#do i tag every character i mentioned in this?

[honeyhae-svt]

Sucker For You

Jeon Wonwoo x F!Reader

genre / tags: smut, romance, humor, slice of life, wonwoo x reader, college au, slow burn to fast burn, mutual pining, friends to lovers, cockwarming, gamer wonwoo, subtle dominance, light degradation, reader insert, cute dynamics, playful teasing, soft/dom wonwoo, loser!wonwoo x popular!reader. warnings: explicit sexual content (18+; MDNI), light degradation (terms like "slut" used in consensual play), semi-public encounter (storage room smut scene), cockwarming while gaming, swearing, mention of overstimulation and rough sex, mutual pining, unprotected sex (wrap that boner !). smut warnings: detailed explicit content (penetration, oral, cockwarming), rough sex in semi-public and private settings, use of pet names and light degradation, safe, consensual sexual activity between characters, descriptions of body reactions and sensations. wc: 8,793 (porn with little plot) a/n: to my beloved @kpoppiesofinternet , thank you for giving me the idea. seventeen taglist: @archivistworld <33 Preview: Wonwoo never thought he’d end up here, in his dimly lit apartment, with you perched on his lap, his gaming chair squeaking softly beneath the weight of both your bodies. The glow from his monitor illuminated your face as your cheek rested against his shoulder, your warm breath fanning over his neck. “You’re really good at this,” you murmured, voice laced with awe as his fingers danced skillfully across the keyboard. His lips quirked upward. “I told you, I’m not always a loser.” The way his cock twitched inside you at the sound of your soft, teasing laugh almost had him losing his grip on the game. The warmth of your body around him made every movement sharper, every second harder to concentrate. “Wonwoo, how do you even focus like this?” you whispered, your tone edged with playful disbelief as you clenched around him. His hand stuttered over the mouse for the briefest moment, a hiss escaping his lips. “You’re going to make me lose,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “You said you wouldn’t,” you shot back smugly, your hands sliding up his chest as your thighs flexed around his. “Be quiet, or I’ll make you regret it,” he growled softly, the mic on his headset still live.

Wonwoo stood awkwardly near the corner of the elevator, clutching his phone like it was his lifeline. He didn't even know why he was here—okay, he knew why. Mingyu asked him to get his stuff, but fate decided to test him today.

You. Running toward the elevator, hair bouncing lightly with each step, the pleated skirt swaying just enough to make his brain short-circuit. And that smile you threw him when he awkwardly reached out to hold the elevator door? That should've been illegal. You looked like a dream—pink blouse, effortless charm, and some sort of aura that made every neuron in his head shut down.

Now, he was trapped. Trapped in the best kind of torture.

You stood just a few feet away, scrolling through your phone, seemingly unaware of the chaos you were causing in his head. The sweet scent of your perfume filled the elevator, wrapping around him like a vice. It wasn't overpowering—no, it was subtle, delicate, but absolutely maddening. Wonwoo inhaled slowly, trying not to make it obvious that he preferred your perfume over oxygen right now.

What was he supposed to do? Say something? Compliment you? Laugh at some imaginary joke and hope you joined in?

Instead, he stood there, silent, practically glued to the wall like the loser he was. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the elevator mirror and winced. His hair was slightly messy from running around earlier, his hoodie slightly wrinkled. Meanwhile, you looked like you had stepped out of a movie scene.

The elevator dinged, signaling someone's floor, and Wonwoo almost panicked, realizing it was his. He took a step forward but froze. Should he say goodbye? No, that was weird. Should he—

"Wonwoo, right?"

Your voice broke through his internal monologue, and he turned so fast he almost sprained his neck. You were looking right at him, smiling that same radiant smile, and he swore he might pass out.

"Y-Yeah," he stammered, cursing himself for the crack in his voice.

You tilted your head, eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity. "You were at the festival earlier, right? I think I saw you near the game booths."

Oh. My. God. You noticed him?

"I... uh, yeah. I was just... helping out. Nothing big," he managed, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

"That's cool," you said, the elevator dinging again. The doors opened, and you stepped out, turning to face him briefly. "See you around, Wonwoo."

The doors closed before he could respond, leaving him standing there, wide-eyed, as your scent lingered in the elevator.

"See you around?" he whispered to himself, the tiniest, stupidest grin forming on his lips.

God, he really needed to get his act together. But maybe, just maybe, this wasn't a complete disaster.

Wonwoo didn't know what was worse: the fact that he forgot why he was on this floor in the first place or the fact that you had just casually walked out of nowhere and into his life with the audacity to smile at him like that. Like you knew exactly how your charm was working on him.

He'd stepped out of the elevator to grab Mingyu's bag—it was lying near the corner of the hallway like someone had abandoned it—and then bam, there you were. The sound of your voice, light and teasing, stopped him in his tracks before he even realized it.

"Hey, Wonwoo!" you chirped, juggling a camera, a bouquet of flowers, and a handful of props. How you managed to look so effortlessly composed while holding so much stuff was beyond him. "Did you get lost or something?"

Lost? Yeah, definitely. But not in the way you were implying.

"I... no, I'm just grabbing Mingyu's stuff," he said, his voice a little too quiet, a little too awkward. He shifted on his feet, trying not to meet your eyes for too long because if he did, he might just melt into the floor.

Your grin widened. God, why were you so unfair? "Of course, Mingyu. I see you with him all the time. You two are pretty close, huh?"

Wonwoo blinked. Oh. That was why you noticed him. Mingyu. Of course. Who wouldn't notice Mingyu? Tall, confident, handsome Mingyu, who had a way of commanding attention without even trying. Compared to him, Wonwoo might as well have been a ghost.

He nodded stiffly, biting back the disappointment tugging at his chest. "Yeah, we're friends."

You hummed, a soft, melodic sound that made his stomach twist in knots. As the two of you started walking toward the elevator, you adjusted the camera in your hands, your fingers brushing against the petals of the flowers you carried. "The festival's been fun, huh? I've been running around so much, but I'm definitely going to check out the game booths later. You're helping out there, right?"

Wonwoo felt his heart skip a beat. You knew that he was helping out? You knew something about him that wasn't tied to Mingyu? His brain scrambled to process it, and for a moment, he just stared at you like an idiot before managing a weak, "Y-Yeah, I'll be there."

You smiled again—this time softer, sweeter—and stepped into the elevator with him. The small space felt a little too intimate, your perfume lingering in the air again, and Wonwoo swore the temperature rose by a hundred degrees.

The ride down was quiet at first, save for the soft hum of the elevator. Wonwoo clutched Mingyu's bag tightly, his knuckles white as he tried to act normal. But it was impossible when you were standing right there, so close, your presence making it hard to think straight.

As the elevator dinged, signaling the ground floor, you turned to him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. "See you at the game booths, Wonwoo," you said, stepping out before he could even think of a response.

He stared after you, rooted to the spot as the elevator doors closed again. His reflection stared back at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

"Idiot," he muttered to himself, adjusting his grip on the bag. But even as he walked toward the festival grounds, his heart raced at the thought of seeing you again. Maybe, just maybe, being a loser around you wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Wonwoo was pretty sure he was about to have a heart attack.

Your booth was the most popular one in the festival—of course, it was. The crowd seemed drawn to you like moths to a flame, and why wouldn't they be? You stood at the center, effortlessly charming, laughing, and engaging with everyone who passed by. You were magnetic, the kind of person people gravitated toward without even realizing it.

But for Wonwoo, it wasn't just your charm that had him spiraling—it was you. The way your hair caught the light, the way your voice carried over the noise, the way your smile lit up the entire space. And now, thanks to Mingyu's insistence, he was walking straight into the lion's den.

"Come on, Wonwoo. Don't be weird," Mingyu had teased, dragging him toward your booth. "She's cool. You're cool. Just... be normal for once around her."

Normal? Wonwoo felt like he was about to combust.

When the two of them finally reached your booth, you were busy helping another group of students, but the second your eyes lifted, they landed on him. Not Mingyu. Not the crowd. Him.

Wonwoo swore time slowed down for a moment. Was he imagining it? The slight glint of recognition in your gaze? The tiny smile that tugged at the corners of your lips? He couldn't help the way his heart stuttered in his chest.

"Wonwoo! Mingyu!" you called, stepping closer to the front of the stall, holding a bunch of roses in your hands. You looked so natural, so perfect, standing there surrounded by flowers and festival decorations. "You guys finally made it!"

He wanted to respond, maybe say something clever or funny, but his brain had completely shut down. All he could do was nod stiffly, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, while Mingyu carried the conversation like the social butterfly he was.

But then, something unexpected happened. Instead of handing the roses to Mingyu—like Wonwoo had braced himself for—you turned directly to him.

"These are for you," you said softly, holding out three perfectly bloomed roses.

Wonwoo froze, his eyes flicking between the roses and your face like he couldn't believe what was happening. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out to take them, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment.

He thought that would be the end of it, but then you grabbed a Polaroid camera from the table and grinned up at him. "Come here. Let's take a picture."

"A—A picture?" His voice cracked, and he could feel Mingyu silently laughing at him, but he didn't care. His entire world had narrowed to just you and that camera in your hands.

Before he could process what was happening, you grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, positioning him just beside you. The proximity was almost too much—your perfume, the warmth of your hand on his arm, the way you were so effortlessly close.

"Smile!" you said cheerfully, leaning slightly toward him as you held up the camera.

Wonwoo tried. He really did. But the second the camera clicked, all he could feel was the way his breath hitched, his heart racing as if it wanted to escape his chest.

When you handed him the freshly printed Polaroid, your smile softened. "A little keepsake," you said, like it was the most normal thing in the world to turn him into a blushing mess.

Wonwoo stared at the picture in his hands, the image of the two of you together making his chest tighten. You looked radiant, as always, while he... well, he looked like someone who was trying desperately not to pass out.

"Thanks," he managed to mumble, clutching the photo and the roses like they were the most precious things he'd ever owned.

As Mingyu dragged him away a few moments later, laughing about how he'd looked like a deer in headlights, Wonwoo couldn't stop glancing at the picture.

Maybe he was a loser. Maybe he didn't have a chance. But for a brief moment, it felt like he was the luckiest guy in the world.

Wonwoo froze in his tracks, the sound of your voice ringing in his ears like the opening notes of his favorite song. He wasn't even sure why he stopped—it wasn't like he hadn't heard you talk before. But this time, there was something different. Something that pulled him in before he could even process it.

And then the words hit him.

"I thought Wonwoo was like the type who would be dominant."

He blinked. His brain short-circuited. What?

You said his name. You were talking about him. And not just in a passing, "Oh, that guy in my class" kind of way. This was... something else.

Wonwoo wanted to walk away. He really did. He wasn't the type to eavesdrop, especially on something so clearly private. But his feet refused to move, like they were rooted to the spot. His heart was beating so loudly he was sure you could hear it from where you were.

"So? You're like, obsessed with the guy. Ask him out already."

That voice—your friend's, probably—snapped him out of his trance. But only for a second, because then the full weight of the sentence hit him like a truck.

Obsessed?

No. No way. There was no way you—the girl who practically lit up every room you walked into, the girl he could barely string two words together around—liked him. That was impossible. He must've misheard.

"Yeah, but, what if he doesn't like me?" Your voice was quieter now, a little unsure. "He sounds... well, I guess, uncomfy around me?"

Wonwoo's heart sank. Uncomfortable? No, that wasn't right. That wasn't even close. If anything, you made him feel so many things that his brain just shut down when you were near. He regretted every awkward pause, every stuttered word, every time he'd avoided your gaze because he thought it'd be too obvious how much he liked you.

"I dunno," your friend replied casually. "Better find out."

Wonwoo barely had time to process those words before he heard footsteps—yours and your friend's—approaching. His body went into panic mode, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he forced himself to move, walking a little faster and trying not to look like a total weirdo.

But his mind? It was chaos.

You liked him.

Or at least, that's what it sounded like. But could he trust what he'd overheard? What if he'd misunderstood? What if it was some kind of cruel joke?

And yet, as he made his way down the hallway, heart pounding in his chest, one thought drowned out all the others:

I need to talk to her.

Wonwoo didn't know how he ended up back at the festival booth with Mingyu. His legs had carried him here automatically, but his mind? His mind was still replaying your words on a loop.

"What if he doesn't like me?" "He sounds... uncomfy around me."

The guilt was eating him alive. Was that what he'd made you feel? Uncomfortable? Because if you knew how many times he'd stayed up at night thinking about you, if you knew how much he wanted to talk to you but just couldn't seem to get his stupid, nervous self together, you'd know it wasn't you. It was him.

"Dude, you okay?" Mingyu's voice cut through his thoughts like a slap to the face.

Wonwoo blinked, realizing he'd been gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were white. He quickly loosened his hold, shaking his head. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Mingyu squinted, suspicious. "You look like you've just seen a ghost. Or maybe you've finally realized how insanely hot Y/N is. Honestly, about time—"

"I don't need your commentary, Mingyu," Wonwoo muttered, his cheeks turning crimson at the mention of your name. He couldn't deal with Mingyu's teasing right now, not when his heart was already doing acrobatics.

"Alright, alright," Mingyu said with a laugh, throwing his hands up in surrender. "But if you're crushing on her—"

"Mingyu, stop."

Unfortunately, Mingyu didn't stop. If anything, the grin on his face widened. "Look, Y/N's literally over there. If you have something to say, just go say it. You're so tense, it's giving me secondhand stress."

Wonwoo followed Mingyu's gaze, and sure enough, there you were, standing by your booth, chatting with a group of students. You looked... radiant. Even in the middle of a crowded, noisy festival, you stood out like a beacon, your smile brighter than all the string lights strung across the campus.

And then, like fate—or maybe just the universe playing tricks on him—you turned your head. Your eyes locked onto his.

Wonwoo froze.

You didn't. Instead, you smiled. That same smile that made him forget how to breathe. And to his absolute horror, you started walking toward him.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

"Hey, Wonwoo!" Your voice was warm, light, the same voice that had just a few minutes ago said... those things.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay rooted to the spot even though every instinct screamed at him to bolt. "H-Hey," he stammered, cursing himself for the way his voice cracked.

You tilted your head, holding a clipboard in one hand. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Wonwoo blinked. "A favor?"

"Yeah." You stepped closer, and he swore he could smell your perfume again—the same scent that had completely ruined him in the elevator earlier. "I need someone to help me carry some of the booth supplies to the storage room after the festival. You seem pretty strong. Think you could help me out?"

Strong? Him? Wonwoo felt like he was going to combust.

"Uh, yeah," he managed to say, though it came out more like a squeak. "Sure. I can do that."

Your smile widened, and if he thought his heart couldn't race any faster, he was wrong. "Great! You're the best, Wonwoo."

The best? Him? He wanted to laugh—bitterly, nervously, something—but he didn't. Instead, he just nodded like a fool, watching as you handed him the clipboard.

"I'll come find you when it's time, okay?" you said, your tone so casual, so sweet, like this was no big deal. Like you didn't even realize what you were doing to him.

And then you were gone, back to your booth, leaving Wonwoo standing there clutching the clipboard like it was a lifeline.

"Dude," Mingyu said, clapping him on the back. "You're so in. Don't mess this up."

Wonwoo didn't reply. How could he, when his brain was still screaming one thing over and over?

You liked him. You really liked him.

And now, he had to figure out how to not be a complete loser long enough to tell you he liked you too.

The moment you pulled Wonwoo into the storage room, he swore his brain short-circuited. It was just the two of you in this small, dimly lit space, surrounded by forgotten boxes and leftover props from past festivals. His heart pounded so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

"Alright," you said, scanning the shelves for something. "I just need to find these last few things, and we're done."

But he was done. Done for. The way you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the subtle sway of your body as you moved—it all felt so deliberate, so... seductive. His eyes trailed down your frame without meaning to, lingering on your pleated skirt and the soft curve of your waist.

"It's getting kinda hot in here, don't you think, Wonwoo?"

The sound of his name rolling off your lips—soft, teasing, and just a little too intentional—sent a shiver down his spine. He didn't know if the heat you mentioned was literal or if you'd turned the temperature in the room up just by existing.

"Uh... yeah," he stammered, tugging at his collar like some kind of cliché. God, pull yourself together.

You turned to look at him, that same damn smile on your lips, and stepped closer, the soft click of your shoes on the floor echoing in the quiet room. "You've been awfully quiet, you know. I was starting to think you didn't want to help me after all."

"N-no, I—" He choked on his words as you closed the distance, your eyes locking onto his.

"You know," you said, tilting your head, "I kind of like this side of you. Quiet. Nervous. It's... cute."

Wonwoo's brain went haywire. Cute? Did you just call him cute?

Before he could even process that, you reached up, your fingers brushing against the side of his face as you adjusted his glasses. "But you don't always have to be so shy, you know. I wouldn't bite. Unless..."

His breath hitched as your voice dropped to a whisper. "You want me to."

And that was it. The last thread of his self-control snapped.

In a move that shocked even himself, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. His other hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer until there was barely any space left between your bodies.

"You think I'm shy?" he asked, his voice low, surprising even himself with the confidence that came out of nowhere.

Your eyes widened slightly, but the smirk that followed was enough to make his knees weak. "Aren't you?"

"Not right now," he murmured, and before he could lose his nerve, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all pent-up desire and raw, messy emotion.

You froze for a split second before melting into him, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you kissed him back, matching his intensity.

It was everything Wonwoo had dreamed about during countless sleepless nights, and yet, it was so much more. The way your lips moved against his, the quiet little sound you made in the back of your throat, the way your body pressed against his like you were made to fit together—it was overwhelming in the best way.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, your back hit the shelf, and a box toppled to the floor with a loud thud, but neither of you cared.

"Wonwoo," you gasped against his lips, your voice breathy and filled with something that made him shiver. "I—"

He didn't let you finish, his lips trailing down to your neck, his hands roaming up and down your sides, trying to memorize every curve and dip of your body.

"God, you're driving me insane," he murmured, his words muffled against your skin. "Do you even know what you do to me?"

Your laugh was soft, teasing, and entirely too addictive. "Maybe. But you're not as much of a loser as I thought."

That made him pause, just for a moment, pulling back to look at you with a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You thought I was a loser?"

You grinned, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. "Not anymore."

Whatever shred of composure he had left was gone. He crashed his lips against yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing, just pure, unfiltered want.

Wonwoo froze for a moment, his breath hitching as you ground yourself against him, your movements slow, deliberate, and absolutely maddening. His head was spinning, and it was like something inside him snapped. He wasn't going to hold back anymore.

He grabbed your hips roughly, pressing you firmly against the shelf, his lips ghosting over your ear as his voice dropped an octave. "You really like testing me, don't you?"

Your breath caught, and before you could reply, his mouth was on yours again, demanding, relentless, leaving no room for anything but him. His teeth caught your bottom lip, pulling it gently before he let it go, smirking when he saw your dazed expression.

"Look at you," he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your waist as you clung to him. "Acting all innocent, but you're nothing more than a needy little slut, aren't you?"

The word sent a jolt through you, heat pooling low in your stomach as you met his gaze, half-lidded and full of fire. "Wonwoo..."

"Say it," he growled, his fingers digging into your hips as he pressed himself harder against you. "Say you like it when I take control."

You hesitated, your pride battling with the undeniable heat coursing through you, but when his lips trailed down your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that made your knees weak, you couldn't help but gasp out, "I like it."

"Good girl," he murmured against your skin, his tone dark and dripping with approval. His hands moved to your blouse, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons one by one, exposing the soft curves of your body.

"You're so desperate for me, aren't you?" he teased, his lips brushing against your collarbone. "I see the way you look at me—don't think I haven't noticed."

You let out a soft whimper as his hands slid under your skirt, gripping your thighs with a possessiveness that made your heart race.

"Wonwoo, please," you whispered, barely able to think straight with the way he was touching you, his hands, his mouth, his everything overwhelming your senses.

"Please what?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was intense, burning with a mix of hunger and control. "Use your words."

You bit your lip, your cheeks flushing as you struggled to find the words, but when his hand slid higher, you couldn't hold back. "Please... f- fuck me."

His smirk widened, and he leaned in, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "That's what I thought."

He didn't hold back after that, his hands and mouth everywhere, leaving you breathless and entirely at his mercy. The shy, hesitant Wonwoo you thought you knew was gone, replaced by someone who knew exactly what he wanted—and wasn't afraid to take it.

And you? You didn't stand a chance.

Wonwoo felt the pool of wetness of your cunt through the fabric of your underwear. He pulled it aside before inserting two fingers in you. "You're already wet with just a few kisses?"

You gasped, moaned at the feeling of his long, lean fingers entering you in and out slowly but roughly. He already found that spongy spot that made you almost lose your balance. Luckily, his other hand kept you in place. "You're fucking unbelievable."

Your moans filled the room as he edges you through the feeling of his fingers in you. It wasn't long before he has you cumming on his hand, squirting. "W- Wonwoo.." You whimpered, gasping like crazy.

He held you before pulling his fingers out, smirking before sucking on his damped fingers. Before you could say anything, he kissed you, intentionally wanting for you to taste yourself. 

Your head was spinning, but you knew you wanted more. So you held the bulge from his pants, his cock hard and long. You dropped to your knees as you hastily try to take his pants off. 

Wonwoo could just smirk as he looks at you with a mix of awe and smugness. Who knew you'd be like this to him? 

You pulled his pants and underwear down and his cock sprung. It was big, too big for you to handle. But you didn't think of anything else, just Wonwoo. 

You opened your mouth, held his cock with both of your hands before stroking it as you lick the tip of his cock. You put him in and you had him grunting, grabbing a bunch of your hair as he helps you bob your head over his cock. "F- Fuck, you're good at this."

He loved the warmth of your mouth too much, he almost felt like he was cumming. Your tongue swirled over his cock as your hands humped his dick, and that was it, he cummed in your mouth.

It was hot, and you swallowed the most you can and a little spilling over your lips. 

He carries you up, and you wanted to beg him to just fuck you right there. Your inner thighs were glistening by the wetness your pussy was making. 

"P- please help me..." You whimpered as Wonwoo's lips bit the skin of your neck. He smirked before aligning himself in between your thighs, cock meeting the entrance of your soaked cunt.

"You're hopeless," Wonwoo replied, before grabbing your thigh, raising it over his waist and finally enters you fully. 

Wonwoo grunts, your moans like a melody to his ears. He started roughly. It was making you lose your mind. He knew how to position himself to make things a hundred times better.

He thrusted so roughly you felt like you were about to pass out. His name came out from your lips, like a praise.

"You're amazing," Wonwoo says as his hips snaps back and forth. The sounds in the small room sounded too unholy. Too lustful. Skin-to-skin slapping each other with each squelch and pounding.

Your walls were swallowing his cock. Wonwoo held your back, his other hand still carrying your thigh as he uses it to pull you even closer so he can thrust easier.

"You're so fucking tight," Wonwoo growled, his voice low and strained as his hips snapped relentlessly into yours. The pleasure was overwhelming, his cock filling you perfectly with every thrust. Your body arched against him, your nails digging into his back as he continued to hit that perfect spot that made you see stars.

Your moans grew louder, unfiltered and raw, each one driving Wonwoo closer to the edge. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Look at you," he murmured, his tone dripping with condescension. "Begging for me like a needy little slut. You wanted this, didn't you?"

You whimpered, unable to form a coherent reply as he continued to pound into you, his hand sliding from your thigh to your waist, gripping you tightly to keep you exactly where he wanted you. The new angle made you cry out, your walls clenching around him in response.

"You're taking me so well," he praised, his voice husky. "God, you feel so fucking good." His lips found your neck again, leaving marks that you knew you'd see later, but in that moment, you didn't care.

Your hands slid up to his hair, tugging at the dark strands as you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew. Wonwoo groaned at the sensation, his thrusts becoming even rougher, more desperate.

"You're mine," he growled, his hand moving to grip your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you gasped, the words spilling out without hesitation. "I'm yours, Wonwoo."

A dark smirk spread across his lips as he claimed your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hips never faltering. The room was filled with the sound of your moans, his grunts, and the obscene slap of skin against skin. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and everything you never knew you needed.

Your body trembled as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. Wonwoo could feel it too, the way your walls fluttered around him, and he growled in approval.

"Come for me," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. "I want to feel you fall apart on my cock."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the relentless pace of his thrusts sent you over the edge, your climax washing over you like a tidal wave. Your walls clenched tightly around him, and the sensation was enough to push Wonwoo to his limit.

"Fuck," he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, his body shuddering as he spilled into you, his grip on your waist tightening as he rode out his high.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, the only sound in the room your heavy breaths as you both came down from the intensity of what had just happened. Wonwoo leaned his forehead against yours, his dark eyes searching yours as a small, satisfied smirk played on his lips.

"Still think I'm a loser?" he teased, his voice low and slightly breathless.

You couldn't help but laugh softly, your cheeks flushed. "No," you whispered, pulling him down for another kiss.

The rest of the world ceased to exist. It was just you and him, tangled together in the dim storage room, your laughter and gasps filling the space.

For once, Wonwoo didn't feel like a loser to you. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

Wonwoo finally pulled back, his lips brushing your forehead softly—a stark contrast to the firestorm that had just taken place. His hands stayed on your waist, steadying you as you struggled to catch your breath. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence heavy with the weight of what just happened.

"Um..." you finally murmured, your voice still breathy, and his gaze flicked to yours. "That was... unexpected."

Wonwoo chuckled lowly, the sound reverberating through his chest. "Yeah, no kidding."

You both shared a small, sheepish laugh, the tension melting ever so slightly as reality began to settle in. But before you could even begin to overthink what had just transpired, Wonwoo brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice softer now, his concern evident in his tone.

You nodded, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile. "More than okay. That was..." You trailed off, biting your lip as heat rushed to your cheeks. "Let's just say you've got nothing to worry about in the loser department."

Wonwoo snorted, shaking his head, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed his confidence. "Yeah, well, don't go spreading that around. I've got a reputation to maintain."

"Oh, trust me," you teased, poking his chest playfully. "Your secret's safe with me."

As the two of you began to straighten yourselves out—fixing clothes, smoothing hair, and trying not to look too disheveled—Wonwoo found himself stealing glances at you, the glow of your post-climactic state making you look even more radiant.

When you caught him staring, you raised an eyebrow, smirking. "What? Regretting it already?"

His eyes widened, and he shook his head vehemently. "No! God, no." He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just... wondering how the hell I got so lucky."

Your heart fluttered at his words, but you played it cool, rolling your eyes with a grin. "Guess you're not such a loser after all."

Before either of you could say more, a loud knock at the storage room door startled you both, followed by Mingyu's unmistakable voice. "Hey! Wonwoo? You in there? We need those props ASAP!"

Your eyes widened, and Wonwoo groaned, his head falling back as he muttered under his breath, "Perfect timing, as always."

You quickly gathered the remaining items, trying not to giggle as Wonwoo shot you an exasperated look. "Guess we'll have to finish this conversation later," you whispered, brushing past him on your way to the door.

But before you could open it, Wonwoo grabbed your wrist, pulling you back gently. "Wait," he said, his voice low.

You turned to face him, your breath catching as his dark eyes bore into yours. "Can I see you later? I mean, outside of this," he gestured vaguely to the props and the chaos outside. "Like... for real?"

Your lips curved into a soft smile, and you nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Fast-forward a few days later...

The awkwardness between you and Wonwoo didn't last long—not after he made it a point to text you later that night, asking if you'd gotten home safely. That small gesture opened the door to something more, and over the next few days, the two of you found yourselves gravitating toward each other more and more.

From stolen glances in the hallways to whispered conversations during class breaks, it became clear that whatever spark had ignited in that storage room wasn't going to fizzle out anytime soon.

Wonwoo surprised you with his wit and dry humor, and you loved how his quiet confidence contrasted with your own lively personality. He'd walk you to your booth during the festival, lingering just long enough to make your heart race before retreating to his usual spot with Mingyu.

But the best moments were the ones you shared when no one else was around—like the late-night coffee runs where he'd listen intently as you rambled about your latest project, or the times he'd let his guard down and tell you about his favorite video games and why he loved them.

One evening, as the festival wound down, you found yourselves sitting on the steps of an empty amphitheater, the cool night air wrapping around you like a blanket. Wonwoo handed you his hoodie when he noticed you shivering, his fingers brushing yours in the process.

"Thanks," you said softly, pulling it over your head and inhaling the faint scent of him that clung to the fabric.

"You look better in it than I do," he murmured, his gaze fixed on you in a way that made your cheeks heat up.

You nudged him playfully, breaking the moment with a laugh. "Careful, Jeon Wonwoo. You're starting to sound like a total simp."

He smirked, leaning back on his elbows. "Maybe I am."

Your laughter died down as you looked at him, the vulnerability in his expression making your heart swell. "For what it's worth," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "I like this version of you—the one who's confident enough to go after what he wants."

Wonwoo's lips curved into a small smile, and he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. "And for what it's worth," he replied, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, "I'm really glad you think so."

You didn't expect to end up in Wonwoo's apartment after the festival. Well, maybe you did—it wasn't like he hadn't been hinting at it all evening. But still, sitting on his couch in his slightly-too-big hoodie (the same one he let you borrow earlier), surrounded by shelves lined with games and a setup that screamed gamer aesthetic, you couldn't help but smile to yourself.

"What's so funny?" Wonwoo asked, glancing at you from where he was setting up his console. His glasses perched on his nose made him look ridiculously adorable, and you couldn't stop staring.

"Nothing," you replied with a sly grin. "Just thinking how your apartment is exactly what I imagined—complete with the snacks and random figurines everywhere."

He rolled his eyes but smirked anyway. "Yeah? And what did you expect, a penthouse?"

"No," you teased. "Maybe something with fewer RGB lights."

He scoffed. "Hate on my lights all you want, but you're the one about to lose at Mario Kart."

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back into the couch. "Oh, you think so? I'll have you know I'm a beast at this game."

Wonwoo chuckled, handing you a controller. "We'll see about that."

It started innocently enough—both of you yelling at the screen, throwing blue shells, and arguing over whether or not banana peels were strategically placed. But then the stakes got higher.

"If I win this round," you said, your competitive streak showing, "you owe me dinner next time."

Wonwoo smirked, leaning closer to you. "And if I win?"

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Fine. You get to pick the next game we play. But I'm warning you, I'm not going easy on you."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Alright, deal."

The game started, and for the first few laps, you held the lead, much to Wonwoo's frustration. "No way. How are you this good?" he muttered, his fingers flying over the controller.

"Skill, baby," you replied, sticking your tongue out at him.

But then, in the final stretch, he managed to throw a red shell at you, sending your character spinning out of control just before the finish line. Wonwoo's triumphant laugh filled the room as his character crossed first.

"No way!" you yelled, throwing your controller onto the couch. "You cheated!"

"Cheating? That's just strategy," he replied smugly, leaning back and crossing his arms like he owned the place.

You huffed, crossing your arms. "Fine. What's your pick for the next game, loser?"

But instead of answering, Wonwoo leaned closer, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "I think I've got something better in mind," he murmured.

Before you could react, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft and desperate. Your surprise melted into eagerness as you kissed him back, your hands reaching up to tug at the hoodie he was wearing.

"Wonwoo..." you breathed as he pulled back, his eyes dark and hooded.

"You said I'm a loser," he muttered, his voice low as he pushed you gently against the couch. "But if I'm a loser, I'm your loser."

You let out a soft laugh, but it quickly turned into a gasp as his lips found your neck, his hands wandering under the hem of your borrowed hoodie.

"You're really full of yourself tonight, huh?" you teased, your fingers sliding up the back of his shirt, nails grazing his skin.

Wonwoo smirked against your skin, his teeth nipping at your collarbone. "What can I say? Winning feels good."

Your banter dissolved into something much steamier as he pulled the hoodie over your head, his hands roaming your body with newfound confidence. His touch was deliberate, teasing, and so much more dominant than you expected from him.

"You talk too much," he murmured, his voice rough, as he captured your lips again, his hands gripping your thighs to pull you onto his lap.

"Make me stop," you challenged, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

Wonwoo growled softly, his hands sliding under your shorts as he pressed his forehead against yours. "Oh, I will."

The room was filled with sounds of teasing as the two of you made out, kissing, giggling.

And from there, any semblance of restraint between you two disappeared. The games forgotten, the only sounds filling the room were soft gasps, hushed whispers, and the occasional murmur of each other's names.

It changed when Mingyu texted Wonwoo to play league with him.

You didn't think this is where the night would go—sitting on Wonwoo's lap, his cock buried deep inside you, while his hands moved deftly over his keyboard and mouse. The glow from his monitor illuminated the room in a way that made the scene feel even more illicit, like you shouldn't be here, doing this, but neither of you cared.

"Stay still," Wonwoo murmured, his voice low but commanding, the same tone he'd used earlier when he coaxed you into this position.

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the edges of his desk to keep yourself steady. Every slight movement sent a shiver through your body, and you bit your lip, trying to stay quiet.

Wonwoo's focus was split—one part on the game playing out in front of him, the other on the way your walls clenched around him every time he moved slightly. His mic was on, and his teammates' voices filled the headset, unaware of the situation he was in.

"Wonwoo, you good?" Mingyu's voice crackled through his headphones. "You're quiet tonight."

Wonwoo chuckled softly, his voice steady despite the way his hands had momentarily gripped your waist to still you when you squirmed. "Yeah, I'm good. Just focusing."

Focusing? That was a lie. How could he focus when you were here, squirming on his lap, your breath hitching every time he adjusted in his chair?

"Stop moving," he muttered, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Unless you want them to hear you."

You glared at him, but your resolve crumbled when his hand slid up your thigh, squeezing it lightly. It was a warning, and you knew better than to test him right now.

"Wonwoo, watch the top lane!" one of his teammates shouted, bringing him back to the game.

"I'm on it," he replied smoothly, his fingers moving with precision as he skillfully navigated the game. His calmness was infuriating, especially when you were struggling to keep your composure.

Every time his hips shifted, even slightly, it sent sparks through your body. He knew it too, the smirk on his lips giving him away.

You bit down on your lip to stifle a whimper when he adjusted his position again, the movement causing him to press even deeper inside you.

"Something wrong?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "You look like you're struggling."

You wanted to snap back, but you couldn't trust yourself to speak without making a sound that would give away what was happening.

Instead, you clenched around him intentionally, earning a soft grunt from him.

"Careful," he warned, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that made your stomach flip. "Don't start something you can't finish."

You wanted to test him, but the sound of Mingyu's voice pulled you back to reality.

"Wonwoo, you're carrying this game, man!"

He laughed softly, the sound vibrating through you. "What can I say? I'm just that good."

You rolled your eyes at his confidence, but you couldn't deny that watching him play with such ease was undeniably attractive. His focus, his skill, the way his hands moved—it all had you feeling more heated than you already were.

When the game ended, and the victory screen flashed on the monitor, Wonwoo finally leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on your hips.

"Guess I'm a winner after all," he teased, his voice low and smug.

You turned to glare at him, but before you could say anything, he shifted his hips, drawing a gasp from you that you quickly stifled with your hand.

"Careful," he murmured, his lips brushing against your neck. "We wouldn't want them to hear, would we?"

"God, you're insufferable," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled, his hands tightening on your hips. "And yet, here you are."

Wonwoo's breath hitched as you shifted slightly on his lap, your walls squeezing him involuntarily. His hands gripped your waist tighter, the control he was trying so hard to maintain beginning to falter.

"Careful," he rasped, his voice low and strained, his forehead pressing against yours. "You don't want to push your luck."

You tilted your head innocently, even as a sly smile spread across your lips. "What's wrong? I thought you were supposed to be 'dominant,' Mr. Pro Gamer."

His jaw clenched at your teasing, and the veins in his neck became more pronounced. The challenge in your tone, coupled with the sensation of your warmth around him, was driving him insane.

"You're playing with fire," he growled, his fingers digging into your hips as he tried to steady you—but it only made you grind against him slightly.

"Am I?" you whispered, leaning closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "Because it seems like I'm the one in control right now."

That was it. The last straw. Wonwoo's patience snapped.

His hands slid down to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he lifted you slightly, only to slam you back down onto his length, making you gasp. "You really don't know when to stop, do you?"

The sudden force made you cling to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin as a moan slipped past your lips. "W-Wonwoo—"

"Shh," he cut you off, his voice commanding as he kissed along your jaw, biting softly before moving to your neck. "Be quiet. You wouldn't want my teammates to hear how desperate you sound, would you?"

Your breath caught as his words sank in, but before you could respond, he lifted you again, this time at a torturously slow pace, making you feel every inch of him as he lowered you back down.

The friction was unbearable, your body trembling as he set a rhythm that was deliberate and punishingly slow, as if he was determined to prove a point. His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, his voice dripping with smugness. "Look at you... so cocky earlier, but now you're nothing but a messy little thing in my lap."

"Wonwoo, please," you whimpered, the slow pace driving you to the brink of insanity.

"Please what?" he taunted, his movements halting completely as he held you in place, his length buried deep inside you. "You want something, you're gonna have to say it."

You bit your lip, refusing to give in to his game. But when he flexed his hips ever so slightly, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body, you broke. "Please... I need you to move."

His lips curled into a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Without warning, he snapped his hips upward, a sharp thrust that made you cry out. He didn't give you a chance to recover as he set a relentless pace, his hands guiding your movements as he worked you over his length.

The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, accompanied by the muffled noises you tried desperately to suppress. Wonwoo's name fell from your lips like a mantra, each syllable laced with desperation and need.

"You're so tight," he groaned, his head falling back as he tried to keep himself from completely unraveling. "Fuck, you feel so good."

The heat pooling in your stomach was reaching its peak, and you could tell from the way Wonwoo's thrusts were becoming more erratic that he was close too.

"Wonwoo, I—I'm gonna—"

"Me too," he grunted, his grip on you tightening as he buried himself as deep as he could, his movements becoming sloppier. "Come for me, baby. I wanna feel you."

With one final thrust, the coil inside you snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. Your walls clenched around him, drawing a guttural moan from his throat as he followed you over the edge, his release spilling into you in hot spurts.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, your bodies trembling and pressed together as you caught your breath. Wonwoo's forehead rested against yours, his chest heaving as he let out a breathless laugh.

"Still think I'm a loser?" he teased, his voice hoarse but playful.

You smiled weakly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "Maybe a little... but you're my loser."

His grin widened, and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, the tenderness of the gesture a stark contrast to what had just transpired. "I'll take it."

And as you nestled against him, the warmth of his arms around you, you couldn't help but think that being with him like this felt exactly right.

Wonwoo gently leaned back in his chair, his arms still wrapped securely around you as he tried to catch his breath. His lips brushed over your temple, a soft chuckle escaping him. "You really do know how to distract me, huh?"

You giggled, nuzzling into his neck, still feeling the aftershocks of what just happened. "Distract? Please. You're the one who can't keep his hands to himself."

He raised an eyebrow at you, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Says the one who begged me to move."

Your face flushed at his teasing, and you smacked his shoulder lightly. "Shut up, Wonwoo."

He just laughed, the sound deep and warm, before finally shifting under you. The sudden movement made you gasp softly, and your eyes widened as you realized he was still very much inside you.

"Wonwoo..." you whispered, the heat rising to your cheeks.

He smirked at your reaction, his hands resting on your waist as he adjusted you in his lap. "What? You're comfortable, aren't you?"

"I—" You bit your lip, your gaze darting away from his. You couldn't deny it; there was something intoxicating about the feeling of being so close to him, of him still filling you completely.

"Good," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as his fingers traced slow circles on your bare thighs. "Because I'm not letting you go just yet."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and before you could protest, he reached over to his desk, grabbing his headphones and slipping them over his ears.

"Wait, what are you doing?" you asked, your voice a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

He turned to his computer, the familiar sound of a game loading up filling the air. "I've got a match in five minutes," he said casually, as if you weren't still perched on his lap, his cock nestled snugly inside you.

Your jaw dropped. "Wonwoo, are you serious right now?"

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Dead serious. But don't worry..." He adjusted his microphone, the green light signaling that it was on. "You just have to sit there and be quiet. Think you can manage that, baby?"

You stared at him, torn between disbelief and amusement. The audacity.

"Wonwoo," you hissed, your voice low to avoid being picked up by his mic. "You can't just—"

"Shh," he interrupted, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before turning his attention back to the screen. "Game's starting. Be a good girl for me, okay?"

The heat in your cheeks intensified, and you squirmed slightly in his lap, only to freeze when you felt him twitch inside you. His grip on your hips tightened, and he shot you a warning look.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "Unless you want everyone to know exactly what we're doing right now."

Your eyes widened, and you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay still as he started his game. The sound of his teammates' voices filled the room, and you could hear Wonwoo's calm, composed replies as he coordinated their strategy.

Meanwhile, you were doing everything in your power to keep your breathing steady, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. The sensation of him still inside you was overwhelming, every slight movement or shift making you hyper-aware of just how intimate this was.

But what drove you even crazier was how unfazed he seemed, his focus completely on the game as if nothing was out of the ordinary. His calm demeanor, his steady voice—it was infuriatingly attractive.

Every now and then, his hand would leave the keyboard to rest on your thigh, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. It was as if he was reminding you who was in control, even in the middle of a match.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the soft whimper that threatened to escape when he shifted slightly in his chair, the movement sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Wonwoo..." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "I said be quiet, baby. Or do you want them to hear how good I make you feel?"

Your breath hitched, and you shook your head quickly, your cheeks burning.

He smirked, pressing a kiss to your temple before returning his attention to the game. "That's my girl."

As the match continued, you couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly he played, his movements precise and skillful. But no matter how focused he seemed, you knew you were still on his mind.

It was in the way his hand would tighten on your thigh whenever you shifted, in the way his lips would twitch into a smirk whenever he felt you clench around him.

And when the game finally ended, his team celebrating their victory, Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, his hands settling on your waist as he looked at you with a satisfied grin.

"See? Told you I could multitask," he teased, his voice low and smug.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips. "You're insufferable."

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But you love it."

And as his hands began to roam again, you realized that the night was far from over.

Earlier, during Mario Kart

What you didn’t know, of course, was that Wonwoo had let you win. He’d spent most of the race holding back, deliberately missing items and slowing down just enough to let you get ahead. Watching you gloat about your supposed victory had been worth every second.

“Did you really think you’d win that easily?” he’d asked, his smirk betraying the truth.

But he didn’t mind letting you have the spotlight. For now, at least.

a/n: hope y'all enjoyed :]] feel free to send some reqs ilyall

[venusbyline]

Aemond Targaryen — The Beloved Son

— summary: If Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader

— type: smut, dark

— word count: 4.9k

— tags/warnings: female!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NO EAT, rough sex, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, mommy kink, breeding kink, breast worship, nipple licking, nipple play, overstimulation, pregnancy kink, dacryphilia, rough kissing, disturbed themes, age gap (older woman/younger man), Aemond is 19 and Reader is 29, biting, crying, pre-relationship, unhealthy relationships, referenced character death, Lucerys Velaryon mentioned, past underage sex, past child abuse, religious guilt and conflict, crisis of faith, blood licking, implied forced pregnancy, mommy issues, labor mentioned, implied Targtower Incest (mother/son) BUT NOT REALLY, implied Aemond Targaryen/Alicent Hightower BUT NOT REALLY, past Targcest (older sister/younger brother), past Aemond Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen, referenced non-consensual somnophilia, referenced rape/non-con, referenced breastfeeding, referenced lactation kink, minor Helaegon, Aegon Targaryen mentioned, past Aemond Targaryen/Madam Sylvi, underage dubcon, minor Alicent Hightower/Criston Cole, curse words, mild angst, ambiguous/open ending, switch!Aemond, sub!reader, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: I decided to explore Aemond's "mommy issues" side. There's no real incest between Aemond and Alicent, but I put it as a trigger warning because there are scenes about them that can be uncomfortable to read. And also because I see their mother and son relationship too complex and intense. In my opinion, Aemond had an adoration and love for his mother in the season one that the writers left aside during the season two.

— author's notes²: Furthermore, I believe that Aemond's loss of virginity with Madam Sylvi may also influenced a part of his weird behaviour. So this time I wrote about the consequences of this in Aemond's mind, even a few years later. I see what happened with him in the books/show as a real child abuse, so don't read this fic if you've triggers with these themes. I do not support any form of abuse, this is just fiction.

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • Aemond masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

Aemond needed to vent. He needed some time away from all the chaos that must have been in the Red Keep since he confessed to killing Lucerys. Some time away from all the chaos he caused.

He remembered everything quite accurately. How he arrived at the castle with wide eyes and his body drenched, entering his mother's chambers without even knocking on the door. Alicent had let out a loud scream at the sudden appearance and covered her slim body with the white bedsheets. Despite there being no one there with her, his mother's body was sweaty and her cheeks were flushed, as if she had cum just a few minutes ago. At first he ignored the strange sight and muttered, with his voice trembling and weak, that he had become a kinslayer.

He remembered explaining confusingly how he was trying to scare Lucerys and ended up losing control of Vhagar, causing the old dragon to chew every bit of his nephew, only some remains of his tiny dragon falling from the sky.

He remembered Alicent widening her eyes, still covering her small breasts and telling Aemond to wait for her outside the room.

As much as he wanted to leave the place and wait for her in the hallway like the good son he had always been, Aemond nodded and left. Not just her chambers, but also the castle. He looked for any clothing that did not look so expensive as to give away his noble origins, and wore it along with a dark suit. He passed by Ser Criston Cole on the way out of the Red Keep, ignoring the fact that the guard's armor was not orderly as usual, and said something about needing to get some air away from there. Aemond did not wait for a response from the older man, knowing that it was only a matter of a few minutes for Alicent to look for Criston and tell him what her beloved boy had done.

Aemond was lost. He knew that.

As soon as Aemond entered the brothel, he looked everywhere for Madam Sylvi, his sweaty and trembling hands searching for the only woman who could perhaps help him.

When he was chasing Aegon together with Ser Criston to take him by force to his own coronation, he did not expect to be reunited with the prostitute who had taken his virginity. Aemond had an excellent memory and remembered that night very well, every second of that embarrassing moment. If he tried harder, Aemond could even feel Madam Sylvi's full lips around his still developing cock, or the way she lifted his wine-flushed face to her large breasts. Aegon demanded that she not be too soft with his younger brother, saying that a thirteen years old should already be brave enough to handle a little sexual intensity. However, the woman respected Aemond's nervousness and guided him calmly.

That night had not been so bad at all, even if he had not wanted it. He never returned to any brothel, his mother's disgusted reaction to Aegon's impulsive and selfish decision and her plea to Aemond not indulge in such promiscuity made him give up on going there again. He should do as she asked, marry a pretty noble lady and be a loyal husband, be Aegon's opposite.

He did not want to hurt his mother's feelings, he did not want her to look at him with the same look of disgust she gave her eldest son. He wanted to keep making Alicent proud, being her beloved son.

But Aemond had already failed with her the moment he decided to act like a spiteful boy and chase Lucerys through the skies. Now that he was a Kinslayer, his mother would fear him. She would be ashamed of him. I would see him as a murderer, cursing their whole family forever.

And if Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

Perhaps Madam Sylvi could do that. When she spoke to Aemond when he and Ser Criston were looking for Aegon, she made it clear that he had grown up so well. She looked surprised, perhaps even horny.

Now, after six years without visiting the place, Aemond was there again. The place where he had promised his dear mother in the name of the Seven that he would never set foot again.

He needed to seek affection from Sylvi or another whore who would make him feel as loved as Alicent made him feel before he grew up. He needed to feel worthy and loved by a mother again.

That was a busy night at the brothel for you, too many clients for too few prostitutes to deal with them. Madam Sylvi warned the women that she would take a day off to rest, a privilege that only the oldest and most renowned courtesans were entitled to. Most of her favorite clients seemed angry about this fact, and even though you and the other girls explained the reasons as calmly as possible, no one cared about what you had to say.

Some people just rolled their eyes and walked away, others snorted and threw coins at you so you could do her job then, and some were even excited about fucking a different cunt.

It was not unknown to you why Sylvi had so many customers who frequented the place in search of her. She was very experienced, a beautiful older woman, with large hips and big breasts. She understood how to please men and even women, both sexually and emotionally.

"Where is Madam Sylvi?" A deep voice caught your attention from behind your shoulder, making you jump and widen your eyes, sighing embarrassed when you saw that it was just a customer.

"She is not here today, sir." You forced a smile, trying not to look too much at the eye patch the boy wore. It was strangely familiar and he had facial features that seemed more handsome than most of the men you served, even if he wore a hood that shadowed his details.

With a frown, the man clenched his jaw and muttered one more time. "I need her tonight. Right now."

You recognized almost all of Sylvi's frequent men, and that one was completely unknown to you. You bit your tongue to try not to question him about why he was so desperate to see the woman if he had never been there recently. However, you took a deep breath and forced another smile, your voice sweet and hiding your curiosity. "My apologies, sir, she is not here tonight. But you can look for another courtesan if you want to, we have many options." You reassured and tried to walk past him to go find another man or some woman who could pay you a few coins, before being stopped by the man's hand on your arm, keeping you close to him.

"Well, you are free to please me." It was not a question. He already knew you did not have any customers waiting. You stared at that violet eye for a few seconds, before swallowing hard, your throat hurting while you nodded, having no choice whatsoever. "Then get an empty, private room for us immediately."

You opened your mouth to explain that the isolated places required a greater amount of gold than the common services, but the man interrupted you, handing you a heavy bag full of coins that were almost slipping out of the opening. "I assume you will make it worth the price, woman."

The moment you and Aemond entered the isolated room, he watched you pulling the curtains until they closed, keeping the events that would follow there a secret from other people. Although you still did not realize who he really was, there was an expression on your face indicating that you were suspicious about something. Perhaps it was the money he was willing to spend without complaining during just one night with someone who was not even the courtesan he was looking for, perhaps it was the eye patch that left a little part of his scar exposed, perhaps it was the extremely pale skin...

It could be many things that were making you suspect there was something unusual happening.

When the other prostitutes finished pouring some wine into two glasses and warming the place with candles, Aemond finally cleared his throat, almost as if he were embarrassed or did not know what to do.

"How old are you?" He asked in a more vulnerable voice than he intended, cursing himself for it.

Your brow furrowed at the rude question. There were men who sought out younger and less experienced whores to satisfy some dark desires, but you doubted that was the case. "Twenty-nine, sir."

Aemond sighed and nodded, satisfied with the answer. You might not be as old as Madam Sylvi or Alicent herself, but you were a maturer age than his. It made him less tense. "Good... That is good." He muttered, his single eye directed to the ground when some thoughts shuffled through his mind. A part of Aemond hated himself for having listened to his mother's advice to never set foot in a brothel again. Now, he was ten and nine and barely knew how to talk to a whore, while Aegon must have already fucked even the one he was about to try something on. "Has King Aegon II already enjoyed your services?"

His words caught you off guard, making you fidget with some discomfort, sitting on the mattresses around the floor, your robe tied and expecting anything other than that. "I cannot expose any of my clients' secrets, much less our King."

Aemond hummed without surprise, already expecting an empty answer like that. He took off the hood that shadowed the most part of his face, revealing his long silver hair tied with a not very effective ponytail and the violet eye that shone much brighter now without the dark fabric that made you unable to noticed the true color.

You did not have to be so smart to know the man in front of you was a Targaryen. A Targaryen prince. Perhaps...

"Aemond." His name dripped from your lips like the sweetest honey. "Aemond Targaryen."

The prince maintained his look of neutrality and almost disdain, nodding and then shrugging. "Or Aemond One-Eye, like some people call me. Your King Aegon is my older brother." Due to your lack of response and your wide eyes, Aemond sighed. "And I asked you a question about my brother. Are you going to answer it or not, woman?"

"He... He never fucked me, Your Grace. During the few times I saw him around here, he was either too much drunk or already busy with another courtesan."

That was good. Someone untouchable by Aegon. Not like his mother, who had given birth to Aegon three years before him, contaminating her precious womb with that bitter soul she one day carried, swearing that her firstborn would become an ambitious and noble-hearted boy, worthy to sit in the Iron Throne.

You also would not be like Madam Sylvi, who had already slept with Aegon several times even before his brother forced him to wet his cock inside her during his thirteenth name day.

You were... Pure. Not for the eyes of the world, which saw you as a mere whore, a hole for fun. You were pure for Aemond's eyes. You were untouchable by Aegon's filthy hands. You could be like a mother to Aemond. Hold him like Alicent had held him when he was a child, you could let him fuck you like Madam Sylvi had done when he was just a little boy...

You could be whatever Aemond asked you to be. His whore for some minutes but his mother afterwards. It will be a way to distract himself from what he had done to his nephew. A way to justify his impulsive actions that were about to declare war.

Aemond thought to himself if he should let it all out and just leave later on. That was what he planned to do with Madam Sylvi, even though she was attractive and hot.

Gods, he should not even be there, with the curtains closed and an older but kind woman waiting for him sitting on the mattress, your robe tied carelessly so you could seduce the customers who saw the smooth and transparent silk cloth covering just a little of your beautiful body. He should be with his mother, asking for forgiveness due the war he would cause, begging for the kisses on the forehead that she used to give him when he was younger.

Aemond should just turn around and leave. Leave and wait for Sylvi the next night.

Or rather, he should leave that dirty place forever and go to the Septa to seek forgiveness for his terrible behavior and quick promiscuous solutions.

Of course Aemond should do anything like this. And yet he did not. There was something interesting about being there, analyzing you as if you were fresh meat. Analyzing every detail like he did when he was buying some wooden toys for his nephews Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

He was analyzing everything with precision, and was enjoying every bit of that vision. "Tell me your name." He crossed his arms, none of his clothes other than his hood were off his body.

You bit the lip before whispering your name and repeating it later, along with your last name. The prince nodded, humming the name on his mouth to test the sound. Enjoying the result, Aemond gestured to your robe and you immediately obeyed his nonverbal demand, untying the knot and letting the thin fabric fall around the mattress, your bright eyes lifting so you could see how the Targaryen prince was reacting.

With flushed cheeks and arms crossed again, Aemond walked a little closer to you, steady and slow steps until he was face to face with you. His index finger lifted your chin with a calm that was the opposite of everything you were used to in the brothel. You even believed that he could treat you really well, unlike other rude customers. But your hope disappeared the moment he grabbed your cheeks, his short nails digging into your skin and forming tears in the corners of your eyes.

"I need... I guess I need to take my emotions out on something. On Someone."

You did not dare blink, muttering an agreement and not resisting when the prince pushed you to lie down. His body was warm, unlike his hands that was cold from sweat. You remained in the position Aemond had placed you in, lying beneath him with your legs spread to let him take control if he wished.

Aemond's heart beat fast, knowing this would be the second time he was about to fuck a woman. The second time he was going against the Faith of the Seven, against his mother's requests. Hurting the feelings of the woman he loved most and probably amusing his older brother, who should have been laughing and drinking, finding it funny that Aemond had not only killed his own nephew due some petty revenge, but was also now enjoying the pleasures he had always despised.

"Do you need help, Your Grace?" You worked up the courage to ask the prince as you noticed how his fingers were a pathetic mess, unable to undo the ties on his own pants after he freed himself from the tunic.

Aemond wanted to tell you to fuck off. To tell you to be quiet and let him fuck your cunt until it is dripping with his seed. Until you are pregnant with a silver-haired bastard. He wanted to humiliate you like Aegon did to all whores.

But for the Seven Gods' sakes... He did not want to be like Aegon anymore.

"I do not know!" Aemond shouted, breaking the silence of the private room. He stopped trying to get rid of his clothes and turned his body to the other side. His heart felt like it was about to explode, his hands were trembling again and his legs were weak. Aemond's head ached like the Seven Hells and he had not drunk any drop of wine that the other courtesans had left there for the two of you. "Gods! I thought this would help me, but I can barely get my fucking cock out!"

Your body moved closer to his, pressing your face against Aemond's warm and bare back. His breathing became more erratic when you remained quiet, but brushed the tip of your nose against his skin as if you were a kitten.

Aemond opened his mouth to scold you for your childish action, and then closed it. There was something different about your silent actions. You did not judge him for being there, you did not mock him when he failed to drop his pants and fuck you fast like any man in their right minds would do. Aemond was far from a sane man and it did not take long for you to notice that.

Even though he was fully aware that you might change your mind about him when you learned the truth of what he had done to his own half-sister's son, Aemond let out a sigh of relief. Neither of you moved the bodies, feeling something good from that whole complex situation.

Then Aemond turned to you, his eye filled with tears that he cursed himself for letting escape. His palm went to your chin, holding it softer than he had done before. It was gentle and almost delicate now. Everything he liked to be for his mother. A good boy. A good son.

The prince looked down at your naked body, your breasts so inviting to him that he did not think twice and immediately touched them, squeezing the soft flesh with an inexperience that was cute to you. Aemond only felt the smoothness of a female chest three times during his entire life.

One of them was when he was just four years old and he was jealous of his mother breastfeeding his youngest brother Daeron after his birth. So he touched Alicent and asked for her milk too, which was denied and he spent hours crying until he got distracted by some wooden toy that which the maids brought at Alicent's request, to entertain the greedy little boy as quickly as they could. After that, Daeron began to be fed by a wet nurse and Aemond never noticed his mother's breast milk again.

The second time was when Helaena was pregnant with the twins Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Aemond was still an innocent twelve years old boy and was very curious seeing how the girl's breasts were suddenly bigger due to the breast milk. His youthful curiosity got the better of him and he took advantage of the fact that his older sister always let him sleep next to her when Aegon was busy fucking whores in the brothels. He snuggled into a hug with Helaena as she slept and pulled the neckline of her nightgown aside, playing with his thumbs on her nipples until they were leaking white and sweet drops.

Unfortunately for Aemond, Aegon arrived drunk just as he was sucking Helaena's nipples, being breastfed like a baby. Aegon laughed loud at the scene. Aemond's cute lips were so wet with his sister's milk and his face was reddish like a strawberry, body shaking as he explained himself in the least convincing way possible. But fortunately for Aemond, Helaena did not wake up and probably never found out about his immoral act. Or at least he preferred to believe that she never found out about that.

Despite having begged for forgiveness at the Septa so many times, Aemond was dragged against his own will by his older brother to a brothel to celebrate his thirteenth name day. He did not want none of that and he was angry with Aegon, but also scared of the whole situation that would develop, even if a part of him wondered if this was some divine punishment he deserved for taking advantage of his dear sister's innocence during her sleep.

The night of the loss of his virginity had been the third and until then the last time that Aemond touched any intimate part of a female body, his young and plump face buried in the middle of Madam Sylvi's large chest.

He had promised to the Gods that he would only do something like that again with his future wife. But here he was, thumbs rolling your hard beaks and making you gasp. Aemond may not have been sexually experienced like his brother Aegon, and not like his uncle Daemon or his sluttly half-sister Rhaenyra, but he was a quick learner with a good memory.

He remembered Madam Sylvi encouraging him to pay a special attention to her nipples using his mouth, and Aemond was eager to follow that old lesson. Wrapping one of your beaks with his lips, Aemond licked you like a hungry man, his tongue swirling around it and then nibbling.

Every muffled moan that left your lips was like music to the Prince's ears.

Once your breasts were completely soaked with Aemond's spit and red marks from the bites he gave you, Aemond smirked satisfied, the desperation that was taking over his mind disappearing and giving space to the lust building up inside his veins.

He spread your legs like he watched Aegon do with the maids when they were both younger, smirking at the view of your wet cunt, the pubic hair glistening with your own juices. "Fuck, you are really dripping. I thought you whores got paid to pretend, not to actually enjoy it."

You moaned at his mockery. In fact, you did not usually feel pleasure with your customers, even the most frequent ones who were not rough to you. They always focused on themselves, not really caring if what you were feeling was pleasurable or not.

But Aemond Targaryen was different. He was appreciating your body, hands on your breasts as if you were an anchor keeping him safe, face in front of your legs, excited to devour you and satisfy all his hunger.

Aemond Targaryen barely seemed to see you as a whore. He seemed to be seeing you as a woman he wanted to worship more than anything. Almost like a...

"Do you have children?"

The prince was full of random questions, and it was another one of the moments when he crossed an unusual line. Why the hells was this important? Was he some boring man who wanted to have sex just with not so experienced whores? Was he disgusted by pregnancies?

"I do. I have... two kids."

The words was almost impossible to hear. Anyone would tell you to repeat what you said. Anyone could be angry due the answer. Anyone but Aemond Targaryen. The prince's keen hearing caught your words perfectly, a smirk of relief and excitement pulling at his lips.

It was perfect. Almost too perfect to be true.

It did not matter where your children were now. It did not matter if they might be suffering from having a mother working in a brothel to be able to feed them with the bare minimum. All that mattered to Aemond at that moment was that you had two children. Just like Alicent had Aegon and Helaena before he was born.

He could pictured himself coming out of his mother's womb. She always said that Aemond was the most painful birth of all, as the boy came out of her womb with such eagerness that the midwives swore it almost caused a hemorrhage inside Alicent's cunt. While Aegon's birth had been traumatizing due to the fact that it was Alicent's first time going through that labor experience, Helaena's birth was soft. The little girl was born so silent that for a few seconds the Queen feared she had been born dead, but Helaena cried when Alicent began to sob, as if she was feeling her mother's emotional pain.

Aemond remembered how his mother described the birth of each of them, even Daeron, who was the fastest of all to be born. And one thing Aemond would never forget was how his mother described his birth.

Alicent said it was like giving birth to a dragon. She felt like she was being ripped from the inside out and for a moment she could swear that little Aemond enjoyed hearing her screams of pain while the midwives were desperate to help stop the bleeding. She said he stopped crying immediately, the sounds of her suffering calmed him.

If he came out of Alicent's body like a dragon whelp, then he would come into yours with all the Targaryen fire inside his veins too. The true perfect replacement for her mother could handle anything. Perhaps he could really trust you to vent and look for affection if you also saw him as your and Alicent's third children. The most devout and the most feared. He could be that for both of you.

Six years ago, Aemond had no awareness about how to please a woman. He was sure that Sylvi had pretended to cum so that he would not feel so humiliated, not that it mattered anyway, since Aemond had not lost his virginity by choice and Madam was already used to faking pleasure reactions for the vast majority of men who visited her brothel. However, there with you, after not knowing how to deal with the chaos tormenting his own mind, Aemond allowed himself to lower his head and get between your legs, rubbing his tongue on the swollen bud that he knew what it was based on what it was written in the forbidden books of the library in the castle.

At first, the movements of his tongue were disorganized and uncomfortable, and you tried to guide his head, but Aemond bit your thigh, drawing some blood from you and hearing you cry out. Aemond did not care about any of that, licking up the red drops that dripped down and going back to licking your clit, taking a little more care than before, understanding that he had done something wrong. He made his tongue less pointy and flattened it better, rubbing it against your cunt and giving gentle licks, eating out the juices that dripped from your wet hole and then moving it up to focus on your clit, trembling moans escaping you while you rolled the eyes at the sensation.

Your thighs trembled and your back arched upward, forcing Aemond to grip your legs to keep your body down, the wet sucking noises buzzing in his ear when you had the first release.

Aemond did not wait you to recover yourself from your high. He kept your legs open with one of his large hands, the other undoing the ties of his pants more quickly than during the first attempt, throwing them to the side and caressing his hard cock. You looked at his muscular torso and looked down at his long legs and the dark hair on his groin.

You did not even need to entertain him with false praises or get him drunk with the wine the other prostitutes prepared for the two of you. Aemond was ready for it and ignoring his own nervousness.

He spat into his palm, pressing his arousal one last time and finally slamming into you, the abrupt stretch hurting your cunt, lips parted and eyes widening when Aemond ignored your brief pain and started moving his hips, letting out low guttural growls at the feeling of your tight warm walls crushing him.

"Your Grace..." You moaned in a mix of pleasure and discomfort, the thrusts hitting the soft part of your cervix and making you see stars.

Aemond smirked at your incoherent moans, lowering himself until his face was close to yours, capturing your mouth in an aggressive kiss, uncoordinated tongues together, teeth practically devouring each other's lower lip. The exchange of saliva tasted like blood and your own cum.

He had not felt the sensation of being inside a woman in so many years that the pleasure was almost like losing his virginity for a second time. It was intense, strange and desperate. He needed more. He needed to fuck you deep inside, until you were like Alicent, carrying a part of him in your womb.

The faster he got closer to his orgasm, the more Aemond's low growls became whispers begging the Gods for forgiveness and also tearful moans calling you his mother. Prayers and cries coming from a filthy sinner in search of redemption, or from an innocent little boy who needed the love of the woman who gave birth to him.

With each violent thrust inside your tight and sore cunt, Aemond pictured a little silver-haired boy coming out of you after nine moons and destroying you just like he had done to Alicent during his own childbirth.

Now that the only woman who ever loved him with her entire body and soul saw him as a monster, Aemond wished that future routine nights with you in the brothel could fill the void inside his heart. However, deep down Aemond knew that no one could ever love him more than the woman who brought him into the world. For Aemond, failing Alicent was worse than failing the Gods. And there was no divine or maternal forgiveness for a murderer.

[vettelsvee]

SÍ... ESTAMOS SALIENDO | Oscar Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Pérez!Reader

SUMMARY: Scared of everyone to find out, Y/N Pérez and Oscar Piastri decide to hide their relationship from everyone until Checo starts wondering how Piastri learnt to speak Spanish so good... and specially why he has a Mexican accent ↳ REQUESTED BY ANON: Maybe one were she is checos daughter and they hide their relationship from him. And also maybe she teaches oscar some Spanish. At the end they end up telling checo about their relationship

WORD COUNT: 2399

WARNINGS: Use of Spanish. Important to say that even Spanish is my mother tongue, I may have some mistakes because it is Mexican Spanish and I don't know much about it, so I had to do some research. Otherwise, mentions of unwanted pregnancy, unprotected sex, drugs and alcohol

TAGLIST: @hc-dutch @raavadakedavra @coffeedestroyingperson @evey-kuznetskova @bowielovesyou @chaoswithus @isotopemylove @iceman-kazansky @gwginnyweasley @formula1-motogpfan @myescapefromthislife @regalbanshee [in case you wanna be tagged just tell me so i can add you!]

VEE'S NOTES: Not writing related but I’m obsessed with a K-Drama I started watching yesterday and I just wanna write Come What May series since the main characters’ personalities are the same as Seb and Y/N (Di in case you read the OC Version) there lmao. Anyways, missed a lot writing about Oscar (I definitely will be writing about him more as he's my second fave on the current grid) and this one got me so happy with how it turned out! Hope you like it as well, and remember that I'd love to see your comments <3 ↳ MAKE YOUR REQUESTS | LET'S TALK! | JANUARY UPDATE CALENDAR

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

“What if you taught me some Spanish?”

“Sorry, what did you just say?”

“That's it, Y/N. Teach me some Spanish.”

You, completely absorbed in looking at the pictures you had taken during the date you had with your boyfriend that same day, lifted your gaze from your phone and raised an eyebrow, fully taken aback by Oscar's proposal.

“Spanish? You? You already speak English! English is the only language that matters to you all…”

Oscar shrugged, nervously playing with the steering wheel. At that moment, he reconsidered what he had said, unsure now, and realized that maybe it had been a somewhat strange proposal on his part.

“I just want to understand you when you talk to your dad or your family. I know no one knows we’re together yet, but sometimes when you do video calls with them, I feel a bit lost. I also feel like sometimes you talk about me, and I’d like to know if I should worry,” he confessed, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“And why do you assume we talk about you, huh?”

“Well, because you always look at me out of the corner of your eye when you do.”

You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked with that unnecessary concern.

“Why do you have to be so chismoso?” You said, making Oscar give you a little tap on the shoulder. That just made you laugh more. “Alright, alright, fine! But I warn you in advance: if you laugh at me speaking Spanish or don’t take me seriously, I’ll break up with you.”

What started as a completely random proposal, with little prospect of a future or sense at first, eventually became one of your favorite routines. You took advantage of every moment together to practice, always hiding it from Checo or any member of the Pérez family when you were in the paddock. Moreover, whenever you were in your respective countries, you would watch Mexican movies and TV shows, and also some in their original version with English subtitles. You even started sending each other the occasional message in Spanish, thanks to the Australian’s initiative.

Oscar seemed to have, in your eyes, a natural talent for languages. Not only did he manage to learn greetings and basic words in less than a week, but after a month, he was already making the effort to use your Mexican accent and even incorporating words that seemed exclusive to your family’s vocabulary.

And that was exactly what, a few months later, turned into a real nightmare for the secrecy with which you kept your relationship.

While no one knew you were together as a couple, Oscar and you pretended to be just friends when you were in public. That’s why it was completely normal for Checo Pérez to see his daughter with the Australian, having coffee and chatting animatedly after a press conference.

“¡Buenos días, Checo!” Oscar said in almost perfect Spanish. “¿Cómo va, papá?”

You, hearing that last word, spat out the little coffee you had left in your mouth and opened your eyes, completely surprised. Checo, however, made a face and a frown, questioning his daughter’s friend.

“What did you say?” You asked, though you knew perfectly well that what your boyfriend had just said was something you hadn’t taught him, and he’d probably heard it from you.

“Well… ¿Cómo va, papá?” the guy repeated innocently. “Did I say it right?”

“Papá?” repeated the Red Bull driver, even more shocked. “Do you even know what that means, kid?”

“It’s an expression, right? Isn’t it like saying buddy?”

Checo stared at him for a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Oscar. Then, he turned his gaze to you, who was pretending to fiddle with your phone to avoid having to face an awkward conversation about why your secret boyfriend had just said that.

“¿Te importaría decirme por qué Oscar habla como tú?” Pérez asked quickly in Spanish, clearly aiming for Oscar not to understand.

“He doesn’t talk like me!” You quickly replied in English. “Oscar has been practicing Spanish, and well… he wants to fit in better so he’s trying. Duolingo isn’t the best app for learning, so he’s been watching YouTube videos... Right, Osc?”

The guy nodded, but that didn’t convince Checo. Still, he didn’t say anything else and, instead, coldly said goodbye to you both.

As soon as he was far enough away not to hear you, you turned to Oscar and started shaking him:

“Of all the things you could say, you call him papá?!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose, babe!” He rushed to reply, feeling bad for you. “I’ve heard it so many times that, well… I just said it without thinking. I honestly didn’t think it was anything bad.”

You huffed, knowing that it wasn’t Oscar’s fault or his curiosity and interest in learning your mother tongue, but yours for not setting boundaries or explaining the meaning of each word, as well as the context in which it should be used or who it was addressed to.

From that moment on, your father started paying more attention. He was an expert in discretion, but you knew him well enough to realize that, since the incident with Oscar, he had become much more alert and interested in you both, especially looking for clear signs that would confirm his suspicions that his daughter was dating one of the newest additions to the grid.

Unfortunately for you and Oscar, the Mexican didn’t need to investigate much, and he only did so for a month to confirm his theories.

During one of the briefings with all the drivers, Checo heard Oscar mumbling an “Órale, wey” followed by some insults in Spanish that you had made up when it had gotten pretty late and everyone was eager to return to their hotel. Also, instead of saying “sorry,” he let out a “¿mande?” which wouldn’t have been strange if he hadn’t continued speaking in English, as if nothing had happened.

You and Oscar seemed unaware of all your slip-ups; on the contrary, feeling like you weren’t arousing anyone’s suspicion, you lowered your guard. Displays of affection in public, though still cautious, became more frequent, especially when Checo wasn’t near you. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

The back of the McLaren garage, just a few meters away from Red Bull’s, as expected, wasn’t the most suitable place.

“We should go somewhere else,” you said softly while nervously fiddling with the collar of your boyfriend's shirt, who had his arm around your waist.

“Why? This place is perfect,” Oscar replied, unconcerned.

“Yeah, sure, perfect for my dad to catch us,” you muttered. “If he already suspects and looks like that doll from the red light, green light game on Squid Game, analyzing us so much to jump on us as soon as he catches us… imagine if he finds us. He’ll kill us, I swear.”

“Come on, Y/N, just try to relax. We’ve got it all under control. Seriously, there’s nothing to worry about, mi amor.”

You blushed at the compliment he had given you in Spanish, and couldn’t help but plant a chaste kiss on his lips, even though everything inside you felt chaotic.

“If you’re trying to convince me that everything’s fine by speaking to me in Spanish, just know that you’re doing it perfectly,” you declared. “But don’t forget, that doesn’t mean I don’t feel a tremendous anxiety and keep thinking that we’re literally one step away from getting caught. Do you know what he could do if he finds out that you and I… that?” You asked hesitantly.

“Is he going to give us a lecture on how we have to stay professional whenever we’re in public? Or is he going to tell me he’ll kill me if I even think about getting you pregnant?”

“He’ll probably make you come home to have lunch with my family and only speak Spanish,” you tried not to laugh but couldn’t help yourself. “And trust me, you don’t want to be in that position because you’ll have all my aunts, and there are quite a few of them, right next to you, asking you some very uncomfortable questions.”

“Then we’ll have to tell him as soon as possible so he can prepare. How about I tell him that I’m absolutely and completely in love with his daughter?”

You shot him a glare, panic flooding your insides at the thought of that happening.

“No, don’t you dare do that, Osc, and especially not here. You have no idea how my dad would react if…”

“Why not?” He interrupted. Then, he stopped, and after a few seconds that felt like an eternity to you, he seemed to finally find the courage to speak: “I could tell him something like… ¡Señor Pérez, estoy saliendo con su hija porque además de ser la mejor mujer de este mundo, me hace la persona más feliz del mundo!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, filled with emotion inside at Oscar’s sweet yet innocent declaration of love aloud.

However, a cough behind you made you snap back to reality.

“Can I know what you’re doing with my daughter, Piastri?”

You both slowly turned around. There, standing before you, was Checo, arms crossed, with a very unfriendly look on his face. You swore that if Oscar walked out of there alive and without a reprimand from your overprotective father, he could do whatever he wanted for the rest of the year.

“Well…” Oscar began, his confidence suddenly disappearing.

“Esto no es lo que parece, te lo juro,” you said in Spanish, trying to calm your father, even though you knew your attempts would be in vain.

“Oh, really?” Checo asked, raising an eyebrow, knowing you were both lying. “Then, what explanation do you have for this kid shouting to the four winds in almost perfect Spanish that he’s in love with you? At least that’s what I understood, if my Spanish doesn’t fail me.”

You were about to reply, but instead, Oscar gently took you by the wrist and stepped forward, surprisingly confident.

“Checo, I’m not playing around. Okay, I was joking about that, but not about what it means… like…” Piastri explained slowly, nerves eating at him as he couldn’t bring himself to look Checo in the face. “Your daughter matters to me, well, like… you know, like a boyfriend cares for his girlfriend.”

Checo tried not to laugh at the declaration of love from the man who had just confirmed he was his son-in-law and did his best to maintain the protective fatherly composure, thinking no guy would ever be good enough for his daughter.

“So you care about my daughter… You, one of my coworkers, a twenty-three-year-old kid, care about my eldest daughter enough to believe you can have a relationship with her…”

“It’s not that I believe it, it’s that I know I do.”

Not only you and Checo were surprised by the boy’s words, but Oscar himself too. He regretted it immediately, but before he could apologize to Checo, the man stepped forward, raising a hand and staring at him:

“So… are you two dating or not?”

“Yes, for almost six months now,” you answered, feeling a knot in your stomach, but much less pressure now that your father knew the truth.

Checo sighed, running a hand over his face as he tried to process the news his daughter, his little girl, had just told him. The girl he knew ever since she was born and now he had to imagine her spending, if not the rest of her life, at least part of it, with another man.

“And why didn’t you tell me before?” Checo asked, his voice tinged with disappointment but also some understanding. “Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s that I knew you would react badly,” you answered, frustrated. “I trust you, and I know you want to protect me from any guy who could make me feel bad, but you have to understand that I’m twenty years old, and whether you like it or not, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Checo looked at you and then turned his gaze to Oscar, who had his head down. Besides his nerves being pretty evident, so was his willingness to face any kind of dispute or reprimand from him just to stay with you.

That made Checo feel a bit bad, though it also gave him some relief seeing that the Australian was truly concerned and, why not say it, in love, willing to do anything for his little Y/N.

Finally, he let out a small sigh, trying to calm himself. He repeated your words over and over in his mind before saying anything else because if you had never disappointed him in your life, then he didn’t want to disappoint you just because you were in love.

I’m not a little girl anymore.

“Checo…” Piastri spoke, but Checo raised a finger, silencing him instantly.

“I’m only going to say this once: you better not hurt my daughter, or I’ll hurt you when I kick you off the track or crash into you accidentally. Is that clear?”

Oscar swallowed hard, feeling that Checo wasn’t joking.

“Understood…”

“And as for you,” Checo now spoke to you, completely stunned, “don’t think this is over. Your mother, you, and I will have a conversation about this and several other topics when we get home.”

Unprotected wild sex, alcohol, and drugs, for sure, you thought, forcing a smile to try to hide your worry.

“Now go on and keep loving each other, but be careful where and how you do it. I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet.”

With those words, Checo left, leaving you both.

“Well… now he knows. Finally,” Oscar said, letting out a sigh of relief.

“I told you he was intense. Do you believe me now?”

“Of course, mi amor,” the Australian replied, taking your hand and heading to your room in the McLaren motorhome, so, as Checo had said, you wouldn’t become grandparents just yet. “Your dad scared me, but I’m not going to lie to you, he gave me enough motivation to beat him in every race from now on.”

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 9: Blue Jays and Red-Tailed Hawks]

A/N: Thank you so much for your patience! Life got hectic but I am back, besties. Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), blood and violence and warfare, character deaths, chaotic giant lizards.

Word count: 5.5k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

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He reaches for his game piece, the shadowcat, although it isn’t purple but only a plain, crudely-carved chunk of oak wood, a makeshift imitation of its twin back in the Red Keep, assuming that Rhaenyra hasn’t stumbled upon and destroyed it. Daeron has sculpted the beast himself; he used a dagger that Aemond gave him as a gift before he was sent away to Oldtown, its hilt embellished with dark blue stones the color of Tessarion’s scales. He has made dice and a board too, and the other four pieces, homely little animals, proxies of his long-lost siblings. Daeron wonders if they miss him as much as he has always missed them. None of them ever said that in their letters, not in words so explicit. Aegon never really wrote at all; instead, he would scrawl barely-legible postscripts at the bottom of other people’s letters: Don’t drink too much, Learn some High Valyrian, Try not to get anyone pregnant.

“I am always the shadowcat,” Daeron explains, grinning. He shows the talisman to his companions, four soldiers fighting in the Hightower army, his closest friends. Then he places it at the starting line he has etched into the board.

“Why do you get the best one?” says Anthony of House Ambrose.

Daeron blinks. This has never occurred to him before. “Is the shadowcat the best piece?”

“Obviously.”

“I don’t know,” teases Josiah of House Roxton of the Ring, scratching his beard. “That butterfly is mighty fearsome.”

Now they’re all laughing. “Then you shall have the butterfly,” Daeron proclaims, handing it to Josiah. “That was my gentle sister Helaena’s piece. And you will never be as good as her, not if you pray to the Seven for a thousand years.”

“No,” Josiah agrees somberly, bowing his head in the firelight. It is just after dusk, and even here in the south, even within the cloth walls of the tent, the metallic chill of winter is creeping into every room like a vermin, like a spider or a rat.

“And Anthony, because you are clever yet envious and ever-grasping, I bequeath you Aemond’s wolf.” Daeron drops it into his open, calloused palm.

“I hope he doesn’t come looking for it,” Anthony chuckles. “I’m quite skilled with the sword, but I would be loath to meet the prince in combat.”

“I don’t want the worm,” slurs Oliver of House Fossoway of Cider Hall. Oli is quite drunk.

“It’s a snake, you idiot,” Josiah says.

“And it’s yours, Oli.” Daeron gives the tiny wooden snake to him. Oli accepts it reluctantly. “The snake was Aegon’s piece.”

“Long live the king!” Oli bellows with sudden fervor, and raises his cup of ale. Everyone toasts to the king’s health.

“Wherever he may be,” Daeron says before draining his cup and sweeping his silver hair out of his eyes, blue like a Targaryen’s, large and expressive like Mother’s. He feels that Aegon is still alive somewhere. He believes that if his eldest brother was dead, he would know it in his bones; there would be invisible, unbearable wounds like the ones that opened up when Helaena and Dreamfyre fell from the sky, days before Daeron received a raven carrying the news.

“What about my game piece?” asks Laurence of House Redwyne of the Arbor. He is a bowman and a healer as well, adept at herbal remedies and stitching. He would have preferred to be a maester or a septon, but as his parents’ only son he was compelled to endure the life of a lord. A squire arrives, refills all the cups with ale, departs with a swift bow.

“You are a Redwyne, and so you shall have Red’s bat,” Daeron says, entrusting the inanimate beast to Laurence. They know who he is talking about; they have heard more fireside stories of Daeron’s siblings than they could count. “And you are nothing like her. You are pious and poised, and you have never made your parents blush with shame. My Mother would have loved to have you for a son.”

“I’ll take your place,” Laurence says mildly, smiling. “You can be my parents’ dashing warrior, and I can accompany Queen Alicent when she prays in the sept.”

Daeron rolls first. He reads the dice and moves his shadowcat forward seven spaces. His brow knits together with determination. “I’m not leaving my mother there.”

“What? In the city?” Anthony asks, startled but not opposed. He is not one to shy away from battle. He believes that is where men find glory, where they ascend from mortals to something more, legends, heroes, gods.

Josiah snickers. “Not going to wait for Prince Aemond’s permission, huh?”

“The people of King’s Landing are in rebellion,” Daeron says, firelight flickering on his face. “Rhaenyra is desperate, and she is grieving Jace’s death, and she has my mother, Jaehaera, and Maelor in her grasp. What if Rhaenyra flees the city on Syrax and evades punishment for her treason? What if she executes my family, or if they are killed somehow when mobs overrun the Red Keep? I will not wait idly. Tessarion and I will recapture King’s Landing for the Greens.”

Oli raises his cup of ale again. “And we will fight with you!”

All five men toast, drink deeply, resume the game. Daeron wins; he has always been lucky.

~~~~~~~~~~

You stumble upstairs together, you supporting Aegon’s weight as best you can, tripping on the stone steps as lightning flashes outside the windows. Rain pours in sheets, wind howls through the cracked walls of the castle, and for a moment you think you are back at Heart’s Home, and that at the top of the tower you will find Luca waiting for you, safe and without pain and grinning his toothless little smile at you over Jace’s shoulder. Then—through the wine, through the torchlight and the thunder—you remember, and you feel the loss of them all over again, and when your knees buckle on the staircase Aegon drags you to your feet. You can sense that Alys Rivers is following you both, sweeping near-silently in her mossy green gown, peering fixedly with those strange silvery eyes like mirrors, haunting doorways and corridors. When you look back you catch glimpses of her, deformed shadows with long white fingers like the skeleton of a bat.

“I’m not a man anymore,” Aegon is blubbering as he collapses into his bed. His half-unbuttoned shirt is damp with spilled cider; tears gleam on his disfigured face.

“Shh, yes you are,” you soothe, lying down beside him. You rest a palm on his chest, gnarled grotesque scar tissue the color of a flayed man. Hazily, you think of the Bolton soldiers who must have marched south with Cregan Stark, and you wonder if when they sharpen their knives they are thinking of Aegon, or Daeron, or Aemond, or Mother, or maybe even you.

“I used to be,” Aegon sobs. “Now I’m just a useless, mutilated, flaccid freak.”

You burrow into him, drunk and drowsy. “Whatever you are, I’m glad you’re still alive.”

Aegon slings a scarred arm over your shoulder. Your ribs throb, your skull aches. “I used to love whoring,” he says miserably.

“The sport is not lost to you entirely. A working cock is not required to satisfy a woman.”

He laughs. “No, I suppose you’re right.”

“Perhaps you will recover. Perhaps you will find new ways to experience pleasure.”

“Perhaps,” Aegon agrees in a soft murmur, and then he dozes off.

And as the room spirals around you and thunder booms outside, you are carried back to other times and places, fleeting visions like the windows you once peered through into Aemond’s mind. You are a child being shoved into a wooden trunk and entombed there. You are tapping your little red bat around the game board. You are under the arbor grown over with roses and thorns, sunlight bleeding through the leaves in golden trickles. You are watching blue jays flit through a blue sky and bathe in the water of the fountains. You are playing with Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, building fortresses of stones and sticks, collecting seashells with them on the beach. You are catching your bats when they soar in through the open window to land in your palms. You are watching Aemond ride back from hunting with one of his red-tailed hawks still perched on his glove. You are feeling your mattress shift beneath his weight, his hand on your thigh, his teeth on your neck; you hear a reverent whisper of High Valyrian. And then you hear the blistering shrieks of all the people he has killed, and you are reminded of Mother’s words about what you once shared with him: It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.

Was she right? She must have been. All it has led to is suffering.

If I had never loved Aemond, Luca and Jace would still be alive. If I had married some ordinary nobleman like Mother and Grandsire always wanted—his bloodline an inheritance from the Andals or the First Men, not the treacherous smoldering embers of Old Valyria—my children would be safe, and Helaena never would have tried to escape King’s Landing, and Aemond would have wed a Baratheon girl and perhaps accepted Lord Borros’ offer of dinner and rest that night in Storm’s End, and maybe Luke wouldn’t have been killed over Shipbreaker Bay, and there is a chance the war would never have happened at all.

But you didn’t listen to Mother and Grandsire, because you have never been tame, gentle, dutiful, ladylike. Jace saw this clearly; you were hungry.

You don’t fall sleep until dawn, and when you wake it is night again. The maids bring food, bread and butter and stew thick with fish and crab, but neither you or Aegon want it. You are marooned here together, not useful like Aemond or Daeron, not holy like Helaena, and the only remedy is cider that flows like molten gold, heat that burns in your throat like the fire of a dragon.

Now there is bleak grey midday light streaming in through the windows, and Aegon is screaming downstairs. You sit up, startled and bleary-eyed, your tangled silver hair strewn carelessly all around you. Alys is standing beside the bed. You yelp in alarm when you see her.

“A raven has arrived,” Alys says tonelessly. She has a red ribbon laced through her moon-white fingers and is toying with it.

“What? Why are you in here…?”

“I think it’s bad news.” Then she floats to the doorway and turns back to make sure you’re following, her hand with the ribbon resting on her rounded belly.

At the bottom of the staircase, Aegon is writhing on the stone floor, a piece of parchment—doubtlessly sent by one of his loyalists on the mainland, one of the very few who know where he is now, perhaps somebody at Rook’s Rest or Crackclaw Point—crumpled in his fist. Several maids are trying futilely to comfort him. You take the letter from Aegon so you can read it.

What is written there in black ink is a tale of triumph and ruin. Under the cover of darkness the Hightower army marched on King’s Landing, and the smallfolk rose up to join them when the soldiers breached the city walls, and the capital has been retaken by the Greens and Mother freed from her cell. Ulf the White was found drunk and senseless, and promptly murdered. Silverwing fled from the Dragonpit in the midst of the chaos. Daeron and Tessarion flew directly to the Red Keep and attacked Syrax where she had been kept in the courtyard, killing the dragon and thus destroying Rhaenyra’s chance to escape. The woman the Blacks call queen was captured and imprisoned, and the men of her council executed; but not before her bowmen shot Daeron through the chest and throat and he tumbled from the saddle and died alone, bleeding to death within the castle walls he once called home. Tessarion screeched in grief and would not leave his body, incinerating the archers when they dared to shoot at her next.

It’s in your pounding skull, a memory that fills your vision, harsh and luminous like lightning: Daeron as a child moving his little purple shadowcat around the board, how the rest of you packed up the game and never played again after he was sent to Oldtown.

“He was supposed to wait for Aemond,” Aegon is sobbing. “He wasn’t supposed to try to retake the city alone, he knew that, he was just a kid…”

You see Daeron falling from the sky, riddled with arrows and stained red with blood. You see Helaena and Dreamfyre plummeting down towards the beach where you once played with her children. And then you see Aemond plunging into the Gods Eye and being swallowed up by cold dark currents, sinking to the floor of the lake, dissolving into silt, disappearing from history.

I love him, you realize, an abrupt and agonizing laceration down to the bone. I might hate him, but I love him too. And hasn’t it always been that way?

You feel the heat of blood drawn on your cheek, taste the iron and copper of it on Aemond’s lips. Your skull aches, always on the left side.

“Why are we the ones still alive?!” Aegon wails at you. “You and me and Aemond were the monsters. But Helaena and Daeron, they were good, they were pure, they deserved to be here when the war is over!”

“It’s not over yet,” Alys says ominously.

“Go away, witch,” Aegon moans, covering his face with his hands. “Go away, go away, go away…”

Outside where soft rain is falling—you can see droplets on the windows and endless opaque fog—you hear the distant snarl of a dragon. And you have the overwhelming sensation that you are being called to.

Above the Gods Eye, the red and the blue, Alys had said. Aemond was blue…but who was red? Caraxes, Daemon, me?

The dragon growls again, not Sunfyre or Grey Ghost or Vermithor the Bronze Fury but the Cannibal, never ridden, never tamed, always hungry. Alys Rivers is holding something out to you. It is the red ribbon.

“He flies to his death,” she says levelly. “Unless you are there to catch him.”

Luca and Jace are gone. Helaena and Daeron are gone. Jaehaerys and Grandsire are gone. But I don’t have to lose Aemond too.

You take the ribbon and swiftly weave your hair into an untidy braid, then tie it off at the end with the strip of red. It is the first color besides black you have worn since you left Heart’s Home. Then you pad towards the castle entranceway in your bare feet.

Aegon is sniffling as the maids try to console him. He peers up at you from where he is still collapsed on the floor, a heap of marred skin and weak bones. “Where are you going?”

In answer, the Cannibal roars outside, immense and gravelly and malevolent.

Aegon says again, frantic now: “Red, where are you going?”

“To claim a dragon.”

“You can’t,” he says, stunned, petrified. “They all refused you.”

“I’m a different person now.”

“No!” he shouts as you turn to leave, lunging and wrapping his arms around your legs, trying to keep you here. “Please don’t go. Please stay. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Tenderly, you touch his tangled locks of silver hair, his mutilated cheek, his slumped shoulder. “If I don’t go, you might lose all of us.”

“It’s suicide. The Cannibal can’t be ridden.”

“But I know what he craves,” you say, and from across the room Alys smiles at you, her pale eyes glinting and her hands stroking the small globe of her belly. “And I want the same thing.”

You pull away from Aegon and escape into the mist, the rain, the cold wind and sea spray that burns in your lungs. He hobbles after you with his walking stick, pleading for you to stop, but he is too slow to catch up. Behind Aegon, Alys trails at a distance, meandering over the rocks. The magma trapped beneath the surface of the island flows like scorching blood through the arteries of the earth; the heat radiates up through the soles of your feet. The marrow glows hot and red in your bones.

You follow the Cannibal’s grunts and snarls and find him down by the water, a shore of jagged volcanic rocks and no sand, volcanic glass, fury hardened and cooled. But yours is still fresh. The Cannibal is feasting on the corpse of Grey Ghost. Gore hangs in crimson shreds from his craggy teeth; he has too many of them, they grow in rows like a shark’s. Frothing seawater laps at his claws. He raises his massive head—black scales and barbed spines, mindless primordial eyes green and luminous—and growls, steam rising from his flaring nostrils.

Fear strikes you, sharp and sudden. Your hands and knees are trembling.

“Let’s go back to the castle!” Aegon yells over the sounds of the sea and the gales of wind.

But you can’t stop now. The Cannibal called and you answered. And here, nineteen years late, you will have the dragon you were denied from birth.

You speak in High Valyrian as the wind gusts and rakes, your black mourning gown billowing, strands of silver hair ripped from your braid. “You hate your kind,” you say to the Cannibal, showing him the empty palms of your hand as you approach, cutting your bare feet on the rocks; and he watches you, eyes blazing, fangs revealed. “And I do too. I hate Rhaenyra for ordering the deaths of Helaena and Daeron and Grandsire. I hate Daemon for sending assassins into my home to murder Jaehaerys. I hate Aemond for killing Luca and Jace. And I hate myself for not being able to stop any of it.”

The Cannibal roars and his jaws open wide, revealing a gaping blood-red throat. From deep within him, lethal flames are building.

“I told you!” Aegon is shouting. “He can’t be tamed, get away from him! Red, come back, please don’t die, please!”

“I was weak!” you scream at the Cannibal in High Valyrian, stumbling over the rocks as you move closer. You bare your teeth at him like you did to Jace the night Rhaenyra took King’s Landing. “I was useless without you. I tried to forget my inheritance as a Targaryen, but it found me. It found me in the Vale, it found me as my son died in my arms. I cannot be gentle and toothless. I can only be the blood of the dragon.”

The Cannibal snaps his jaws shut and stills, his green eyes alight and fixed on you. Aegon and Alys say nothing; perhaps they are afraid to break the spell. You reach out and press your hand to the Cannibal’s muzzle; it comes away covered with Grey Ghost’s blood. You drag your tongue up the length of your palm and drink it. Dragon blood tastes like metal and smoke and the verdant rot of a swamp. The Cannibal growls from low in his enormous chest, but now his radiant eyes are curious.

“Help me kill Daemon and Caraxes,” you say as the wind howls and raindrops run in rivulets down your face. You place both hands on the Cannibal’s bloodied muzzle now. “You’ll kill your kind and I’ll kill mine. Together we will consume them. And I swear to you, my hatred burns every bit as hot as yours.”

You show the Cannibal, picturing it in your mind and knowing he can see: Aemond confessing that he murdered Luke, blood spurting when Jaehaerys was decapitated, Helaena and Dreamfyre crashing down to the beach outside the Red Keep, Jace lying dead in a crumbling stairwell, Luca’s blanket spotted with scarlet and his cries going silent, Daeron pierced with arrows, Aemond disintegrating in the depths of the Gods Eye if you cannot save him.

“I have all this hatred and no way to satisfy it. Let’s fly. Let’s devour.”

The Cannibal wears no saddle and never has. He is wild, and even now you will never own him. What you share will aways be a fight, a push and a pull like the tides, brutal and beloved, but isn’t that how you like it? You move to his side, wading in the shallow water on the shoreline, and hook your fingers around the spines that jut out of his thorax like thorns. His scales gleam like obsidian; he snorts tendrils of searing steam. He does nothing to help you, not stooping lower to the ground, not nudging you along with his snout as you’ve seen Sunfyre do for Aegon. The Cannibal only looks to Grey Ghost’s tattered corpse and takes another bite, crushing the ribcage between his jaws, ropes of gristle and deflated pink lungs gulped down.

Faintly, you hear Aegon say as he whirls to Alys: “Seven hells, I think it’s working.”

You heave yourself upwards and climb until you reach the Cannibal’s knobby spine, and nothing hurts, not your head or your ribs or the cuts on your feet or the scar that begins at your collarbone. As you are still searching for good spots to grab onto so you don’t slide off, crawling over the terrain of his back like stones, the Cannibal jolts forward and you scream when you nearly tumble head-first off of him and into the ocean. You grapple for purchase, eventually finding several large spines near his shoulder blades. You grip these thornlike appendages—your hands are too small to close around them completely—and now the Cannibal is diving into the Narrow Sea.

Aegon shouts something you can’t decipher, and then you are underwater and the world outside is muted. The ocean is ice cold and thrashing violently with the force of the Cannibal’s movement, and you hold on with your eyes squeezed shut, the currents wrenching you roughly, waiting for the dragon to resurface. But the Cannibal plunges deeper and pressure builds in your ears until it feels like they will rupture open and hemorrhage.

Is he trying to drown me??

You consider releasing his spines and paddling blindly for open air, but that would be a surrender. You would be unworthy. You would have no dragon. And the Cannibal would devour you like he did Grey Ghost.

You think in High Valyrian as loudly as you can: I will die here before I let go. I am not afraid of the afterlife. Half of my family is there already. Jace is rocking Luca in his arms, Helaena is placing ladybugs in his tiny wrinkled palms, Daeron is telling him that I’ll be home soon.

And then the Cannibal ascends, and through your eyelids you can tell there is light again, and he bursts through the surf and onto a rocky beach. He scrabbles over the ground, you lurching and blinking seawater from your eyes. The Cannibal’s black wings, ragged from battling other monsters, open like the wings of a raven or a bat. You peer down and the island is growing smaller and the wind is forceful, the ocean rippling under the gusts from the Cannibal’s wings.

You look over your shoulder, and for only a moment you glimpse Aegon standing on the shore and cheering, waving, whistling, and Alys watching with a smile. Then the Cannibal banks and carries you higher into the grey clouds. The air is frigid, and you can’t see anything through the fog, but you are grinning as the wind stings on your teeth. At last, you know what it is like to fly. Dreamfyre bonded to the gentle, Vermithor to the powerful and ambitious, but you were made for a different sort of beast. Your dragon is hateful. Your dragon is hungry.

The Cannibal circles back to Dragonstone, breaks through the sightless mist like a blade through flesh, and lands beside Aegon and Alys and snarls at them, gnashing his gore-stained fangs. Steam blasts from his nostrils and blows through their hair. Alys shrinks away from him, her hands cradling her belly protectively.

Aegon is laughing hysterically. “What now?” he says, marveling at the Cannibal, awed and horrified in equal measure. “All these years you thought there was something wrong with you. Thank the gods your egg never hatched.”

“Aemond is meeting Daemon in battle above the Gods Eye. That’s where I’m going.”

“Do you even know how to get there?!”

“It’s west of here. That’s a start.” But you see a mirage through the Cannibal’s ancient green eyes: a time years ago, decades, centuries, when he flew over the Riverlands and felt the foreign magic of the Old Gods, natural adversaries to Valyrians. He flew away from them then. He can find his way back now.

In High Valyrian, you think: Take me there and we will kill our own.

Yes, an ancient voice rumbles in your skull, wrathful black bottomless gluttony. Yes, yes.

~~~~~~~~~~

It gleams like a sapphire in the face of the earth, the Gods Eye as you descend through dense clouds that taste like metal when you breathe the winter sky into your lungs. You have flown through the night, and you both would be exhausted if not fueled by hatred the way wood feeds a fire.

The Cannibal shows you things through his archaic reptilian eyes—the Targaryens arriving on the doorstep of his lair after heeding Daenys the Dreamer’s vision of the Doom of Valyria, Aegon’s Conquest and Visenya’s scheming, Maegor the Cruel’s ashes being interred on the island where he was raised, the Old King Jaehaerys fleeing with Alysanne to Dragonstone so they could marry against the wishes of his advisors, Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding and happiness there before the war began, dragons coming and going, storms and eruptions and shipwrecks, claws and fangs and raw meat—and so you learn what it means to be a dragon. You show him your comparatively few memories in return, your momentary existence, and he begins to understand you too.

The dark skeletal remnants of Harrenhal, promised to Alys and the son she shares with Aemond, appear as the Cannibal flies lower. On the fields by the lakeshore, armies are clashing in battle; you see the banners of House Stark, House Lannister, and the dual factions of House Targaryen. High above the murky blue water, Vhagar and Caraxes are twisted in lethal combat, flames pouring from their jaws, claws scraping away scales.

Aemond, you think, and you wonder if he has already felt that you’re here.

The Cannibal glides with his vast, frayed wings over the Green soldiers, and you spot Criston among them, astride a galloping white horse and wielding a sword. He stares up as the Cannibal’s shadow falls over him, and he sees what you have brought with you, and he is so staggered he cannot look away. Men are pointing and shouting. The Northmen are pulling up their horses, their infantry bolting for the trees. In front of you are thousands of enemy combatants, anonymous and swarming like ants.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, and the Cannibal opens his jaws and spills a river of fire down on the Northman. Their banners burn, their horses scream and scatter, their men are cooked in their armor and stumble towards the water to extinguish themselves. You feel the Cannibal’s malevolent satisfaction. He feels your hatred turning lighter, anemic, easier to carry.

He swoops up into the sky where Vhagar and Caraxes are intertwined. Vhagar has the Blood Wyrm’s long, serpentine neck clenched between her fangs, but Caraxes is not dead yet; he has clawed through the scales of Vhagar’s belly and opened her, unspooled her, disemboweled her. Vhagar’s intestines cascade from her abdomen and tangle around her kicking feet. She is bleeding to death. She will fall soon.

Daemon knows there is no escape. He has Dark Sister in his fist and is preparing to jump from his saddle and deliver the deathblow to Aemond. You remember Daemon stalking you around the courtyard of the Red Keep with the same sword, twirling it in his hands and fantasizing about slitting your throat. The Cannibal understands this as if it is his own memory and unleashes crimson flames upon Caraxes. In his final seconds, Daemon turns and sees you, and the last thing he feels is not triumph but shock and heat and excruciating, incinerating pain, a fire that burns ruinously clean, leaving not even the bones.

Vhagar is dying. She releases Caraxes and the smoldering, broken dragon tumbles resistlessly into the lake. Aemond is calling your name. The Cannibal soars towards them, almost close enough now. Vhagar goes limp as she exsanguinates, her wings stop flapping, her colossal body spirals down towards the Gods Eye. Aemond unfastens his chains and leaps from the saddle. It is his only chance; if he hits the water with Vhagar, he will be knocked unconscious and drown, sink, vanish. His long hair is a ribbon of silver. His hands grasp for you and the Cannibal, catching nothing but empty air.

You reach for him as he falls and the wind rushes through your fingers, grey as steel and cold like the descending winter.

~~~~~~~~~~

A year ago, twilight in the garden of the Red Keep, the fountain trickling lazily as you perch on the edge with Blue Jay clinging to your forearm. High above, silver glints of constellations are burning through the indigo sky. On the ground, you kick pebbles around aimlessly with your bare feet. You avoid his gaze because you’re trying to pretend you’re teasing; you don’t want him to see how upset you are. “They’re going to make you marry a Baratheon girl.”

“No they aren’t.”

“Yes, Aemond, they are. I understand that. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“They’re going to try,” he purrs into your ear as he sits down beside you, petting Blue Jay with one lithe hand. “But I won’t do it. If Borros Baratheon needs a marriage to seal his alliance, then Daeron can wed his youngest daughter. I’ve already written to Daeron, and he agreed. He was willing, in fact. If it means he would be coming home to King’s Landing at last.”

“Lord Baratheon will want you,” you insist. “You are older. You are closer to the throne.”

“I’m very close to it,” Aemond agrees, kissing the apple of your cheek and then biting you there, the sharpness of his teeth, the pink warmth of bloodrush. Blue Jay swoops off into the dusk to devour the wheeling white specks of moths and lacewings.

“He will try to tempt you, he will offer you a beautiful bride.”

“Oh, yes, she will be beautiful,” Aemond murmurs, and when you strike at his chest he catches your wrists and yanks you in closer. “And she will be meek, and compliant, and ladylike in every way, and if she was mine she would lie down and spread her legs for me whenever I asked, because that is what is required of a dutiful wife. She will be devout…and decorous…and sinless…”

“Then marry her instead,” you hiss as you battle with him, fighting to get away, not wanting to win. Aemond drags you off the ledge of the fountain and into the cool shallow water. You splash as you struggle, your fingernails raking against his throat and the blind side of his face where he can’t see to defend himself, your long silver braid heavy and sodden, your blood-colored velvet gown drenched and clinging to you like muscles to bones.

“But the Baratheon girl wouldn’t be like me,” Aemond says, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him, and while his hands are rough his voice is soft, almost like a whisper, almost like the prayers that Mother sighs in the sept, pleading for the gods to tame her children. The thrashing water goes still. Your heartbeat is slowing. You gaze into the crystalline blue of his eye and are trapped there like a sailor sinking to the bottom of the sea. “And she wouldn’t be like you either.”

You grin—relief, triumph, hunger—and Aemond kisses you, not like how a lord kisses a lady but how animals devour each other, fierce and biting, insatiable, unashamed.

Aemond says as he kneels in the water of the fountain, bats you named after him flapping overhead in a darkening sky: “I have to leave for Storm’s End at dawn. I won’t be gone long, I won’t sleep there even if I’m invited too. Wait up for me tomorrow night.”

“No,” you answer, taunting him; but you will.

[gatheredfates]

Playerscope, modding and the hunt for aesthetic: why you should be more upset about mods and community expectations than you already are.

I love that this sounds like an academic paper but HONESTLYYYY. I need to put my thoughts to paper in regards to my burnout with xiv, otherwise I think I'll go insane. This is a controversial yet brave post. I am well aware that I partake in some of the things I'm going to be critiquing; aka, "thank you, dinklebottom, we live in a society." I'm also not critiquing mods from a space of offering more accessibility to people and/or facilitating representation not currently offered within the context of the game. There is nuance to every discussion and I'm coming at this from an overarching view around mods and community expectations/standards rather than player joy. I hope this makes sense. I'm also predominately writing from a roleplay perspective, though I'm sure a lot of what I end up saying can reflect in the art party/social space. Just know if I haven't mentioned the latter it's because that's not my scene and I don't pretend to know otherwise.

Anyway. For those who don't know, there's a new mod that's causing some strife in the xiv community called Playerscope. Here is the reddit thread about it. I'm not going to be talking too much about the mod in general because that's not the point of this post, but seeing discussion around it today just made me feel more exhausted than I already am when it comes to modding and the xiv community around it. It made me realise... I'm actually really sick to death of mods. I'm sick to death of what they're doing to the community when it comes to gatekeeping, policing and in general the interactions we have with each other in the community.

Let me explain: I wrote a post about the roleplay mod on bsky that kind of articulates at a surface level what I mean.

I think what makes me sad, which I'm sure is echoed by a lot of people, is that mods feel like the standard now rather than an option and that there's a certain expectation for people to have them if they want to engage with facets of the community—whether intentional or not.

Unlike XIV, WoW has a supported mod scene (within reason) and TRP 2 and the like have been accepted for years now. In a space where people can't slap on an RP tag, having that tool readily identifies you as a writer/roleplayer and you can include as much or as little of your character as you like. The general idea is if you have one of these tools enabled, you're a roleplayer to some capacity. You can dress up the profile to a certain degree, you can add links and supported pictures, but you're mostly reliant on what you put to paper in regards to your character. Even then, I find filling out what my character is doing currently and marking the rest as a WIP doesn't necessarily exclude me from roleplay if I want to find it. A lot of people will do that and a super simple description to incite interest around their oc.

These days in XIV... I don't know. I do think communities have gotten more insular—it's why I'm so pedantic about trying to find them for the Compendium—but I also think mods and, to a certain extent, the 'nightclub' scene have gotten in the way of it as well. My argument is such.

I want to go to an event (for example sake, I'll call it Seascape). In order to fully participate, I may need:

Their discord.

A roleplay addon.

A carrd/google site/etc.

Their synchshell (including mods, mare and everything else)

Potentially a mod of some description so people know I can see theirs (and vice versa).

Also that your mod isn't made by a shitty person.

Appropriate understanding of the scene/social space.

Some luck and a prayer that it's an inclusive space and not a closed rp group advertising as being open and/or a mod showcase advertising itself as something different.

Like??? Holy shit you guys. If you are someone who doesn't want to mod because you're worried about repercussions it really just feels like a big 'fuck you, good luck'.

And let me be clear, not every community is like this. I'm incredibly lucky to have found fantastic roleplay within my own rp event/community, I have great friends who run awesome, inclusive events for people of any skill (writing or otherwise) and I do fully believe you can just enable the rp tag and find fun, fulfilling roleplay. But I've also found the above a lot of times, too. I've had people point-blank get mad at my partner because he won't install mods and try to exclude and/or circumvent him in spaces. It's weird. I've been to events where the only time I felt like I got proper interaction(s) was when I joined the aforementioned, even if I have my character's profile linked in my about. It's weird.

Honestly, no wonder new roleplayers feel overwhelmed. Not only do they have to learn roleplay etiquette, they have to be a mod expert overnight? It feels less about what someone can bring to the table as far as a story but what mods they can install to either look cool or pass an unspoken social barrier. As much as I'm down bad for aesthetic and looking the part, I hate it being at the cost of accessibility and fun for someone else.

Arguably it's the same for gposing and the like as well, which contributes to my exhaustion alongside all the graphical changes and I just. I'm gnawing at the bars of my cage.

I don't think it's going to change and arguably it's more of a Twitter/X issue than a Tumblr, one but Tumblr lets me write mini essays and Twitter will tell me to kms.

Ergo, I'll go with the essay-writing platform.

Anyway, I guess this is just a reminder that you don't need 4596419651 mods to be in the community and that people should be more vigilant on including people who don't have them for whatever reason, provided they operate in good-faith and want to contribute. I think we're careening to a slippery slope of expectation for something unsupported and I don't like it.

[brucebocchi]

Ranking 2024 anime, Pt. 5: #10-1

hey, this post is also available on my ko-fi, so please check it out and consider tipping/donating as i do this for free and am currently between jobs. you can find part 1 of the list here, part 2 here, part 3 here, and part 4 here. all of my seasonal reviews are on my ko-fi and under my anime reviews tag, mixed in with my occasional musings. thanks!

And we are in the home stretch! I didn't want to split up my top 10 like last year, so it took a couple days to get it all together. Thanks for your patience.

​As you may have noticed, some of these reviews are longer than others. I've reviewed most of these shows before, so I didn't want to be too redundant while talking about shows I've already reviewed. You can, of course, go back and read my initial reviews in my previous seasonal roundups.

Also, I just wanted to quickly shout out a few shows that I haven't watched much or any of, but would likely have placed well in these rankings, namely Dead Dead Demon's Dededede Destruction, YATAGARASU, the Spice and Wolf remake, Orb: On the Movements of Earth, Sound! Euphonium's third season, and the late Akira Toriyama's SAND LAND and Dragon Ball DAIMA. I only have so much time in a day, week, month, and year, but those series have been on my radar and I do intend to pick them up sooner or later.

But for now, let's focus on what I did watch. Off we go:

10. Blue Box

This is a slightly biased placement on my end because I picked up the manga this year and quickly fell in love with it, and I’m just happy that it got a faithful, well-made anime adaptation. If you have an issue with that, I’m gonna let you in on a little secret: This whole list is biased. It’s MY list, after all.

After an uneven summer output between My Dear Friend Nokotan and Suicide Squad Isekai, WIT Studio is in full form adapting Kouji Miura’s gorgeous high school sports romance. Rising first-year badminton player Taiki has a huge crush on his basketball star senpai Chinatsu, who practices in the same high school gym he does. He’s happy enough to keep a friendly distance as they improve at their respective sports, but that distance is closed significantly when her parents go abroad for work and she ends up moving in under the same roof as him. The spirit of competition is in the air, and is that a whiff of romance I smell as well?

The reason I felt the need to call out my own bias at the start is because Blue Box’s debut cour is, on balance, probably just “pretty good,” but I was just so overjoyed that this anime even exists that I was willing to overlook the early story’s growing pains. Taiki, of course, is the POV character for most of the first cour, and most of the romantic tension we see so far is entirely from his end as he swoons and huffs and goes into cardiac arrest over any and every gesture Chinatsu throws his way. You know, teenage boy stuff. There have been criticisms that Chinatsu doesn’t get much interiority for a bit and that she’s a bit of an enigma in terms of her role in the central “romance,” such that it is so far, which is a valid criticism of a lot of shonen romance stories. I’m generally of the mind that these things are more potent when the object of the protagonist’s affection is treated as more than a puzzle for him to solve, but I think Blue Box does a fine job of establishing what Chinatsu means to Taiki before we do indeed begin to get a feel for how she operates and what she might think of him. If you found that part a little maddening early on, trust me when I say it’s worth sticking it out.

Regardless, the character writing is what made Blue Box such a hit in Weekly Shonen Jump. Taiki is a flat-out good kid, if a little naive, and his boundless determination to achieve and exceed his goals in both badminton and romance makes him easy to root for. Chinatsu is fairly taciturn, as mentioned, but that’s by design; she’s a notoriously difficult person to read, as even her friends and teammates note that they can rarely decipher what she’s thinking. She’s still an effortlessly charming character, and it’s not hard to figure out why Taiki’s got it so bad for her. The real highlight of the series, though, is Taiki’s classmate and longtime friend, Hina, a rhythmic gymnast and an absolute troll. She is an absolute delight in every scene she’s in, whether she’s knocking Taiki’s knees out from under him, focusing on rehearsing her next routine, or prying into Taiki’s love life and realizing that, oops, she really cares about him too. Hina is wonderful and I just want the best for her.

Characters this likable will need the voices to match, and I am over the moon about this show’s casting. Shouya Chiba is tremendous as Taiki, in a far cry from his Epic Based Stoic Chad role as Ayanokoji in Classroom of the Elite. Every line read for Taiki sounds exactly as gung-ho about sports and devastatingly down bad for his crush as you’d expect of a hormonal 15 year old. Reina Ueda is terrific as the soft-spoken Chinatsu, but I’m looking forward to hearing the always-delightful Xanthe Huynh (Haru in Persona 5, Marianne in Fire Emblem Three Houses) take on the role in the dub just as much. Akari Kitou channels much of the same gremlin energy she did for KamiKatsu to portray Hina’s mischief, and I look forward to hearing her nail Hina’s excellent upcoming character moments. And although it’s a secondary role, the casting I was most excited to hear was Chiaki Kobayashi (Mash in Mashle, Stark in Frieren) as Taiki’s teammate Kyo. Kobayashi’s languid tsukkomi affect was exactly what I had in mind whenever Kyo would put Taiki’s lovelorn antics into stark relief in the manga. It’s like he was born for the part.

This show looks tremendous, perfectly adapting both the soft, doe-eyed character designs from the manga as well as the lower-detail gags. The pastel color palette and gorgeous lighting effects are exactly what I was hoping for while reading the manga.  If I have any complaint, though, it’s mostly that I want to see more of the sports action. The granular details of the badminton matches and basketball games are hardly the focus of the story, but the action panels are usually the best part of Miura’s art in the manga. Shot-for-shot, it certainly does hew close to the manga presentation, but it’s mostly a racquet swing or close-up jump shot followed by an onlooker’s reaction. I’d have liked a bit more follow through. The CGI used for background competitors can get a little distracting after a while, too, but it’s easy to forget about.

Blue Box is continuing into 2025, and I’m waiting for every new episode with bated breath. If you liked the first cour enough but still have doubts, trust me when I say it just keeps getting better. I look forward to coming back to the second half of this season in another year for my victory lap.

9. Girls Band Cry

This is one of the most inventive girls-band anime out there, certainly the most so since that one from 2022 that I swore I wouldn’t bring up by name. Gorgeous 3D-CG animation, stirring original music, and a compelling cast of characters combine to make Girls Band Cry even more than the sum of its parts.

More than anything, I think what makes Girls Band Cry a terrific showbiz series is that it depicts the uncomfortable reality that a lot of artists are just flat-out unpleasant people and often don’t mesh well with one another. Protagonist Nina is messy, stubborn, and angry at the world and her parents and will not hesitate to make it your problem. She butts heads with her friends and bandmates at any provocation, but stubbornness is a major driving factor in the plot: Each of the five members of Togenashi Togeari has something they’re trying to move on from with their music, and while they each have an opinion on how to get there, they do come to realize, after a lot of silly yelling matches, that they want to do so together.

As a vehicle to push Girls Band Cry and Togenashi Togeari as a real-world multimedia experience, this show is a success. It’s a terrific-looking show in ways we rarely see outside of Studio Orange productions (and allegedly Love Live! Sunshine!!, which director Kazuo Sakai also had a hand in); the 3D computer-generated character models and animations are terrifically expressive and lively, and creative visual effects add a compelling sense of synaesthesia to Nina's emotional highs and lows. The voice cast, all pseudonymous contest winners, are also the real-life band members, and they fully nail both elements of their roles. TogeToge’s music in the show is terrific, and as an already-existing Gorillaz-esque virtual band, I’m excited to dig into their back catalog.

Girls Band Cry finally got an official English translation, so there’s no longer any excuse to sleep on this one. It’s funny, it’s heartfelt, and above all else, it fucking rocks. Don’t let this one fade away just because you might’ve missed it when it aired.

8. Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End, second cour

When I ranked the first cour of Frieren as the best anime of 2023, I wrote:

The debut season of Frieren will continue into 2024, and if the quality remains a constant, it could very well be one of the best anime of next year too. It has remained as MyAnimeList’s top-rated anime ever for its entire run, warding off the legion of Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood fans. Frieren deserves it.

A year later, it is still MAL’s top-rated anime, and by a healthy margin. Another 12 episodes aired to kick off 2024, and it was indeed one of the best anime of this year as well. I stand firm in my convictions that not only is it one of the best anime of the decade so far, it’s one of the best anime I’ve ever seen.

I really shot my wad by praising Frieren so profusely midway through its run, to the point where I still don’t really feel the need to add much more here. The second cour mostly focuses on the First Class Mage exam arc, allowing us to learn more about the present state of magic in the modern day and adding some much-needed depth to the cast. It continues to strike a lovely balance between the quieter moments and bonkers action sequences, as well as the more serious moments with laugh-out-loud goofiness. It may be a lesser arc in this story, but it would be a standout in so many others.

If I haven’t been clear enough, I remain over the moon about Frieren. The second cour looks and sounds just as incredible as the first, and this show’s success should serve as a reminder to the industry that investment in quality pays off. Madhouse knows they have a banger on their hands, and if the next season can maintain this level of production value for the major arc that is still to come, Frieren may very well earn GOAT status. Even if another season somehow never materializes, I’ll still be talking about this season in five years when it comes time to talk about the best of the decade. Watch this goddamn show.

7. A Sign of Affection

For all the romance anime and manga I consume, I’ve shamefully been lacking on the shoujo/josei front. I really gotta fix that. If reading more shoujo was what spurred Yukinobu Tatsu to make DanDaDan, then who knows what it might do for me? A Sign of Affection isn’t my first shoujo, strictly speaking, but it does feel like one of the first I’ve seen of the good old-fashioned flowery romance type.

What a gorgeous show. A Sign of Affection looks terrific, sounds terrific, and above all feels terrific. This is just a lovely, fluffy romance with low stakes and easy payoff; just two pretty people getting to know each other and learning to overcome their differences. It’s low on gimmicks and plot contrivances, and for as much as I like romcoms and romance stories with a unique bent, I love a good straightforward romance just as much sometimes. Everyone looks beautiful and likes each other and Jesus Christ look at the lips on these boys. There’s even a double-date to Costco, and what better depiction of marital bliss could there be?

I’m still pleasantly surprised at how this show handles the main character’s disability. Protagonist Yuki’s congenital deafness isn’t a single-note character quirk or a plot device to make her seem helpless; it simply is. It’s a part of her life that serves as the lens through which all of the people in her life see and treat her, and it leads to the only thing that resembles a major conflict in the show. Itsuomi, the main romantic interest, doesn’t baby her or walk all over her; he instead gently tests her boundaries while learning to accommodate her in a way to ensure her comfort. Her childhood friend Oushi, on the other hand, is very jealous of this development because he seems to feel entitled to her just because he did the bare minimum to accommodate her. The circumstances aren’t common, of course, but it’s a good lesson for a shoujo to have: Don’t settle.

My praise for A Sign of Affection mostly boils down to “it’s just really nice,” but it does “just really nice” so goddamn well. It’s fluffy, it’s comfy, it’s cozy, all of those adjectives that would set off my fight-or-flight response if I heard them from someone else, but I was enthralled by this show week in and week out. I can’t believe I neglected to start reading the manga, and I’m gonna have to get on that ASAP because I can’t wait for another season.

6. The Apothecary Diaries, second cour

I found myself more intrigued at The Apothecary Diaries at the end of 2023 than most other shows I’d watched that year. I grew more and more invested in the idiosyncratic Maomao as she investigated mysterious ailments and navigated imperial palace politics, all the while being a lovable little shit. 

Before I’d realized it, though, the 2024 half of its run knew it had its hooks in me and took me for a ride. What looked at first like a series of one-off puzzles quickly began entangling into a much larger mystery, rapidly gaining momentum until exploding into a massive emotional payoff. So many of the small details in what you assume are episodic mystery-of-the-week mini-stories become relevant in unexpected ways and draw you in ever further. I adore this kind of lowkey long-term storytelling, and for it to be part of such an appealing package is basically catnip for me.

For as gorgeous as The Apothecary Diaries can be visually, sonically, and sometimes even emotionally, it’s worth mentioning that this show is also hilarious a lot of the time. Maomao is on permanent goblin mode whenever she isn’t carrying out official business, and any time the palace officials have to rein her in is a delight. The push-and-pull between her and Jinshi is endlessly entertaining to the point where I can wait forever for that payoff if I have to.

I neglected to read the Apothecary Diaries manga after the first season went off the air (though I nearly bought all of it sight unseen), and with the second about to drop, I guess I’m holding off for another six months. Can’t say I mind, though. I’m along for the ride and I want this show to keep surprising me for as long as it can. This is easily one of the best anime of the 2020s so far and I’m gonna be there front row center for every new episode.

5. Bang Brave Bang Bravern

People say “peak fiction” too goddamn often these days. Not that it was a meaningful term to begin with, but it’s been memed to hell and back and is mostly just thrown out ironically to mock garbage writing. To be honest, I’m not above it myself, but I prefer to ascribe it, even jokingly, to stuff that can only truly come from a brilliant and/or deranged mind. Preferably both. Peak fiction, to me, is the intersection where talent meets insanity, no matter the degree of either.

Bang Brave Bang Bravern is peak fiction.

I gushed about this show after the winter season, and I almost don’t want to say anything further about it, mostly for two reasons: Firstly, because I don’t really want to give the game away any more than I already did back in April, and secondly, because I think it may have permanently burrowed into a specific part of my brain and then melted it. All I’m left with is “this show fucking rocks, dudes rock, you need to see it, it’s peak, don't ask questions, just watch it.”

Indeed, Bravern is the Dudes Rock anime of the year, and an essential piece of Dudes Rock media. It’s Top Gun with aliens and a giant talking robot. And the robot wants to fuck his pilot. This show is loud, horny, stupid, and self-aware, combined just so into a cocktail of legitimate brilliance that is, for better or worse, unlike anything I’ve seen before or since. Nearly every single episode had me clawing at my hair and shrieking “WHAT THE FUCK AM I WATCHING,” and that is the highest praise I can give just about anything.

I might be overselling it just a touch, but Bravern is just as earnest as it is utterly wild. It’s an intentionally hilarious show, but it means everything it does and says. It’s a love letter to mecha anime and tokusatsu, and with its top staff sporting Gundam and Macross bona fides, that love oozes into every aspect. The mechs, both manmade and alien, all look tremendous, the music is a throwback to the goofy bombast you’d find in series like this as far back as the Showa era, and the ensemble cast outside of our silly leads are just as gung-ho and serious about Saving The World as you’d find in just about any other mech show. Anything that can be this goofy with a completely straight face is going to hook me in.

All in all, Bang Brave Bang Bravern is hypercompetent lunacy with heart. Call it weaponized genre awareness if you must, but it knows exactly what it’s about, grabs you by the collar, and takes you for a ride, all while doing badass tokusatsu poses and calling out special moves with silly names. This is legitimately what fiction is all about. 

Also, if you don’t like Lulu just because she screeches a lot, you’re a weakling. Gaga-pi, motherfucker.

4. The Dangers in My Heart, season 2

This was a series whose first season was conspicuously absent from my 2023 rankings, but I caught up shortly after finishing that list in order to catch up to the second season. I’d watched a glut of slice-of-life romances in 2023 and figured I could afford to miss this one. I’m overjoyed at how wrong I was.

To paraphrase the second season’s exceptional OP, The Dangers in My Heart is indescribably beautiful. As I said with A Sign of Affection, I love me a straightforward anime romance, and this middle school slice-of-life is just that: Underdeveloped edgelord boy ends up making unlikely friends with, and falling for, the cheery popular girl in his class. This is easy wish-fulfillment on paper, but that’s hiding the trick: Kyotaro isn’t gonna get anything he wants by keeping his quills out for anyone who comes near, and he has some growing up to do if he’s ever gonna get what he wants.

Season 2 picks up right where the first left off, with Kyotaro’s arm still broken from his family trip and Anna feeling guilty because she thinks her distraction was what led to the injury. Right out of the gate, we see the care these two have developed for one another: Anna wants to help while he can’t do his own schoolwork, while Kyo is quick to try to cheer her up when she no longer feels like she’s able to. Already we’re seeing Kyotaro’s character development coming to light: The Dangers in My Heart isn’t a story about a Nice Guy getting the girl just by being there; it’s a story of self-improvement, of trying to become the type of person whom your crush would want to fall in love with. For a story about and ostensibly marketed to early teenagers, that’s a good lesson to have, and I absolutely devour stories like that.

As can be the case with plenty of adolescents, most of the conflict here is internal. Kyotaro spent the early part of his middle school education keeping a safe distance from everyone in order to avoid getting hurt, and as you can imagine, that did a number on his self esteem. Though he’s mostly kicked the chuunibyo mindset, Kyo still prefers to keep his distance, less because he doesn’t want to get hurt, but now because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone else. Specifically Anna. So much of this story is about him learning to be okay with letting people in and not just falling in love, but making friends and becoming somebody whom people just want to be around. It’s a chuuni rehabilitation story. You love to see it.

With all due respect to mangaka Norio Sakurai, the biggest surprise that came from reading the manga was how much better the anime looks than its source material. The anime looks tremendous in its own right, but compared to Sakurai’s doodly, occasionally messy style, the love put into the show stands in stark relief. Characters, backgrounds, and lighting are all soft, squishy, and warm, almost like the entire thing was run through the filter through which only a 13-year-old in love can see, even as a little edgelord. Little flourishes in the environment and music highlight the minute but consequential motes of progression in Kyo and Anna’s relationship. The OP ended up shaking out as my favorite of the year, even with 2024 being bookended by Creepy Nuts bangers. It’s that special to me.

And just like that, The Dangers in My Heart went from “eh probably not for me” to “yeah this is one of the best anime of the decade so far.” It’s a simple slice-of-life romance on paper, almost literally so in the manga, but this is a transformative adaptation. There’s much more of the story to tell, and I wouldn’t complain about more, but as it stands after two seasons, The Dangers in My Heart is damn near perfect as it is.

3. Oshi no Ko, season 2

Another year, another season, another top-four finish for one of the best manga adaptations I’ve ever seen. 

The anime adaptation of Aka Akasaka and Mengo Yokoyari’s showbiz-revenge manga made shockwaves last year following its thunderous feature-length premiere, and its source material made even more waves due to some questionable plot developments that fortunately went nowhere. Doga Kobo was undeterred by any negative attention brought to the brand, though, and pressed forward into the next arc with a level of swagger you rarely see brought into an anime’s sequel season.

The 2.5D stage play arc in Oshi no Ko’s manga wasn’t my favorite, but it was one that you could tell just from reading it would translate well to the screen. Even then, I wasn’t prepared for just how hard Doga Kobo would go in adapting it. Character animation is sumptuously fluid, color used to amazing effect, and personal expression bursts forth into impressionistic abstraction to such a degree that it made manga artist Yokoyari cry. Everyone looks and sounds incredible beyond any way I could’ve imagined from reading the manga, which, at the risk of sounding defensive, is still very good as a whole.

This being a story largely about the music industry, the music remains as on-point as ever. It’s too soon to tell if the second season’s OP/ED pairing tops the instantly-iconic “Idol” and “Mephisto” from the first, but these are no slouches. This season’s OP, “Fatale,” is a whiplash-inducing banger by Tatsuya Kitani and idol Kento Nakajima, performing under the collaborative name of GEMN (itself a relevant name to the show; twins without the i/Ai, DO YOU GET IT???) with visuals that might actually top those of Idol. The new ED, “Burning,” is Hitsujibungaku at their fuzzy, 90s-style alt-rock best, and it takes on a brand new meaning by the end of the season. Of course, there’s also the story-relevant music; while the bulk of the season focuses on the stage play, the last few episodes give us a glimpse into the pop music process, with the season capping off with an in-universe music video that, while not sonically my exact cup of tea, features 90 seconds of some of the best-looking dance animation I’ve ever seen in my life. That’s a flex if I’ve ever seen one.

And just like the first season, the second capped off with an announcement that Oshi no Ko will indeed be returning for another season. At this rate, and with the anime’s success, they will adapt the entire work, which will raise some eyebrows. I’m not going to litigate the manga’s later controversial developments nor its widely-panned ending, but if Doga Koba was able to handle everything that came before those things with such aplomb, I have faith that it will at least be done well.

2. DanDaDan

I want to preface this by saying that I agonized over whether this or the final entry is my anime of the year. I’m comfortable with what I chose, but if I’m being realistic, DanDaDan is basically 1b. This is a masterpiece already.

Although the source material was a bit of a cult hit until this year, DanDaDan came with a considerable amount of hype. If you were even peripherally familiar, it wasn’t hard to see why: Yukinobu Tatsu’s art is absurdly detailed in almost every panel, character designs are easily recognizable (one of the leads dressing similarly to a Persona 3 character was fortuitous for the anime to drop in the same year as Reload), and so many bizarre things happen in the plot that relaying them to anybody who wasn’t already familiar would make their brain briefly touch the void. Above all, though, Science SARU was tabbed to animate it, and any project by them is immediately worth your attention.

Sure enough, DanDaDan made an instantaneous splash, its first episode adapting the manga’s bombastic, twisty 63-page opening chapter nearly beat for beat. I’m not gonna “don’t look it up, just go in blind” this one, but almost too much happens for me to properly detail it all without just writing a complete synopsis. It boils down to “lonely nerd boy believes in aliens, angry kogal believes in yokai, it turns out both are real and now they have to deal with it.” It’s silly, it’s wild, it’s action packed, and if you can stomach the sexually-compromising alien abduction of the girl, you’re along for the ride.

I’m not gonna harp too much on that last point. It does stink that the female lead, Momo, is stripped to her underwear for the sake of alien sexual “research,” but said aliens get their comeuppance before anything happens to her. It’s still not great, and it’s not the last time female characters are portrayed in their underwear, but I do promise it’s for story reasons, it takes a backseat to the onscreen action and is pretty clearly not done for the sake of fanservice. I know such things can be beyond the pale for some people, but if you think you can compartmentalize that, I recommend you watch the first episode with that caveat in mind and decide from there. You may be pleasantly surprised.

DanDaDan is effectively two stories at once; on one side, we have Momo and the boy, Okarun (a nickname Momo devised for him to preserve her own sanity), gaining wacky supernatural powers in order to fight back these occult threats and regain what was stolen from Okarun from his first encounter with the unexpected (IYKYK). Because these threats can come out of nowhere, their daily high school lives can completely pop off without warning. On the other side, we have quieter slice-of-life tension as Momo and Okarun get to know (and frequently misunderstand) each other and realize they are completely and hopelessly head-over-heels for one another.

Surprise, motherfucker: DanDaDan is a romcom.

Yukinobu Tatsu, formerly an assistant on the first saga of Chainsaw Man, long struggled to get his own work serialized. At his editor’s urging, he read something like a hundred manga for inspiration, including several shoujo romance series. That research shows through in DanDaDan; although the bonkers action sequences and off-the-wall monster designs are what draw in readers and viewers alike, what’s kept this many people along for the ride is the beating heart just barely under the surface in the form of the romantic tension between Momo and Okarun. It’s easy to write this off as some “lonely nerd gets the cute gyaru just by being a Nice Guy” wish fulfillment, but that’s not really the case here; Okarun was a weird little twerp right from the jump. Similarly to Kyotaro in the aforementioned Dangers in My Heart, Okarun believes early on that he’s nowhere near Momo’s league, completely unaware that she quickly grows to actually like having him around, so he puts in the effort to become a more well-rounded person so that he can be confident enough to be seen next to her. He also just wants Momo to think he’s cool, and she thinks that’s adorable. And she’s right! These two are cute as fuck together.

So you come for the wild action and stay for the tremendous character dynamics. It should go without saying that Science SARU nailed all of the above, but I’m gonna say it anyway. Reading the Manga+ comments on each chapter as I read through the manga, readers were begging a top-flight battle shonen studio like MAPPA or WIT to pick up the series, and I think these fans got more than they bargained for. Masaaki Yuasa hasn’t been in charge of a series at the studio since Eizouken, or anything they’ve put out since Inu-Oh, but his influence is all over their recent works, including last year’s fellow top-three series, Scott Pilgrim Takes Off. It’s beyond impressive how, much like Scott Pilgrim, this series manages to maintain the source material’s art style while still looking very much like a Science SARU anime. Everyone is bouncy and malleable as their moods dictate, line weights are wildly varied, and action animation is kinetic and unpredictable. Each fight with an alien or cryptid is awash in eye-searing color or eerie greyscale. The music is a boatload of fun as well; even putting aside the Creepy Nuts OP (banger after banger after banger from those dudes) and Zutomayo ED, regular proceedings are punctuated by a wildly varied score, from funk to folk to an insane chase scene set to an electronic mashup of the “William Tell Overture” and the can-can. Everything about DanDaDan keeps you guessing.

I was looking forward to DanDaDan enough that I went to the theatrical premiere of the first three episodes and was sufficiently blown away. If you’ve seen the show, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise that it looks and sounds incredible in a cinema setting. I left the theater positively buzzing, telling anyone who’d listen that they had no idea what was coming, but even knowing the entire story, I wasn’t prepared for more of what was to come. The literal next episode after what I’d already seen in the theater had one of the most bonkers action setpieces I’ve seen since Gurren Lagann, and just four episodes later an unbelievable emotional gut punch, prior knowledge of the manga be damned. Every single aspect of DanDaDan as an anime was given the same level of love and care that Tatsu put into his own work. It’s one thing for an anime adaptation to be faithful to its source material, and another entirely for it to elevate and transform it. DanDaDan is somehow both.

If there’s anything that held this back from being the anime of the year, it’s that this season kind of just… ends. With the 12-episode runtime that was given to the debut season, DanDaDan ends its first run right after the beginning of the manga’s next arc, which feels bizarre. There’s no resolution, but there’s no real cliffhanger here either. Which I kind of get, the story is driven by a constant forward momentum, but a little warning that the season was ending would’ve been nice. It’s only a six month break until the show comes back, but judged on its own, the way this season ended left me feeling a bit cold and the season itself feeling incomplete. Even shows that have year-long breaks between cours rather than seasons tend to put some kind of cap on each individual run, but DanDaDan just kinda left the toilet unflushed, and next to it a Post-It note promising to come back later. For something this lovingly crafted, that seems like a bizarre oversight.

That was hardly enough to temper my enjoyment though. Anything this well-made is deserving of the attention and success it’s attained, but to have this story, with these characters and this level of bonkers action made this well, is just an embarrassment of riches. And God help me, I’m shamelessly greedy. July can’t come fast enough. I need all of it.

1. Delicious in Dungeon

At the end of its run midway through the year, I declared Dungeon Meshi the best anime of the year up to that point and that I’d be impressed if anything would manage to overtake it. Though the other two entries in my top three made extremely strong cases, nothing else quite hit the spot and nourished the soul quite like Dungeon Meshi.

Barely a year removed from one of 2022’s best anime, Cyberpunk Edgerunners, Studio Trigger kicked off 2024 with another Netflix original, this time with its first proper manga adaptation since the studio split from Gainax a decade prior. It seemed an odd fit at first to have a studio known for wacky, hyperkinetic action productions like Kill la Kill and Promare to adapt this quirky fantasy dungeon manga, but hey, they also did Little Witch Academia. It turned out to be an odd fit, but in the best way: Dungeon Meshi is pretty offbeat as it is, so for it to get picked up by one of the more oddball prestige studios ended up making a tasty stew.

I struggled to elaborate on what makes this show so good after each of its cours, and six months later I remain a little lost for words. It’s an exceptional story adapted exceptionally well. Between the characters, the story, the setting, the emotional stakes, the comedy, the highs and lows, they nailed it all. Trigger just gets it. Even when characters go off-model for the sake of an intentional animation quirk, it still has that inimitable Trigger charm to it. It sounds just as good as it looks, too: The orchestral score highlights the quieter, sillier moments just as well as the tenser action setpieces, the foley work behind the dungeon’s bizarre and varied flora and fauna is immaculate, and the cast is perfect in both Japanese and English (I rarely ever say so but seriously, shout out to the dub).

I’m just as sick of saying “this show speaks for itself” when I have trouble finding the words as you probably are of reading it, but I have little else to add here. I’ve written plenty already. Just go watch it. This is already one of my favorite manga ever, and by the time the series wraps up at the end of its second season, it will easily end up as one of my favorite anime ever.

[michaelmilligan]

The Jonmartin manifesto no one asked for but needed to get out

So, I've not been in the tma fandom for long yet, having only listened to it for the first time a few months ago. But from browsing the Jonmartin (and teaholding and jmart) tag regularly, it seems to me like most jonmartin shippers fall into one of these two categories:

They would find each other in every universe; or

It's a miracle they even got together in this universe

(Obviously, that's an oversimplification, and people who express one view in one post can easily hold a different view at another time - these are fictional characters we're talking about after all, and headcanons don't need to be consistent and can even contradict each other. This is just the general vibe I got so far.)

Anyway, I wanted to add my own two cents on the topic, because while I understand where both of these views are coming from, I think neither of them is ultimately correct.

(Putting the rest under a read more - be warned that this is NOT a spoiler-free post, so if you haven't finished listening to TMA yet and you want a spoiler-free experience, you probably shouldn't read this.)

So, before we get to my own opinion, let's first look at where the two options I mentioned above come from, shall we?

"They would find each other in every universe"

Obviously, this view is highly romantic - star-crossed lovers, finding each other again and again. It is both a good foundational basis for AUs, and a ray of hope in the face of the tragedy that is the tma finale.

Of course, concerning the finale, this is a rather different take than concerning AUs (since it would mean the very same characters finding each other again in a different world, not fundamentally different characters, shaped by said other world, also finding each other). And maybe when people express this view, they mean more the finale fix-its than AUs, though I suspect that plenty of people mean both.

It's a nice, comforting thought. And don't we all need some comfort after the finale? Yes, we certainly do. (Except for the people who read only hurt without comfort and angst, I guess. You do you, and I'm glad you're having fun, but personally I do desperately need some comfort, lmao.)

Is this view supported by canon though?

Cynical minds would say no, and personally I'm more inclined to agree with them, though as I've said, for me the truth lies outside of those two rigid stances (somewhere in between, I suppose).

I don't see much in canon which points to Jon and Martin falling in love under any circumstances/in any universe, especially considering their... let's say difficult relationships at the start of the show. But of course we must also take into account the specific circumstances in canon (more on that below) and interpretations vary, and I do very much enjoy AUs, so I'm certainly not trying to throw shade if you're on this side of the 'divide'.

Mostly, I think there CAN be other circumstances in which those two get together, outside the canon ones. (I'm writing a canon-divergent jonmartin fic myself, lol.) Let's get into that while we look at the other view, shall we.

"It's a miracle they even got together in this one"

Ah, the Martin-approved stance. One could say 'well, they literally said it in canon' and be done with it. However, that would require us to believe that the opinions of the characters are always true and correct, which. Lmao. We only have to listen to season 2 of tma to know that this is very much not the case.

And even if S5 Martin is not S2 Jon at the height of his paranoia, he's still very much a man shaped by his own life and experiences. I'm sure he would call himself a realist, but he honestly seems more like a pessimist to me. Which is understandable, given his life, and his association with the Lonely, which has often been (in my opinion accurately) compared to depression.

The thing is, Jon did treat Martin horribly in S1, and then he admittedly treated everyone horribly in S2. It was only in the course of S3 that their relationship got more, let's say, equal, with Jon no longer thinking Martin would be 'contributing nothing but delays'. (And then of course we have S4, which I LOVE even though it hurts me deeply. Then again, that's the whole show. And, obviously, S5 my beloved.)

So. Jon seemed to hate Martin in S1, while Martin was arguably already in love with the man. (Arguably. We do know that he acted catty to Basira in S2, so it's reasonable to assume that he started liking him at some point in S1, or even before the show started.) Then a lot of traumatic things happened, and they got together.

This means it must be the traumatic things that made them compatible, right? Just like Martin says in S5?

Well, one could see it that way. Jon certainly changed over the seasons, coming off his high horse and such. (In S5, he arguably gets back on it quite a bit, but then he IS the Eye's specialest little princess in a world that's literally ruled by it. And also he is slowly losing his grip on his own humanity. But I digress.)

And I do think that the trauma channeled a lot of those changes - the first time we see Jon being actually emotionally open (something he still struggles with over all seasons, because people don't just change fundamentally that quickly) is during Prentiss' attack on the Institute. They're in a situation where they might reasonably die (they even expect it, because they don't know that Elias is just rubbing his greedy little paws as he waits for things to get worse before he saves them with the gas).

I do think that moment could have been a big turning point for Jon and Martin, if it hadn't been immediately followed with the discovery of Gertrude's body, and Jon's subsequent descent into paranoia. Jon opened up, and also saw that Martin was rather competent during the attack, which could have led to them becoming closer, respectively having at least something like a normal work relationship.

But then Jon got paranoid and interpreted everything he saw negatively, including Martin's competence, which was twisted in his mind to 'What if he's just been pretending to be incompetent and is actually an evil agent out to kill the archivist'.

(Big sigh.)

Anyway, before I lose myself in the red string as well: Yes, Jon seems to 'mellow' over the seasons, especially with regard to Martin, at the same time that he's going through terribly traumatic events.

But does that mean that it's actually the trauma that's changing him and his relationships? Partly, certainly, but I would argue that trauma doesn't make you nicer or kinder. It might make you realise some things, but that doesn't mean that you can't realise those things in other ways.

And does it means that they couldn't have come together if they had met under different circumstances? Also not necessarily! I would even argue that the specific circumstances they met under were detrimental to Jon's first impression of Martin. And yes, this goes beyond the dog story.

So let's try and dissect their relationship from the start.

A theory of... something like nuance, or whatever

The starting situation

(Yes, I did have to use a Supernatural gif, thank you for asking. No, I will not apologise. <3)

Alright. So let's start with what we actually know about Jon and Martin's first meeting. Obviously, there's the dog story, though as far as I know that's not 'canon' because it wasn't actually in the podcast. I still like it, and think it adds another reason to Jon's behaviour, though I don't necessarily think it's necessary, because Jon already had lots of other reasons to tell himself that Martin wasn't worth his time.

1.1. Jon has issues. More at 11.

First of all, we learn throughout the podcast that Jon doesn't actually have any qualifications to lead an archive. He's probably 29 when the show starts (in 2016, going by the fandom wiki stating that he was born in 1987, which is reasonable given everything we learn about his age).

So, he's 29 and suddenly appointed, after four years of working in one department, to become the head of a completely different department. He does not have a degree that would give him credentials for leading an archive, nor are we told that he has ever even worked in an archive. For all we know, and that he knows, he is woefully underqualified. (This is also, I think, highlighted in S2 when Jon threatens to resign, only to then be baffled by Elias saying that he would be difficult to replace. Elias means something completely different than his skill set as an archivist with a lower case 'a', presumably, but then Jon doesn't know that.)

This means that Jon is in a highly stressful position, because he's trying to do a job he doesn't actually know how to do, while also trying not to let on that he doesn't know how to do it!

It doesn't help that Jon is also terribly scared of what all might be lurking in the shadows (or even in the light), as he himself admits during the Prentiss attack. He is extremely high-strung from day one, basically a wet chihuahua shaking in a slight breeze, while trying to seem like a strong bulldog.

We also know that Jon asked for two people to be his assistants: Tim and Sasha. They both worked in research, and Sasha also briefly worked in artefact storage, making them both qualified to help Jon with following up on statements. But I think more than their qualifications, Jon probably requested them because he knew and got along with them.

Imagine: Your boss tells you that he's promoting you into a position you're not qualified for and which you have no real clue how to do. Wouldn't you rather have people around you who you're already friendly with, and who are likely to cut you some slack if you're not perfect on day one? I know I would!

1.2. Elias is a little shit and I want to kill him with hammers (affectionately)

And then Elias transfers Martin.

I'm going off the dog story again, because again, I like it, and I think it does fit neatly into canon. If this story is to be believed, Elias neither asked nor did he tell Jon that he was giving him another assistant. He apparently simply told Martin 'you work at the archives now, congratulations' and then went back to his office to smile smugly to himself.

This is a VERY bad start for a working relationship, because not only does Martin come in unannounced, this also comes off as Elias not respecting Jon, or potentially even sending someone to report back to Elias (because Martin is the only one who doesn't have an established rapport with Jon).

Jon never verbalises this suspicion, so maybe this is too much interpretation on my part, but in any case it's cause for a lot of resentment on Jon's part, and since he can't exactly let it out on Elias (who is rarely there, anyway), he simply lets it out on Martin.

He finds reasons to do so, of course, insulting his work and all that. It's probably easy, especially in the beginning, because not unlike Jon, Martin doesn't have any qualifications to work in an archive! He worked at the library before, and we know that his degree is made up (which we can only assume Elias knows, considering he can know almost anything).

(I actually find the question on why Elias transferred Martin in the first place extremely interesting, and might get into that in another post. But this one is already too long, lmao.)

1.3. Martin is too nice, aka Jon has even more issues

This is mostly my personal headcanon, though I do feel it fits Jon's character - which is that he doesn't know how to deal with nice people.

Not kind people. Not friendly people. But nice people.

People who do things seemingly out of the mere goodness of their heart. Like bringing their mean boss tea when he never asked them to do that. Like being friendly even in the face of insults. Someone who constantly takes himself back in favour of other people and their opinions.

People like Martin is appearing to be. Appearing, because Martin isn't actually like that. He does have his opinions, and he could probably grumble up a storm in S1 about Jon, but Jon is his BOSS, and so he plays.

Martin also IS genuinely a nice person most of the time (when he's not on a revenge rampage, making his boyfriend murder people). He doesn't have to do nice things for Jon like bring him tea in S2. But he does. Because that's Martin's way of trying to reach out, to show other people that he means no harm (and that he can be useful).

(I also think that Jon's snappish behaviour, where Martin never quite knows what will set the man off, might remind him off his mum, but again I digress. :))

But I think Jon doesn't know how to deal with that, because even when he's not in the height of paranoia, he still suspects that people who are THAT nice (especially when they have no reason to be nice because he's being an arsehole to them) have a secret agenda. This is playing into what I said under 2 (the part that might be too much interpretation on my side lol), because if Jon suspects that Martin is reporting back to Elias, or is at least someone who would not be friendly if he found out that Jon doesn't know what he's doing, then he can't allow himself to relax around him, and he certainly can't allow himself to be lulled into false security (as Jon would think) around him.

Tl;dr on this point: I think Jon is wary of Martin's niceness because he thinks he might be fishing for gossip/anything he can use against Jon. And even if he isn't, Jon thinks he would be likely to use anything he learns against Jon, because they weren't friends to begin with, and Jon's behaviour has made them anything but that.

(We have to remember that this is the guy who says in S2 that he knows what it's like to 'lack the respect of one's peers', aka the kid who got bullied by at least one older kid, and likely had no or very few friends - plus he believes in the supernatural, which doesn't exactly lend itself well to getting academic respect.)

1.4. They were fucked from the start, your honour

Basically what the meme says, but yeah. The they were put in practically guaranteed that Jon would be wary of Martin, and that Martin would be trying extra hard to make friends with him, which in turn would make Jon even more wary/hostile.

And Elias made it worse, either knowingly or by negligence (not telling Jon about transferring Martin).

If we add the whole dog story to it... they were fucked. I do actually wonder if, assuming we take the dog story as canon, Elias actually somehow managed to set that up. Or whether he was at least cackling (sorry, smiling ever so silently, but smugly) in his office as it happened, or whenever he ended up knowing that it happened.

2. Yes, we've had one starting point, but what about second starting point?

As we have established above, the starting situation for Jon and Martin was... not ideal. So, would they have gotten together easily given a different starting point, like in a cute coffee shop AU?

Eh.

It's true that the specific situation they were in made it a lot harder for them to actually communicate and see each other as they are than it had to be. That doesn't mean that a different situation would have made it easy, though.

Their personalities still make it hard, though, as even without the added stress of a new job, Jon is still a little chihuahua shaking in the corner, who tries to make up for it by barking at everyone, and Martin is still the guy trying to approach him with treats and getting his hand bitten.

There are certainly specific situation that could make it easier, especially if Jon isn't scared as hell, and has maybe already learned that not everyone who does something nice for him wants to just pull on his strings. (Yes, I do think that the thing that makes Martin, according to Annabelle, suited for the Web, is the thing that put Jon on edge at the beginning. I don't know if this was intended at all, but it makes me cackle.)

The beauty of fanfic is that we can do whatever the hell we want. But I think the most fun thing an AU author can do is think 'What would have to happen, in this specific scenario, for these two to get over themselves and get together?'

Excursion: Martin, my beloved depressed blorbo who I am certainly not projecting on, haha

Because it IS both of them who need to get over themselves. Of course Jon's issues are the most obvious, and I've certainly expanded on them enough. But Martin also has a problem, and it's that he's constantly hiding his true feelings and opinions, especially anger and fear.

That makes sense, perhaps, in a workplace, though considering he's dealing with a walking, talking worm hive and a stalker boss... Let's just say it probably would have helped Tim, too, if Martin hadn't been so desperate to make everyone be friends again.

Because Martin is always TRYING to make everything better for everyone, but he's actually not helping anyone. Being nice to Jon and bringing him tea doesn't help battle his paranoia. And trying to tell Tim not to be so angry at Jon, and can't they all be friends, doesn't actually help Tim with his anger.

All Martin is essentially doing is making himself small and saying 'let's get along, pretty please' every now and then. I don't know if it would have helped if he had expressed his own fears and anger, and maybe Jon would have misconstrued that as well, too deep in his paranoia already. But at least Tim might have realised that he was not alone in all this. (His biggest problem, as he says in S2, is that he feels that no one has his back, which I think at least partly results from no one expressing the same anger, aka no one validating his feelings.)

Anyway! (Jon voice) Excursion ends.

3. (To the melody of 'What shall we do with the drunken sailor') What shall we do with these total idiots?

So, how ARE these two going to get together, if they're so woefully unequipped to deal with each other?

Well, first we need to give Martin a good helping of self-confidence. Then we need to kind of give Jon the same, since his problem ALSO is that he's unsure of himself, he just tries to make other people small to cover it up, instead of making himself small. (And isn't that a funny thing to do for someone who we know was bullied. To become a bully himself. Oh, the snake, biting its own tail...)

The easy answer is, of course: You can come up with your own version, get creative. <3

The more complex answer is: A lot of stuff, probably. Jon and Martin will certainly need time to get to know each other, and of course it depends on what situation you put them in to start. But there will be misunderstandings, and there will be hurt feelings, and I am going to soak it up all like a particularly slowburn-greedy sponge.

I feel like there are probably five million ways to get them together, and some might be cute and fluffy (if they go to therapy first, I guess, lol) and many will be full of tears. <3 (Jon voice) And I want to see them all on my desk by Friday! So get to it!

In all seriousness though, yeah, I think there's not one right way for them to get together (though canon did it well imo). But it's also a little more complex than we might give it credit to (very much including me).

4. So what now?

I don't know. I'm not your dad. Write a fic. Draw a picture. Put down your own thoughts on the matter. Or take a shower and clean up your room, young Padawan!

(Though actually, if you've read this post from start to finish in one session, what you should probably do is get up and stretch and get some water.)

And above all! And this is imperative.

Have a good day. <3

[wwasted]

being sentimental over that fact that this fandom has such amazing writers and creators despite the fact that it’s so small! so i figured I’d tag some of my favs and give them a nice compliment bc they truly deserve it and we should all show our appreciation for allowing us along on the journey!!! ok now on to me fangirling under the cut.

@blixabargelds frankie… the way your brain works is mind blowing. Like you are so amazing??? I regularly reread fics by you and am constantly pouring over the superstar tag to the point where I feel I could recite asks you’ve gotten months ago lmao. I know you’ve been struggling with writing through these last few months but your work is so truly special!!! Thank you for sharing it with us!

@swifty-fox i know your thoughts on being a writer, but you are truly so brilliant and kind and amazing. Every au or canon fic you come up with is so captivating. The mota fandom is truly lucky to have you writing for it! I’m so excited for everything you have coming up! (Also ps I’ll make as many edits as you desire for snippets 🥰) also not to mention, the art?????? Actually lost for words. You have my endless love and appreciation.

@feyd-meowtha i will 100% read anything you ever write regardless of fandom forever (as proven by the gladiator II fic, still have absolutely no idea but I love it bc you wrote it) thank you for allowing me to scream into discord chat every single time you post a new chapter of 3 am. The handholding thru it does not go unnoticed lmao. (And also allowing me to whine about my own writing ur the best) I truly don’t know how you do it but I am so thankful you do!

@wayrad I know we’ve joked about your age in the wota discord, but omg. If I had even a sliver of your talent at 18, I would’ve been insufferable and yet you’re the sweetest and constantly gracing us with amazing fics. My obsession with the truck stop series haunts me in the best way and I can’t wait to see where you take us next!!

@middlingmay the amount of times I’ve reread TODCL is probably frightening. It is such an amazing story and I’m always blown away by how each character feels so alive. Sometimes I get so immersed in reading that these feel like real people I know and not just characters. Mindblowing how you do that. I’m also so obsessed with all the other AUs you create because how??? Genius

@donotnomi stripper bucky my beloved ❤️ your fic has completely taken over my mind. There is something so ethereal about it. It reminds me of doing LSD in a good way lmao the slow burn is amazing and I always get so excited when I get an email that a new chapter has been posted.

@constanthaunt born right in the doorway will live rent free in my head for eternity!!! I’ve already reread it twice since you finished it and I actually have no words??? The way you weave thoughts and sentences together is so criminal. Like straight to jail for being so amazing at words. I’d love to study your mind so I could have some of that talent!! Can’t wait to see what else you write.

@joeyalohadream the fluff is so good it almost makes me cry. I normally love overdosing on angst and pain but when you post something I immediately drop everything to devour it bc I know it will make me feel all warm inside. I can’t wait for more tree farmer Gale fic regardless of what season it is!!!

@irregularcollapse the incredible mind that came up with the DIY punk au??? The tennis fic??? The actors fic??? THE CANNIBALISM?! Everything you write is so amazing, I always find myself coming back to reread. I could actually live in your fic tumblr tags. The online dating??? It’s actually the fic of my dreams. The genius really knows no bounds. Thank you for sharing with us!

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Girl At The Rock Show -9-[smut 18+]

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Characters: Reader. Jensen. Megan. Mac [o.c] Robert [o.c] Erica [o.c]

Mentions of: Jared. Alex. Josh.

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Drinking, Smut, Unprotected Sex [no!], Fingering, P-I-V

You guys are amazing. Seriously thank you for every heart, reblog, and comment. I love hearing your feedback. 🫶

Please do not copy my work.

Tag List

Master List

Jensen

He felt the corner of her mouth twist into a smile on his chest. "Would this happen to be the same baseball game your nephew will be playing in?"

He chuckled. "Yes."

"The baseball game your family will be attending?"

"That's the one."

"Jensen Ross Ackles. Are you asking me to meet your family?"

"Maybe..." He teased, gliding his finger through her hair. "What if I was?"

"I would have to inform you that this is a big step"

He chuckled again. "Oh, I was not aware."

She giggled. "You sure you're ready for that, Ackles?"

"I wouldn’t ask if I wasn't baby."

She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest she peered into his eyes. He raised his brows. "Whatcha doin?" he asked

"Looking for any sign or nervousness or uncertainty." She razzed him.

He smiled. "And how’s that going for you, darlin’?”

“I think you got a little bit.”

“I think you’re full of shit too.” He retorted, her laughter echoed through the room, making him smile.

She crawled up his body until they were nose to nose. “I can see a smidgen right.”

A soft squeal escaped her lips as he shifted his weight, rolling her on to her back. Hovering over her, he pressed his lips to hers. “Trust me, you ain’t gonna find any in there.”

She smiled. “Ok.”

“Yeah?” his face lit up

“Yes Jensen, I would love to meet your family.”

Jensen

He woke up with the weight of her head missing from his chest. His arms stretched, as his hands searched for her, but found nothing. 

He pulled on a pair of sweats and headed downstairs. 

He stopped and leaned on the kitchen doorway, a smile spread across his face as he took in the view. She was sitting on the bar, flannel pjs covering her crossed legs, sipping coffee, watching one of her drama Netflix shows. Her hair in a messy bun, wearing one of his Family Business hoodies. 

“Well good morning sleepy head.” She smiled at him.

“Good morning sweetheart.” He replied. 

She sat her coffee down and uncrossed her legs letting them dangle as he moseyed over. He rested his hands on her hips, stepping in between her legs. She took his face in her hands, bringing his face to her. He kissed her lips then started placing kisses all over her face, making her giggle. He placed another on her lips and reached for her coffee. Her eyes went wide when he brought the mug to his lips. He smirked and took a sip. “Sir! That is mine.” raising her playful tone.

“Alright, alright. No violence needed.” 

“Smart choice, Ackles.” 

He smiled. “How long have you been awake?” He asked, walking over to the coffee maker.

“Eh, for about an hour, I couldn’t go back to sleep. So, I came down and made a breakfast casserole. It’s done, just turned it down on low to keep it warm.” She hopped off the bar and made her way over to the stove.

“You could have woke me up. And shouldn’t you be more careful?!” he sipped his coffee.

She pulled out the casserole and sat it on the stove. “Shush. No high hopes.”

His brows arched “Says the girl who would drink A beer yesterday.”

“I had to drive.” She exclaimed  “Grab the sour cream for me, would ya?”

“I can do that.” He poked her side making her jump as he walked past.

“You’re really pushing it today.”

He laughed as he handed her the bottle.

“Do you have anything planned for today?” she asked.

“I have to go to the brewery and take care of a few things. My brother said something about going fishing, but I don’t know if he wanted to go today. Why what’s up?”

“Mac asked about watching Supernatural today,”

Her phone started to ring, she hit the ignore button as private caller showed on the screen.

“I didn’t know what you were up to.” She said, sitting her phone back on the counter.

“Am I not invited to supernatural day?” He asked in a dramatically offended tone as they made their way back over to the table.

She giggled. “You are always invited. I just know if you had something or anything planned for us.”

He took a bite. “Damn baby, this is so good.”

She smiled. “Another one of Mama Jo’s recipes.”

He playfully sighed. “I guess Mac can have you today, But I get you for dinner.” He winked.

Jensen

“So, I’ll pick you up at 6?” He asked her, walking to her car. 

“It’s a date.” she winked at him

He smiled leaning in to kiss her.

“Drive safe.” He opened the car door for her. She got in. He dipped his head in the car and kissed her again. “I love you baby.” He smiled.

“I love you too, Mr. Ackles.” She returned his smile 

Reader

“Hey.” You shouted walking through your front door.

“Kitchen.” Mac and her dad yelled at the same time.

“That sweatshirt is kinda big there, don’t ya think?” Robert asked you as you sat beside him.

“It’s her boyfriend’s.” Mac teased.

“Please tell me you're not back with.”

“No dad. Her new boyfriend, not really new though it's been almost a month.”

“A month? You've been dating this guy for a month and I don't even know his name?”

You chuckled. “It's Jensen.”

“Jensen? Huh. Not a very common name.  Where’s he from?”

“Dallas.”

“And what does this Jensen do?”

“He’s an actor.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Has he played in anything?”

“Lots actually.”

“[Y/n] would you like a cup of coffee with your interrogation?” Mac laughed.

You chuckled. “No thanks.”  She furrowed her brows, relaxing them as her dad’s head turned towards her.

“Anything else Robert?”

“Just 1 more.” He turned back to you, “When do I get to meet him?”

“Soon,” you looked over to Mac. “Last night, He asked me about meeting his family.”

You looked at your phone screen as it started to ring. Private number. You hit the ignore button.

“Oh. So, you guys are like serious?” She asked sarcastically.

Your phone rang again. You sighed when you read private number again. Robert held out his hand, you handed it over. 

“State trooper Goodwin. How can I help you?” He handed your phone back. “They hung up. Hopefully they don’t call back.”

“Let me grab a shower and we can start.” You gave your adopted father a kiss on the cheek. “I will check with him and see what his schedule looks like.” He nodded with a smile, and you made your way upstairs.

Reader

You sighed when your phone started to ring again, you pulled your shirt over your head and strolled over to your dresser. A smile spread across your face when you read his name.

“Hello there handsome”

“Hey babe, don’t be mad.”

“That’s not what you wanna hear at the beginning of a conversation.”

“So, TMZ was at the airport the other day.”

“Oh, of course they were.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just a picture of us hugging. They didn’t say anything mean. Just that I might have a new girlfriend.”

“Ok.”

“OK? You’re not mad?”

You chuckled. “No, I’m not mad. Kinda comes with the territory of dating a celebrity doll face. Did you really think I’d be mad at you?”

“Not so much me. Just the situation. I’ve had a couple buddies lose girlfriends because of it.���

“At least they weren’t mean.” A question forced it's way out of your lips. “Is it a bad thing if people know you have a new girlfriend?”

“Seriously?”

“Just askin’.”

“ Well don't.... So, whatcha doin?” He changed the subject.

“Just got dressed.”

“Booo!”

You chuckled. “What are you up to?”

“Bout to pick Jared up and meet Josh out at the lake.”

“Tell sasquatch I said hi.”

He snickered. “ Will do. Oh, yea, dress fancy tonight.”

You heard a soft chuckle, as you let out a hefty sigh. “Fine. But it better be worth it.” you teased. 

“Oh it will be.” You bit your lips at his husky seductive tone. 

“Have fun. Tight lines.” 

“Did you really just use the term tight lines?”

“I'm from Michigan, baby. You come out of the womb with a fishing pole in hand.”

He laughed. “I’ll see you later, pretty lady.”

“Not if I see you first, doll face.” you hung up, making your way down the stairs.  “Let the supernatural marathon commence!!”

Reader

You took one final look in the mirror. “Are you sure I look, ok?”

“Really [y/n]?! You are gonna knock his socks off.”

You glanced over your shoulder. The borrowed black dress did make your ass look good. Your eyes moved up your bare back to the halter tie at the top. Your hair in a classy bun with curled strands dangling out here and there. You let Mac go a little extra with the make up. The smokey effect she blended perfectly on your eyelid really made your irises pop.

“Be right back.” Mac was back in a second. Black heels in one hand and a silky black shawl in the other.

Fastening the straps of the heels around your ankle, you heard the car. 

You grabbed the shawl, along with your black clutch, and made your way to the stairs. He knocked on the door when you got to the bottom.

You opened the door, and you felt the warmth spread through you as the fluttering began in your stomach. His soft locks were brushed back, a pin striped, black suit clung to his perfect body. The first three buttons were undone, showing off some of his sexy chest. A big smile spread on his face as you checked him out.

Jensen

She opened the door, His brows raised, as all the air left his lungs. He shifted his weight, trying to steady his wobbling knees. God she was breathtaking. She always looked good, but all dolled up in that sexy black dress. ‘Good lord’

“Good evening Mr. Ackles. “

“Good evening,” he choked out. “Babe. You look amazing.”

She smiled. “Me? Have you looked in a mirror?”

He chuckled as his cheeks turned pink, sticking his elbow out  “You ready?”

 “Absolutely.” She slid her hand in the crease. “I can’t believe you drove the Porsche.”

“Well, a deal’s a deal.” He winked at her. She started to step in front of the car, his elbow caught her hand.

 Her jaw dropped slightly as a small gasped slipped out. “Now?!”

He smiled and held up the keys . She squealed as she grabbed them and practically skipped to the driver’s door.

“Can you do this in heels?” He teased as she released the e-brake.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Just tell me where to go, Ackles.”

Jensen

“Not too shabby darlin’,” He held his elbow out again as she made her way around the car. “At least the tires are ok.” She sighed, making him chuckle.

“Good evening.” The valet greeted, as he approached.

“Evenin’.” Jensen said, handing the keys to the man.

Jensen opened the she let out a small whistle as she walked through it. “This place sure is fancy.” She spoke in a whispered southern accent making him chuckle.

“Reservation for 2. Under Ackles.” he told the hostess.

Right this way Mr. and Mrs. Ackles. He smirked at (y/n) not correcting the young lady. His hand automatically went to the small of her back as she followed the hostess. She glanced over at him as his hand slid down further. “Sorry,” she smiled.

 Jensen slid her chair out for her and slid it back in. He sat in the seat beside her.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly, here’s the wine list if you need anything just let us know.”

“Ok thank you” the young lady walked away. Jensen grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers  “Well Mrs. Ackles,”

 Her smile fell. “You should have corrected her”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He brought her hand to his lips kissing the back of it. She shook her head with a smile.

“Can I get you started with a drink from the bar, or we have a nice 1982 Chateau Margaux on the list tonight?” The waiter asked as he approached.

“No thank you, water is fine.” Jensen looked over to her.

“Same. Extra lemon please.” She told the waiter. He nodded and walked away. Her face turned to Jensen with a confused look “You’re not drinking tonight?”

“Nope.” He affirmed.

The waiter brought back the waters with extra lemons on the side “Are we ready to order?” Jensen looked over to you

You go first he chuckled “I’ll have the 12 oz New York strip medium, no sauce or toppings, with the Yukon gold pommes purée.”

The waiter looked over to her. “Can I have an 8 oz tenderloin filet, well done, no sauce or toppings, with steak fries please.”

“Of course. We will have it out shortly.” He took your menus and walked away,

Jensen smiled. 

“What?” she asked.

“Fries?”

“Steak fries. I got a steak.”

He laughed. “Touché.”

“So  did y’all catch anything?”

“Jack and shit, but it was really nice to hang out with my brothers, Josh is excited to meet you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, especially after Jared’s review.”

“What can I say, I'm pretty awesome.”

He chuckled. “You’re not wrong.” He took another drink of water. “How was your day?”

“Good. Mac’s dad was at the house when I got there today.”

“How’d that go?”

“Well, I had to explain the oversized hoodie. Which led to him asking when he gets to meet you.”

“And you told him…?”

“That I would ask you about it and see what your schedule looks like.”

“Should be easy to set something up. Not a whole lot going on right now.”

“I can’t wait to see his face when he meets you.”

“You didn’t tell it was the guy from the show his daughter is obsessed with?”

She chuckled. “Like he would have believed me.”

Jensen opened his mouth but was cut off by the food.

Jensen

“That was amazing, babe.” she said walking out the door.

Recognizing him the valet nodded and walked off. Jensen stayed silent, his eyes looking into the distance. 

“Are you really giving me the cold shoulder right now?”  she asked, looking up at him and tilting her head. He couldn’t stop his eyes from glancing down at her, she was so damn cute.

 “And how long do you think that’s really going to last Mr. Ackles.” She stepped in front of him and slid her hands up his chest. He felt the anger melt away as her arms wrapped around his neck. He leaned in to kiss her as her lips got close she leaned back slightly aching her brow. “You gotta talk to me to get kisses.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine, but next time you pay the bill behind my back, I’m gonna bend you over my knee.”

“I can’t wait.” She challenged, making him smile.

Reader

The only light in the dark house came from the flickering tealight candles that led up the stairs. You flashed him a smile and took his hand, following the trail laid out for you. You pushed the bedroom open, and your eyes filled with tears as they scanned the room. The glow of the dancing flames filled the room while soft country music played in the background. You stepped in and your eyes found the rose petals scattered on the bed and some arranged in a heart making you laugh out loud.

"That was Jared's idea, he said it was classy and romantic. I told him it was cheesy and cliche. He said if anything you would get a good laugh out of it. You can destroy it if you want."

"Absolutely not. It's beautiful." you said in a dramatic tone making him smile.

He swaggered over to you. “Not compared to you.” He matched your tone, making you laugh again. His arms wrapped around your waist as his lips found yours. Yours found their way around his neck. His hold tightened as your feet left the ground, deepening the kiss. He returned your feet to the ground; you rested your head on his shoulder as your hips swayed with his. 

You stepped back, sliding your hands back down to his chest, pushing the suit jacket they made their way to his shoulders, your eyes followed it as you pushed down his arms, you brought your eyes back to his as it fell to the floor. His viridian gaze locked onto yours as his fingers found the small zipper on your hip and pulled it down. His fingers gliding up your back raising goosebumps, his fingers gripped the dangling end of the halter tie and pulled. The dress fell to the floor, you brought your lips to his as your fingers started undoing the buttons on his shirt. His fingers grasped your ass as his tongue pushed past your lips, making your fingers fumble with the last button. He chuckled softly against your mouth. 

You unbuttoned his pants as he slid his shirt off, a groan left his lips when your fingers brushed against his length, as you slowly pulled the zipper down. He shimmied out of his pants, making you giggle. A small yelp left your lips as he grabbed you up and took you over to the bed.

He smiled as he loomed over you. He brought his lips close to your ear. “You really are beautiful.” His hot breath sent shivers down your spine. He trailed kisses down your neck, going up the other side once he got to the hollow of your throat. Finding your other ear. “Just perfect.” His words made you smile. He thrusted his hips, brushing his hard shaft against you, muffling your whimpers with his lips. You walls clenched as he took your breast in his grasp, kneading gently. His fingers wandered down, finding your clothed clit. You moaned as he started tracing circles, his lips found your ear again. “And those sexy little noises you make mmm.”

He pushed your black lace thong aside, your core throbbed as his fingertips teased your entrance. He groaned, feeling how wet you were for him already. He slowly slid 2 fingers inside you, making another moan escape you.

His fingers started pumping in and out as he rose to his knees. He bit his lip, watching your hips writhe in pleasure.

You felt the tension in your stomach as the pleasure rippled through your body, he smirked and began to pump them faster. Making your walls clench around his fingers as the tension reached its peak. 

You heard him groan as he curled his fingers, as soon as he hit your spot the tension snapped and your moans echoed through the room as your orgasm crashed over you. He slowed his fingers, as your walls pulsated. 

Bringing his fingers to his mouth he moaned as he tasted your sweet juices, licking them clean. He pushed his boxers down and fell back on top of you, his arms catching his weight just before he crushed you, he laughed in response to your giggles. His thumb stroked your chin, as he stared.

“What?” you asked with warm cheeks.

He smiled. “Nothin’.” He leaned down, his lips hungry lips captured yours. Your hands slid up his back as he lined his tip to your entrance. Your fingers gripped, as he moaned you named burying himself inside you. You could feel his cock throb against your walls as he stretched them.

“You ready baby.?” He asked, kissing your jawline.

“Yes.” You whined.

He drew his hips back, pleasure coursed through you again as he thrust back inside you, praising him with moans of his name. Your nails dug into his back as he increased his speed, causing him to thrust harder.

 Heavy pants and moans filled the room as your walls started tightening  around him, the tension almost to its peak again. “Jensen.” You whispered.

“I know baby,” he pounded harder. “Come on. I wanna feel it.” He groaned, nibbling at your neck.

Your release crashed over you again, sending shock waves of bliss through you. He pushed you as far as he could and with a loud moan he pulled out. You felt the warm liquid ooze on your stomach as he kissed your lips and then nuzzled your nose with his.

“You know if we used condoms this whole clean up thing would be easier.” You smiled at him as he dried your stomach.

“Or I could jump cum inside you.” your jaw dropped. A grin stretched across his face as his eyebrows jumped “Yea that shut you up.” he teased.

Reader

You finished brushing your teeth and turned the light out and stopping in the doorway, staring with adoration, he laid there on his back, arm resting across his forehead, his chiseled chest on display, boxers pulled low enough to display that v he had, his socked toes wiggling along to the music that was still playing.

His eyebrows raised as he looked over at you. “Can I help you?”

“Nope, I’m good.”

A smile spread across his face “You gonna come cuddle or just stand over there like a creeper all night?”

Jensen

He watched as she took a bite of bacon. “So?” He asked 

She smiled. “Close, but no cigar baby.” His face scrunched. “Still delicious though.”

“You could just tell me ya know?”

“Where’s the fun in that?”  she teased, making him laugh. “Do you have anything exciting today?”

“Depends on what you call exciting, The first half of my day will be spent on a zoom meeting, probably gonna be a lot of them in the next few weeks while we get scheduling and all the final details for countdown. And then I’m going to the brewery to do an inventory check and make sure everything we need is on order.”

“Never a dull day with you.”

“Nope, What’s on your schedule today?”

“Well let’s see.” She pulled her phone out and signed into her office’s daily schedule app. “I have a newborn checkup, a 3-year checkup, an ear recheck for a 7-year-old, a sports physical for a 12-year-old, and another newborn checkup. So far. If calls come in, they schedule with whoever is available.” 

“So, what do you do if you don't have time spots filled?”

“Charting, help other doctors, help any nurses if they need it, just whatever needs done. Around the office. “

“Never a dull day”

“Nope.” She smiled. “I’ll ask Erica today. What day were you thinking?”

“Either Wednesday or Friday. You don’t go in on Thursdays, right?”

“No, that’s my on-call day.”

“Noted.”

“So, I’ll meet you at your place when I get done?” he asked, walking to the driver side of your car.

“Sounds good.”

He laughed “Alright drive safe baby I love you”

“I love you too” She stretched on her tip toes and kissed him

Reader

“So, the 2 newborn checkup mamas left great reviews for you today.” Erica told you as she walked across the lot with you. “Keep up the good work y/n!”

“Will do boss. Have a good night.” you told her reaching for your door handle. 

“You, too.”

You sat down in your car and started it. You waved as Erica drove by you. Thinking about the kids you helped today, as you pulled out of the parking lot your mind began to wander. 

If you had a baby, would he look just like Jensen? He would be such a good dad. You smiled as you pictured it. He’s holding a little bundle of joy, swaddled in a blue blanket, bright green eyes just like his daddy. The proudest smile on Jensen’s face.

“Lucy, I’m home.” You yelled walking through the front door.

Mac sat in the recliner on her phone. “Hey babe.” She giggled. “Not you. y/n just walked in.” you nodded at her and walked into the kitchen.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket when it started to ring. Your smile turned into a frown as you read, private caller. You hit the red icon and laid your phone on the counter. You opened the fridge grabbing a bottle of water, Mac walked in and sat down at the bar. You swung the fridge door closed.

“Alex says hi.” She smiled.

“So, that’s a thing now?”

“Kinda, maybe, we’ll see.” She Stammered making you chuckle. “He did invite me to the Dallas convention.”

“That sounds fun!!”

She got up and got into the fridge. “Beer?”

“No thanks.” you held up your water 

 She peered at you, closing the fridge door. 

“What?”

“I have a question for ya.”

Your brows arched.

“Are you...” she hesitated. “Never mind.”

You sighed, “Probably not, but I would feel horrible if I was and I drank.”

“Hm. Well it’s kind of bad timing.”

“Well, it’s not like I planned it.”

“Did you use protection?” your face scrunched as you looked down. She signed.

Reader.

You popped your head out of the closet when you heard your bedroom door open. Jensen had his phone to his ear. He blew you a kiss and held up a finger.  You nodded and went back to getting dressed.

“No. It’s not like that.”

“I know, but you don’t need to.”

You walked out of your closet, finding him sitting on the edge of your bed. He looked up and winked at you.

“I’ll take care of it. I gotta go.”

“Just don’t worry about it.”

“Bye.”

“Baby!!” he exclaimed

“Well, that sounded intense.” You commented.

“Eh, just work stuff.”

You knew he was lying. “How was your day?”

He motioned you over, hugging around your waist once you got close. “Better now.”

“Hey guys!” you heard Mac yell through your door as she knocked.

“Yea.” You answered.

“Have you seen this?” she held her phone up as she approached you.

She had a TMZ article pulled up. You read the headline under the photo of you and Jensen from the previous night outside the restaurant “Jensen Ackles Remarried?”

You felt him tense.

“I told you; you should have corrected her.”

“Oh man, can you imagine, if you were showing.” Mac remarked.

“So, we are telling people now?”

“Not people. Mac. And she figured it out.”

“Still.”

“Still nothing. At least I didn’t lie to your face.”

He scoffed. “And when did I lie to your face, sweetheart?”

“Just work stuff?”

His phone started to ring, a different ringtone than usual. He raised it to his ear, holding your stare. “Hey mama.”

Jensen

He felt a pang in his chest as he watched her sleep, curled up on her side facing the other direction.

He didn’t know if it would help or hurt if he cuddled up behind her, so he stayed on his back where he was.

His phone started to vibrate. “Hi Megan,” he whispered.

“Hey Jensen, can you talk?”

“I can whisper.” His voice soft, still watching her.

“That works. So, we got TMZ to retract the article, but it’s out there. Everyone is talking about it on social media. “

“So how do I make this better?”

“Jay, I know you love her, but there’s only one way to completely keep her out of all this.”

“Not an option.”

“I know. I’m just sayin.”

“No.”

“Ok, well then you need to embrace it. Introduce her to your fans, do a live, take her to the Dallas con. Let your fans get the chance to know her. Show them why you love her.”

“And the paparazzi?”

“Well, it kinda comes with the territory of being with a celebrity.”

“That’s what she said when the first pictured got out.”

“See she gets it. I think she will be fine.”

“Ok, ill call you tomorrow and you can help me set up the live.”

“Alright. Get some sleep Jay, everything is going to be ok.”

“Thanks Meg.” He sat his phone on her nightstand after he hung up.

She rolled over. “Did you get everything sorted out?”

“I thought you were asleep.”

“In and out.”

“You know what might help?”

She chuckled and scooted closer to him, resting her head on his chest. He left out a sigh of relief.  ‘That’s better.’

“Are you still mad?” he asked his fingers finding her hair.

“Are you gonna tell me who was on the other end of that phone call?”

He clicked his tongue. “It was Heather.”

He felt her muscles tense up. “As in your ex?”

“Yes. She just wanted to make sure.”

“You weren’t married to a gold digger.” She cut him off.

“I told her it wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah, but that’s what everyone is thinking.”

“The important people know it’s not true. I’m sorry about all this and for lying, I was just trying to keep my drama away from you.”

“Jensen, if we are going to do this its not just your drama. We face everything together. No matter what. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“And don’t freaking lie to me again about anything.”

“I promise baby.” He kissed the top of her head.  “Megan and I have a plan to make this better. It includes a Supernatural con if you’re interested.”

“Uh absolutely.”

He peered into her eye as his fingers lifted her chin. “What are you doing?”

“Looking for an uncertainty.”

She laughed. “You won’t find any in there, doll face.”

Tag List

@litpicks @muhahaha303 @mayafatimakhan @idk6505 @whimsyfinny

@nightxcreature @impala67rollingthroughtown @mariahoedt @manicjk @kr804573

@quietgirll75 @nancymcl @amberlthomas @hobby27 @deans-baby-momma

@perpetualabsurdity @redneckyachtclub @kamisobsessed @wonderland2022 @barnes70stark

@jackles010378 @mqdhvtter @perpetualabsurdity @barnes70stark @madebyhappymeals

@n-o-p-e-never @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @deansimpalababy @mandee7 @roseblue373

@iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @1313diana @lmg14 @spxideyver @aand13b

@phoenixqueen @spxideyver

[discoscoob]

Hi dear! The anonymous author of flash mobs is with us again today, hmmm...

Tag your favorite authors or mutuals and write what song do you associate them with?

Hi! I was struggling to think of songs so I changed it a bit instead. I’m going to share my mutuals favourite works! I hope you don’t mind me changing what you asked 😳

@fernpetals: Good Cop Bad Cop: yandere Tom Ludlow is extremely hot, this fic has me hooked and eagerly waiting for more!

@casuallyobssessed: .375 Magnum: this is so dark, I was so shocked by the ending. (in a good way) It’s written incredibly!

@lilithlinen: Jack Traven Passions Unscripted: this is such a creative way to do the alphabet headcanons, it’s so fun and entertaining. It makes it so much hotter when the answers come directly from the characters.

@treedaddymcpuffpuff: Beneath Miles of Stone: John Wick is 38 in this fic I keep thinking about it. He’s so young 😭 but Hannah captures the almost arrogant spirit you would expect a younger John Wick to possess, I love it so much and I can’t wait for more!

@scarlettspectra: T&N: Ted and Neo make such a perfect combination just like this fic is the perfect combination of insanely hot and insanely sweet. I love how Scarlett writes both of them, captures both their personalities so brilliantly!

@johnwickb1tsch: Bittersweet: One of the first fics I read by Julia and she’s blessed us with so many more since, but this one introduced me to her incredible writing and got me hooked. There’s still more updates to look forward to!

@97keanu: Digital Angel: My favourite Neo fic series, Lila writes him perfectly. I love the atmosphere she creates in this story, the vibe is immaculate! I really hope there’ll be more in the future!

Bonus: @treedaddymcpuffpuff and @johnwickb1tsch’s Excessive Force: I couldn’t make a post about my fav fics and not mention this, I’m obsessed with this series! It single-handedly made me hate Julian (at least this version of him) Julia and Han are both geniuses and I eagerly await every update!

[leifyposting]

*appears as if summoned* did someone say fic recs?

first off, op: really really great points on diluc and the diluc&kaeya relationship. i'll do some rambling about diluc characterization in the tags but for now, here are four fics i think might fit what you're looking for!

this work, from @chidorinnnnn, is THE diluc&kaeya fic in my mind. like, no fic has ever topped this one as a study of their dynamic (and probably no fic ever will). the strange muted understanding. carefully finding your footing. the way things could have been and maybe should have been but aren't, and maybe that's okay too. bonus points for the parallel between their fathers, which you mentioned too

moving on to a more diluc-centric piece, from @dandelion-wings. it is so so hard to find good diluc fic because he is such a strange and contradictory character, but this diluc makes the most sense in my head. featuring genuinely gut-wrenching interactions between the boys (one line in particular tears me up every time) and a build-up to tragedy that rivals macbeth

bit of a different piece here: a modern au in which diluc and kaeya reconcile at the end of the world (tw major character death). i cry every time i read this one. their dynamic in this fic is similar to the first one but more messy - you know, finding your footing with the person who used to be your everything now that you are different people than you used to be, and also the world is ending

i read this more than a year ago and have not stopped thinking about it since. it's a longer read but so worth it. the worldbuilding is so intricate and every character and relationship in here is so beautifully fleshed out - not just diluc and kaeya but also the people of mondstadt and how they relate to one another. this author also has an amazing (and shorter) crepus&kaeya fic that i think you might enjoy

anyway! hope that was helpful. these are my four favourite diluc&kaeya fics ever so i hope you enjoy them! thank you for sharing your thoughts with us as well!

The Genshin Impact fandom is fascinating to me when it comes to fanfics, because I feel like I struggle to find any fics that really *get* the characterization of certain characters and I'm loathed to write my own because dammit I just want to read the specific itch I crave without resorting to creating it. Give me three more months and I'll cave in.

For example, Diluc is one of my favorites and I find his backstory fascinating in terms of his father Crepus possibly being more morally ambiguous than most fans are willing to admit and how little we know of Diluc's murder spree in Snezhnaya.

For example which Harbinger(s) did he have a run-in with? Will we find out more about the secret intelligence network that took him in, that he apparently had a high position in? Did he ever find the answers he was searching for? The list goes on.

It's hard for me to find the specific characterization of him I crave for in fics because I think his platonic relationship with Kaeya is incredibly nuanced and complex but I feel like his character often gets assassinated for Kaeya angst but like, the man had the worst birthday ever?

Imagine being Diluc, living through a literal worst nightmare. Your dad is dead after you failed to protect him yourself. Not only is your dad dead but he died after wielding a delusion--you dont even know what a delusion is but its clearly bad news. Why the fuck did your father have it and how?

On top of this, the Favonius Knights--the organization you proudly served and the very organization that your father heavily encouraged you to serve--insists on covering up the truth because it makes them look bad. The Favonius Knights, who are supposed to be honorable and uphold integrity, are anything but that.

Then your adoptive brother, who you've known for years and trust with your life, shows up and tells you he's been spying for a foreign nation since you were kids with the intent of harming Mondstadt and everything about your relationship is possibly all one big lie and well--how do you not snap??

Now, I'm also incredibly fond of Kaeya and he was just as traumatized by Crepus's death. He was wracked with guilt for *feeling* relieved that he didn't have to worry about betraying his birth father for his adoptive father since Crepus was dead. He anticipated Diluc's anger and felt like their duel was a punishment for his lies.

To me, it hints that Kaeya probably didn't reveal the truth expecting Diluc's understanding, but rather he knew how he would react and perhaps he wanted Diluc to strike him down in that duel. Or at the very least, he wanted to distance himself from Diluc and cut off ties in order to avoid emotional attachment stopping him from his mission.

I personally head-canon that Diluc withdrew upon seeing Kaeya's vision because well--why would the gods bless Kaeya with a vision if he truly had the intent to harm Mondstadt? So in spite of what Kaeya revealed, he isn't a threat. But there's still a lot of hurt there to navigate through.

I think it's fascinating seeing where they stand in present game because Kaeya obviously has the ideology of working the system from within. He stayed in the knights (even taking over his brother's position) and with Jean rooted out the Inspector and his cronies.

Meanwhile Diluc just isn't that type of person. He doesn't settle, he refuses to work in a system he views corrupt, he rather accomplish what he can outside of it. Curiously, he doesn't challenge the status quo beyond being vocal of his distaste of the Knights.

This is head-canon fantasyland, but I like to envision Kaeya and Diluc do use a lot of the same informants and collaborate on intel relating to the safety of Mondstadt (especially since Diluc can move in ways against the Fatui that the Knights can't due to political reasons) but they struggle to have the same connection as before.

For example, Diluc's story quest--Kaeya was essentially giving Diluc an alibi with the Knights. Even if Jean damn well knows who it is, they still have to have official documentation stating otherwise.

Kaeya is good at reading people, he has to be given how he was raised to be a child spy. But I like to think he struggles to read Diluc like before. Diluc is much more jaded, pessimistic, quieter than before. He prefers to work on his own as much as possible. From Kaeya's pov, the only person he's seen Diluc willing to fully trust enough to work alongside with is the Traveler, and he states as much.

The opposite is true of Diluc. Kaeya was his shadow, a quiet but inquisitive, witty observer. Cavalry Captain Kaeya is much more outgoing and friendly, his charm on full display. Did he ever really truly know Kaeya or did he only show Diluc what he wanted him to see? Is Kaeya happier this way?

Fanon often depicts Kaeya as essentially being barred from the dawn winery from the duel by Diluc himself, but I don't think that's quite the case. Much rather, given the reason he told Diluc that night, I think he views himself as undeserving due to unresolved guilt.

Canon seems to hint at all of this through his hangout and Hidden Strife, the latter of which is unfortunately a time-limited event that occurred before I even played (hoyo please stop having heavy lore drops occur in time limited events).

I think the two want to trust each other again, but both are afraid of destroying the tentative truce they have so they leave all of it unaddressed. Kaeya refuses to be completely truthful ever again and Diluc acknowledges the past but refuses to discuss it. The tragedy in their relationship that neither is at fault for what happened--it's a twisted emotional mess of grief and heartbreak.

The last point I'd like to touch on is the parallels between Kaeya and Diluc both being essentially child soldiers for their fathers' causes.

For Kaeya, being abandoned in Mondstadt to be a child spy is the most overt. For Diluc? Despite Crepus's strong ambition to be a Favonius Knight and to have a vision--neither happened for him. In Diluc's vision story, it states that he views his vision being a result of their "shared" ambition, hinting that his vision was granted after Diluc's strong resolve to achieve his father's dreams for him.

We know Crepus heavily encouraged Diluc down this path at very young age, given Diluc received his vision at age 10 and became the youngest Captain at age 14. In some ways, I'm sure Kaeya was a bit jealous of Diluc for having a loving father present in his life that was overtly proud of him.

I am not saying Crepus wasn't a good father, I think he cared immensely for Kaeya and Diluc both, but I do think he did some morally grey shit.

Diluc abandoning his vision is fascinating and it's almost never explored in fics. He is the only vision holder we know of (aside from the Inazumauns whose visions were taken by force) that had their ambition for their vision shaken in such a way that they voluntarily discarded their vision for a time and only took it back after reigniting a new ambition to have it (and as far we know the only allogene that faced no negative setbacks from using a delusion long-term without their vision present).

I don't know where to end all of this, except if you have ragbros fic recommendations that you believe cover it in a more nuanced way, let me know!

[aquamarineglow]

I think they'd be friends

[seventh-district]

Making Incorrect H:SR Quotes Until I Run Out of (hopefully) Original Ideas - Pt. 4 - Nuthin' but Boothill Edition

[Pt. 1] [Pt. 2] [Pt. 3] [Pt. 5] [Pt. 6]

[lishenkaaa]

i think something we sometimes ignore when we talk about tlt's themes of love is its incredible focus on familial love, like the books' romantic and sexual themes are very clear but also it truly is a series that questions what a family is from the very beginning. gideon's lack of both a biological and chosen family (at least in her eyes) and harrow's almost decade-long attempt at maintaining the illusion of one in gtn. the fifth and the fourth, filling in the missing parts of their own families with each other. coronabeth, ianthe and even naberius' entire deal. the focus within silas and colum's dynamic of their biological compatibility as a necro/cav pair. john's desire for a daughter in harrow and then discovery of one in gideon, as well as pyrrha's desire to find out why her kid had to die only to find out 1) not her kid, 2) didn't die originally, 3) still died in the end. nona and pyrrha and pal and cam, which tazmuir herself has specifically highlighted we should question if it even counts as a family at all, but has also made sure we know they loved each other anyway. kiriona as her mother's daughter and her father's son but ultimately neither and how it kills her even as a corpse. and anastasia, the series' godot who despite making no appearance is felt in its every corner, who pyrrha painted a nursery with and who started the lineage that opened the legendary tomb.

can't wait to see how this is all explored in atn, especially when nona's family is only a "dress rehearsal" for the real horrors of love.

[whatudottu]

Welcome one and all to my version of the party's loopified designs, featuring my many broken bones and blood stains I especially put into Odile who I tackled second unlike the alphabetical order that I have presented here! I'll have in-depth discussions on each designs and matching practice portraits under the cut but before that-

Siffrin 'barely taller than a preteen' no middle name no last name Loop is still barely taller than a preteen but now that preteen can claim fire to their height!

Alphabetical order GO!

Bonnie, who I've been calling Bonfire (which if that ends up being their name I can imagine Bonnie calling them 'Fire' while they call Bonnie 'Face' to match), was the last of my designs because frankly I knew from the start what their design was going to take influence from and also knew I was going to draw fire :P They were based on bonfires (of course) and also specifically the Burning Man effigies just for a humanoid figure, plus being a chef cooker and a campfire and also a very heated expressive person.

Their flames are hot but not actual wood burning so the Favour Tree (and Mirabelle in the height chart) are not at risk of combusting, they're just incredibly bright-

Isabeau my first design, with influences from @basilpaste 's Lock (with a dressform body) and @nullapophenia 's original version of Husk (the faceless identityless sketch), I have combined them both to make a mannequin it/its loopified design that finally gets to be capital T Tall all for the low low price of being Changed against its will and suffering another bout of body dysphoria that it can't fix anymore :) :) :) When I was referencing mannequins I actually noticed how long their legs actually were let alone how they were perma-stuck in that Barbie-like highheel pose and thought why don't I just curse Isa with something he previously wanted :P

Something something Isabeau actively Changed not only his body but his personality to become someone he wouldn't be ashamed of, yada yada Loopsabeau is back to hating itself and has started to become a person it despises to match (also like a mannequin it's head and arms are technically painlessly removeable :P)

Third in order and third in design is Mirabelle, who technically is the only loopified design with technically hair and clothes, but the hair are the tangled roots of the Favour Tree and the clothes are like the carved hardstone statues of religious figures :P Initially my Idea for Mirabelle was to make her kinda like her statue, with the wonky expression of someone who made it without much mastery over details, not to pit anything against Mira, no, no. Thought about maybe abstract statue design but I couldn't find a version I liked but I did always imagine her statue being weathered in some way, there was a reason why I saved her for third I couldn't pick what I wanted. But then I remembered the broken Change God statues, thought about the 'blessing' that ended up being a curse, and then thought about overgrown weathering and gave her the roots.

I actually looked up Black hairstyles and mostly wondered what specific hair texture Mirabelle had (she wears it in a fro of course, but she has flyaways that aren't coils, but she described her own hair as kinky and :P) so that if I were to mimic hair with tree roots I can get an appropriate matching hairstyle (settled on megatwists). Hah, if Mira has 4C hair, considering how long her hair actually looks, if she to wear her hair in twists she might actually have elbow length hair :P

I spent 8 non-consecutive hours on Odile can you tell? Can you see my hands bleeding my wrist breaking my eyes drooping? Yeah so Odile was again, my second design and it took me a week to recover, and she's a combination of gem and mirror suit with all the little fragments floating around her the 'diamonds' that represent all her family members party plus the ones she originally had in sets of 2. I also put geodes where parts of her body have broken off (inspired by how when the King strikes she can't move, plus also being a glass canon) where when I was actually drawing those geodes that they kinda use the Change symbol?

Circle within a circle within a circle, regardless of how wiggly it is, and at the centre is a cluster of crystals. That was an accidental reference to Odile's mixed heritage but hoo boy what a connection! Her missing pieces are a combination of 'being too old for this' fragility and also 'i didn't want to render more mirrors sue me'

Anyway I am going to put my wrist in a cast and imagine loopified party members with their pre-wish counterparts :P

[bacchuschucklefuck]

official finish-this-sketch-how-you-want post idk what to call thisSAMPLE TEXT

hi! I miss drawing with people in a café and some folks mentioned they'd like to mess with my sketches themselves and that sounds cool so this is now a thing. if u play gartic phone this is basically the complement mode! but without the fucking ring noise that freaks you out right when you're getting into the flow of it

few things are 1/there's no hard deadline! take this at ur own pace if u do, but 2/I'll also be finishing this sketch and I estimate it to take around uhh 3 to 4 days? from the time this is posted. so if that's a structure u like then let's aim for something done in that timespan as well! and 3/if u finish ur piece and post it and want me to see it the best way to do that is to @ this blog! above all we go into this one determined to have fun and enjoy. I already bought u a matcha latte with oat milk sorry if u don't want that

here I got u today a sketch that's supposed to be Riz Gukgak (SY) (grey bg version and transparent version for ur ease of peruse)

remember to have fun & be urself & finish ur drink & see u in 4 or 5