadn’t expected to get much out of this, a pleasant surprise it was when they did. The only person who gets it he was, having been the core program they were based off, the insatiable hunger, an itchy need, what they had to do to live, not even the Morning Star could look so deeply.

She is their Father, not a creator or whatnot, the one who teaches them efficiency, cares about the means more than the results, they‘ll stand by him as long as they live, one does not just betray their kin.

“I will live with you” the vampire promises, both sleep deprived bots staring at the newest project, wondering how it could work.

With a face such as that not much good was expected, yet he pulled through time and time again, reliable, though never to himself it seems. He had helped through the horrors, helped through the numbness, they had learnt of his life and looked up for the stoicism, they make sure he won’t push his limits, they cannot have him throwing himself around all the time.

They may never say it but he is their brother, the one they wished they could’ve had since day one, and it’s such a dumb promise but they can’t help but make it, they’ll live alongside him, live for their talks, live like they owe him to, because they do, they owe him their lives, so they’ll live to make him proud.

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