#ive been thinking about this so much like

[clumsypuppy]

someone left me a comment asking abt my pokeask days so....... i drew my old muses ^_^

[classyrbf]

may we have calling toji (or nanami!) "daddy" for the first time 🙏 ive been so brain rotted with this thought recently ... please and thank you lmaox

thank you for the request pookie, I hope you like it!!

nanami has your head swirling, your body sweating and your cunt dripping. You can’t even think straight anymore, the feeling of his wet tongue running against your throbbing clit made your body tense. It felt like hours and hours of endless orgasms being ripped from you, legs shaking and eyes rolling back and all he’s doing is taking his sweet time with you. It’s feels so good, but you’re so tired, your body feels like it’s reached its point, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about your small cries and pleas. He doesn’t care about your weak attempts at pushing his head away, messy blonde hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead. He doesn’t care how much you writhe beneath him, trying to pull away because his arms at wrapped around your thighs so tightly that he just pulls you right back. The warm feeling of his spit dripping down your clit and to your hole makes your body shiver, nanami quickly slurping it right back up to your clit, giving it a light suck.

His dark eyes stare up at you, watching how your jaw falls slack and you throw your head back at every little feeling. “Can you give me another, sweetheart?” He hums, lips glossy from your juices, his chin soaked. “Please.” He lays the flat of his tongue on your clit, licking a stripe.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you mumble, shaking your head. And he knows that’s not the truth, he knows you have at least one more orgasm left to give him.

“Yes you can, baby. I know you can.” He suckles you clit once more, your back arching off the bed. His tongue runs up and down between your folds, moaning to himself at your taste. You keep shaking your head, crying out in pleasure from the overstimulation. “You taste so fucking good.” He presses a kiss to your clit, his thick fingers inching their way into your sopping cunt.

You gasp, lifting your head at the added feeling. All you see when you look at him a lustful, greedy man. He’s completely drunk on you in every way. “Oh my god,” your teeth catch your lower lip, fingers tangling in his hair when his fingers curl against your g-spot. “I can’t, it’s too much!” Your begging fall upon deaf ears. He’s too busy slurping your cunt to care. “Daddy, please!” You don’t even realize what you said, but your legs are shaking, everything coming to standstill when he lifts his head with a smirk.

“Say that again, sweetheart?” His fingers slowly pump in and out of you, eyes boring into yours like he’s looking into your soul. A wave of embarrassment crashes over you and your sat there, stuck, at a loss for words. “Don’t be shy now. Come on,” a breathy chuckle emits from his chest. “Say it again and I’ll give you what you want so badly. I know you’re close.” He presses light kisses to your inner thigh, teasing you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, right on the brink of your orgasm. He sits there, waiting patiently because he knows he can do this all day, but you’re running out of time. That impatient and desperate look in your eyes tells him everything. Your lips part, breath hitching before speaking, “daddy…please.” The words are so quiet and unsure, yet they still make his dick hard.

“Please what, baby?” He coos, blinking up you.

“Please…make me cum, daddy. Please,” you whimper, running your fingers through his messy hair, slowly pushing his head back down. You didn’t care if it was too much anymore, you wanted to feel the extreme high of your orgasm once more.

"Good girl.” His tongue is right back on your clit, moving it circles while his fingers work your cunt. He’s being messy and ruthless, sucking, licking, spitting. The grip you have on his hair makes him groan, the vibrations making your pussy tingle.

Your hand comes up to squeeze your tits, pulling at your nipples while you’re toes curl. “My god! Fuck! Daddyyy!” You scream, legs trembling. “I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cum—ahhhh!” Your cunt spasms around his fingers, body shaking in pure pleasure. Your hands grip the wrinkled bedsheets below, Nanami’s assault on your cunt barely coming to a stop. He drinks up every last drop of your essence, pulling his fingers out of you and push in your legs even farther back to make sure he cleans up between every fold and crevice.

He huffs, letting your legs drop and your limp body lay on the bed. You feel his weight dip the bed below you, his shadow casting over as he mounts you. “You did such a good job, sweetheart.” He peppers your neck with light kisses. “Just relax, okay? I got you.” He effortlessly pulls you on top of him as he falls onto the bed beside you. “Daddy’s got you, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of your head, calloused hands caressing your back and thighs.

[that-smallinjured-bowylamb]

how do you think Riddle, Lilia and Azul would deal with having a wife who is dedicated, sweet, loving and a bit scatterbrained sometimes… but they’re also scary protective, mama bear instincts. Someone hurt her man and she’s gonna end your whole career. . (If they ever have kid together, some fae or human or mer person tries kidnapping their kid, they sneer at the wife and the boys, and wife comes flying in with murderous energy, and scares the shit out of the kidnappers (scared the husbands too). and wife goes over to their kid and hugs them while the kidnappers flee, kid hugs mom, while crying “mama” happily)?

A/n: SRRY FOR THE LATE REPLY I WAS TLAKING WITH SOME OF MY FRIENDS AND COMMENTING ON SOME POST !!! BUT ANYWAYS IVE BEEN DAYDREAMING OF THIS FOR DAYS ON END AND IM SO HAPPY SOMEONE MENTIONED IT !!! THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING AGAIN @nesting-dreams !!!

💋🪽Wifey material, but can still kick ass💋🪽

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Lilia Vanrouge [💋🎀], Azul Ashengrotto

Warning ⚠️: slight cussy, Reader could be fem but I'm using "you", reader kicks ass, I'm bad at describing fights helpp, reader taking a slipper and chucks it at a mer (Azul's part), reader does a suplex on somebody (Riddle's part), Reader went full-out on brawling (Lilia's part), OOC bc future, you have a child (scary), and ofc, my Grammer is so indescribably amazing.

Summary: You are a dedicated, sweet, a little bit of a scatterbrained wife. You've sworn to be with him, always and forever, taking responsibility for bearing a child as well, you were such a sweetheart, despite being a little forgetful, he still loves you very much. Oh, and your child as well, "Hehe, silly momma!" [Insert name].

But... what happens if your man/kid gets hurt/kidnapped? Oh, suddenly, those perpetrators are in a boxing ring with you.

Riddle Rosehearts

You and Riddle were a happy married couple, sure you get into quarrels but you've managed to work it out somehow, despite for your scatterbrained-self, you were dedicated and sweet. Slightly protective of him, he didn't really know about that part, really. Especially when you stare into a woman's soul for flirting with him, he didn't take notice at all. So, when he turns around, your there, all sweet and flowery with that cute tendency to forget something or another. He's blushy around you, just like the day he caught feelings for you. And, your child [insert name] really loves you! You're the best momma! So what happens if...

Your man gets hit:

•Riddle was surprised by the sudden punch this guy made. He stood up, wobbling from the sheer impact, pointed his wand (or whatever he could use as a Harry Potter stick)and was ready to say the magic words (Miska, muska! Mickey Mouse!), "Off with your!-" another sudden move. It was you.

•Man's just watched his wife, throwing herself to that man, round-house kicking him, with a straight face. Then suplexing that guy with raw strength.

•He's not sure if he's the wife or nah.

•So, in the end. He has to be the one that stops you from beating the guy to the dirt and turning the guy into a DIY plant (Aye, at least it counts as a breathing organism that you surely took out to harvest).

•He gifted you, [your favorite chocolate in a box and your favorite flowers in a bouquet], [the clothes you've been eyeing out for months in your favorite color], [the food you wanted to try out again bc it was so good], [your favorite limited edition shirt], and lastly the dinner he paid for you.

•...Not before calling the cops on this guy's ass.

When your kid almost got kidnapped:

Listen, you're kid is intelligent, but got SOME of your genetics (Rosehearts blood is strong, damn), the kid was left-handed (<-at least how I picture it, you can imagine smth else, though), smart, and almost mature (<- that is, until you arrive at home and the kid did a 180° switching back to a playful kid), and was almost sweet to every stranger (but gives nasty side-eyes at suitors that tries to flirt w/ you whenever you both go shopping), so imagine to your surprise you see your child being DRAGGED by the arm bc of SOMEBODY (And Riddle is a witness before he could do sht cuz your faster):

Lilia Vanrouge [Hanafubukki PLEASE NOTICE ME 🙏🙏🙏]

•What the fuck. Why does he ALWAYS deliver LATE? And why do you turn into Sonic the Hedgehog whenever something happens?? This, has gotta be from the time you were at NRC weren't you? (Or nah, and it was smth else completely)

•Nvm that. Now he's wondering where you've even learned these things.

• "Mommy!!" Cried [insert name], running straight at you, and you, of course, hugged your child back.

•Man, Riddle loves a good wife that knows how to kick ass. And maybe, he could break the cycle with you.

You and Lilia had a very interesting history together (just imagine with me, okay?) And he could never ask for anything else, when he gets nightmares of the war, you somehow know this, always wake up and stay beside him as long as needed until both of you fall asleep. Always there when he needed help but never spoke aloud about it, and always tending to his needs while he tends to others and yours. You, were his great balance in life, though he never showed the signs he was hurting, maybe it dulled overtime, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. So, you were there, you've helped and that was enough for him. And the two of you had a child, [insert name]. The child took their mischief, playfulness, and maturity from their father. While they've taken your dedication and sweetness from you, of course. But the thing is, you and [insert name] were both forgetful of things. But, don't worry, the three of you can be one, happy, but clumsy of a family. So, when the time some random fuck-ass fae comes to hit/kidnap your man/kid? Nah, I'll win.

When your man gets hit:

•The fae had the audacity to flirt with you, now had enough audacity to hit THE general of Briar Valley? HECKS NAWH. The fact is, either the fae didn't realize it was Lilia or was a drunk. [<-but even so, no one can deal with Vanrouge even if they aren't sober]

•As soon as he was about to retort, you came into his vision...

•And round-house kicking the fae with raw strength, even going as far as to tackle him down, stomp on his crotch, and molly-wap the guy towards the air.

•So, let's do a 2nd marriage but this time he's the bride and you're the groom.

•Hmmmm... That strong ass gorilla-like grip you had there... he's thinking he'll be put into his place if he ever dare to cross you.

•Which, will never happen, of course. (Fortunately.)

•Welp! He's doing the chores this time! Please don't look so stern my dear! You'd get wrinkles if you do! Here, a kiss might help you! *Ignoring the guy who is in a current state of physical and psychological pain.*

What if your kid almost gets kidnapped by a fae?:

Now, I'm not saying your kid might be dumb, but although getting genes from Lilia and all. The kid still has some of your genetic, otherwise, that ain't your kid. So, imagine looking away for 1 millisecond, only to see your kid following a man with candies in his pocket, Lilia had already halted the fae, but that didn't stop you from bolting over.

•When Lilia saw you running over like a mad bull, he knew he had to step aside.

•That fae almost met their creator.

•The fact that your child was encouraging and cheering you on was funny to Lilia. Look at his child, aren't they so cute? Aww! And look!- *You bitch-slapping the fae on the ground.* A strong wife he has! Hah! All of you must be jealous he pulled a baddie. (And totally not trembling in fear)

•So after that, you all went back to being that wholesome family that went out for a very wholesome outing together.

Azul Ashengrotto

To start off, Azul had become a successful shady- business man, you became his wife, then the two of you had a child. Which, uncle Floyd and Jade loved to play with and prank Azul. Oh, but this time? Your genes got HALF of the child and HALF of Azul's. And I'm talking abt appearance. So they kinda looked like you, but in mer version. Not sure if they had your eyes or Azul's eyes bit no matter what, your child has the charm of that of a merfolk from the deep-sea. So what will you do, if your man/kid gets hit/kidnapped?

Your man gets hit:

•In no fucking way did that mer just TAINTED your beautiful husband with that hand.

•So when Azul regains composure and sees you holding a slipper, "Honey... What in the fucking sevens are yoU DOING!?-" *Cue to the slipper at max velocity like it's in a speeding dial to contacting the great sevens up above, then gets CHUCKED at the mer in the face, the air vibrating within vicinity.*

•.... babe, what are you exactly? What if our child has that same strength as you- *Gets interrupted by you hugging him.* "Aww, Zuzu, are you okay? You're not hurt anywhere are you?" ... Yes he's fine, just a little bit shaken... [<-Literally]

•So fast forward to him spoiling you in a way someone gets threatened at gunpoint. It's like your the mafia boss instead of him.

•Yeah, his clients are NOT going to mess with Azul's husband. (Did I say husband? Yes. So is he the wife now? Also yes.)

What if your kid gets kidnapped?:

Your child isn't dumb, nor smart. But your child still has underdeveloped strength, so in comes Azul with his two big-ass blueberry popsicle giants. But before they could do anything, a terrifying aura comes rushing in and Azul froze recognizing it was you, as the Tweels witness a practical murder in glee from the usually sweet and dedicated 'wife' of Azul, wondering if they'll ever find the same type of wife like you.

•Holy sevens, here we go again. Didn't this happened last time?

•You were there, forcing the mer to get tf out of that forsaken water, but even if the mer tried to escape under water, you followed with abnormal strength and speed.

The mer kidnapper: "WHAT THE FUCK IS THATTT????" *He said while swimming away from the oncoming silhouette of an angry mother.*

•Yes, your child is safe. Just witnessing you shoving a rock in the mer's throat, flipping him twice, spinning him across the air, and throwing him upwards into the sky, then blasting his dehydrated ass towards the sun.

•Yea, you were officially the man of the house. Not him, damn.

THE END!

A/n: sorry if it took awhile!!! @nesting-dreams !!

[mourning-sapphire]

i wont lie, ive been waiting for you to read this lol

but first of all, thank you so much for reading!

i wanted to hammer home from the beginning that she absolutely loves her home, she doesnt want to leave, and i wanted to write it how she would view it! which is very dreamy, homely, comfortable, almost a paradise just for her, so that when she is forced to leave the feelings of her being misplaced and alone hammer in a bit more.

I like characters that dont come from Kings Landing, and didn't grow up there, because there's such wide cultures in Westeros that pulling elements from that is also important. The Reach is known for being like the crownlands but different at the same time.

its ALSO why i have both of their perspectives, and why they're written slightly different - because the two of them are more likely to pick up in different things, but they'll view the same situation differently. It's two people filled with a emotion close to fear but are experiencing it differently for different reasons.

its funny to see people ready for them to get along already because Aemond was so awful to our darling girl, but its gonna get a little worse before it gets better, someone is a bit hot and cold ;) especially since the wedding wont be for a few chapters hehe.

the title is funny and probably will be a bit unexpected as to why its called bruised fruit, but i enjoy seeing people think about it - its not what you expect. but its still fun :P

overall, so glad you enjoyed the first chapter and i hope you enjoy any rereads 🥰

bruised fruit | aemond targaryen | chapter one

Summary: he wasn’t the warmest man on earth, he walked ashed fields and scattered fruitless seeds, that was until the sun delivered him the ripest fruit from the arbor, his to harvest. The story of a man learning to love his saccharine ladywife and all her softness.

Pairing: aemond targaryen x redwyne!reader

Chapter warnings: none really, some harsher swearing, descriptions of panic, some description of boats.

Word count: 12.6k

authors note: I literally have read this so many times, if there's a mistake you'll live okay, love u enjoy :P

masterlist | next part

Some could mistake the sunlight that patterned through the shutters of the small council room as a sign for a glorious day in Kings Landing, a sign from the Gods that this would be magnificent and bright. But, Aemond could only look into his mother’s eyes that morning with a feeling of helplessness.

But Aemond could not see it that way. Not as he sat across from his mother, her eyes steady and sad, her mouth drawn in a line of reluctant resolve. The sunlight only seemed to mock him, casting its warmth over a moment that felt anything but.

This was not a sign from the Gods, this was an act of mental warfare on him.

Exactly 2 moons into the new year, the air of the Red Keep was chilled like the cold defeat in her eyes as she told him exactly what he didn’t want to hear.

“Aemond,” Her sigh was weary as he sat across from her at the small council table, the vapid gaggle that was lords of the council surrounding them as she looked at him with a plea to understand, “I understand this isn’t an easy feat, but...” He cut her off with a scoff.

He was usually soft to his mother, one of the only women in his life who saw past the marred skin and leathered exterior. Aemond was usually the dotting son and the only one who did everything she asked, bent to her sad eyes and long silences. But as this moment hung over them, he wasn’t sure he could afford her the luxury of doing this.

“But what?” His voice was chilled as the stones outside, chipped but still strong, “You wish to move me like a piece on your board? to what prevails exactly, your own liberty?” His eye was wide as it flicked between them.

The nervous demeanour of his mother and the ever-cool stoicism of his grandsire; Aemond was tempting them to utter the words everyone knew was on the tips of their tongue.

To one day help make Aegon king instead of your sister…

At that moment, he was happy he kept the majority of the council on his blindside, just so he wouldn’t need to see their loathsome faces as he stood his lonely ground. He hated all the self-righteous cunts anyway.

“It is your duty to marry, lest I remind you,” His grandsire cut in, Otto Hightower; ever the family man and doting peacekeeper of the keep in the king’s sickness, “Your duty to your house and your family.”

Aemond was sure in that moment that he could feel the chilly hands of the winter sky wrap their fingers around his neck, as his grandsire commanded the room with an ease that only a viper could.

“She’s a nice girl,” Alicent raised her hand and tried to keep her tone light; her son’s disposition was often a cause of contention for her, ever the actual peacekeeper of the family, “A sweet girl from the Arbor, and from what I’ve heard, she’s well-read and pleasant, a well-suited match.”

Well-read and pleasant. Aemond could have sniped at that. He could have laughed so loud that he was sure they would hear him on the coasts of the Arbour. It was flattering that they thought a pretty little thing with enough wit to read words on a page was enough to settle his fire. That it was enough to ease the burden of creating life with someone.

Like that made any of this better; he has always held the notion that he would be afforded a bit more liberty when choosing a bride. As not just her son but as Prince of the realm, but it was at this moment he was reminded that he was merely the second son. A second son who clearly can’t be left to his own devices or freedom of choice.

The spare to shove around their fictitious little chessboard, and plant in whatever house they felt kept them strong in the war of succession everyone knew was bound to happen.

The whole situation felt like dust settling on his tongue as he glanced at the two of them. The murmuring of the other lords felt more like roars in his ears as his blood started to boil, congealing in his veins. He could taste the words he wanted to say, like burning embers on his tongue that were still light enough that he could spit at them. Watch them burn with at least a little pain.

“House Redwyne are not only allies of the Hightowers but have a strong naval fleet that matches even the seahorses himself.” Tyland Lannister in all his stuttering glory cleared his throat and interjected.

“The match was not made heedlessly, Your Grace…” He continued as Aemond’s head slowly looked over at him, the glare enough to have the supposed lion trailing off towards the end of his sentence, “Her father’s support would be great for any issues that could…arise”

“She could be the re-imagining of the mother herself for all I care, you toad” Aemond snipped his face blazing with anger; fingers clenched in fists of rage, “But that still doesn’t negate the fact that I do not wish to marry, especially not marry the Redwyne girl, her fucking ships be damned.”

Aemond had always hated the way the Lannister almost pouted after every scathing word towards him. For a lion he was more akin to a pup who whimpered at even the nudge of a shoe, he was truly pathetic. To think he had even the foolishness to lecture him on what was good for him, now that was a notion so laughable, he wished he could have drawn his dagger where he sat.

“It matters little what you wish, boy” Otto snapped, his hand slamming down on the table, silencing the lords and his mother, “You will entertain the Redwyne girl when she arrives here in 2 weeks’ time, you will marry her and seed her when the time comes; as is your duty to the Realm.”

The Realm, Aemond could have scoffed.

“Aemond,” His mother tried to soothe the anger on his face, her own tired and desperate as she looked at him like he was just a little boy again, “Give the girl a chance, you may even come to like her in time.”

Aemond doubted that with his entire being, he’d even go as far as to say that he didn’t like the idea of the girl just from the few short words his mother had spoken to him.

“Girls from the Reach are all the same,” He could hear Aegon’s drunken prattling in his ear, the memory of him making eyes at one of the ladies from House Crane, “Pretty girls who want a silver prince and dozens of silver babes galore, but with a tongue like thorns, they are just needy cunts”

Aemond didn’t need to remind Aegon their mother was a woman from the reach, as by that point he’d staggered off to probably deflower the Crane girl; as he often did. But it did leave the question rattling in his brain, were all girls from the reach as shallow as his womaniser brother stated?

He supposed it would be something he’d be forced to learn, especially if his mother and grandsire were pushing hard for this union between him and the Redwyne girl.

Aemond could tell the council chamber was waiting with bated breath to see what he was going to say to his mother and Grandsire’s pushing. But all he could do was rise from the chair with a sneer at them, lips curled like he found their words disgusting.

The scrape of the wood against the stone sounded eerily like a dragon screeching in the night as he rose, his hand placed on the wood of the table to look around them all with a glare so harsh he was sure that at least one of the council members would catch fire.

Truthfully, there was nothing for Aemond to say, he was peddled into a corner not of his choosing and unless the Redwyne girl's boat sank on the way here; they would be stood at the sept for their union in the moons to come. He wasn’t a child anymore, tears would only sway his mother so far, and you might as well have tried to get blood from a stone before his grandsire let up.

So, with one last look around the room, he did the only thing he could do.

“Hm...” The noise vibrated from his lips as he moved to stride out of the suffocating chambers, his gait speaking on the anger brimming in his bones as he paid them little attention; the guards at the door merely opened the wood as soon as he neared.

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him upset, but he would set them all on edge for when he would snap.

That itself was his victory to claim.

The Arbor.

You looked like a vision of a nymph, reddened with the sun and relaxed on the hammock like you were waiting for the sun itself to come down and bless you with grace. Nestled deep in the home of the Redwyne’s was you, the youngest Lady Redwyne, lounging on your balcony like you weren’t set to leave your home for the last time tomorrow, soaking up the sun and sipping chilled wine like you weren’t going to memorise every nook and cranny of the grand home and vineyard, relaxing in the sunshine like you could do this again tomorrow.

You had many memories on this Balcony, the grand white stone that overlooked the cliffs and the ocean below held a special place in your heart; beyond it being part of your home, it was the place you felt you could truly relax. Sat in this very hammock watching the way the ivy draped from the roofing and danced in the wind, the ships you would see come in from the summer isles, and the sounds of joyful sailors cheering from the leagues away. You would find peace reading, understanding things your Septas and Maesters would give you to read, the blush that would colour your cheeks as you delved into your own interests.

The weather in the Arbor was warmer than the rest of the Reach, the island was constantly washed in heat so dense that wearing anything thicker than tulle or silk was a crime. It was the reason it was so bountiful with fruits, the wine capital of Westeros, it was a sight to behold; the heat gave way to luscious lands so rich and green that it looked like something out of a painting, florals and fruits almost blooming overnight with the kiss of sunshine, the air so clean and fresh that you felt every breath like it was your first.

It was a far cry from the stink that was Kings Landing, or at least that is what you had been told; the two places were as comparable as Dorne and the Wall. Your maids had told you some of their tales from their own visits or their families' visits, the way the poor lined the streets like permanent fixtures, rats crawled in every nook and cranny, the stink of overpopulation marring the air so badly you needed a scented handkerchief to even ride through flea bottom.

Even now, you were hard challenged to remove yourself from where you lounged, the sun at its peak tickling your skin as huge wafts of salted air cleared your nose. It was amusing to hear the voices filter from the double doors of the chamber behind you, the cackles and japes from your maids carrying out the door like a memory you never wanted to let go of.

“I’ve heard they’re closer to the gods than any of us,” You could hear the tinkling voices of the maids from your place on the balcony, their hands busy packing her things into trunks, “Some say they shed their skins at night for their true scales” The giggles were something the young Redwyne girl would miss in these moments.

“Gods can you imagine,” you could hear the deep laugh of the older maid, Meredyth, chortle, “Waking up next to one and seeing those slits of eyes, gods I'd be paralysed.”

“Oh, I’d scream the bloody keep down!” Tayra, another one of your other maids gasped out loud, coupled with a ringing laugh, “Run for Visenya’s hill and walk on foot back here.” Their laughter was infectious, and you felt your chest rumble with amusement.

They never heard you coming as you rose from your hammock on the balcony, bare feet warm against the stone as you strode back into your chambers; the sheer curtains kissing your shoulders as you peeped back in with a smile.

“I’ve heard their hair is silver because once upon a time a dragon rider flew to the moon,” your voice was a gentle tilt as you smiled softly, the maids turning from their jobs with wide amused eyes as they listened to you, “And the gods decided to spin magic into the strands, blessing them for making the long journey.”

There was a pause as you stopped with a smile before the women in the room started laughing again, their laughter contagious as the winter fever as you settled on your day bed, body warm from outside, with a content sigh. Your hand fan was doing little to cool the heat from outside. A day like this was truly a kiss from the summer isles.

“Now that’s a story,” Meredyth smirked, her hands busy folding one of your summer dresses, “Be sure to tell your silver prince that one, petal, you might just make him laugh for once.” You could only roll your eyes.

“Be nice,” you sighed softly, relaxing into the daybed, “I’m sure he’s not what the stories make him out to be, Meredyth.”

“I’ve heard he hides his eye because the other could turn someone to stone,” the youngest maid, Mara, tutted softly, “Careful, my lady, lest they ship you back here to be a pretty statue in the gardens” You could only smile softly at that.

“Really?” you smiled as Tayra piped up, “I’ve heard he’s a ferocious fighter, trained by a man from Dorne; but prettier than the rest of the siblings.” Tayra huffed with a smile as she was packing up your jewellery.

“The Targaryen’s are pretty…” Meredyth sighed wishfully, her smile was almost a smirk as she recalled something beyond your years, “I remember seeing Prince Aemon in my younger years, now that was a prince” She raised her eyebrows in a lustful remembrance at the young girl.

“Was there ever a Targaryen that wasn’t pretty?” You could only tilt your head as you sighed out your question, your hand still delicately moving your fan to keep you cool, “I’ve heard stories that they’re just born looking godly, it’s unfair really.”

“Isn’t he called one-eye?” Tayra stopped packing to ask with a furrowed brow, “Something about losing an eye at a young age?”

“Does it really matter?” you sighed softly, your hand reaching for a glass of chilled fruit juice; the juicy peach taste coating your mouth delectably, “Tis only an eye, he seems like a strong man regardless if the stories are anything to go by.”

“Let’s hope he isn’t like the other prince~” Mara sang softly, “My sister told me, that someone who works there told her, that the Keep is constantly having to find new maids because the older prince Aegon is too... Handsy.” Mara received a smack from Meredyth at that.

“Don’t scare the girl, Mara” Meredyth hissed softly, her eyes looking at you as you lounged on the daybed; the beginning of your lip starting to worry with your teeth, “I’ve heard the two princes are completely different, Prince Aemond takes after his mother.”

Alicent Hightower.

You could scarcely remember the woman, not like you sisters did, but you remembered her father Otto visiting The Arbor some years ago for business; or friendship. Your father was a funny man to understand sometimes, so people visiting could never be pinned for business or pleasure, but you remembered the gruff man all the same. He had a fondness for his daughter over his son, but a sternness that didn’t afford the same love. But from what she understood now, the Queen was devoted in her faith and tense, but a lady in every textbook definition of the word.

“Well, if he’s anything like the youngest, Daeron, I’m sure he’s a charmer” Tayra mentioned with a soft smirk towards the young girl.

“Isn’t the youngest more Hightower than Targaryen?” Mara raised an eyebrow at Tayra, her hand stopping mid-folding her soft nightgowns, “He’s been in Oldtown since he was a lad, has he not?”

“Does he have a dragon?” Meredyth rolled her eyes, the crow’s feet around her eyes smoothing out at she looked at her two younger maids with a look that said ‘tread carefully’.

“Well yes,” Tayra hummed, “A blue thing from what I’ve heard from the mainlanders, couldn’t tell you the name, you can see him flying over the waters most days if you squint hard enough.”

“Then he’s a Targaryen,” Meredyth tilted her head for a second, “The royal family and their bloody… Lizards.” She mumbled as she folded yet another gown

You could only repress a soft smirk at that, truthfully, you’d never imagined ever meeting a dragon – let alone marrying someone who had one, but you supposed that this was going to be your new life now. A princess of the Realm who shared a bed with a dragon rider, or a dragon incarnate.

“Do you think the prince will show you, his dragon?” Mara asked innocently, “He rides Vhagar doesn’t he? The last of the big dragons or something...” Mara waved her hand like she was trying to recall some intricate title, but the little lady Redwyne could see the smirks forming on Tayra’s and Meredyth’s faces at her wordage.

“Oh, I’m sure that the prince will show her his dragon alright,” Tayra smirked lustfully, much to Mara’s shock whose jaw dropped; Meredyth cackled as she watched the two girls, “If you catch my drift.” Tayra winked at her.

“Tayra,” Mara screeched softly, her face aflame as she threw one of her rolled-up nightgowns at her, “Not in front of the Lady” Tayra reached over to swat her for that.

“It’s alright, Mara,” Your face was aflame much like Mara’s, the implications of Tayra’s words warming your cheeks more than the blistering sun outside, “You can speak freely, I must be prepared I guess.”

“Are you nervous?” Meredyth asked softly as she placed some of her gowns gently in the trunk, “Meeting the man you’re going to marry is no easy task, it’s okay if you are” She could have smiled at that.

Despite having sisters of your own blood, you were the youngest of the bunch, and by the time you had reached your moon’s blood; your sisters had been off into the world and married to various lords of the Realm. You rarely had women to counsel you and soothe your fears, and your mother no longer with you, so you were thankful for your gaggle of maids; they took care of you like they were your blood.

Meredyth was the oldest of them all, a woman well into her fifties, who had served your family since she was a young girl; she had seen every side of you and your family. She travelled with them everywhere and took care of you when your Septa’s could no longer handle you. She was less a mother figure and more an aunt, her tongue loose like she wasn’t serving a lord and his family, but her openness was welcome by both your father and yourself.

Tayra and Mara were her wards in a sense, she showed them the ropes of the house; and made sure they did every task to her perfection but remained youthful and fun. They were a far cry from your average maids, but as long as the house was kept and they were respectful when guests stayed, your father cared little. You’d be damned if you saw their light go out despite their position. They were like your sisters in a sense, they joked and prodded each other like so, and made sure that you were never lonely in the large estate.

So, you felt comfortable joking and gossiping with them like this, your oldest friends in a sense, there to soothe your worries about the new chapters in your life.

“Truthfully?” you hummed softly, looking down into your glass of juice, “I’m terrified, being away from home… It’s an ache in my chest that I can’t seem to shake” You tutted softly, taking a sip.

Your eyes were cast out the open doors of your balcony; your room faced the cliffs that overlook the crystal-clear waters of the Arbor. The air a mix of salt and the waft of florals that kicked from the fruit fields.

“I’m not sure what scares me more,” you shrugged, “Not seeing this place for a while, or the fact that I am going to get married to a man I’ve never met.”

“It’s okay to be scared, petal” Meredyth sighed softly, dropping her folding to wander and sit on the edge of your daybed, her hand reaching and squeezing your knee through your dress, “No one expects you to just be completely okay with being sent to King’s Landing.” Her lips pursed at that.

“You won’t be alone,” Mara settled down on the ground in front of the day with a gentle smile, her hand reaching out to touch your arm, “Meredyth will be with you, and your father till the wedding is over…”

“Yes, I know…” you sighed placing your glass off to a side table, “But what if we do not get along, what if he hates me?” Your eyes were wide as you stared at the two of them scared as a lamb.

It was a possibility you had rolled around your head in the many days since your father had told you that you were going to be married. The prospect of marriage was something you knew would happen but just not like this. You were well over-considered ‘of age’ but you never thought it would be to a prince of the Realm, you had thought as the youngest that you would marry another smaller lord of the reach and that would be it.

You remembered your father’s face as you were summoned to his study that afternoon. He broke the news to you then, and it felt like a blow to the heart more than the deliverance of good news. You still could remember the way he looked both overjoyed and hesitant to talk to you; you could tell as soon as you had entered the sun-washed room that whatever he had to say, was going to change her life.

“Sit, my petal,” Runce Redwyne was weathered by the years as Lord of the Arbor; his once orange hair was faded to a grey, tufts of the burning stands still visible in the sun, and his face tense and aged from years of dealing with five daughters and no sons, “We must speak.”

You had never looked like him, the man cursed with no sons had also been cursed with five daughters that all looked exactly like their mother.

Your father hadn’t been the same since your mother passed from what you had heard, the spark for life that he once held was snuffed out as he became quieter and more reclusive in his older years. You had only been a babe when a striking fever took your mother, but the pain of losing her still wore on her father’s face even years on. 

“What was so urgent that you called me away from my studies, father?” You had asked so softly as you sat in one of the chairs that he used for when he held meetings, the leather soft and worn as you played with a string on the arm, “Is everything alright?”

“My petal” His smile was reserved but still there as he spoke the news like he was granting her the greatest wish of all, “I’ve just had an interesting proposition from King’s Landing…”

The rest of that afternoon was a blur, from the shock of hearing that your father had found a marriage for you, to the even greater shock of finding out it was to a Dragon Prince of the Realm no less; you were practically a husk of a woman by the time you’d left his study. The blood rushing in your ears, and the fright of change grasping at your heart like death's cold hands.

Marrying a Lord of the Reach would have been one task, but having to learn to tame a dragon? That was completely out of your reach.

“My petal,” Meredyth interrupted your thoughts, “We will not know until you meet, stories aside; he is still a prince who was raised with a strong handed mother” She soothed you softly.

“Yes,” Mara agreed with her, “It is all thoughts until the two of you meet, who knows you might find yourself charmed with him; you were always a romantic at heart,” Mara tried to ease your pain with a smile and a joke, squeezing your arm softly as her round eyes looked up at you.

Mara was right though; you were a romantic at heart, painfully so.

Despite being educated to a level that most ladies didn’t dare to be, your heart laid with more than history or theories from the citadel. Romance, love, and tales of grandeur often found themselves in the young Redwyne’s hands; stories of people yearning so deeply that it fractured their very soul and caused an ache so deep only their love could fix.

It was girlish and childish to yearn for something so deep, but you couldn’t help but dream of a world where you found a love so bright that it formed your very life. You had read everything the Arbor’s library had to offer in terms of romance, even the more salacious novels, and despite never having been in love, you could almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. The honied feel of it so close yet so far from reach.

“It is a marriage of politics,” You could only shake your head at Mara, “I doubt the prince would find much interest in me, that’s if he hasn’t already found a mistress.” Mara could only tut at you.

“Maybe so,” Tayra said to you with a patient look, “But she is a mistress if that’s the case, you are to be his wife – that itself holds more power than you think, my lady” Tayra’s brow was raised in challenge as she also made her way over, sitting on the small table in front of the day bed.

“We shall not baby you, and tell you that you’re travelling for romance,” Meredyth sighed, her hand patting your knee, “But a marriage match can still result in feelings if two people are willing.”

“You think the prince would be willing?” You sighed softly, your eyes flicking to the older maid for guidance, “I mean, I’m not sure why they picked me for a match – why not a Tyrell?”

Meredyth looked pained for a second before she sighed, “Truthfully, petal, I could not tell you why it is you they want, but it must be for a reason if they’re willing to travel you to the capital now.”

It wasn’t like House Redwyne wasn’t powerful in its own right, but even you were confused why you were being picked for a prince over the likes of a Tyrell or even Baratheon; the lord of the Storm’s having four daughters for the choosing. You were the youngest daughter of the Arbor,

“It is all too much…” Your voice trailed off softly, a sheen coating your eyes that could only speak that the young woman was about to be moved to tears, “Why did Father agree to this? Why could he not settle for a Lord of the Reach? Maybe the Stormlands? Gods, I'd even take the Iron Isles.”

Meredyth’s face softened as she reached for your hand, her touch warm and grounding. “Because, darling girl,” she said gently, “your father sees more in you than you see in yourself. He would not send you to the capital unless he believed you capable of standing amongst royalty.”

Tayra gave a soft hum of agreement. “And perhaps… he believes you are worthy of more than a simple lord, a life less ordinary than just being the lady of a house.”

Mara leaned in, her expression mischievous yet tender. “Besides, it isn’t so bad to dream of the capital. Silks and jewels, grand balls and a place bigger than all the Arbor… You might come to enjoy it more than you think.”

But you didn’t want silks or jewels. Not really. Not if they came tied to duty you hadn’t chosen. To a man you didn’t love.

You pulled your hand away to rub at your eyes, blinking the sheen back before it could fall. “I just… I thought I would have more time to choose for myself, or to at least know the man before he became my husband.”

Meredyth didn’t have a comforting answer for that. She simply stroked her fingers down your arm and offered a quiet, “Many women don’t.”

“But many have found joy in what seemed unbearable,” Tayra added, her voice soft, “we cannot promise you that everything will be perfect, but there is still a level of respect that will come from this marriage, he’s a prince and not an average lord after all.”

A silence stretched between the four women after that, the kind that lingered just long enough to settle into your bones. Outside the window, through the sheer curtains, the sun was beginning its descent over the horizon, like always painting the sea it was about to kiss in ribbons of gold and rose.

Mara stood and stretched, casting a glance toward the balcony door, hands moving to continue packing. “Well, whatever comes next,” she said with a brightness she didn’t entirely feel, “you’ll face it with your head high, we know you will...”

“You're a romantic,” Tayra added with a wry smile before joining her. “Which may yet be your greatest strength.”

You gave them both a watery smile, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, sinking more into the daybed than ever before. “Then let’s hope he has even a shred of love in him,” you whispered. “Or at the very least, the sense not to trample mine.”

Meredyth smiled sadly and leaned forward to kiss your brow. “Hope, petal, is the only thing that makes the unknown bearable.”

And as the last light of day slipped beneath the horizon, you allowed yourself—just for a moment—to imagine that maybe, just maybe, the prince would be something more than duty.

Aemond wasn’t sure why he was here, he didn’t feel like he needed to be nor did he want to be.

The docks that led down from the Keep were astringent with the smell of salt and something sour he’d rather not think about. Even though the sun had warmed up the late morning, he couldn’t help but grimace as the beams reflected off the glistening water and into his lone eye. Trying to subtly blink the glare away as he found himself nearly blinded in what he had left of his vision.

No, Aemond didn’t want to be here at all, not that he could voice that to his mother; who was so nicely standing next to him, ridge backed like a statue and ready to snap at him if he even made even one comment about standing on the stone dock.

He had to be here, or so his family says, for it was the day that the Redwyne girl and her family would arrive.

A mere fortnight had passed since the council had informed him of the arrangement, and despite the nudge from his mother, he had no communication with this girl whatsoever. Ravens had come and gone, but the two scrolls from her had laid on his writing table untouched and seals intact—he had no wish to bolster a relationship with the girl prior to the meeting.

It was childish really, that much he was very aware, perhaps the most childish he had been in years; but frankly, Aemond didn’t care at all. He would respect whatever wife they gave him, for women were the mother personified, but he wouldn’t like her. No husband had to like their wives, especially the ones he didn’t want.

He wouldn’t caress her like a lover, and kiss her silly as novel princes did, he would be as he always was; Aloof and uninterested in anything besides duty. He had no want for carnal desires beyond what a whore and coin could give him. Aemond didn’t want a doe-eyed lover to stroke his hair, or murmur adoration to him in the hour of the wolves.

He especially didn’t want someone who had likely grown up on tales of love and longing, expecting her prince to be anything but a blade honed by fire and blood. If she came to King’s Landing dreaming of romance, she would be sorely disappointed.

Aemond's lips tightened at the thought, as the salted wind flustered his hair, as his good eye scanned the horizon. A speck in the distance that was rapidly getting closer.

“That must be her.”  He hummed quietly in his head.

The Redwyne girl. His betrothed.

His jaw flexed as he folded his arms behind his back, posture stiff with reluctant anticipation. Would she be frightened of him? Most were. The patch over his ruined eye, the quiet fury that always seemed to simmer just beneath his skin like a dragon ready to blaze fire. His presence like the quiet clicking a dragon’s throat made just before hells unleashed, it unnerved those who did not understand him.

He rather preferred it that way.

“Stand tall,” Alicent said quietly beside him, pious as ever with her tone even but firm, though beneath it, there was the steel edge only his mother could wield. “And for the love of the Seven, try not to look like you’re going to gut the first person who speaks.”

Aemond didn’t look at her, didn’t shift a muscle as he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon where the ship bobbed closer with every passing second. “I make no promises,” he murmured, voice low, laced with dry humour that almost curled the edge of his mouth into a smirk.

Alicent turned her head sharply to glance up at him, her lips pressing into a tight line. Her eyes—green and sharp with years of courtly scrutiny—narrowed, sending a clear message. “You will make an effort, Aemond.”

He gave a shallow nod, more a concession to timing than obedience. Not because he agreed with her, nor because he thought there was anything worth making an effort for, but simply because fighting her here—in public, on the docks, with his grandsire, the Kingsguard and servants watching, whispers already forming on tongues—was a wasted breath.

Aemond knew this game. He knew the eyes that watched from balconies above, from the shadows of cloaks stitched with gold. They waited for any sign of dissonance, any crack in their image. Like a singular ember falling onto dry grass, any sign of upset would cause fire faster than they could breathe.

So, Aemond stood as his mother told him, like a perfect carving of Valyrian stone—chin high, shoulders square, both hands folded behind his back. The sun gleamed off his silver hair, tied neatly back, though a few loose strands danced in the breeze like flickers of flames.

Aemond always knew he looked the part of a Targaryen prince, more so than some of his family, his image more akin to the likes of his uncle than any of his immediate family. He knew how to play the game if needed and now was very much needed to play the part of the steely prince.

Even if, inside, he wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel, mount Vhagar, and disappear into the sky where no one could ask anything of him.

But he remained where he was on the docks.

Because duty demanded it.

Because his mother demanded it.

Because this girl—this betrothal to her and whatever babes she was going to birth—was yet another piece on the board he was meant to play, whether he liked it or not. His mother and Grandsire play a game greater than he cared to ever play at some points.

Still, he leaned the slightest fraction closer to his mother, voice quiet enough for only her to hear. “If she simpers at me, I may very well walk into the sea.”

Alicent exhaled through her nose, long-suffering after years of dealing with her sons, but her mouth twitched with the smallest flicker of restrained amusement. “If she simpers, you will smile. And you will do it like a prince, not like a snarling dog.”

His eye slid sideways to her, dry and unimpressed. “I was born a dragon, Mother, not a lapdog.”

“Then try not to burn the docks down before she’s even stepped off the ship,” she muttered, her fingers tightening lightly around her prayer ring. “For all our sakes.”

He didn’t answer, but the silence between them held the weight of reluctant understanding.

This whole ordeal was a farce. Everyone knew it, though no one dared say it aloud. And yet, somehow, Aemond was the only one who had to endure it first-hand. Duty, he understood it, he followed it, revered it even.

But gods, Aemond had hoped for a few more years of silence, of solitude before they pressed a wife into his arms like a burden wrapped in silk. It was a cruel fate to be tied to someone like him, and at his core, he had hoped he could have chosen someone who would withstand him, or at least have the sense to leave him alone besides doing their duty.

As the ship drew closer, its deeply coloured sails caught the light. The Redwyne banner fluttered high above the deck, proud and unmistakable. Aemond watched with a practised indifference, though his jaw tightened slightly as the figures aboard began to sharpen into clarity.

The deckhands started moving briskly, shouting orders, ropes unfurling and anchors dropping into the water the closer they got. And there—near the bow—a small figure stood motionless, her soft blue gown rippling like petals caught in a breeze.

Even from a distance, Aemond could tell that she looked... hesitant.

Her posture wasn’t poor, quite the opposite really, but it held the quiet restraint of someone trying not to take up too much space, almost like a mouse trying not to get caught. Her chin slightly raised, hands clasped tightly in front of her on the railing, her shoulders drawn as though she feared being noticed and yet knew she would be the closer they got to disembarking.

Aemond could read people like a book, she was trying to appear calm, trying to look graceful. It was written in every careful line of her body, practically screamed it.

Timid, he thought, fragile.

He didn’t like that the thought had formed at all. He turned his face away sharply, eye narrowing against the glare reflecting off the water. She would disembark, curtsy, and offer some nervous pleasantries. They would nod, exchange a few stiff words, and then retreat into the suffocating rituals of royal engagement.

He should not have looked again, but he did.

She was still there, still standing near the railing, while chaos of people trying to get things in place fluttered around her. Her fingers now lightly brushed the edge as if steadying herself from the rocking of the boat. The wind caught her hair, lifting it gently away from her face.

It was then that Aemond got somewhat of a good look at her. Her features were soft—almost delicate like a child but there was still a womanly aspect to her—but uncertain in a way that struck something quiet in him.

She looked young just in general presence, the kind you see in someone sheltered from the harshness of the world, younger than she should for such a fate.

But she was pretty, almost devastatingly so, and if he was a lesser lord he was sure that he would be blushing at this moment. But all his heart could do was give a thud as something that he had to call appreciation curled in his stomach.

“Mother,” he muttered under his breath, “what exactly do you know of her?”

Alicent blinked at him, surprised by the question. “Not as much as you think, she’s the youngest of lord Redwyne’s daughters. Overall unscathed by any scandal, apparently. Studious. Graceful. They say she’s gentle and well-mannered, the sort of girl who knows when to speak and when not to.”

“Hm,” Aemond replied, his eye drifting back to the ship despite himself.

Gentle. Quiet. Obedient.

Exactly what they would think he needed in a wife, and perhaps they were right to some extent. But if she came here with the intention of looking for softness and silence, she would find no warmth in return. Not from him.

Let her be timid. Let her bow and smile and follow wherever they told her. He would still keep her behind the same walls he kept everyone else.

Love had no place in his life, no matter how pretty the package that it came in was.

There was supposed to be a calmness that came with being at sea, or at least that is what you had heard from the passers-by as you watched them pack your things into the large ship that fateful morning. Unless it was rocky waters or war, the sea was supposed to imbue a sense of peace, being alone out in the water was supposed to be as freeing as the wind. But right now, the vast sea had never felt so suffocating.

The waves stretched endlessly in every direction, and the ship’s creaking timbers groaned beneath each swell as if echoing the tension in her chest. Your cabin was warm, too warm, and yet you could not bring yourself to climb up to the deck without purpose. So you stood there, halfway in shadow, watching the sliver of the sky from the narrow window and clutching the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing grounding you into this realm.

You didn’t know if it was dread or homesickness that weighed heavier in your bones.

You had spent the last night in the Arbor pacing in silence, walking the fruit fields one last time while you gazed out at everything you were leaving. This had been your home, your quiet solitude away from the main part of Westeros. The air had been still, fragrant with ripe grapes and damp earth. Your quiet, sun-dappled corner of the world, far from the noise and posturing of court life. The Arbor was known for its wine, its trade, and its civility. Not for war. Not for dragons. It was untouched by most of the political nonsense, the lands and your family known for its wine and trade. That was it.

And certainly not for daughters being sent off to marry princes.

You were never destined to be any sort of royal, you were supposed to marry some lord of the reach. Perhaps a Fossoway, or Rowan, not a Targaryen. You had tried to picture him on your last night, staring out past the vineyards to the sea, but the image would not come.

All you had were whispers and stories. Your letters to him, the ones your father had prompted you to send, were left unanswered and probably still sealed or fed to the fire.

It was a ridiculous notion to begin with, but a part of you, the hopeless childish part, had hoped that maybe he would read one and at least have the warmth in him to answer. But, after the second one had remained unanswered, you had burnt the rest you were being asked to send, a bitter feeling in your chest.

The reassurances from Meredyth and the rest of your maids did little to soothe your soul, you were a ghost in your home from the moment you found out you were leaving. Watching as the days dragged on and the reality of leaving set in, too tense to cry, too overwhelmed to sleep anymore.

Father had reminded you at your last dinner (and every dinner since he told you that you were leaving) that this was a great honour—that marrying into the royal line and joining our houses was something other girls could only dream of. You had only nodded because nodding was easier than speaking. He was proud of you. Nervous, too, but proud.

He didn’t see how your hands trembled beneath the table every time it was mentioned.

The Arbor was already fading into memory, a glaring white jewel on the cliffs swallowed by the blue horizon the further the boat sailed away. The wind tasted different here—saltier, harsher. Everything about this journey had been unfamiliar: the sway of the ship beneath your feet, the endless stretch of sky, the way her stomach had twisted with each passing day.

You had never left home before.

Not truly. Not like this.

The Arbor had always been your world—lush, warm, sun-drenched. Even the rain felt gentle there, warm, like something that asked permission before falling onto the ripe earth. The long, winding paths through the vineyards had been your solace, the scent of ripe grapes mingling with the soft, earthy fragrance of soil. The way the bugs and the butterflies fluttered around and helped. It was a place where the rhythm of the seasons was a constant companion, where you could watch the changing tides from your window and feel the pulse of the land beneath your feet.

There, the world had felt small, intimate, safe.

But out here, at sea, everything was vast. The wind rushed by ears, the ship groaned with each rocking wave, and the sky stretched on endlessly for miles like the land wasn’t in existence anymore. While the air was warm, a kiss from the summer isles, the open water felt like an unspoken threat—an endless, empty expanse that made your heart pound faster with each passing moment.

The original plan was to sail to Old Town, and then ride a few days from there to Kings Landing, but your father hated carriages and had insisted that they would arrive by boat, much to your discontent.

The first few days at sea had been disorienting.

The ship’s sway unsettled your stomach like never before, the rocking motion unrelenting, as though the very world was in flux beneath you. There wasn’t much to do on a boat, you had tried to sleep, to rest your mind, but the fear of the unknown kept you awake. Every wave that rocked the ship felt like it might tear you from the safety of your past and toss you into a future you weren’t ready for.

You had spent most of the journey under the deck in your room, staring out at the horizon from the small window, trying to reconcile the life you had left behind with the one that awaited you.

But the further you sailed, the more the familiar sight of the Arbor seemed like a fading dream—blurry and distant, swallowed by the boundless sea. Meredyth, the one maid you were allowed to bring with you, had tried her best to keep you sane while you sat in your bunk, chatting mindlessly to you about what she knew of the capital, the people there, and what the likelihood of that Tayra and Mara were up to no good back home.

It was sweet the way she tried to keep you sane, but it just didn’t do that, the more you listened to her, the more you were reminded that soon she would be back on this very boat after the wedding, sent back home, and you’d be truly alone with people you did not know. 

Every second the ship approached closer King’s Landing, you felt your chest tightening.

There was no mistaking the looming silhouette of the Red Keep against the morning sky, a red fortress that held years of terror, power and fear. The city below it sprawled out behind it, chaotic and bustling, nothing like the quiet sunny solitude that you had known.

The smell of saltwater gave way to the pungent scent of smoke, and the sharp, acrid tang of people. The capital was a place of hard edges and high walls, and even at a glance, you could already feel the weight of it settling on your shoulders. A crown clawing into your skin, never to be taken off.

Your father had stayed away from most of the journey, his eyes had grown distant, his words few. You were leaving behind the only home you had ever known, and he said little more than that it was a great honour to be betrothed to a Targaryen, that you should be proud.

He had reminded you often of the importance of the union, how many would envy you, but each time he said it, his voice had sounded almost hollow. You wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that this was what you were meant to do, but deep down you felt truly lost in the weight of it all. How could anyone be proud of leaving everything they had ever loved behind?

A part of you wondered if he felt sad that the last piece of his wife was now going to be gone. He would truly be alone until he either decided to remarry for a son or decide to pass on the Arbor to one of your sister’s children.

You wanted to ask, be was a man of so few sentimental words, but all of it would remain unanswered, but a part of you hoped that the fear of loneliness would have him change his mind. No matter how selfish of a notion that was.

Overall, it had been a five-day sail to King’s Landing.

Five days that felt both endless and far too short. The gentleness of the sea had lulled you into a false sense of stillness as if the world beyond the ship’s bow didn’t truly exist. Giving your mind time to occupy itself on the thought that maybe the ship would sink, or you’d arrive at the capital to find that the prince was charmed with another.

The horizon remained a blur, the mainland a foreign concept, and for a while, you had allowed yourself to believe it might never come. Out there on the blue open water, with only the creak of the masts and the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull, it was easy to pretend that time was suspended, that this journey was just that—a journey. Not a turning point. Not a life change.

But the illusion was shattered on the morning of the fifth day.

The captain’s voice rang out across the deck, clear and certain, calling down that the ship was making its final approach to the docks of King’s Landing. In an instant, your body betrayed you, your breathing hitched, your pulse jumping and thrumming harder, and a cold panic blooming deep in your chest.

The calm you had tried to cling to slipped away like water through your fingers. You tried to still yourself, to slow your breathing, to remind yourself of your lessons from your septa’s; your poise—but your heart only raced faster, pounding against your ribs with each step the ship took toward its destination.

There was no turning back home, there was something unknown beyond this point in time. No pause. No last request to delay just a little longer. The moment you had dreaded, rehearsed, braced yourself for, was here.

There was nothing left to do but face it.

You stood at the railing as instructed, hands clenched tightly around the wood, knuckles pale from the force of your grip. The wind off the sea whipped strands of hair across your face, the scent of salt and smoke already beginning to replace the crisp, sweet air of home. Below, the dock drew closer like a hand reaching out to grab you from your comfort—massive, foreign, loud. You could hear the faint murmur of the port from where you stood: dockhands shouting, carts creaking, gulls crying overhead.

Everything about it felt too loud. Too fast.

Your father came to stand beside you, his boots thudding gently against the deck. He didn’t speak at first. He only watched the dock draw nearer; his brows furrowed in thought as the image of a redhead and the striking head of silver started to become clearer.

You wondered what he was thinking—if he regretted this decision, if he worried for you like you worried for yourself, or if he was simply focused on appearances. Then, quietly, he laid a steadying hand on your shoulder.

“It’s time,” he said, voice low, palm warm through the fabric of your gown.

But there was no comfort in his words. No reassurance that if things didn’t work out you could go home. Just the quiet finality of your duty.

You nodded once, not trusting your voice, and turned to face the coming shore. The gangway would be lowered soon, and with it, the last remnants of your old life would be left behind.

The boat lurched as it docked onto land, a rush of breath leaving you as you held on tight while ship hands scrambled around you at a speed, you’re not sure you could move at.

Eventually, the gangplank was lowered with a shuddering creak, the wood scrapping on the stone dock while your father placed his hand at the bottom of your spine, the dockworkers already hurrying to secure the ship and prepare for disembarkation.

The commotion was dizzying—shouts of greeting, the slap of boots on wet wood, the flap of banners in the rising wind. You moved slowly. Deliberately. Hand tangled in the soft fabric of your skirt, each step down the ramp feeling more like a small betrayal of the life you’d left behind than the start of something new. The wood beneath your feet was firmer than the ship’s deck, but somehow less stable.

This was land, yes, but it was not your land. The people did not know your name, your steps, your roots.

And waiting there standing, just beyond the gathering of guards, was the prince.

You saw him before anything else.

Aemond clearly did not wear his station like the others.

He stood apart, not speaking, not smiling, his silver hair gleaming in the morning light. His posture was straight, unfathomably tall, almost unnaturally so—like a marble statue that had never been allowed to bend. Even at a distance, he radiated a quiet, coiled danger, much like the stories about him. He was not theatrical, not overt in any way, not dripping in rich fabrics of every colour.

He was simply there, stood in his leathers, sheathed like a blade kept just out of reach.

But by gods, was he beautiful.

Painfully so, that your heart gave a pathetic thud as you looked at him, he was dreamy in a dangerous way. Hard lines and edges, something almost sinful to look at, novel in the sense that someone had created him from a mould, unlike any others. You had seen many lords who tried for your hand in your time, esossi travellers docking, but nothing compared to the Targaryen beauty, your maids were right in that sense.

Aemond was something different entirely, the slash through his eye and the eyepatch did nothing to draw away from his beauty. Creamy skin, and strong boned, his nose and jaw were the centre feature of his face. Your hand twitched as it grasped your skirts, itching to reach up and trace every line, feel the warmth of his skin on your skin, and see that beauty up close.

Pitifully, you could feel the yearning in your chest.

Your feet slowed the closer you got to him and his family, but you did not stop. You knew better. You moved forward, your father walking at pace beside you, guiding you to your new future with one step at a time. You were dressed as they had instructed—nothing too rich or gaudy, but tasteful, demure.

The dress itself was a gift from a traveller that had traded with your father, something pretty and soft like most women of the Reach wore; layers and layers of soft tulle fabric that came together to look like a soft blue. It was similar to the colour of where the sky met the sea, a nod to your home. Your hair simple with a soft twist up away from your face and delicate pearl pins that caught the light.

And then, you were in front of him.

Your hand gripped your skirts tighter than you thought was possible as you sank into a curtsy, perfectly measured with a bow of your head. Deep enough to show respect for the royal family, but shallow enough to retain your dignity. The way Meredyth and your Septa had made you practice over and over again both at home, and on the ship, until your knees ached and your patience wore thin. There would be no greater embarrassment than not curtsying properly to the prince.

Your breath was rattling in your chest as you paused for a second out of respect, counting the seconds in your head before you looked up.

Aemond was looking down his nose at you, his one violet eye unwavering as he scanned your face. His expression betrayed nothing. Not amusement, not curiosity. Not even indifference. Just a blank page.

It was strange, you expected at least the comfort of twitching lips, or a gentler demeanour to at least ease the awkwardness, but it seemed as if Aemond relished in it, made him stronger. Up close, he was just as beautiful as you’d seen at the end of the dock, but there was an aura to him that drew you in like a moth—something addicting about him.

But at this moment there was only stillness, everyone around holding their breath like they knew something about the prince that you didn’t.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“Lady Redwyne, welcome.” His voice was deeper than you had imagined.

It was soft, shockingly so, but still cool and precise like he spared his words for when they mattered. But the greeting came with no hint of warmth, your name sounded like a formality to him, an obligation, not a greeting.

Still, it was more than you'd expected.

“Your Grace,” you answered, managing a soft, steady tone despite the way your hands begged to shake. “I thank you for your welcome.”

It was the most formal exchange of your life, and yet, he left your knees trembling beneath your skirts. Raising back up to full height, you noticed the stark height difference between the two of you, his ability to still look down his nose at you even stood was shocking. He was every bit as tall as he was strong.

You could feel the eyes on you though—guards, servants, all strangers who already had opinions of the exchange they would not speak aloud. You didn’t dare look away from Aemond though, couldn’t look away until he gave the faintest nod.

And then, mercifully like a copper angel intervening, Queen Alicent stepped forward.

She moved with the grace of someone who had long mastered the art of appearances. Her gown was dark green, finely embroidered but still simple. Like extravagance wasn’t part of her ritual, her expression measured but kind. She took your shaking hands in hers and squeezed them gently like someone might take hold of a dying bird just to make sure it was still breathing.

“We are pleased to have you, my lady,” she said, voice low and careful but a smile on her lips like a mother calming a child. “You’ve travelled by ship, and you’ve still arrived with grace... That speaks well of you.”

Her words were a balm, even if rehearsed. You managed a soft smile at her though, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you, Your Grace. It is... all very new.”

Behind you, your father said something polite and deferential. You didn’t catch the words. You were too aware of the weight of the prince’s silence; of the way he had already turned his gaze elsewhere—as though you were no longer worth looking at.

You turned when the Queen guided you toward the waiting carriage, but before you climbed inside, you glanced over your shoulder one last time.

Aemond had not moved.

He was staring back at the sea.

Let him, you thought, gripping the edge of your skirts tightly. Let him face the waves, if he liked them better, found them more interesting.

You would not chase his gaze, and you would not beg for warmth.

No matter how much your heart cried already just for a glance.

Everything else after the arrival was a blur of people directing you places, the Queen speaking lowly to you as she escorted you through the Red Keep on a short tour. Pointing out various places that you would soon see more in depth in the coming weeks.

She filled the space by asking you questions, and all while you tried smiling politely as you stuttering through various facts about yourself. It was equal parts embarrassing and exhausting, your father none-the-wiser as he lingered behind the two of you, catching up with the Hand of the King, old friends reunited after years apart.

You couldn’t help but feel like a burden slotted between reunions and political obligations—the sacrificial offering exchanged while the men caught up on their glories of the last few years. But it was nice for your father to at least have a familiar face to talk to, Otto seemed as happy to see him as much he was able to.

At one point, Queen Alicent paused by a grand terrace that overlooked the gardens, and with a soft sigh, offered her apologies that her other children had not been present to greet you.

“My daughter, Helaena, is occupied with her little ones,” she said, the corners of her mouth tightening in a way that suggested she wished it were otherwise. “And Aegon, as I’m sure you can imagine, is often... engaged with matters of the court and the children also.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that, you had heard stories otherwise of her oldest and his whereabouts but you weren’t going to say anything, she moved along before you had to anyway.

“Daeron, of course, remains in Oldtown,” she added with a hint of pride on her face, the first you had seen since she’d even mentioned her children. “He sends his warm regards through raven, but I imagine you’ll not meet him for some time.”

You noticed that she didn't dare mention any of Aemond.

More small talk followed that more you walked. Polite, measured, and relentless. You answered every question with the poise you had been raised to show, but your cheeks ached from the effort of smiling, and your temples throbbed from the mannered chaos that was the whole morning.

It was like being on stage, only the role you were playing was yourself, and every word felt both too much and not enough.

By the time you reached the quarters assigned to you, rooms tucked into a quieter wing of the guest wing with a sweeping view of the sea, you felt as though you had lived through a full week, not a single morning.

The Queen took your hand briefly before leaving you in the care of your maids while the men continued on, your father would greet you later, you knew that they were all heading to the small council room this afternoon to discuss the matters of your betrothal and undoubtedly the wedding.

Alicent's hands were still warm as you both stood outside your door, a guard lingering just off to the side, the moment as private as you were afforded.

“You’ve held yourself with admirable composure, my dear,” Alicent said, her voice warm, though her eyes never lost that assessing glint. “I know how overwhelming it must all seem right now…But I assure you, it gets easier.”

You smiled, bowed your head, and thanked her as graciously as you could manage, the throbbing feeling in your temples getting stronger as you pardoned yourself to your chambers, eyes following with a soft sigh as the Queen followed after her father to what you could only assess as one of the easier talks of politics that would happen in that room.

Your chamber door shut with a soft click, and the silence fell like a soft shroud over the chamber, all you could think was how very far from easy it all felt.

It was the first time you had been truly alone since your departure from the Arbor and arrived here—no ship hands yelling, no handmaidens darting around with curtseys and murmured instructions, no quiet humming of the Queen Mother or the low, commanding voice of you father as he made polite conversation with the King’s Hand.

It felt like some semblance of peace as you moved further into the chambers, hand pressed over your stomach while you breathed as deeply as you could, being alone at this moment was good, it was needed. You just needed yourself for a moment longer.

The room was far too grand to feel anything like the safety of home, and you supposed that was purposeful, what there any true safety in this place?

The walls were a warm stone colour, with candle sconces littered all around, you assumed it would be well-lit at night with the number of candles shoved around. It was marginally bigger than your room back home, equipped with a sitting room that you assumed you would be expected to receive guests in, a comfortable set of settees in front of the unlit hearth, a desk by the window, and a table that you assumed would be used to having dinner alone if you wished.

It was a fine room, fitting for a princess, but you didn’t know if it was fitting for you.

The sleeping chamber was sectioned off with large arched lattice doors, cut with the shapes small flowers as it hid the bed. Some privacy that no one would dare to enter, besides your maids, and eventually your husband.

From your place by the hearth, you could see that bed was canopied in soft pinks and reds, similar blankets with tasselled corners, cushy duck pillows and soft white sheets that practically begged for you to crawl and hope this was all a terrible nightmare. All the windows around the room stood tall and arched, the very tops of them glazed with coloured panes of dragons and fire that tendriled of coloured light across the stone floor as the sun moved in the sky.

Everything around smelled faintly of beeswax and polished wood and a strange perfume that did not belong to you. But it wasn’t unpleasant, it wasn’t your room back home, but it was nice, it needed personal touches that you assumed would come in time—but as a start it was good, it was blank, it was needed.

You found yourself by the hearth, unmoving, eyes fixed on the old smoke stains and the fresh logs that were too perfectly cut to have come from anything real.

It was just you now… and Meredyth.

Meredyth was the only maid you were allowed to bring with you, Tayra and Mara were tasked with keeping the Arbor in check in her absence, but it was a silly comfort that you knew was going to leave as soon as the vows were said. You did not doubt that the Queen would find you new maids to serve you, and from what you heard in passing from your father, eventually ladies-in-wait who you would counsel and raise as companions of your own.

What a frightfully daunting task.

Meredyth was already silently moving around the chamber like a helpful ghost, efficient as always as she zipped to unpack your comforts, your life packed into trunks. She’d clearly wasted no time in opening your trunks, humming low under her breath, deft as always with the already laid out various bottles of scented oils and cosmetics. It was something to focus on to temper the panic rising in you as your eyes focused on her shaking out gowns with quick snaps of her arms.

“There’s no lilac in this room,” Meredyth muttered as she walked to the wardrobes, her sharp eyes narrowing at the corner where a folded sheet sat slightly askew. “You’d think with all this royal ceremony someone might have remembered your preferences; they were sent ahead for a reason. It smells of cypress and dust and… Targaryen pride, if that had a smell.”

You didn’t answer her. You couldn’t. Your throat was tight. You hadn’t spoken since you were dismissed from the Queen’s presence.

The welcome had been cordial. Formal. Cold.

Aemond had barely looked at you, only said your name in a voice so dry it might have been carved from stone. Queen Alicent had offered kinder words, even a smile that seemed genuine enough beneath her careful politeness. You were a means to an end for something you didn’t understand yet, and your value had already been tallied before your feet touched the dock.

The hand that wasn’t pressed to your stomach reached to one of the pillars of the hearth, breathing deeply as your fingers touched the cool stone, grasping it for support as you glanced around the room. Watching Meredyth work her magic to make the room seem a little more homely, you could feel your stomach turning the more you watched her.

She saw your pain clear as day, her fingers gently placing down a nightgown to look at you the way only an aunt would.

“Sit,” Meredyth said at last, softer now, gently guiding you toward the cushioned stool before the dressing table. You didn’t resist. Your limbs felt stiff like they weren’t quite yours anymore.

You sat like she asked. She stood behind you, plucking the pearls and the pins from your hair quickly to let it down; just as you liked. Before she was running a brush through your hair in long, slow strokes. She had been doing this for years, since you were a girl with scraped knees and sticky peach fingers, and the rhythm of it made something in you finally break loose.

“I can’t do this,” You whispered with a crack in your tone. The words barely left your mouth, more like a whoosh of air leaving your mouth rather an anything tangible. “He didn’t even speak to me, walk with me, it was like I didn’t exist.”

Meredyth paused for only a breath before resuming the brushing, steady and sure. “He doesn’t know how to speak like you wish him to,” she said lightly. “Not to people, anyway. I’ve heard the stories—they say he’s a man of few words, he only really acknowledges his sister and mother if he has to.”

You blinked at the mirror, meeting her eyes with your own wide ones. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Meredyth gave a dry laugh, shaking her head as she parted sections of your hair to brush easier. “No… But, it’s meant to remind you that it’s not just about you, it’s about the situation.”

“I appreciate you lying to me.” You said quietly as you watched your reflection in the mirror. The girl looking back at you was pale, drawn. Her eyes were tired, her mouth downturned in a line of exhaustion. “But he hates me, or at least wishes me gone.”

You didn’t recognise yourself right now.

“I miss the Arbor already,” you said, your voice barely heard like it was being pulled from somewhere deeper than your lungs. You looked down at your lap, fingers twisting the soft fabric of your gown. “Do you think it’s too late for father to change his mind?”

There was a silence then. A long one.

Meredyth’s brushing had slowed as she let out a soft sigh, it was times like this that she wished that she could truly lie to you; tell you that it wasn’t too late. But this was your reality now, no matter how much you wanted to beg to go back.

“No,” she said at last. “But it’s too late for you to ask him to, the only way this changes is if something else happens—but your fate is here and now, petal.”

You looked back up, startled.

She leaned in, resting a hand on your shoulder; not firm, not light, but grounding you with her at that moment. “You’ve already stepped off the boat, you stood before him and the Queen. You were seen, and you don’t get to vanish now, court knows you’re here, the fire has started between both you and him.”

You swallowed hard. “But I don’t even know Aemond, I don’t even know if he wants this.”

“He probably doesn’t.” Her honesty stung. “But that doesn’t change what’s expected of you and him, and it certainly doesn’t change who you are.”

You sat in silence for a moment, the room quiet bar your own breathing, the brush trailing gently through your hair once more.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, and it felt like the most dangerous thing you’d said all day.

Meredyth didn’t mock you, but she didn’t rush to soothe you either, she simply kept brushing, like she always did.

“I know,” she said softly. “But you’re still going to be the most composed and watched girl in that feasting hall tonight, and tomorrow, you’ll wake up, and do it all again, and you’ll keep doing it till it gets easier to deal with.”

The feast.

A welcome feast for you and your father, your up coming betrothal, something you’d been told to prepare for in advance. It was to be your first venture into the snake pit that was the royal court. You could see what you were supposed to wear hanging from the door of the wardrobe; your dress for tonight, a soft pink, something gentle, something so inherently you—they were going to tear you apart.

“You’ll get through tonight,” Meredyth murmured, her voice low and certain. “One step at a time. And if you stumble, you’ll get back up because I know you can, you know you can." she added, meeting your eyes in the mirror with a flicker of a smile.

That was all.

Not a promise of glory. Not a lie to make it easier.

Just enough. And somehow, it helped.

Tonight would be something, and something in you hopped that it would be something you would survive.

You didn't have a choice.

[mamawasatesttube]

ive been thinking lately about kon and the diaspora agonies of trying to learn your family's native language. but like, with kryptonian, in postcrisis continuity jor-el prepared some kryptonian tech to let clark insta-download kryptonian into his brain because he knew clark wouldn't have access to learning resources, plus the eradicator also gave clark some brain downloads, etc, so i figure that's just available to any kryptonian at the fortress of solitude. (whether it'd work for a human is another question - it might just take some mental prep like what lois did for learning torquasm-rao in that one arc, but that's another post entirely.)

anyways, what that means for kon is that i think he is able to insta-download the ability to understand spoken kryptonian/read written kryptonian, but until he gets the muscle memory down via practice, his kryptonian handwriting will be atrocious and he will have a very notable american accent when he speaks. and that'd be fine for the most part - sure, kara has a giggle about it, but she points out that clark's also got an accent! his is just less noticable because he's had several years worth of practice more than kon.

but. specifically. he doesn't have much time to unpack any self-consciousness about it, because when he goes to new krypton, he Knows they are all judging him for it. see? he's not a real kryptonian, just a clone. he sticks out like a sore thumb. what was kal-el thinking, giving him the name kon-el? he doesn't even speak properly. and he can hear himself speaking with an accent but he can't just stop having one. and it's so, so frustrating and embarrassing for him.

and then everyone on new krypton dies. and he will never actually get the chance to fit in or change any of their minds or unionize the labor guild and advocate for clone rights on krypton. the one time he got to actually interact with his family's culture, his heritage, and they overwhelmingly supported zod, a man who didn't even see him as a person at all.

it's a strange, hollow sort of grief. and he still has an american accent.

[bamtor1sss]

what kinks you think the members would have?

OMGOMGOGM THIS IS SUCH A GOOD ONE, IVE BEEN THINKING ABT IT FOR AGES like ugh pls dont get me started

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warnings: MDNI!, kinks mentioned, gabby brainrot!!!

ׂ╰┈➤ yeonjun - HE WOULD DEF HAVE LIKE ACAROPHILIA KINK like being in the moment and getting scratched WOULLDD BE A HUGGE TURN ONN and like idk he kinda gives the vibes he'd like bsdm LIKEE UGHGFIDJIV IDKK splash of dirty talking BUT I ALSO FEEL LIKE he wouldnt be a hard dom yk like he'd be very gentle at the same time and keep asking if you're okay and i feel like boy would loved to get edged (im going crazy the more i think abt this goodness)

ׂ╰┈➤ soobin - oh ik this mf would love to get his face sat on NOT TO MENTION HE WOULD LOVE OH IKKK he would love like role-playing little fantasies AND OFCC this is like a well known fact for moablr but soobin is such a boob guy like idefk. HE WOULD BE PRASING YOU. like on his knees crying-sobbing about how perfect you are and i feel like him seeing the size difference in the two of you would make him feel even more protective RAHAHAHDBHVF

ׂ╰┈➤ beomgyu - goodness where do i even start.. LIKE ITS BASICALLY KNOWN THAT GYU WOULD MOST DEF HAS A PRAISE KINK?? hes such a gentle baby like pin him down and kiss him all over tell him how much u love him and stuff.. but hes also so devious and cocky i bet he'd love knife play LIKE he enjoys getting threatened and hell lets throw in some choking too <3333 (ive thought abt this too much PLEASE SEND HELP.)

ׂ╰┈➤ taehyun - tbh everyone sees him as a hard dom but i see taehyun as SUCH A BIG SOFTIE OMG like pls he would def be a switch so dirty talking would so get him going, AND OH MY GOD TEASING HIM??!! thigh riding?!!? buddy would switch instantly no more; push over-tease him taehyun. HE WOULD SWICTH UP SO QUICK def would love that hes stronger than you and use that as an advantage.. and omg dont beg to him he would get so turned on omg baby might die on the spot

ׂ╰┈➤ huening kai - again such another softie bro i mean he gets flustered with the members just holding eye contact too long LIKE COME ONNSJDKF i feel like he'd also have a praise kink like tell him hes so cute while you guide him how to jerk off LIKE AGHHH the cute little whimpers but kai hes getting so strong now he'd might just push you up against the wall in the bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, dance practice room when hes had enough of your little teasing.. likes it that you're so much smaller than him so now he gets the manhandle you n stuff <3

if you have any fic requests please send them my way!! ^^🖤

[satocidal]

im so used to writing gojo ive forgotten how to erite for the other men LMAO

anyways now i want your thoughts on how the jjk men would console the reader if she got rejected

me when any character besides satosugu. it's crazy, my entire masterlist is just them with sprinkles of other characters. like i'm actually very scared of writing anyone else now (and have a superiority complex that i just KNOW them)

but onto this, yes. (these are with assumptions that jjk men and you guys are platonic) don't come @ for toji or nanami👹

I like to think Satoru would unironically throw you a pity party, don't get me wrong, it has everything you Love, expect ofc the person you wanted - and this fact, Satoru reminds you all night through his lame ass jokes. He fully believes in exposure therapy and so, the rejection gets brought up in jokes, at your expense, all night. Somewhere in the night your phone would also get stolen and he would read all the texts between you two, talking about how that didn't age well at all. But he makes up for it, he truly does - when he holds you so tight next to him, reminding just how much better you could do - you do deserve, and just full on bashing them. Makes use of his money to remind you that finer things in life do exist. And uh, duh, binge watching love island because, ofc.

I do believe that Toji would have the worst 'first' response to it - a little, "so?" dropping out of his mouth, or worse, "who didn't see that coming?" and it just makes you feel worse. But but but, he is quite the charmer and he senses it all too quick - so there he is beside you, acting all cool and non-chalant and ready to bestow his wisdom on you, he'll just settle beside you, offering something to drink - his holy grail for tough nights, and mutters a little "it's okay - if it ain't meant to be, it ain't meant to be." Actually very calm about the situation, in facts, for a minute too long, he'll even validate your stupid responses (not for too long, because he can only take so much). However if you need a hug, or a shoulder to cry upon? he's holding you so tight, offering the best quiet night you could want - and reassuring you that things will get better and you always are going to meet someone who'll be it✨for you. lol i can't see him not getting sappy when he comforts you so

A pursed line, a shake of his head and a long sigh punctuate the silence Nanami offers you, the moment you tell him the fact, bro is not amused. To say the least, Nanami was invested - from the very beginning when you had started questioning, stalking that person to slowly eating nanami's brain off about them, he'd been invested - so now he can only offer a sorry smile as he holds you, even he didn't see this coming. Like everytime else, he allows you to ramble, listening wholeheartedly - wincing and grumbling about how the rejection could have been avoided, grimacing that, that person reacted immaturely, staring onto his palm wondering where he went wrong to even allow you to like a person who would act this way. And after all of it, he opens his finest wine because what other ocassion if not for your grief - and then, he starts talking smack. and shit talk he does good, bringing down that person's everything - fashion taste, financial status, past relations - anything and everything, a true hater, such that you end up wondering if nanami was the one who got rejected.

The tea is boiling on the stove - for either case, Suguru had sent you with so many affirmations, it almost felt disappointing to tell him you got rejected. the clench of his jaw is so obvious - but he just smiles, smn in attempt to reassure you further, a little "i see," slips him as he leads you to the couch. You see he can't take it, not the frown you have as you recount the story (he's making mental notes of everything), not the little catching of your words when your throat gets all weird, so on the verge, not when he sees you blinking back the tears. Suguru is a hater, second to only nanami and that is because nanami doesn't pause on the hate track - suguru waits, suguru works his way to heal you first. so many reassurances whispered in your ears as he holds you, already making to-do plans to cheer you up, the hand on remote to browse through the movies you love to watch, other hand recahing to block that person BUT also, silently slipping in the worst responses in your head. telling you how that person never deserved you, how you must be going through smn he didn't notice because how could you like that? there's absolute disgust in his voice - and you know that disgust finally shines when he begins catfishing that person through some account just to get back on them, for you <3

[angelwishess]

Some silly concept sketches of 3rd Year Kyra 😋😋😋💗

(Edit: PLEASE IGNORE THE FACT I FORGOT HER ICONIC HEART CURLS OHMYGOD this feels like betrayal im so sorry Kyra💔💔 LMFAOO)

With and without beauty marks!! Ive been playing around with the idea that she begins to develop beauty marks on her skin after Book 8 … Theres symbolism behind it i swear but I just need to figure out the placement💔

Yapping utc!!💗🎀

I think she looks cute with curled hair!! Though unlike how they were before, it would be much bouncier and messier than her curls in the prologue which were tight and stiff!!!

More matured and more elegant in her own girly way💗💗💗 she still heavily customizes her own uniform LMFAOO

I have SO many ideas on the courting shells u have no idea… ive been waiting for the moment I could yap about it but today is not that day… yet…..

But I will say that Floyd has one too from Kyra!!!!! (Her ass had to SWIM swim to find a shell herself💔💔 she refused help btw she wa so determined to do this for him sigh)

I like to think that Floyd was meant to give it to her much earlier, but then Book 6 happened and they had their whole angst arc💔💔

Well I mean he gave it eventually!! So!!! YAAY!!!!!

She refuses to let anyone touch it btw, probably slaps their hand away if anyone tries to LMFAO

Ya idk what else to say this is so lazy im sorey LMFAO

[thewretched1999]

── .✦ have my heart.

cw: established relationship, angst, brief mentions of violence/blood/gore, implied past sui ideation.

a/n: first somewhat long fic of mine!!! ive had it sitting there and was trying to finish it all morning so happy i did! ty in advance for reading :3

word count: 3k

Time has a way of passing by quietly, leaving only small hints that it’s slipping through your fingers, going unnoticed until suddenly what was once clean and shining is now caked with dust and riddled with cobwebs.

Yet Leon’s items remain spotless as ever.

It’s become routine by now, even if the rest of the house is in disarray, his office is spotless. As much as it pains you to step foot inside and wipe his desk down at least once a week, it’s the only thing you can bring yourself to actually clean. If only to be surrounded by memories.

Photos, trinkets and files adorn the room, the bottle of whiskey you gifted him for his birthday sits near his computer, the glass shot waiting patiently like you for him to return. The landline on his desk beeps red with voicemails from friends, you checked the first few a couple months ago. Even they don’t know what’s going on.

You knew that if something ever happened to him, and god you prayed everyday that it never would, that you would be left in the dark until they found something to bring home. 

But what do you do with radio silence? How do you deal with the grief of having nothing to mourn over? 

It’s been months. A couple more and it’ll be a year. 

Still no body.

The house is deathly still, frozen in time. Sometimes the couch becomes your bed when you can’t bring yourself to spend another night in the empty bedroom, the decorative throw pillow and blanket from last fall always laid out. It’s the only thing that smells like him, reminds you of the times when you’d be curled up against his side watching some action movie, listening to him criticize it or make some dry comment, because who knows better than him of course.

His scent isn’t as strong as it used to be, fades away day after day, but it feels like he’s still there, you hold onto that tiny sliver of him while wallowing in regret about having done the laundry the day he left on that damn mission, it devastates you when you bring a shirt of his up to your nose and find only the scent of fresh linen.

You hold onto hope, as fine as grains of sand, that he’ll come home safe and sound. That you’ll wake and find him sliding into bed as quietly as possible, always mindful to not wake you. With his strong arms wrapped around your waist as he murmurs an apology and presses a feather-light kiss to your cheek.

But it never comes, and lately, neither does sleep. 

Leon haunts your every waking moment, how could he not? It’s unhealthy to spend every moment in grief, but the love you have for him threatens to consume you whole when you finally decide to lay in bed.

The photograph on your nightstand mocks you night after night. A rare smile on his face, his cheek squished against yours, arms wrapped gently around you while you threaten to strangle the life out of him with yours.

The voicemails he’s left you in the past play on loop. Sometimes when you’re cooking, hearing him talk about his day on his break makes your existence feel a little less lonely. His things stay just as he left them, and sometimes you let yourself think that maybe.

 Just maybe. 

 He’ll walk through that door, and you’ll come alive again.

Little by little you were finally starting to take control of your life. 

Although it was as hard as a thousand count puzzle, missing a few jigsaw pieces and all, it was certainly better than it was in the beginning. It’s been a year and some months already, a heartfelt intervention knocked some sense into you. Friends you hadn’t seen, ambushing you with their love and worry, forcing you to remember you weren’t completely alone.

Gently letting you know that even though your heart will always belong to Leon, no amount of wallowing in your misery and self destruction will bring him back. That it’s just how things are. The shitty cards you were dealt with.

Your home and heart will always have traces of him, you won’t move on but you won’t let yourself fall behind either, you learn things could be easier if you would just give it a chance. The door to his office is closed now, weekly visits turned into monthly ones. Instead of listening to his voice when you cook, it’s the sound of your friends talking your ear off now.

The couch still has that same throw blanket and pillow waiting for you, his scent long gone, replaced by crisp rain and eucalyptus instead, at least that’s what fabric softener says. On some days, it gets to you all over again, claws its way up your throat and comes out in the form of endless tears and wails that could put a banshee to shame.

But today was a good day. You’d done some housework, got takeout and had a nice night in to finally finish a series you’d started with Leon, he would’ve hated the ending, you’re sure of it.

It’s only in the middle of the night when you’re finally dozing off, the sleeping pills prescribed to you leaving you drowsy enough to almost—almost—not hear the sound of someone knocking on the front door. It’s quiet as a mouse yet still alarming, tears away what little sleep you had finally managed to nearly slip into, reluctantly you rush out of bed to go check the peephole. 

If it was an intruder you’re sure they wouldn’t knock first.

You pad down the hallway, remembering Leon’s words, that if anyone ever did break in, the hall was a good choke point, all you had to do was run back down to the bedroom and grab the gun. 

The knocking grows in its volume with each step you take, until it stops as suddenly as it began, you hold your breath, before you watch the doorknob twist slowly, it doesn’t open yet. The top lock still set in place. 

Whoever is on the other side gives it a couple of tries before they too seem to realize—there’s another lock.

That one jiggles shortly after and unlocks with a loud thunk, never in your life did you think your flight or fight reaction would be to freeze until now, Leon would be barreling to get you to safety, scooping you up or shoving you behind him by now, but he’s not here to save you.

The door opens slowly and steadily, a figure in the doorway is illuminated by the porch light outside, bright enough to let you see who it is, the sight only makes your heart stop.

“Oh my god—“ You whisper in disbelief, taking a step back you almost stumble but the end table catches you. A framed photograph takes the fall instead, the glass shattering into thousands of little pieces just like all the progress you’ve made.

Blonde strands, once soft and neat now disheveled and caked with blood and gore, his face is the same, nearly identical to the Leon you lost—if you could ignore the inhuman black veins that have taken root underneath his sickly pale skin. 

God, it seems, has listened to your pleas and taken pity on you, but you didn’t know he could be cruel, didn’t know prayers could be misheard. You wanted Leon back safe and sound, but not like this.

If you look closely there’s some crimson streaks by his mouth, haphazardly wiped away, but the evidence stains his arms and neck. Smeared there in a way that leads to one conclusion, you’re sure if he bares his teeth at you, your theory would be confirmed.

The key in his hand clatters to the floor, snapping you out of your petrified state. You don’t know whether to run to him or to run away. Your body does though, forcing you to take another step back, legs shaking like a leaf and hand coming up to press against your mouth, muffling the sounds of fear threatening to escape your lips.

He steps inside, shuts the door like he’s coming home after just another long day, and the smell hits you hard, iron and death clinging to him like a cloak, suffocating the clean scent of the wall plug in nearby.

“What happened…?” You finally sob, trying to keep the tears at a minimum but it’s nearly impossible with the way you’re hiccuping and gasping for air, fighting the urge to wretch both from the disgusting smell and overwhelming emotions.

He doesn’t respond with words, just grunts. It’s low and strained and not at all what you wanted to hear. 

His arms reach for you, threatening to pull you into a hug and you move further away, backing up down the hall, in confusion, he follows.

“No…! Leon, please, please—” You’re begging through broken sobs, voice getting louder and more desperate. It’s only then that he stops, with a pained expression on his face that makes you feel like shit for reacting this way. 

This is hard for him too, no doubt it’s worse than what you’re feeling, you don’t know what he had to do to come back home to you but you know that whatever it was, he needs you more than you need him right now. Despite yourself, you decide to compromise.

“Let’s…let’s wash you first.” You manage to say, he looks down at himself almost like he forgot he was covered in blood before nodding, following you loyally down the hall, and into the bathroom.

You don’t want to touch him, but you know you have to, the love you had for him still shines through in the way you carefully help him remove his clothes, tattered and torn in some parts, throwing them off to the side, forcing yourself to not grimace or stare at the sight of his body, pale flesh riddled with new fresh scars and black streaks.

Leon can’t stand the look in your eyes, he’s not stupid, it's pity and overwhelming fear he sees. He knows this isn’t what you expected, but he can’t do anything about it now. He wants to soothe your fears, offer words of reassurance but when he opens his mouth nothing comes out except a low grumble that has your eyes snapping up to meet his. 

He hates it, a twisted part of him, the one compromised by the virus, enjoys the fear he sees, but Leon breaks contact before he does anything stupid, steps into the tub and sits down, he remembers this routine vividly, the one you saved for nights he needed your love and care more than anything in the world, tilts his head back and looks up at you expectantly. 

Pleased when he sees you leaning over to turn the water on, checking it and making sure it’s perfect for him, even if you’re terrified. He’s never come home looking like this, always made sure to come home clean, but that wasn’t an option tonight and unfortunately it’s your job to do this for him.

Gentle hands comb through his matted hair, lathering up the shampoo and washing the blood and grime away. If you closed your eyes you could almost pretend this was normal, but it feels like you’re showering a bad dog who mauled a rabbit instead of your boyfriend.

The water shifts to a different color, going from clear to a soft pink thanks to the blood, your stomach churns at the sight before you reach down into the water and pull the plug out, letting the tub drain before turning the shower head on to rinse him off while you scrub him down.

Leon lets out a small hum of contentment, eyes fluttering shut as he bows his head, the hot water and steam feel like bliss to him, it makes it even better you’re caring for him like you had in the past, he’s missed this more than anything, prefers it far more to what he’s been going through these past months. 

You almost miss it, but when you go back to run the washcloth across his chest again, you feel it before you hear. The little vibrations rumbling underneath the surface, he’s purring. 

It’s almost cute. Albeit inhuman.

“What happened…?” You finally manage to ask the question that’s been eating at you since you saw him again. Leon tenses, looks away from you and you take the chance to really look at him again. His muscles are a little more defined than you last remember, his body is virtually the same no signs of malnurishment anywhere so where was he? 

“Can…can you talk?” You ask again quietly, He looks at you for a moment, before shaking his head no. You press your lips tightly together before nodding and letting the silence settle over again.

It doesn’t take long until you can deem him spotless, helping him up and out, towel wrapped around his waist and your hand tentatively pressed against his back, guiding him towards the bedroom.

Once he’s changed and ready for bed, only then does Leon try to initiate anything. This time it’s a kiss, but you turn away quickly before his lips could meet yours.

“I—I can’t,” You mumble,” Not…not right now.” heart aching because god you want to, dreamt of this for months, but everything is too fresh, too raw.

The rejection stings more than he thought it would, his shoulders tense before they slump as he stares down at you, he wants to make you look at him, to give him the affection he’s been starved of, but he doesn’t. He can’t afford to do anything that’ll make you pull away from him even more than you already have. So he just grunts and nods again, settles for a hug instead, he deserves it after all. 

He’s still gentle. Mindful of his new-found strength, once your arms wrap around him he buries his face into your hair and breathes you in, he’s still just as addicted to your presence as he was before. He can ignore your hesitation so long as you love him. Or pretend to.

It’s not long after, that you help him settle into bed, pull the covers up and over his body, ignoring the way your fingers accidentally brush against his deathly cold skin. Even after a hot shower it seems nothing could bring that warmth back. 

And even though you’re still terrified, you lean down and press a kiss to his temple.

His eyes stay focused on your form as you pull away, watching each step you take, tense and on edge, worried you’d leave him when he needs you most, he only relaxes once you settle on the bed beside him. 

Did it hurt? You wonder, heart aching at the thought, you don’t want to know the answer. 

In his line of work you could only imagine what it would’ve been like, but the thought still lingers, you force yourself to focus on the task at hand and think about anything else other than the fact he was alone when he…died? Changed? You don’t know. But he’s back.

The mattress dips down slightly as you shift, unable to take your eyes off him, staring at him like you’ve done so many times in the past. He looks so…peaceful, just like the last time you’d seen him, yet so, so different, you can’t look past the black inky veins that litter his body, starts on his neck where his pulse is and goes up his face and down his body, dancing and taunting you, almost saying no, he’s not the same, but he could be.

The scent of decay is long down the drain, replaced by fresh pine and lavender, but still ingrained into your mind as you lay on your side facing him. You know the blood was human blood. Leon’s hand comes up shaky and uncertain as it cups your cheek, it makes you flinch, just as he expected.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper, voice breaking, it’s all you can offer him, an apology and a little bit of your warmth as you place your shaking hand atop his.

His eyes, now a cloudy blue, stare back into yours, nothing more could be said. The silence that settles over you both is a mockery of the comfort you had once found in each other in the past, it’s as heavy as lead, but for tonight you pretend. A part of you wonders if his head is as vacant as his eyes are.

You hope it isn't, you hope that maybe the man you love (loved?) with all your heart is still there, with his furrowed brow and quick tongue.

You were torn, trying to convince yourself that maybe this was your Leon, but the fear remained. If it wasn’t, if there was a chance he was too far gone, could go haywire any moment and hurt you, would it be the right thing to do to grant him the mercy of a painless death? To let his body finally rest and free him from this existence?

Would he forgive you if you did?

You’re sure you remember how to use the gun he gifted you, kept it tucked underneath your pillow incase, with one round loaded that used to be meant for you if the grief became too much to bear. All you had to do was take the safety off and wait for him to go to sleep.

It’s only until you feel his thumb brushing against your cheek that you focus on him again.

His lips are moving, slowly but surely, even if nothing comes out. You barely realize he’s mouthing something to you, does it over and over again until he sees the realization in your eyes.

‘I love you.’ He mouths.

Your nostrils flare, and you swallow thickly, tears quickly welling up in your eyes again. 

All Leon knows is that he’s home, he’s here with you again, and that should be enough.

[m4ple9x0x]

Sᵒᵘʳ Cʰᵉʳʳʸ

-Chapter IV-

Hyunin x fem!reader

WARNINGS: SMUT MDNI !! a lot of swearing, lmk if I forgot anything.

Genre: strangers to friends to lovers, smut, stalker!Hyunjin, yandere!Hyunjin, slow burn.

a/n: this chapter is shorter, i hope y'all will enjoy it anyway! if u guyz have any feedback or opinions lmk, im open to it n also to some constructive criticism, also if u wanna get added to the taglist lmk!! <3 maple out~

dividers by: @cafekitsune <3

Previous chapter

These past few days have been pretty much quiet. Nothing really happening in your life allowing the boredom to settle in, the free time that you had on your hands made you start pondering over the invitation that Joanna sent you. The party was in two days. It was obviously a good thing, you could get out there, reignite your spark that has been buried long time ago, but there was no doubt, you have to admit that you’re scared. Maybe it sounds dumb, but what if you actually get to be happy again, create new friendships and then something happens and it will destroy everything? Just like back in high school, you’re afraid of having to start all over again, only to end up all alone.

At least now you got used to being alone, but making friends again, getting attached to them, only to see them walk away… only to let them be snatched far away from you? That’s truly unfair, and that’s what’s scaring you the most. The possibility of having a strong bond with someone again and allowing that person to see you at your lowest, to see your vulnerable side, and after that becoming strangers is there, and you don’t want to have to go through that heartbreak again. But being alone for the rest of your life isn’t an option either.

*Gosh why is life so complicated?*

The fact that the acting agency didn’t contact you regarding the casting wasn’t helping either, making you overthink every single detail that maybe ruined your chances of getting accepted. You’ve been laying in your bed for hours creating infinite scenarios and possible outcomes in your head, your anxiety worsening with every unanswered question floating through your brain. *What if the tone of my voice wasn’t suitable for that line? What if I didn’t gesticulate enough? What if… what if… what if*. All these possible mistakes that maybe in that moment you didn’t even notice or thought of as mistakes were multiplying and creating a big black hole that was slowly starting to suck you in and make you vanish from the real world.

You hated all this waiting. *I got in my head again...fuck...what should I do, what if I will fail over and over again?*, you started crying. The loneliness was eating you alive. You grabbed your phone, wiping the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie, you went on instagram entering the conversation with Joanna, the last message was about her coworker coming to the party too. The solution to your loneliness problem was right in front of you, you just had to get out there, to go to the party, you needed this, you were the one capable of changing something, it was your life and you were the only one with the power of getting it back.

you: hei, so i’ve been thinking about it and i decided i wanna come to the party. 18:50

You close your phone, *This was the right decision...right?*. You get up from the bed and walk towards the kitchen deciding to make a salad. You start cutting the vegetables and seasoning everything, you check your phone and notice a message from Stacey.

stace💋: girl call me when you see this. 19:26

You sit at the table and start eating, your phone dialing Stacey.

-Finally! We haven’t been talking these days, what’s happening with you Y/N? Stacey’s voice was full of concern.

-I don’t know, been overthinking and stuff… You say, taking a mouthful of salad.

-Stop trying to brush things off, why haven’t you called me that night after Josh showed up?

-I was just tired, wasn’t really in the mood to talk about it.

-I see… are you ok? Chan told me he talked with you that day.

-Right now I’m better, I felt kinda off earlier…

-Talk with me sweetie.

-Well besides that day with Josh, the agency didn’t contact me yet, it’s been on my mind.

-Hey I’m sure they liked you, these things take time, they probably have a lot of people on the line you know, don’t worry about it that much, I’m sure they are gonna contact you soon. Stacey’s voice was soft as she reassured you.

-I guess… also I didn’t get to tell you but there was this girl at the cafe, she was working there and she threw Josh out, she was very nice with me and now we kinda are friends, her name is Joanna.

-That’s so nice Y/N!!

-Yeah, and she invited me to a party on Valentines Day, her coworker will be there too.

-I hope you’re going!!

-Yeah, I decided to go, what could go wrong right?

-Exactly! I’m so proud of you babe, you’re finally getting out there again, that’s good for you!

-Thank you Stace, how have you been?

-Well guess what arrived today? Excitement was now noticeable in your friend’s tone.

-What?

-A bottle of wine, I wonder who could’ve sent me such a thing… You and your friend start laughing.

-Hmm… I wonder who too.

-Y/N you know I love this! Thank you so much babee!

-I also love this too, thank you Y/Nnnie! You hear Chan screaming in the background.

-No need to thank me, you guys send me gifts all the time.

-Doesn’t matter!

-So I guess since you’re so happy the project went well?

-OH YES, the teacher loved it!

-Good job Stace!

-Thank you babe, I can’t wait to drink the wine.

-I wish we could celebrate together…

-Me too, but hey, let’s not be sad, you gotta keep the good vibe for the party, okay?

-Yeah, yeah.

You keep talking with Stacey and Chan on the phone until it gets late, the couple going to sleep. You get back in bed and turn the TV on to watch a movie, you weren’t really feeling like watching something horror so you looked up a romance instead, this was kinda out of character for you, but you were in a good mood so you needed to keep it that way, as Stacey said.

Some time passes and you’re half an hour into the movie, you pay attention to the main characters that are starting to have sex, and then it hits you. The dream. *Fuck I completely forgot about that…*, you start having flashbacks of the man’s face, of the way in which he was kissing you, of his touches, his tongue on your skin, his fingers digging into your thighs as he was eating you out, his pleading glassy eyes staring up at you, staring into your eyes as if he was trying to reach your soul, his moans, his voice. It’s like you’re in a trance as you close your eyes and slowly start to caress your own skin, moving your hand lower… lower...lower until your fingers find their way under the waistband of your sweatpants, sliding over your hot and wet folds, you start moaning softly images of him in your mind.

*I wish he would be the one doing this to me*, you stop and open your eyes getting your hand out of your pants.

-What the fuck was that… this is so wrong, he’s literally a stranger that I bumped into twice...I don’t even know his name.

You brush this off turning the TV off deciding to go to sleep.

Only problem is...you can’t. You open your eyes and stare at the ceiling in the darkness of your room, he’s still in your mind, you can’t stop thinking about him, you touch your face and feel your cheeks being very hot. *Maybe if I drink some tea I’ll be able to fall asleep easier*, you think and get up from the bed, opening your phone you see a message from Joanna.

@Joa_47: im so happy you’re coming, my coworker said that he’d like to meet you, he told me to tell you to go tomorrow to the cafe if you’re free. 23:56 you: tell him i ll be there :) 00:00

Next chapter

taglist: @lezleeferguson-120 @hwangjoanna

[velvetvexations]

i got no sleep last night and i feel cranky so screw it im gonna complain. Both the transmasc and transfem community are weird as hell about twinks/gnc men. I understand that part of this is in pushback to the idea of the femme gay man being the only representation gay men (and to an extent the queer community as a whole) were given for a while and the way that it can often be used as a homophobic stereotype but. Idk im just seeing so many posts lately where the joke is "haha twinks bad/gross" and like...you realize you're pretty much just being homophobic right? transmasc twinks are thrown under the bus for "being a stereotype", ive been seeing way too many people make jokes about how being a gnc man is inherently the first step to transfemininity and erasing the actual struggles presenting femme as someone who identifies masc brings, and in the cis queer sphere yall're basically using twink to replace the f slur. Like I KNOW it sounds stupid to say "think about how you're hurting the poor twinks :(" but like. Idk as someone whose presentation DOES actually align with those stereotypes. I think yall need to chill a bit. Sorry if any of this was worded poorly like i said i am. Running on fumes.

Recently I noticed all the trans men in my writing are twinks, but like, so generally are all the cis guys except a few villains, which is probably part of a grander problem I have going on.

[berracids]

How does Yandere Knockout turn female reader into hybrid of cybertronian in horror mad scientist style🔬.

A/N: OH MY GOD THIISSSSS, THIIIIISSSSSS IS WHAT IVE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO WRITE FOR SO LONG , I literally have a whole tf oc about that, but I will tweak it to fit with KO

Warnings: DEAD SWAN, gore, body horror, yandere!knockout, shockwave is here and that is a warning by itself, blood, violence, panic attack, vomiting, reader is an open book for KO literally and figuratively, PROCEED WITH CAUTION

Symbiotic-alterations

Meeting knockout was probably the only thing that came first to street racing when it comes to burning some adrenaline off along with the rubber of your tires as you raced against him.

You thought that the sleek red car was just a normal driver, is in very fact, not. A normal driver, but a decepticon medic who apparently treats his main craft as a side job from how much he doesn’t take it seriously, unlike some certain medic on the opposite faction that knockout doesn’t see optic to optic with

What rendered knockout into helping you and revealing his bipedal form for to you is something he can’t quite place a servo on, “can’t have my favorite racer fall off on the rocks bellow” knockout snickered as he used all of his frame weight to pull your car as you were in that was about to fall off the edge of the road because of malfunction you’ve had in your transmission line system that could have cost you your life.

After that day knockout used that incident as an excuse to pop up whenever and wherever he likes, visiting a family member?, he’s parked right up the street, just finished your shift?, he’s parked in all of his red glory infront of your workplace. You’ve tried to tell him that you don’t need him to worry about you too much!.

But does knockout listens? He’s already turned off his audio receptors until he has to turn them on to defend himself, “but how can you blame me darling?, weren’t you the one who almost flew off with your car thinking it will transform into a fighter jet if it weren’t for me?” He would declaim as always and bringing up the faulty mistake in your car that almost took your life if it weren’t for him.

“Oh don’t be like that dear, you’re in good servos!, I am a doctor!” He would gloat placing his servo on the red finish of his chassis and assuring you of his medical expertise, so what if you are a fleshy organic and his medical license is meant for mechanic cybertronians?, he can always learn about your anatomy in case something does happen to you.

Can you blame the mech?, you give him the ideal challenge, the thrill of something that is different than that of dissecting open a bot’s neuro board array, its also not that his company is bad, you enjoy spending time with him, wether it be racing , going to a drive in theatre or him just complaining about his superiors, especially the rude second in command starscream.

You trusted the authenticity of the stories knockout recounts, to an extent at least, even if he tweaked some parts about how noble and righteous the autobot faction is, and painting an image of morally ambiguous mechs, he won’t just out right tell you that they are the bad guys!, even if they are technically the bad guys if you take account that the decepticons are the ones that started the whole war and cost them their whole planet, you don’t need to know all of that

All you need to do is to not start hating him for something that his faction did, even if he doesn’t take it seriously moreover have any loyalty for their cause or their warlord leader, that was all what knockout had on his processor as he somehow managed to wiggle his way and convince you to stay on the nemesis. “Only for a little while…”

You thought to yourself as knockout was chirping around the warship giddily on his way to Megatron’s throne room and lay his lie to him to get the approval of your stay on the ship by deeming you helpful in their leader’s red optics “do not worry!, I wouldn’t allow you to actually do any of the dirty work!, that’d be too much danger for your fleshy little human body” he would brush your worries off as he waves his taloned servos at you and placing you with delicate care on the table of his medbay.

Your days in the medbay with knockout were actually enjoyable until he had to do some field work cause “apparently I am the only reliable mech with actually common sense on this ship!”, he would yell something like that as he vents loudly and his engine roars angrily before slamming his aft down with scratches all over his beautiful red finish after the autobots “barbarically peeled off my paint!” As he would cuss and demonize them infront of you for ruining the thing he cares most,

“I am telling you!, those cursed autobots are as bad as starscream!, the only difference is that they try to mask it with their so called Nobel values!” He whines to you the time when starscream used one of his talons to scratch his chassis, with your tiny hands meticulously using the rotary buffer to try and fix his finish for him, and who is he to deny such a selfless act of care from you?, and he will drink all of that attention up, like a mech thirsty for energon

Around the time knockout brings shockwave back from cybertron in hopes of a fat raise from the leader of the decipticons, but nope, how naive was knockout to bring the logistics specialist and the mad scientist of the decepticons that only sees through equations and logic, and is now up his aft in the medbay and laboratory trying to bring back an ancient race of transformers!, knockout tries his best to hide you from shockwave’s line of sight

Ever since shockwave’s presence in the laboratory and the medbay a constant thing, it started to piss the medic off real bad this time, Oh how it does press on all of knockout’s wrong buttons, whenever he turns to look over his shoulder he has the see the hulking height of the decipticon’s mad scientist doing primus knows what creatures he tries to bring from the offlined, and invading your’s and knockout’s personal space like some t intimidating, awkward third wheel.

“I don’t even want to know what’s on that singular optical glitch’s processor, just make sure that you’re absolutely out of his way…and stay close to me at all times…” knockout would warn you firmly after picking you up off of the ship’s floor with delicate care in his taloned servos after shockwave was done looking you?, glaring?, analyzing? You down, you were never sure, with his lack of facial expressions it is always unnerving having to raise your head to meet up with his bright red optic studying you down like some specimen he may consider using and cutting open like some lab cattle.

Unicron can swallow what’s left of cybertron’s dead soil before knockout would let shockwave even try and attempt any of his experiments on you, the medic has gotten his fill of having people dear to him being cut open.

That is when knockout decides that leaving you on the nemesis was starting to get on his circuits since Megatron has ordered more on field work for knockout now that shockwave is here and he can take over the lab work that knockout would take on, and he will not leave you on that ship alone with that logic-manic freak, so he decides to take you on mission, as the human factor to blend in and not draw any suspicion, as knockout would glaze to have you with him at all times now,

Until the news of a human working with the decepticons reached the autobots when miko was complaining about how you managed to take her and jack down and tie them down, you were never above hitting teenagers; the autobots make note to sta cautious of you in case the decepticons have brainwashed you into working with them and risking your life for whatever doom plan they have for earth. As they used you like a pawn in their work. As they make a plan to get you from the opposing faction and save you from whatever hell you’re being walked off to.

And that is what they did when they have seen you jump off from knockout’s vehicle mode as he wasted no time getting into his bipedal form to try and steal the relic from the autobots before they could get their servos on it, you make your way to were the autobots had set up their camp to load the camp with explosives in amidst the active war field infront of you as the vehicons blast at the autobots as they try to fight despite being vastly outnumbered, after you had planted the bombs you were met with a very harsh shoulder shove that thrown you on the ground to find the loud girl in space buns trying to sabotage your plan,

“I don’t owe you an explanation kid, you better move away, now. I am not above beating a teenager, again….” You glare at her with animosity in your eyes in hopes of scaring her off away without having to unnecessarily engage in contact with her enemy, her eyes trail on the logo of the decepticons that was branded proudly on the left sleeve of your combat gear, that the decepticons were really having a human ally to help them,

Your legs wastes no time into sprinting out of the autobots camp after planting the bombs to at least waste some of their resources and weapons to hold them back, you run as fast as you can through the battle field of the huge robots blasting at each other as they tower over you and miko who was running after you to try and make you see reason not whatever what the decepticons made you believe.

The ground behind you shakes violently making you press to move on forward and to not look back and to try and find shelter until knockout arrives. As you were running to avoid getting caught into the cross fire; you find the time slows big time as you fall to the ground with that horrible ringing in your ear and the pain that alternates between ache and numbness too fast to realize which one you were feeling, you look behind you hesitantly and to your horror the one who was looming diabolically over you was none other than shockwave.

With his fusion servo cannon pointed at you as it powers down and smoke was going off through the holes on the side of his huge laser barrel, a sharp surge of pain that felt like a stab to your leg, makes you tilt your head down slowly. And up again to were the girl with space buns were as she was on the ground on her butt with a face of pure unsolicited horror before he hands wrapped around her abdomen and the muscles of his stomach spasmed violently at the sight of you in front of her before the contents of her stomach erupted like the sofas can she pranked Jack with earlier that day, the acidic smell and taste made her sick as she had to curl down on the ground fully to prevent looking at you-

It didn’t feel like fire. Not at first. It felt like weightlessness A brief second of surreal confusion before your body crumpled and your world tilted sideways. You hit the ground hard, with only your arm support your upper half, and feeling the air shoved from your lungs—

And then you really looked down. Your legs were gone. Gone. From just above the knees—nothing but cauterized, twitching ends of flesh Not just blown off. Atomized. Your thighs ended in gnarled, wet knots of flesh and shattered bone, jagged femurs sticking out like bloodied stakes. Arteries spasmed and gushed, pulsing out thick spurts of crimson that soaked your clothes and painted the asphalt beneath you.The smell—hot meat, burned hair, iron was what all you could sense around you, followed by the pain, white-hot nerve-shattering, vomit-churning pain

A blood curdling scream scratched its way from your insides upon the gory scene infront of you, were your lower half was supposed to be,where you were supposed to feel something there, a raw animalistic scream that tore through your throat like glass tearing through.

But he was still there. Still walking. Still calm. Still looming above you as if death was made out of metal and cold logic

His massive shadow loomed over you as he approached, cannon idling now—no need to waste another shot. Your mangled body twisted, eyes wide, mouth shaking from how you teeth clanked against one another with broken sobs. “P-please—I wasn’t—I didn’t—” you tried explaining but it was futile as shockwave walked slowly and leisurely towards you body that that you were trying to drag away with your arms across the gravel, sobbing, smearing blood behind you like a brushstroke of horror. You didn’t know what direction you were going—only away. From him

His red optic turned down to were you were laying on the ground seeing how you were trying to move away like some wounded animal that only had survival on their primitive mind, and that is how shockwave looked at you, the mech paid no mind to what you were saying or what excuses you were giving yourself or even the truth you were screaming with your whole body

“No—no—nononono—please—” You sobbed. You begged. Your guts churned, bile climbing your throat. One of your severed femurs twitched, and you nearly vomited at the sight. Behind you—those thunderous, deliberate footsteps. Still there. “SHOCKWAVE!” you screamed, voice shaking violently along with what’s left of your body, as you tried to kick away with legs you no longer had, “I’M LOYAL—I DIDN’T—I DIDN’T HELP THEM—”, but all that fell on offline audio receptors as He tilted his head slightly. Observing. Like a scientist watching a rat’s death throes. Cold. Detached. Analytical.

“Your presence at the enemy’s side during a classified mission rendered your allegiance statistically compromised. This conclusion is not personal. It is logical.” Then he kicked you. His pede collided with your ribs like a battering ram. You heard them break—wet cracks in your chest followed by daggers of white-hot pain. You flipped onto your side, gasping, wheezing, blood bubbling at your lips as your lungs struggled to stay inflated. You reached out. Maybe to crawl. Maybe to fight. Maybe just to beg. And then he stepped on your arm. No warning. No mercy. Just a shift in weight—and agony. You felt everything.

The way the ulna cracked first, like a glass rod, The snap of your radius splintering outward, punching through your skin with a spurt of arterial spray.

The CRUNCH of the elbow joint disintegrating, followed by the warm, pulpy squelch of your muscles turning to paste beneath several tons of Cybertronian weight. Your scream was not human. It was primal. You thrashed, body spasming, eyes wide and bloodshot. You could see your ruined limb—twisted, flayed open, your hand a mangled claw of shredded tendon and shattered bone, still twitching.

“You displayed cooperative behavior toward Autobot personnel. Statistical risk: unacceptable. Logical solution: elimination.” He clinically stated with the sterile tone of his, Shockwave didn’t move. He only pressed harder. You felt the flesh burst, your arm splitting open like overcooked meat, your nerves on fire. The pain wasn’t even pain anymore—it was existence itself. Like a parasite infesting your whole body and eating away at it as you could do nothing but watch as it unfold before your eyes.

You started seeing dark spots in your eyes like nebula as your heartbeat was still going haywire as your brain was feeling numb, as if it was on autopilot. But you were still awake.Still conscious. Still alive—just long enough for Shockwave to lean in close, his single eye glowing like a dying star, his servo went down to were you were laying on the ground and picked you up like some rag doll with the only limb you had left as he walked through the battlefield to were knockout was blasting off the two wheeler fem, shockwave finishes that off for him as he blasted arcee’s servo clean from her frame as she fell down.

“Your assistant was caught helping the autobot faction, I went on with the decepticon code of conduct punishment, the elimination of them is expected of you…” the scientist said coldly as he dumped your bleeding loving corpse into knockout’s servos as his optics widen with, shock, rage, confusion and repulsion, but not at you, oh he would never look at you with such optics, not when you’re in such a state,

His whole red frame shakes from anger and fear as he watched how your battered body was covering his silver servos in the same red of your body as his finish, even with the same glossy finish, knockout transforms into his vehicle form in less that a second as you were strapped down onto his driver seat and coating the fine leather of his with your fluids as he calls for a ground bridge into the medbay asap to save what he can save from what’s left of your body.

“I-…swear I never helped,…t-the autobots…” you weakly mumbled through bloodied lips as you coughed up more crimson goo that was with your spit that rolled down your chin, “I know my dear, you wouldn’t turn your back on me..” knockout comforted through a voice so melodic you would have never thought that the energon inside his body was simmering, both literally and figuratively.

Knockout spends days and weeks working on your body that was strapped to countless medical devices to keep you breathing until he can help you again, he had soundwave break into numerous hospitals to get those life devices cause knockout was not planning to let you go, at all not like this, he was a cybertronian doctor and now he is a human doctor to you now. He built numerous prosthetic limbs for you.

To replace what shockwave took away wrongfully, but never worry, he didn’t let that slide, oh that is not knockout. That day after hooking you up to the life support he rushed his way to the laboratory with the energon shock prod held tightly in his servos to the point it got dented from his talons, that day shockwave went into stasis from having his neuroboard and optic fried completely as the shock prod was left there for him to take out when he comes back online, that is when knockout limps back to you in the medbay with a blasted pede and a job well done, he will have Megatron do the rest to his logistics lieutenant as a compensation for your state.

Weeks of experiments and treatments pass slowly and tauntingly as if mocking knockout as he diligently worked on you to bring you back and give you a second chance again, if there is something he knows about holding people dear to him is that they will get mangled and dismantled no matter the species, let it be human or cybertronian, that is what he realized after he had tore open silas who used breakdown’s corpse as an armor, maybe that is the only thing he learned from him.

And that’s what knockout did, he spent countless nights without recharge as he worked on prosthetics for you limbs as he used cybertronian technology that is way too advanced to what the primitive versions that the humans use, knockout brings the T-cog of that belonged to breakdown as he broke it down to make tinier versions of it and install it to the prosthetics he made you, two legs and an arm,

Of only that was all what he had to work on, you had multiple broken spinal discs and a raptured eye ball that he had to replace with mechanical parts, all of that has almost fried off his circuits!, to the point that starscream himself even felt a little bad and he stayed out of the mad doctor’s way in case he tried to use his servo buzzsaw on his faceplate, or worse dismantle him screw by screw as he is still online and charging.

It has even been days that knockout didn’t bother to care for his finish!, as he was too busy tinkering with your insides to fix the fractured bones that you fragile human body has and to give it an internal metal cast to prevent any future fracturing. Like the ones that your sternum and ribs sustained after that cursed shockwave kicked you like some tin, he had to search for days to find a suitable heart pump since you heart has became too weak and could literally collapse, as knockout’s servos were holding your heart and the faint weak pulse of it against his talons that could easily impale it if it weren’t for his medical precision.

After all of the mods knockout added to your body, he started to wonder what is left of you that is still a human?, even silas had more organic body left when knockout dissected him. The only hope knockout had was the active brainwaves that were still going haywire as if adrenaline was still coursing through your body, but you were still, still like the dead, but knockout knew better, after all megatron himself was in a deep slumbered state with his brain activity still as sharp as his blade.

The medic exists the med bay after checking that you status were stable as he get on the top of the ship were Megatron orders the decepticons as he transforms into his vehicle form and starts speeding and drifting as his tires screech loudly with every sharp turn he takes. Which makes starscream fly to where he is with a deeper frown on his face upon the commotion thinking that it was some random vehicons causing trouble only to find the medic the doing donuts to help himself calm down

The second in command jumps to were knockout is while tapping his heeled pedes impatiently until the red vehicle stops and transforms with an angry and pissed off expression on his faceplate, “what are you doing here starscream?!, don’t you have any better plans?, I don’t know. Like maybe failing at overthrowing Megatron again?!” He snaps harshly at the seeker standing in front of him who was trying to hold onto whatever coolness he has left after the low blow knockout gave him

“We both are aware that is is better for you to continue working on your assistant, instead of drifting on the top of the ship and causing disturbance, you’re her only hope you automobile…” starscream sneers with with nice pettiness which surprised knockout and caused his optic ridges to raise, not expecting the praise, especially not from starscream himself, he contemplates the seeker’s words as he is the only one able to save your life.

Both of the mechs scoff loudly before leaving to each of their destined ways, with knockout going back to the medbay to where you are resting, your body wrapped tightly in sterile bandages to keep everything in, the doctor stood beside your berth as he stared at the slowly rising of your chest that your injured lungs were taking as you breathed, a tiny sliver of hoping that is keeping knockout sane, if it were any scenario with any other mech, knockout would have had them wish for unicron himself to smelt them, in hopes of escaping what’s he’s had planned in processor, yet he knew that Megatron would have had his helm crushed under his pede literally,

Just like how shockwave did to your arm, his sharp talons held your prosthetic hand that he attached to you, no longer being able to feel your soft flesh against his metal, knockout always thought what it would be like if you were a cybertronian like him, things would have been easier, you wouldn’t have been in the position you are right now, still awake and very much with him, knockout missed the shine you had in your eyes that was so much like his finish after a good polish. But now they lay shut until you come back to him. Where you should be.

More days pass and knockout took the bandages off of your body as your wounds have healed and all the internal mechanisms are intact inside of you, as you lay infront of him, bare and still very much warm in contrast to the pseudo-death state you are in and the coldness of his metal frame, with only the scars from the countless surgeries knockout preformed on you, covering your body like clothes, the medic carefully installs your prosthetics to where your missing limbs are. Or where they were supposed to be. Knockout missed how utterly full he used to feel with your presence, he tries his hardest to stay sane as you lay there like a puzzle with missing pieces.

His red optics turn to look down at his taloned servos as his processor recollects how shockwave just dumped your mutilated body on them as you body felt way too light than before, knockout shakes his helmet to get the imagery out of his helm, “don’t even think about it knockout!” He mumbled to himself as his pedes rush him out of the medbay. Having had his fill from unnecessary grotesque memories.

A few days later the door to the medbay slide open as the red mech walked in his place, “doctor in the house-….” His faceplate dropped upon finally seeing the slightest activity of your conscience coming back to you, he rushed to your side as he gripped the berth tightly that it dented a little from how ecstatic he felt as he saw your organic eye flutter weakly, the muscle has gotten slightly lazy from not using it from a long time. minutes painfully pass slowly, The pain was… gone. Not because it had passed, but because something else had taken its place—something colder, alien, and terrifyingly smooth. You woke to the sterile gleam of the familiar Cybertronian medical light panels, the buzzing of high-voltage tools, and the faint chirrup of your new limbs adjusting to motion diagnostics.

Knock Out loomed overhead, optics bright, grin wider than comfort allowed. “Oh good,” he purred, barely keeping the ecstasy in his voice modulator, his voice was as smooth as polished chrome. “You’re awake. I was beginning to worry you’d sleep through your own resurrection.” You blinked up at him. His face was close. Too close. But… familiar. Familiar meant safety. Familiar meant not alone. You reached toward him—then froze. Your arm… moved wrong. Your arm… moved wrong. It moved way too smoothly and way to calculated for someone who just his lost it

It didn’t hurt. But it whirred. Clicked. Glowed faintly at the seams. You looked down—and gagged. Your left arm, once soft and flesh and yours, was now a hybridized metal limb, wires where veins once ran, plates fusing seamlessly into scarred, discolored skin. Your legs—oh God, your legs—were gone entirely. In their place were prosthetics crafted with brutal efficiency. Graceful, sleek, deadly… but foreign. Wrong. You thought to yourself as panic started to settle in you like water under oil.

You scrambled, trembling, trying to sit up—your new limbs jerking unnaturally, like they were dragging you rather than obeying you. Panic crushed your ribs like a vise. “W-What the hell did you do to me?!” Knock Out’s expression flickered—hurt? Annoyed? No, worse. Excited. “You died, darling,” he said smoothly, brushing your hair back. Your stomach turned. “What… what did you do to me…?”

Knock Out placed a hand over your chest, right above your fluttering heart. “I saved you, darling. You were bleeding out, screaming, dragging yourself through ash and shrapnel. I couldn’t let you go out like that. Not when I could make you whole again.” You shivered beneath his touch.You should’ve been angry. You should’ve screamed. But your voice cracked when you asked, “Am I… still me?” Knock Out’s faceplate softened—disturbingly tender as he got closer to you as if it had been megacycles the last he has seen you. “You’re better than you were. Stronger. Faster. Alive, and beautiful. You were mine before, but now?” He let out a dreamy sigh. “Now you’re perfect.”

Ugly tears welled in your eyes as your lungs hurt you even more with every ragged breath you took as you cried. You didn’t want to cry—not in front of him, not like this—but the emotions were impossible to name. Fear. Relief. Loss. A strange kind of awe. The horror of seeing your reflection in the mirrored wall—your face the same, but framed by alien angles, glowing seams, and unfamiliar limbs that you are still not used to their sight on your body, You reached for his hand as if out of instinct, as if it was a second nature to you, just like the air you are struggling to take in right now, He gave it to you instantly not allowing you to wait for him, It felt warm, for a machine, but weren’t you half one right now?

Knockout didn’t need to hear any words of gratitude from you, he can feel it as he can feel it through the trembling of your new mechanism hand as he holds it ever so gently. “Knockout, I’m scared.” He pressed your knuckles to his lips. “You should be. Your body’s different. The world will see you as something else now. But not me. I see you. I chose you. And now, no one can take you from me. Not even Shockwave.” His tone darkened at the name. You flinched. Your heart twisted. “I want to kill him,” you muttered, half to yourself. As you can feel the searing rage and malice start to simmer in you, as the images of a dismantled shockwave to the last screw fills your mind with minuscule relief, “and you will, one day surely, it’s only a matter of time darling, I know that very well, I know you, very well” he quipped contently still pressing your knuckles to his lips as he basks in your presence for now after being denied it for so long.

[traffys-heart]

good luck on your exams! wish you the best.

your loser virgin law prompts are sooo good. and i need a place to vent my similar feelings/headcanons

he has a proactive poster of pink poison from the germa series. it’s her posed, wings out and her hands behind her head. one of her legs is bent, almost like a flamingo. obvs it’s literally based on reiju, so when he sees sanji for the first time he’s a little attracted to him since he looks so much like her (and it confuses the hell out of him)

he jerked it to a medical diagram in his teenage years. it was a real picture of a vulva in a book, in comparison to the typical drawing. he got ahead of himself though, failing to realise it was a diagram to help diagnose and recognise thrush.

his first exposure to real porn was during the time he travelled with the straw hats to dressrosa after punk hazard. in the men’s dorm on the bookshelf, not understanding it was sanji’s personal collection. he looks at the images, fascinated and taking notes. he knows the motion of the ocean, but to see how it actually works. what he fails to know is that is a service top magazine. the images were focused on the men pleasuring the woman, and he takes that as how sex goes. he can stay in control, but give his partner as much pleasure as possible.

body fluids is a big no. but the minute he reads about how orgasms can help with period cramps, there’s nothing he would enjoy more. he doesn’t mind blood— he’s used to it from the violence and surgeries he perform— but the idea of the only blood not born out of accident or violence really tickles the freak side of him

i have a couple others, but I wanna hear your opinions first 🤭

—

yess i feel like ppl on twitter understand better the loser that law truly is!! don’t let his pretty face deceive u he probably has his own spot in the eltingville club

anyways living for one sided sanlaw and law awkwardly staring at sanji during crew interactions which usually gets misinterpreted into glaring daggers at the blond. (tbh for some reason ive always seen sanlaw in the context of coralaw so it never really interested me but this is soooo much better)

jerking it to thrush is insane but tbh if u have never seen pussy before u gotta work w what u got. law getting hard over medical diagrams esp those of women w their breasts exposed or in what he would consider compromising positions is def high up there for some of my fav hcs.

as much as i would love for him to be a skilled pussy eater ik those magazines aren’t teaching him shit </3 im sorry men trying to replicate anything they’ve seen in porn 99/100 times never works and always leaves both parties w embarrassment. that being said, the idea of law developing a fixation of eating u out from porn is hot. he kinda thinks he knows what he’s doing (he doesn’t) but most of the time he just wants to bury his face underneath ur skirt and feel u up.

ive never been comfortable enough to have period sex before so im a little unsure how to breach this topic but i do not see law having a problem w u on ur period when trying to get freaky. he’s a horny surgeon, blood isn’t gonna stop the guy. pls let him finger u while he sucks on ur sore tits bc he’s a doctor and he guarantees it’ll make them feel better. he definitely gets a rush watching the deep red mix with the creamy webs on his hand.

i would love to hear ur other ideas nonnie! i really do love writing for law and seeing other ppl expand upon my own ideas is just the best feeling ever <3

—

[feral-ferrule]

Choy and Una’s GAR Goth Night Out, part 4

Part 1, part 2, part 3

Main pairing: OC Choy/clone troopers Veetch and Hexx (NOT cloneshipped, lol)

Warning: NSFW, MDNI, above the belt kissing and touching with spicier references in the dialogue. The boys are inexperienced.

There will be an interlude posted with the missing scene. I kept it separate in case it’s too much. This might be too much

🦇💕🦇💕🦇💕🦇💕🦇💕🦇💕🦇

*the scene opens in 79’s chillout room. Choy is reclined on Hexx while holding Veetch on a fainting-couch settee type of thing.

🦇💕 🦇💕 🦇💕 🦇💕 🦇💕 🦇💕

“He’s allowed anything I am.” Veetch said. His eyes had dilated even more in the softly lit room as he wondered exactly what Choy would let him do.

“Oh really?” Choy asked.

“I mean,” he rose up a little with an earnest expression, “whatever you say he’s allowed-we’re allowed. I don’t mean- I’m not telling you what you allow,” he blurted out, scared he’d over-stepped.

Choy wasn’t sure exactly what he was thinking. “Well that depends on what you are comfortable with?”

“Everything,” Veetch said, hopefully.

“Not,” Hexx said, “at the same time, please.”

Veetch rose up more on an arm. “What are you saying, Hexx?”

“I see enough of your junk in the showers, and the barracks room and in the field when you need to take a leak. It’s not part of my idea of a good time.”

“I wasn’t saying that.” Veetch scoffed, “do you think I want to see yours. Ooooor touch it.”

Choy had been starting to chuckle and burst out laughing at them. “Thank you for clarifying that you guys, I’ve heard stories and-“

“We don’t have to talk about the stories,” Hexx said quickly, “we’ve heard them too, trust me.” Hexx shifted behind Choy who straightened up between the two clones.

“Yeah seen it too, before we were stationed to Barton IV there were these two guys who-“

“Veetch, come on, she doesn’t need to hear about them.” Hexx said, “Besides, they’re gone.”

“Oh yeah, they are. Saved a lot of us before though,” Veetch said quietly.

“It’s ok, guys, I am not a big prude. At all. But I want you two to be comfortable and you are brothers so yeah I get you.” She found a hand of each clone with hers and squeezed them. “So cuddling at the same time’s ok?”

“Oh yeah, we cuddle all the time, right Hexx?”

“Gotta on Barton IV,” Hexx said, “and we’ve snuggled with all our brothers since nursery, so that's fine.”

“What about like, kissing, what you just did with me, affectionate stuff?”

Hexx thought about that. “That's fine up to a point I guess,” he seemed to struggle with his words, “I just don’t want my first time to be something I have to share. We have to share everything.”

“Your first - Oh,” she looked from Hexx to Veetch, who blushed and looked down at his hands. She kicked herself for not thinking about this before. There were definitely more virgin clones than not. These poor boys. “Hey,” she cupped Veetch’s face in her hand and brought his gaze to her, “There’s no shame in that, you just haven’t had the opportunity is all, right?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“We’ve not had a break or r&r or anything.” Hexx explained, “A lot of guys get stationed near towns or cities, but this is the first time we’ve been to one.”

“Straight from Kamino to the field. We never even had a layover here in Coruscant,” Veetch added.

Choy nodded and pushed away the heartache she felt for them. “Have you ever kissed?”

They looked at eachother. “Uhh,” Veetch began.

“Not each other, I mean other people, have you kissed a girl before?”

“Well uh, no, no have you Hexx?”

“Err no,” Hexx answered, turning toward Choy more, looking at her lips and licking his own.

“Can I, now, here?” asked Veetch, glancing around and noticing other couples doing exactly that. Hexx was playing with her hair that fell around her shoulders, carefully gathering it to one side and admiring the soft curves of her shoulder and neck.

“Of course,” Choy said, still cupping his face as she brought him closer to her till she was nuzzling his nose with hers. She tucked his lock of hair behind his ear again and locked her gaze on his eyes. “Go ahead,” she said against his lips, letting him feel her breath on his mouth.

Veetch pressed a kiss on Choy’s lips, close mouthed and a little timid. She responded with an encouraging hum, “mmm that’s nice.” She kissed him back, lipped at his lower lip and brought her hands up into his hair. She licked his lip inviting him to deepen the kissing. He met her tongue with his, his eyes opening wide when she made a small noise that he could feel in his mouth. He surged forward, pushing his tongue into Choy’s mouth and shoving her back against Hexx. Hexx caught her and held her by her shoulders to his chest. She made a squeak-oomf sound, which spurred Veetch into a devouring frenzy with too much tongue and spit and teeth and scruff. She felt smaller between the two broad clones with their big hands holding her to their bodies. Her chest heaved as he pulled away. They were both a little slobbery.

“Sorry,” Veetch said, wiping some stray saliva off of her chin. She scooched up straighter and could feel Hexx’s breath on her neck and the tickle of his facial hair. She reached back and caressed the side of his face.

“Careful with her, vod,” Hexx scolded.

“I’m alright, Hexx,” she said over her shoulder and turned back to Veetch. “Swallow first, baby,” she said softly, smiling at Veetch’s eager awkwardness and wiping her mouth.

His adams apple bobbed as he did and he went in for another deep kiss. This one was softer, his tongue caressed hers with more control and he was careful with his teeth. He pulled away and looked at her with love drunk eyes, “Was that better?”

“You’re a fast learner, Vee,” she cooed at him through a smile, circling her arms around his shoulders.

Hexx’s breath turned into open kisses along her shoulder and up her neck. He peeled her choker collar down to kiss under it, ending with a hint of teeth under her ear. She shivered and sighed and heard a rumble from him like a growl in his chest as his hands slid down to her waist. He grasped her to lift her up onto his lap and spun her around. He slid one hand up to support her head and leaned down and kissed her firmly on her lips. She could feel his mouth work and then open, his tongue sliding along the seam of her lips asking for entry. She opened her mouth and licked back, their tongues dancing with each other’s before he dove in deep with his filling her mouth as he explored her. She hummed, angled her head more and held his face feeling his jaw work under his beard.

Veetch was close behind her now, his body heat warming her and his big hands burning hot where they held her at her hip, the other sliding up her back. He wanted to make her shiver and sigh like Hexx had and moved her hair away from her neck. He kissed the back of her shoulder, moving up towards her ear like he’d seen his brother do. Hexx pulled out of the kiss as Veetch reached the sweet spot just under her ear, making her kean. Hexx gently pushed her hair away from that spot on the other side and lavished it with his tongue and teeth. Choy felt like jelly in their arms as she melted between them, her lips kiss-swollen.

“Oh boys, you’re really good at this,” she managed to say breathlessly. “I can’t wait to see what else you’re good at.” Both men moved to pull her closer to himself. Veetch slid closer to Hexx. Choy shifted around to straddle both of them. She settled on their legs and studied both of their faces. Veetch had an open expression of adoration. His gaze dropped to her chest, his hands caressing her arm and waist. Hexx held her hand as he regarded her with his own style of affection. His eyes had lost their hardness and now held hungry fascination as they settled on her chest like Veetch’s.

“You’re allowed to touch them,” she said and skimmed the tops of her breasts with her fingers. Their hands were on her boobs immediately. They caressed them where they squished out of the dress. They tested their give with gentle handfuls. Hexx planted kisses on the one closest to him as Veetch fished around at the base of the corset for the strings he saw her cinch herself with.

“There’s an easier way in but we should find somewhere else to go first.”

“Where’s that?” asked Veetch caressing her face and neck and tilting her head back to lick at her pulse.

Her brain kept derailing with their mouths on her. She babbled out loud as the thoughts came. “Well we’re probably getting way ahead of ourselves. I can’t take you back to my place, you can’t take me to yours.”

“Hexx try that spot right there, she really likes it”

“Mmmmmm.”

“Ohhh yeah that is really nice-ohhh.” She continued thinking out loud, “The Corp controls the stipend I get and I spent too much on this dress and some other stuff already. You two don’t have money. The only affordable room would be so far down level you two’d get court martialed for desertion.”

Hexx’s hand shot up and he caught something that clattered with a plasticy sound. Choy looked at the object as he inspected it. It was a key fob of some sort with a diamond shaped keychain. It looked like the 79’s logo and a number were stamped on it. Hexx nodded to someone behind her. Choy twisted around, Veetch’s beard and teeth grazing her décolletage. A trooper in black and studs and mesh winked at them, inclined his chin towards the back of the room and turned to escort his girl to the bar. She glanced at Veetch and Hexx and flashed Choy a smirk and nodded approvingly. Choy mouthed a thank you at her and turned back to Hexx.

“Problem solved, boys, who’s getting my dress off of me first?”

Hexx and Veetch looked at eachother and they lifted Choy under her arms as they hopped up. She yelped as Veetch threw her over his shoulder and was immediately engulfed in her skirts. He flipped her onto her back in his arms bridal style. Choy flushed with heat as he handled her like she weighed nothing, his strong arms holding her securely.

“Our shoes, Hexx,” Choy said, circling her arms around Veetch’s neck. Hexx stepped into his boots and grabbed Choy’s shoes and the bundle of shirts and cowls. He wrapped an arm around her legs and led the way as they carried her like a couple firemen. She giggled as they passed several couples and some other groups who all watched them dash through the room with a variety of cheers and encouraging gestures toward a hallway hidden around a corner of the room.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

“Who do we give the key to?” Asked Veetch as they strolled hand in hand through the room with all the couches. They circled their arms around Choy’s waist as other troopers looked their way. Both he and Hexx seemed proud of themselves.

Hexx and Veetch looked at eachother and they lifted Choy under her arms as they hopped up. Veetch hoisted her over his shoulder and was immediately engulfed in her skirts. He flipped her onto her back in his arms bridal style. Choy flushed with heat pulsing to her core as he handled her like she weighed nothing. His strong arms holding her securely.

Choy scanned the room for anyone looking like they might appreciate some alone time. Her eyes fell on a form on a couch bundled in a gigantic red sweater. Her heart squeezed. Echo. She looked away and subtly steered the boys in a different direction. She didn’t recognize anyone else in the room, then a couple caught her eye. “Isn’t that your commander?” She asked him, pointing to a shaggy bearded clone cuddled up with a girl with a lock of blue in her hair.

“Oh yeah that’s him,” Hexx said.

“Looks like they might appreciate the key,” Choy leaned up to Hexx to say. They paused at Mayday’s side.

“Commander, uh sir,” Hexx said to him.

Mayday looked up from his cuddle session, “This better be important Hexx,” he sighed.

“Sir,” Hexx pressed the key into his hand and stood back. Choy peaked around him with her arm around Veetch’s waist. Mayday’s eyebrows shot up as he registered Choy holding onto both of his men as she winked at them. Hexx awkwardly saluted his commander and nodded at Archer. He turned heel, drawing Choy closer to him with his hand around her waist and ushered her and Veetch toward the bar.

stolen tag list @ghostymarni @lonewolflupe @wings-and-beskargam @eclec-tech @eobe @foxwithadarkside @fiveminutetrash @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @feral-ferrule @ladylucksrogue @nika6q @skellymom @vimse @gargothnightzine @sunshinesdaydream @noblelightfighter @returnofthepineapple @freesia-writes @covert1ntrovert @vikushat @nocturius8015ficore @mamuzzy @risavulpes @niobiumao3 @sazzujazzu @blackseafoam @thora-sniper @gars-weaponeer @leenathegreengirl @vodika-vibes @headphones-ct-09978 @thecoffeelorian @bad4amficideas

[buddiesbuddiess]

maybe i’ve just been here way too long but a “hint” in any form to me is just a copout at this point. we’ve been getting nothing but hints, and if that’s what they decide to give us, then i don’t think i’ll be able to watch the show again because it will be clear they’ll delay it to the end of season 9 and we’ll either be stuck with 30 seconds of buddie canon screentime if the show doesn’t get renewed, or we have to wait until 2027 to actually see buddie together

and maybe im mean for this but i dont really care if the GA need to be eased into it- they dont- because i’ve been waiting for seven, almost eight years for this, and having to wait another? possibly two? it’s starting to not get worth it anymore

and even then- a hint is always able to be walked back on, even a verbal confession; tim obviously doesn’t care about how the fandom reacts to him making awful decisions, so if they don’t actually go canon next episode (canon to me is an acknowledgment and action- eg going on a date or kissing, etc) then i’m not gonna be able to keep going through the emotional ringer since they can’t just commit already, and have to do all this bait stuff

bc im sorry, joint interviews with the actors isn’t “buddie hint” material- that’s “we’re either full on baiting or we’ve actually gone canon”

i don’t mean any of this to be an attack on you- im moreso just venting my frustrations at the different theories ive seen; especially since everyone so loudly was like “oh buddie for sure is going canon in s8” and now its just “oh well, maybe next year again 🤷‍♀️” like we’ve been doung every hiatus since s7 started

I do get what you’re saying. Maybe I misspoke when I used the word hint in the other ask. What I meant what a clear and undeniable canon confirmation that buddie is about to be given a developing romantic storyline and that there’s nowhere it can go than that.

That’s what I meant by verbal feelings realization and/or aborted love confession. When I said I don’t think they’re going to kiss, it’s because in my opinion that’s not really where they’re at yet at the point we’re at in the story. I can see an ALMOST kiss happening. I think any of these things can fulfil the “buddie canon season 8” hopes without speed running the relationship and leaving hype and time for the real will they won’t they do develop in season 9. Because the thing about will they won’t they storylines in these kinds of shows is that they pretty much always will.

Regarding the general audience, I’m sorry but we do have to remember this show is written for the masses, not just specifically for the fans. We’ve been waiting for buddie for years, but the majority of the audience has not. So if they are committed to buddie, they have to do the work in making the general audience not only see what we’re seeing, but actively root for buddie too.

But if they end season 8 still just “leaving the door open” without committing to anything then I’m with you on being sick of waiting. It also seems illogical not to follow through with this storyline this season since they’ve been building it up for the majority of the season. If they are committed to buddie, it seems dumb not to capitalise on the insane hype they’ve built on the pairing this season and the work they’ve done to establish romantic undertones. So if nothing of note happens then I’m not really expecting it ever to happen tbh.

What the other anon was asking was what I THINK is going to happen, and I’ve started managing my expectations a lot more over the last month. Because I know what I think will happen in this story if they’re following what makes most narrative sense and picking up on clear storytelling cues. But as I said in the other ask, this show doesnt always follow the most narrative sense. So it’s hard to actually say what I think will happen when I know what I’m picking up from narrative cues, but that I can’t fully trust the writers to follow their own narrative.

[stardustdiiving]

Okay so going through the Rukkhadevata tag and saw one of your posts so I NEED to know: what is up with the International Teyvat Immortal Yuri Polycule. Spare no detail I'm ravenous here.

I FORGOT IVE MENTIONED FTHE ITIYP (international teyvat immortal yuri polycule’) ON THIS BLOG HELP

Massive tangent of thoughts below the cut (warning it gets kind of out of hand)

OK see. there’s less a concrete vision with this and more that I think it’s just really funny to start running with the fact Genshin is not above just canonizing lore where unexpected combinations immortal characters may know each other. Genshin in general just likes to pair up fascinating combinations of characters (like, in events and such) in a way where it gives a lot of immortal yuri crackshipping this funny sort of Canon Plausibility that’s really entertaining, especially when you start piling a lot of really specific layers of ship lore on top of each other.

To give an example: Ganyu and Yae Miko canonically know each other. This is immediately compelling. Like, okay sure both of you have been around so long as active participants in your respect nations it’s not unbelievable you guys got to know each other eventually but this raises alot of questions. How and when did you both meet. What does this mean for your respective social circles?

If you add yuri to this situation I feel you naturally have to start asking questions like “do the other Liyue adepti know about this” and “how do the Other Adepti feel about Yae Miko” which means inevitably you’re going to have to consider things like “would Cloud Retainer sit down and tell Yae Miko if she breaks Ganyu’s heart because it turns out she was just using her to cope with the fact she’s depressed Ei blocked her on Facebook after Makoto died she will peck Yae Miko within an inch of her life”. You additionally have to consider Yae Miko’s stances on any other yuri happening in the Liyue adeptus social circle. Like does Yae Miko know Guizhong and Madame Ping were gay. Does she know Does she know this. What does she think about it? Did she ever get involved for fun because Yae Miko feels like someone who probably would just be personally familiar with every immortal lesbian in Tyevat? Consequently, what do the Liyue adeptus sapphics think of Yae Miko’s weird introverted jock wife.

These are all really important things to consider. I think Ganyu and Ei would stand in the corner of a party awkwardly drinking wine because Yae Miko temporarily left them alone and Ei would be like “ummm. Thank you for….Keeping Miko company while I was In the Plane of Euthymia, Miss Ganyu” at the exact same time Ganyu is like “I’m so so sorry for going on a picnic date with your wife 231 years ago i thought you guys were Divorced and wanted to help her out because she seemed really depressed. also don’t tell her I could tell she was depressed or she’ll get scared of the emotional intimacy and explode”

And then you can just start building off of things from there. Like its canonical lore that after Egeria died in battle during the Cataclysm Rukkhadevata used her consciousness to stop the flow of Abyssal corruption in the Girdle of the Sands. this, too, can be yuri if you think about it. Who is going to stop you. The original 7 were all friends and Venti and Zhongli spent their first on screen interaction flirting at the dinner table so much they nearly gave Xiao a panic attack during the 2023 lantern rite. I feel it’s just not realistic to assume they were the only archon couple happening. We need to consider that maybe the in-game dendro/hydro bloom reaction is really good because Egeria and Rukkhadevata kissed at least once

And with Rukkhadevata being involved in this you really have to consider that any yuri you do with her curses Nahida by association. In my mind’s eye there’s a situation where the archons all meet up for the first time and Nahida and Ei are trying really hard to socialize and then Ei offhandedly drops the nuclear bomb of information referencing the fact Nahida’s previous self before she lost her memory and became like 7 years old dated her sister and Nahida’s like….what. And Ei’s like ah yes it was quite the situation. very funny. Barbados tried to get me to help you both hit it off bc he thought it would be funny but this stressed me out so I hid behind Yae Miko until it was over. And Nahida is just haunted by this information and has to go home and deal lethal amounts of psychic damage to Wanderer by informing him her previous self dated his dead aunt. The far reaching consequences of things like this are kind of compelling to me.

Im running out of steam answering this but I trust you kind of see the vision here. I just need like alot of the immortal women in teyvat to all know each other and have like an intricate web of who’s casually kind of dated/dating who that causes 20 layers of situations because of the impact it has on their respective social circles. Yae Miko is probably relevant for like 90% of it because tbh she’s probably on a first name basis with every immortal sapphic in teyvat and responsible for introducing half of them to each other . Shes organizing tea parties for them or something. Imagine this