#the tireless one did NOT have to go that hard

[jpegcompressor]

past 11 pm is tomorrow and tomorrow hours. nobody fucking talking to me

[windupaidoneus]

the music in the fc house is a little evil except for civilisations. yes agent of inquiry is evil

[retiredteabag]

An Uninformed Narrative

Synopsis: You had lived in Stardew Valley for a year before you met the hunter from the adventures guild, Sukuna Itadori. It did not take long for him to catch your attention but you couldn't help feeling as if his affection resided anywhere but you.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

This is a Sukuna stardew valley au, heavily inspired by @tearzintheclub's similar series with butcher!sukuna, I highly recommend reading their work, they are super kind and were a big motivation for me to make this!

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

You had been dying for a decade before coming to the valley, still, unmercifully, alive. The bitter years you spent milling away on a computer, endless days blurring onto the next. A monotonous cycle of tireless work for a corporation that left you unfulfilled, complacent, and depressed. Holed up in a city you did not even like.

It was corrosive, only now, a year later, could you look back and realize that life didn't begin for you until you moved to your grandfather's farm.

It had been hard work. You knew it would be. Still, the labor it took to keep up with crops and farm animals had been more than you anticipated. But you had friends now, and goals. And that was more valuable than anything.

One year ago, when you came to the valley, romance was quite possibly the last thing occupying your mind. Only now, being able to comfortably settle into your home, could you allow yourself to think about things other than the prosperity of your land and the health of your animals.

That brings us to now.

You had read books about the Stardew Valley mines back in the mountains north of town. Harvey, the village doctor, had warned you of its treacherous depths. Having focused most of your efforts on farm/house maintenance, you had not traversed into dangerous territory beyond upgrading your tools and acquiring bug meat.

This is why, after a whole year of living in the valley, you were surprised to receive a notice in your mailbox from "The Adventurers Guild", an initiation of sorts, requesting you to slay 10 slimes to be granted entry.

You had thought about it all evening. By the next morning, you felt up for the challenge. After taking care of the chores you left you made your way up past the carpenter's shop, dropped off a fish you caught the night before to your friend Linus, and entered the mines.

It had been scary but you protected yourself well and acquired some gems and geodes to show for it. It was late when you made the trek home, but you were determined to enter the adventurers guild the next day.

It had been a delight to meet Gil and Marlon, the two men who ran the guild. They sold weapons and protective gear, offered rewards for monster slaying, and purchased monster loot. Still having some on you, you traded them in for the cash. With a smile on your face, you decided to go into town to buy some icecream for Yuuji, Jas, and Vincent.

Penny, the town's teacher, had the kids in the museum for lessons until 2 PM, so you traveled quickly to meet them in time.

Penny was always a delight. Kind to everyone, even if they did not deserve it. She was so good with the kids as well, and dedicated much of her time to their education.

You had met Penny just a few days after moving to the town at the local flower shop in the Cidersap Forest. You had learned she was quite fond of Poppy flowers and the owner of the little place, Jin Itadori, was unbelievably generous, always interested in hearing about your farm, and always willing to give out a flower or two.

Yuuji, being the florist's son and Penny's student, became a quick friend of yours and always wanted to talk whenever you came by the shop. Of course, you never minded and listened intently whenever the boy felt like sharing a fun fact about the flora in his home.

--

Time passed with the changing of the seasons and it wasn't long before fall was upon you.

Ever since entering the mines and joining the Adventures guild, you have been thinking about the quests Marlon and Gil have sent you on. Though it is dangerous, scouring the mines for the flesh of monsters, it brings you a thrill to know you are doing something good for the community.

A post had gone up on the community board in town about collecting bat wings and bringing the population down to a manageable level the other day, and in your spare time, you had been working on completing the quest.

It was late one night when you began to make your way back up to the mountains from the mine's elevator, you had quite the collection and enough time to sell it at the Guild before making your way home.

"You've been keepin' busy." Marlon greeted you as the wind pushed the door open along with your arm.

You smile at the man, unloading the backpack of your finds. "Well there's always something to do around here." you reply.

"True as the day is long...." Gil rocked back and forth in his chair, pretending to hear your conversation.

"I must say I'm glad to have you 'round. The quest board in town seems to be worked through much faster now." Marlon takes the post you handed him and the 200 bat wings, he was just about to hand you the payment when the door to the Guild swung open.

The hinges seemed to rattle with the shock of the large man's blow of it. He's huffing, yanking a balaclava up and over his face.

He has thick, pink hair and bright red eyes, he's enormous, having to duck just a bit so as not to hit his head on the door frame.

You looked at him, a bit shocked at his garish entrance. He looks so familiar, but his face is covered in tattoos. A unique style you've never seen before, certainly not in Stardew Valley

Despite being at the counter yourself, the lumbering man strides right up next to you, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. And just then, you have a thought.

Was he doing town board requests too? He was clearly not from the village, you would have met him by now. But Marlon does not spare him much of a glace, even when a stack of bones and a collection of rings is placed on his counter.

"Those damn haunted skulls are somethin' else." The man looks at Marlon with a gaze of distaste but the Guild leader just laughs. The large man doesn't look at you once.

Despite the chill of fall present in the air, he has sweat glistening on his exposed neck, he runs a hand through his hair and you can't help but notice how handsome this man is. The only thing, who was he? And why was he monster hunting in the Valley's mines?

"You got a problem?" Shocked from your thoughts, you look up. You hadn't meant to stare but upon his antagonized question your eyes bulge a bit.

"No! No, no, sorry..." You turn away, collecting the gold Marlon left out for you, ready to turn and leave when the man behind the counter made a gesture with his hand.

He called your name, "This is Sukuna, likely haven't met em' have ya? He's real reserved and all."

So he lives here? How could that be? "Oh, it's nice to meet you!" You go to shake his hand but he just looks you up and down, effectively dissuading that desire.

"So you're the rookie taking all the board requests in town, hmm?" He looks so domineering, still, even having just met him, you can reasonably assume that's just what his face looks like.

You shuffle where you stand, "Er... maybe so, yes... I'm sorry, I didn't know that was your area..." You wave your hand to the array of loot he had seemingly just acquired. He scoffs.

Marlon looks to you, "Sukuna is our most tenured monster hunter-"

Gil interjects from his rocking chair, "If ever there's a board request this here man can't handle, I know hell's right about frozen over."

The man before them did not crack a smile. A shiver went down your spine.

"I see, well, I live on the farm behind the Cidersap Forest-"

He cuts you off, looking almost annoyed, "I know who you are."

Oh.

Okay...

"Gotcha, sorry, well... it was nice meeting you." Sukuna stares at you for a moment before turning back to the Adventurers Guild leaders.

The awkwardness of the moment was painful, you already know youll be obsessing over this first impression for the next month or so and your shaking leg is telling you it is time to escape the embaressment before this man shuts down any more small talk.

You wonder if perhaps Sukuna is upset with you for "taking his job". Or maybe he had a bad day. If he really had been hunting Haunted Skulls, he had probably been dangerously deep in the mines.

Even though his gaze had been piercing, his frown looked permanent, and his tattoos gave off a highly intimidating look. You could tell there had been no malice behind his demeanor. And that, would be a small comfort as you mulled your way through the darkness.

You spent the whole walk home thinking about the large man. You had been everywhere in Stardew Valley yet had never met him.

He must live out of town, you thought as you checked the weather for tomorrow.

Rain. That meant another day in the mines. You needed an upgrade on your equipment if you were going to continue supplying for your growing crops' demands. That meant plunging deeper into the depths of the mine.

Sleep pulled at you even still, just as your eyes fell shut the memory of the pink-haired man popped back up into your brain.

His shirt stuck nauseatingly to his toned chest, his neck glimmering in the firelight of the guild, and those eyes. The red, sharp eyes he had looked you up and down with.

"I know who you are."

It was a small town. Even if you were from the outskirts. It was a shame though... having not met the man before... he certainly seemed interesting.

You shook the man from your thoughts as your dog climbed into the bed and the two of you began to doze off.

Unknown to you, a long and unexpected day awaited you at dawn.

[lauraneedstochill]

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter One

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.6k

Masterlist | Next

You awaken to the familiar yet deteriorating landscape of the Dreaming. For years, your narcolepsy has transported you daily into this realm—a realm that, despite its barrenness and brokenness, has become your sanctuary. The muted grays and browns are beautiful to you, in a special way, but you know that the true majesty of the realm cannot emerge without its master, Dream. A being you've never met and only heard stories of. Yet, despite its decay, you have forged friendships here, finding solace among its inhabitants.

You walk through the desolate meadow, the grass crunching underfoot like dried paper. The sky is a dull, oppressive gray, reflecting the sea of sand and rock that neighbors the palace ruins. Your destination is the Library, a place that has barely managed to retain some semblance of order thanks to Lucienne’s tireless efforts. As you approach the grand, time-worn doors of the library, you feel a pang of sorrow for the state of this once magnificent realm.

“Lucienne?” you call out, your voice echoing through the cavernous hall as you step inside.

From behind a towering stack of books, Lucienne appears, her face lighting up with a weary smile when she sees you. “Ah, there you are. I was wondering when you would pop up. How are you today?”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “It’s hard to see the Dreaming like this. It feels like a part of me is withering along with it and it was already withering to begin with.”

Lucienne nods, her expression somber. “We all feel it. The absence of Lord Morpheus has taken a toll on this realm. But we must hold on to hope. Things may yet change.”

"It's been over a century, Luce," You point out, "I've been visiting for at least a decade and we've never seen hide nor hair of him. What— what if he's not coming back?"

Lucienne sighs softly, closing the book and replacing it on the shelf. "Maybe not," she admits. "But we can't give up...we must continue searching."

All of the residents that remain, a precious few, were adamant that Dream would return. You believed them, you truly did, but what being abandoned their people like this?? Something terrible must have happened, it was the only explanation you can think of. You were staying strong and hopeful for them, after all, the Dreaming was there home. It was only a temporary place for you to wander until you rouse from your episode. As you ponder what you would do next in this dream, the palace creaks and shakes, the sounds of more stone breaking off and falling to the ground greets your ears.

"Perhaps it would be best if you get out of the palace and visit the brothers? Maybe play with Gregory?" Lucienne offers to you, hoping to get you out of the crumbling palace before you decided to were going to spend your time assisting Mervyn.

"But what if Mervyn—" The librarian cuts you off with a stern look over her spectacles. You glance at Lucienne, her stern expression brooking no argument. With a resigned sigh, you turn and head out of the library, feeling the cool air of the Dreaming settle against your skin. The path to Cain and Abel’s house winds through the remnants of what once was a lush garden, now overrun with thorny vines and twisted trees. At least that's what Mervyn had told you.

As you approach the brothers’ abode, you hear a faint rustling sound followed by a series of thuds. Rounding the corner, you find Gregory tangled up in a net of brambles, his wings flapping uselessly as he tries to free himself.

“Gregory!” you exclaim, rushing to his side. His large, expressive eyes brighten when he sees you. Like a giant puppy, he chirps at you and wiggles his body. You chuckle softly as you begin to untangle the brambles from around his wings. “What happened this time?”

Gregory chirps again, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and sheepishness. You carefully work your way through the tangle of brambles, pulling each thorny vine away from his stone skin. The gargoyle’s weight shifts as he tries to help by flapping his wings, but it only makes the process more cumbersome.

“Hold still, Gregory. You’re not making this any easier,” you mutter with a half-smile.

He lets out a low rumble, a sound that almost seems like an apology. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to free him. Gregory stretches his wings wide and gives a joyful hop, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

“Feeling better?” you ask, brushing off your hands.

Gregory nods vigorously, then nuzzles your shoulder with his large head. His granite skin is always surprisingly warm against your own.

You laugh softly and give him a pat. “Come on, let’s find Cain and Abel.”

The two of you make your way toward the brothers’ house, Gregory trailing close behind like an oversized shadow. As you approach, you hear the unmistakable sound of an argument brewing inside. The voices grow louder until you can make out individual words.

“It was mine! You had no right to take it!” Abel’s voice trembles with indignation.

Cain’s reply is sharp and dismissive. “You never appreciate what you have! Someone needs to teach you a lesson!”

You exchange a knowing glance with Gregory and push open the door. Inside, Cain stands over Abel, who is clutching something close to his chest—a small, tattered book by the looks of it. Both brothers freeze when they see you.

“Is everything alright here?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Cain straightens up and crosses his arms over his chest. “Just a little brotherly disagreement,” he says coolly.

Abel’s eyes dart between Cain and you before he speaks up in a softer voice. “He took my journal. I was writing in it, and he just—”

“It’s just a book,” Cain interrupts with a wave of his hand. “No need to get all worked up about it.”

You step closer to Abel and gently place a hand on his shoulder. “Abel, would you like to show me what you’ve been writing?”

He hesitates for a moment but then nods slowly, opening the journal to reveal pages filled with neat handwriting and detailed sketches—mostly of Gregory in various playful poses.

“These are wonderful,” you say genuinely, flipping through the pages. “You have real talent and Gregory is a stellar model!”

Abel blushes slightly under the praise while Cain rolls his eyes but doesn't comment further on the topic. Cain then suggests you stay for tea, his tone surprisingly warm. "Why don't you join us for some tea? Abel's been perfecting his recipe."

You nod, sensing the tension ebbing away. "I'd love to."

Abel beams and scurries off to prepare the tea. Gregory settles down near the hearth, his tail curling around his feet like a giant cat. You take a seat at the table, watching as Cain busies himself with setting out cups and saucers.

"So," Cain begins, filling the kettle with water. "What brings you here today?"

"Lucienne thought I needed a break," you say, leaning back in your chair. "She suggested visiting you and Abel."

Cain chuckles. "Smart woman. This place can be a bit... intense."

Abel returns with a tray of biscuits just as Cain sets the kettle on the stove. He places the tray in the center of the table and sits down across from you, his expression shy but hopeful.

"I hope you like them," Abel says quietly. "They're Gregory's new favorite."

You smile and reach for a biscuit, breaking it in half and offering a piece to Gregory. The gargoyle's eyes light up as he delicately takes the treat from your hand, chewing with surprising grace.

"These are delicious, Abel," you say after taking a bite of your own half. The biscuit is buttery and sweet, with just the right amount of crunch.

Abel's face lights up with pride. "Thank you! I've been experimenting with different ingredients."

The kettle whistles, and Cain pours steaming tea into each cup before passing them around. You take a sip, savoring the warm, fragrant brew.

"So," Cain says after a moment of silence, "how have things been with managing your narcolepsy Have your doctors come up with any new treatments?"

You take another sip of tea, letting the warmth spread through you. "It's been challenging," you admit. "They've tried a few new medications, but nothing seems to make a significant difference. I'm still visiting the Dreaming just as often."

Cain nods, his expression thoughtful. "It must be difficult, living between two worlds like that."

"It is," you agree, "but the Dreaming feels like a second home now. Even with its current state, there's something comforting about it."

Abel looks up from his tea, curiosity in his eyes. "Do you ever meet anyone else in your dreams? Other than us, I mean."

You think back to the fleeting faces and shadowy figures you've encountered over the years. "Occasionally. Most of them are just passing through, I think. But there are a few regulars."

Cain raises an eyebrow. "Regulars?"

You nod. "People who seem to visit the Dreaming as often as I do. We don't always interact, but there's a sense of familiarity. Like we’re all taking the same bus to work.”

Gregory nuzzles your arm again, reminding you of his presence. You smile and give him another biscuit piece.

"Maybe they’re like us," Abel muses, stirring his tea absently.

"Maybe," you say, watching Gregory's eyes follow the crumbs that fall from your hand.

Cain leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Well, if you ever need a break from your other world, you're always welcome here."

"Thank you," you say sincerely.

The room falls into a comfortable silence as you all enjoy your tea and biscuits. The tension that had filled the air earlier has dissipated, replaced by a sense of camaraderie.

After a while, Abel stands up and starts clearing the table. Gregory helps by nudging dishes towards him with his nose.

"You know," Cain says thoughtfully, "I've been working on something in the garden. Would you like to see it?"

Your curiosity piqued, you nod eagerly. "I'd love to."

He leads you outside to a small patch of land behind their house where he’s cultivated a modest garden despite the Dreaming’s decay. It's filled with strange and beautiful plants that seem to shimmer in the dim light.

"It's not much," Cain says modestly, "but it's something to focus on."

"It's wonderful," you say sincerely, admiring the vibrant colors and unusual shapes.

Gregory chirps happily beside you while Abel joins Cain's side with a proud smile on his face.

You find yourself at the crumbling gate, alongside Lucienne, helping her clear away some of the rubble that has fallen from the deteriorating structure. The two of you work in  silence, the only sounds being the crunch of debris underfoot and the occasional groan of the ancient walls. Where was Mervyn? He usually helped out with clean up since he was the custodian and grounds keeper.

As you lift a particularly large piece of stone, a sudden gust of wind blows its way past where you stand, carrying with it an eerie, almost tangible sense of presence. You glance at Lucienne, who has frozen in place, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and hope.

“Lucienne?” you begin to ask, but she’s already moving, dropping the rubble she was holding and rushing towards the source of the disturbance. You follow her gaze and see him—Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams—lying amidst a swirl of sand. His dark form contrasts starkly against the desolation around him. Lucienne reaches him first, her voice trembling with a blend of reverence and concern.

“Lord Morpheus!” she exclaims, kneeling beside him. “Sir! Sir!”

You make it to where Lucienne crouches and Morpheus lays. His form is gaunt, his skin pale as moonlight, but his presence is undeniable. Lucienne's hands hover over him, uncertain whether to touch him or not.

“Is he...?” you start to ask, but Lucienne shakes her head.

“He’s alive,” she says, her voice trembling with a mix of relief and disbelief. “He’s come back.”

You watch as Morpheus’s chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. His eyes remain closed, and his expression is one of exhaustion. You kneel beside Lucienne, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

“What do we do?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. But before Lucienne replies, Morpheus stirs slightly, his eyes fluttering open.

Lucienne gasps softly and leans closer. “Lord Morpheus? Sir?” His eyes focus on her slowly as if waking from a deep sleep. When he finally speaks, his voice is weak but unmistakably his own.

“Lucienne,” he whispers. Tears fill her eyes as she takes his hand gently in hers.

“Welcome back,” she says softly.

Morpheus’s gaze shifts to you briefly, a darkness flickering within his eyes before it disappears. You rise to your feet and step a few steps back, unsure of what to do or say. Morpheus slowly rises to his feet, his eyes scanning his surroundings with a distant look. He finally focuses on Lucienne, then shifts his gaze to you. His expression is unreadable, a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“Who is this?” he asks, his voice carrying an otherworldly echo.

Lucienne glances back at you before answering. “This is one of our regular visitors. They’ve been coming here for the past decade.”

Morpheus studies you intently, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why do you visit so often?”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. “I think we have more pressing concerns at the moment, Lord Morpheus. The Dreaming, she's suffering." Morpheus's eyes bore into you, searching for something unspoken. You hold his gaze, standing your ground even as the weight of his presence presses against you.

"You're right," Morpheus finally concedes, his voice a shadow of its former strength. He had more pressing matters to attend to. He turns to Lucienne. "What has happened here?"

Lucienne hesitates, glancing at you before she begins. "After your disappearance, the Dreaming started to decay. Parts of it have crumbled away entirely."

You nod in agreement, stepping forward. "We’ve been doing our best to maintain it, but without your presence, it’s been difficult."

Morpheus looks around, his expression hardening as he takes in the desolation. He reaches out a hand and brushes his fingers against a nearby fragment of stone, and you see a flicker of energy pulse through him. The stone vibrates slightly, as if responding to his touch.

"It will require time to mend," he mutters, mostly to himself. Then he faces you and Lucienne. "But we will reconstruct." Although he directs his words to Lucienne, his eyes focus on you, filled with hostility. You feel unwelcome.

Date Published: 7/10/24

Last Edit: 7/10/24

Masterlist | Next

[o-sachi]

Roses and Thorns ‧₊˚ ⋅ One Shot (Request)

ଳ you always wondered what what his tattoo meant... and now you know

ଳ character; michael kaiser (bllk)

ଳ tags; angst, more angst, but comfort at the end, depiction of Kaiser's trauma, no y/n, gn reader

Roses naturally came in colors of red, pink, yellow...

But never blue.

Yet, that was the same flower that adorned his arm. From his neck and down to the back of his hand, a beautiful blue rose littered his pallid skin. You always thought it was a captivating tattoo and in many ways—it was what made Kaiser... Kaiser.

Throughout your relationship, your perception of him changes and so does your idea about what his tattoo might mean. You could have asked him directly why he had it done, but where's the fun in that?

You liked the mystery and besides, he never talked about it in the first place.

That led you to think that it was one of those tattoos that people get on a whim. Not all tattoos had a deep meaning—sometimes it's just cool to look at.

Kaiser doesn't seem like the sentimental type after all. The only thing he probably cared about in this world was football and hopefully... you.

However, that view changed the longer you've been together. After seeing more sides to him, you realized how naive and insensitive it was to box him as the kind of person who had no capability to feel deeply for anything else.

The world may know him as an arrogant prodigy, but only you knew everything else behind that. You knew the tireless dedication he had to the sport—spending many restless nights watching replays of previous matches. You knew the vulnerable Kaiser whenever he'd spend weeks away from you—missing you all the way from his fancy hotel room.

But even then, you still had no idea what his tattoo meant. In fact, the more you got to know the true Kaiser, the more doubtful you became of the countless theories you've conjured up about his ink.

Nevertheless, you were firm in your belief that you knew him inside and out. The tattoo could remain a mystery for all you cared.

But roses always came with thorns and you had to learn the hard way.

It had been a couple of weeks since you've last seen each other. Being a football superstar was cruel. What people don't see behind the glamour are all the lonely nights he spends away from your arms.

As soon as he saw you standing in the doorway of your shared condo, he instinctively wrapped his arms around you. He swayed you side-to-side, inhaling your scent that had dulled in his memory after all this time being apart from each other.

After being absent for so long, all he wanted was to sit back and relax with you—no fancy dinners or grand dates. None of that. All he wanted was to be cooped up in your arms until he fell asleep, only to wake up again in the morning.

You indulge him, of course. You wanted it too anyway.

Both of you were now sat on the sofa. It was one of those L-shaped sofas you'd see in home magazines. They were large, but the space was wasted on the two of you since you'd much rather be cramped together in a suffocating embrace. It was better that way.

You absentmindedly traced the black stems of his tattoo as you held him—as you always did. Although, it was a bit odd. Normally, at this point he'd be going in and out of sleep—fighting back the drooping of his eyelids so that he could keep talking to you.

But he was wide awake.

"You don't seem tired tonight huh?"

He huffs out. "Chugging 2 energy drinks after lunch wasn't the best idea."

"Seriously? 2? What for?" you asked, a bit puzzled.

"I figured it would give me enough energy to at least hang out with you a bit before dozing off again, but I miscalculated. That shit was strong..."

Oh... How can you be mad now?

You could only chuckle at his thoughtfulness. "We could always catch up in the morning, y'know? It's not like I'm gonna disappear."

"Eh, still," he retorts, stubborn as ever. "We haven't had a movie night in a long time anyway."

He a had point. Back then movie nights were frequent. Both of you loved it—chilling, eating popcorn, and watching a good flick before bed.

It was good timing. Before his long-awaited arrival, you had been planning on how to surprise him in little ways. You wanted to keep him on his toes and it just so happens you figured out a way to spice up movie night.

You downloaded a bunch of old romantic German movies. It would be a lot different from the usual movies that you'd watch, but he might appreciate watching a movie from his own country. He had a preference for English movies, that much you knew. It was the only thing he'd watch for some unknown reason.

Excited—you hopped off the couch at lightning speed, ready as ever to retrieve the hard drive with all your downloads. As soon as you set everything up, you were back in your earlier position with him on the sofa.

"What's up with the hard drive? You forgot to pay for your streaming account?"

You shook your head with a smile. "No, I just have a surprise~"

"Surprise huh?" A small smile formed on his face at the thought. What could be so surprising about a movie?

The film starts off with a pitch black screen before a soft song filters in. He quickly recognized that it was German—it was a German love song.

He only needed to hear that to know what the "surprise" was.

Kaiser bit his lower lip in anticipation, not that you knew what exactly he was anticipating in the first place.

He wanted to be wrong—so wrong. He hoped that he wouldn't have to see her. The woman with beautiful long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes... the woman who most resembled him.

His mother.

But fate had a funny way of curbing expectations because she was right there on screen, smiling at him.

How cruel was it that the movie you chose—out of all the German movies out there—it had to be this one.

You were quick to notice the resemblance too. The eyes... the smile... they were practically the same. Perhaps he was aware of it too with how he stiffened in your grasp.

But before you could point it out, he had excused himself. "I'll just go to the bathroom for a sec... don't wait up for me."

The sudden change of the air around him was one thing, but for him to let the movie playing without him was another. He'd always ask you to pause it if he had to leave even for a millisecond.

...Did you do something wrong?

Worry filled you to your bones. It was unusual, sure. Maybe you were overthinking it. But the longer you stayed alone on the sofa—in the darkness of the room—the less you believed that you were being melodramatic.

Maybe there was something wrong with the way he turned rigid upon seeing that woman. Maybe there was something wrong about the way he abruptly stood up and left.

Your thoughts got the best of you and you decided to check up on him. In his haste, Kaiser forgot to lock the door. So, there you were—standing by the door and staring at him.

There was something definitely wrong with the way he clutched the bathroom sink as he breathed raggedly.

You could see how his fingers turned white as he gripped his arm, almost as if clawing at the rose etched on his arm.

"What's wrong?"

Your voice snapped him back to reality. Truthfully, he didn't know what was wrong. He thought he had gotten over it all—how his mother left him and how his father treated him. But he was wrong.

There was a reason he avoided those kinds of films. He was scared she'd pop up... looking happy.. acting happy—in a world where she didn't have to be concerned with her own son.

But that's precisely it. He chose to run away from it all instead of confronting it. So now that he was faced with her after all this time of avoiding anything that evoked the concept of her—he broke down.

And he hated that he had to do it in front of you.

But it was involuntary. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

His silence told you enough—all you had to know was that he needed your embrace. To which, you indulge him again.

You cautiously made your way over to him, hovering your arms around him at first before finally pulling him into you. The air stilled around you and time stopped for a moment. Neither of you moved a muscle or spoke a word—feeling content to stay like this for however long.

Eventually, he let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. He turned around to face you, unbothered if you had to see how glassy his eyes became or if his mouth was fixed in a frown.

All this suspense caused a pit to form in your stomach. Your chest felt hollow and your hands were clammy. If he stayed silent another second longer, the water works would've kicked into high gear.

"Sorry... did I scare you?" he asked while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

Sniffling a bit, you wiped your eyes as if tears have already rolled down—though, it definitely felt as if it had. "I... no, I was just worried about you. What's wrong? Please tell me."

The way you pleaded at him clenched his heart painfully. Kaiser pulled you in, planting your face into his chest. His hand caressed your hair with his chin poking the top of your head as he embraced you softly.

"Do you believe in the impossible?" he asked.

All train of thought stopped in an instant. You didn't like that this confrontation you were having was slowly turning into one of those philosophical discourse about the meaning of life and whatnot. All you wanted to know was what happened to him—plain and simple.

"That woman on the screen," he continued. "That was my mother."

The normal reaction would be shock, but it made sense. Perhaps this wasn't developing into that philosophical discourse you dreaded.

"Back then I thought I'd never have to see her in person. Maybe in one of her films, but in the flesh? I would only dream of it. But then..." he chuckles, reminiscing of the past. "Not long after that thought... I came across her on the street. Well, more like I was loitering and she was surrounded by fans while she made her way into a hotel."

His expression dropped at the recollection of such a bittersweet memory. "She never looked my way. She only smiled at the people vying for her attention. But it's funny isn't it?"

You had no idea what was so humorous about it. The revelations were coming too quick for you to let it all sink in. Silence was the only response available from you.

"Then, a week after that, the police took me away from my father." He lets out a stifled laugh out of disbelief. "And back then I thought I'd never get away from him."

"The impossible always seems to happen," he adds.

His past was just too sad, almost like it was taken from a sappy telenovela. But the fact that it was real rendered you speechless. All you could do was hug him tighter to show him that you were still with him.

With an ear to his chest, you could hear how his heartbeat went from erratic to steady. Letting that all out had calmed him down, thankfully. You felt yourself growing relaxed as well. Your eyes wandered to his arm—to the rose that entangled his limb.

To answer his question earlier—no, you didn't believe in the impossible. It's called impossible for a reason. But the sincerity in his voice had you thinking otherwise.

Blue roses... those are impossible too, you thought to yourself as your eyes trailed his tattoo. It could be another one of your silly theories, but the coincidence was hard to deny.

His hands stopped caressing your head, choosing to find purchase on your lower back instead. This prompted you to look up at him and the sheepish smile on his face.

"And..." he started again. "I thought it would be impossible for me to be loved..."

"Yet, here you are."

[🐟]: HELP THIS IS SO CHEESY I'M SORRY. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT BUT I GOT CARRIED AWAY.

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

o-sachi © 2024

[mustainegf]

Ok hear me out

Having a bet with james and that leads to marathon sex

💙

This is SUCHH a good idea I love this so so much

It all started with a simple bet. James and I had been lounging around the apartment on a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind where the hours seem to stretch endlessly, and you find yourself inventing ways to entertain each other.

We had been playfully bickering over something trivial, who was the better cook, I think, and in a burst of competitive spirit, I challenged him to a cook-off, of sorts.

The winner would get to decide what the loser had to do.

We spent the next hour or so in the kitchen, trying to outdo each other with our culinary skills.

In the end, after much laughter and a few minor disasters, we called it a draw. But instead of ending the game there, James had a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Alright,” he said, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “How about this: we see who can last longer in bed tonight. The loser has to do whatever the winner says for the entire day tomorrow.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, feeling a thrill of excitement at the challenge. “You’re on, Hetfield,” I replied, grinning.

When We finally climbed into bed, it wasn’t long before the playful banter turned into something much more heated.

James was always the dominant one in our dynamic, and tonight was no different. He pulled me close, his hands roaming over my body, and I could feel the heat pooling low in my belly.

“Ready to lose?” he murmured against my ear, his voice low and husky.

I laughed softly, running my fingers through his hair. “You wish.”

He kissed me deeply, his tongue exploring my mouth with a need that left me breathless.

His hands moved with ease, stripping me of my clothes until I lay bare beneath him.

I could feel his cock, hard and ready, pressing against my thigh, and I couldn’t help but reach down to stroke him, relishing the way he groaned at my touch.

James pulled away just long enough to shed his own clothes, and then he was back, his body pressing me into the mattress.

He positioned himself between my legs, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at me.

“You have no idea how much fun I’m gunna have with you,” he said, his voice rough with need.

I bit my lip, arching my back to press closer to him. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement.

With a firm, steady thrust, he entered me, and I gasped at the sensation of him filling me completely.

James was big, and no matter how many times we did this, I always felt a delicious stretch as he pushed inside me.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hands gripping my hips as he began to move.

I couldn’t help but whine, the pleasure rising quickly with each thrust.

James set a relentless pace, his cock driving into me at a force that made my toes curl. I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him deeper, and he responded by angling his hips just right to hit that perfect spot inside me.

“Fuck, James,” I cried out, my nails digging into his shoulders.

He grinned down at me, his expression one of smug satisfaction. “You like that, baby?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. James was relentless, to say the least, his thrusts hard and fast, the promise of release just out of reach.

He leaned down, capturing my lips in a bruising kiss, and the added friction pushed me over the edge.

I came with a cry, my body tensing and then shuddering around him. But James didn’t stop. He kept moving, drawing out my orgasm until I was a quivering mess beneath him.

“That’s one point for me,” he murmured against my ear, his voice filled with smug satisfaction.

I laughed breathlessly, my fingers tangling in his hair. “You’re not done yet.”

“Not even close,” he replied, his hips still moving with that continuous force.

We kept going, the night dragging on as we tested each other’s limits.

James was tireless, his stamina seemingly endless, and I found myself giving in to the sex over and over again.

Every time I thought I couldn’t possibly take any more, he found a new way to push me further, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of my body.

At one point, he pulled me onto his lap, his hands guiding me as I rode him. The new angle forcing shakes of pleasure through me, and I could feel yet another orgasm building.

“Fuck, James,” I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders for support.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire. “Come on, baby. Show me how good you can be.”

That was all the encouragement I needed. I moved faster, chasing that elusive high, and when it finally hit, I cried out his name, my body vibrating with the force of it.

We had both cum so many times now, we’d definitely need to change the sheets. My stomach and inner things were smothered with his cum.

Eventually he gave up on pulling out, releasing in my over and over. My legs shook as my own juices flows down my legs.

James didn’t stop. He flipped us over, pinning me beneath him as he pounded into me. The room was filled with the sounds of our pleasure, the slap of skin against skin and the low, throaty moans that escaped his lips.

“God, you’re such a good girl,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.

I could only moan in response, my mind too foggy with pleasure to form coherent words. His cock drive into me perfectly.

“Tell me how much you love it,” he demanded, his voice rough.

“I love it,” I gasped, my nails clawing into his back. “I love you.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, his pace never faltering.

We lost track of time, the hours blending together as we gave in countless times.

He was utterly insatiable, his need for me evident in every pump, every touch, and I couldn’t get enough of him.

By the time the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, we were a knot of limbs, our bodies slick with sweat.

James had collapsed beside me, his breathing heavy, and I could feel the pleasant ache of satisfaction in every muscle.

He turned his head to look at me, a lazy smile on his lips. “I think it’s safe to say we both won. I think I lost count…”

I laughed softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “I think you’re right.”

James pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me as we settled into a comfortable silence. There was no need for words, no need to declare a winner.

I was perfectly content to stay right where I was, wrapped in the arms of the man I loved.

[mrkerina]

Sweet narcissism 𓍼 Na Jaemin

— (idol au) in which he makes another photo exhibition but this time, it’s dedicated to you.

Pairing — Na Jaemin (nct) x fem!reader

Word count — 2316

Content — you were never one to take photos of yourself so Jaemin did it all for you. He loves it, candid or not, he thought that you looked ethereal and wanted to show it off to the whole world.

M.list + Author’s note — yums this random idea popped into my head right when I was struggling to think of a plot! Though, I'm not sure if the execution is satisfactory, but anyways happy reading!

Liked by the_and.y, onyourm_ark and others

na.jaemin0813 Exhibition 2: sweet narcissism out on 12/10 — “Pictures from me, of you.”

View all 41,928 comments

jaenthusiast no bc wtf is this HARD ass launch? I’ve never seen anything like it

dongyuckss @jaenthusiast no fr like he came out of nowhere and decided to tell the world about his girl 😭 such a jaemin thing to do though

lomljaem what about me?? I’m unstanning 💀

jaenthusiast @lomljaem fam as if you had a chance in the first place, good riddance.

sungcultt I just know he treats her so right I can’t wait to see his descriptions to her pictures omg

Throughout the course of your friendship and later, relationship, Jaemin had always been the one who was there by your side. Whether it is snapping pictures of you, or simply basking in your presence, he was simply, undoubtedly, all-consumingly, in love with you.

From the slight crinkling of your eyes when you smile to the way your eyes seemed to sparkle in the light when you got excited, it was all the little things that made Jaemin fall for you, and hard. His hands always itches when he is with you, the urge to simply capture your beauty and turn the memory of you into something tangible — a photograph.

And that was the whole reason why it had even started, from the beginning when you told him that you didn’t really like to be in the camera in all the glitz and glamour. It seemed ironic that you ended up dating him, an idol, whose job is to be in front of a camera day in and day out.

However, in all of fate’s unpredictable and sly ways, you two eventually did fall for each other. With Jaemin capturing every essence of your dynamic, from when you first met to where you two were now.

Despite your incessant whining and excessive shyness whenever he held out a camera and signaled for you to pose, you still continued complying to his demands. A timid, small smile with your middle and index finger raised. It was basic, but you didn’t know anything else. Yet, no matter what, Jaemin still admires the picture with a lovesick grin after, claiming that you looked so “out of this world” to him.

Unknowingly, it progressed into an obsessive habit for him, or hobby. Wherever the two of you went, he’d always have something in hand to take pictures of you, albeit his phone or a full-blown professional camera. It gradually became his thing, snapping a picture whenever his hands were itching for it, candid or not, it was always perfect in his eyes, simply because it was you.

In all honesty, every single photo was equally treasured by the boy. The more he took, the greedier he got. It felt like such a pressing need to snap shots of you, it was one of the ways he showed his affection. And amidst all that, he grew the desire to show it all off to the world — the girl who belonged to him. After tireless fights and arguments with his company, they finally gave in.

That’s how the second part of his photo exhibition came about, “sweet narcissism” as he would call it.

“Seriously Jaem, you didn’t have to do so much for me just for my birthday, it’s literally still a whole month away,” you spoke as you let him lead the way with a blindfold shielding your vision. “Where are we even going anyways?”

A chuckle slipped past his lips, hushing you whilst his hand gently rested on the curve of your back, guiding you to enter the exhibit. The cool breeze of the air conditioner was the first thing you felt when you stepped in, followed by the muffled footsteps of Jaemin scrambling around. 

“You aren’t selling me to someone are you?” You joked as you stood there, self-conscious until a crisp, mechanical “click” sounded. The sound you were all too familiar with. “Are you seriously taking a picture of me right now? With a blindfold? That’s kinda kinky,” you exasperated. 

“You just look too cute you know,” he answered, a lightness to his tone. “Are you ready? You are going to be shocked, surprised, mind-blown, lost for words and-” he got cut off by your low grumble, hurrying him to just go along with it. “You’re no fun,” he sulked as he undid the knot of the blindfold.

You blinked your eyes, adjusting to the glaring lights that seemed to become brighter from being reflected by the pale white walls. Running a hand through your hair to tidy it up, you squint your eyes as you tried to figure out what was going on. He grasped your wrist, extending your palm out before placing an audio device in your hand with a set of earpieces attached to it. 

The moment it hit you, your shock was palpable, eyes trailing over the entire space in pure wonder. Your hand squeezing the device, a quiet excitement consumed you as you walked closer to look at the pictures hung on the walls and frames sprawled out neatly on the table. “I didn’t know you took this many pictures of me,” you mused, hand grazing the corner of the frame delicately. 

“Here you should listen to the audio while you look,” he stepped forward, untangling the earpiece. His finger gently tucking your hair behind your ear before placing the earpiece into your ear. A small dash of pink tinted your ears, lips curving up in appreciation.

Jaemin had a soft smile plastered on his face as he quietly watched you by the side, following you in anticipation of your reaction. “I like taking pictures of you, you’re really pretty,” he murmured before pointing towards one of the pictures as if to prove his point. “Look, you’re so carefree and smiley that it makes you look alluring,” he referred to one of the many candid shots.

“You’re exaggerating,” you dismissed as you continued to admire his work while listening to his deep, smooth voice that seemed to engulf all your senses – seeing and hearing everything from his perspective. He definitely had a knack at it, each picture felt like it had a purpose, filled with an overwhelming affection he had for you. Each picture held a story, the short descriptions earnestly spoken through the device, all carefully thought out by the boy. 

“Ohh that one is one of my favourites,” your boyfriend grinned, gesturing to the next picture as you continued on. This one felt more intimate, your hair slightly messy, your tongue stuck out slightly and your brows furrowed in concentration while your hands gripped the pan. One of the rare occasions that you cooked a meal for him. Your eyes trailed over to the details, your heart warming as you listened to the audio that came along with it, a tender smile growing on your face.

Number 12. I remember watching you take care of me after a hard day at work and thinking “wow I’m so lucky to have her as a friend.” And now here you are, as someone more than that.

In another one, you appeared to be looking down at your feet dipped into the water at the beach, a contented look plastered on your face. Behind you, the sun had begun to set and it seemed like he took this secretly, a fair distance away from where you were standing, basking in the serene atmosphere.

Number 16. On one of my rare days off, I took you to the beach, and the way your face lit up with excitement was everything. That smile never faded, not for a second, and in that moment, I made a quiet promise to myself — to do whatever it takes to keep that beautiful smile shining, always.

“I spent a lot of time thinking about what I should say for the descriptions, I just wanted to capture the way I see you, from my point of view,” he explained, a thoughtful expression on his face. You turned around, walking closer to him before wrapping your arms around his waist. Jaemin felt like he couldn’t breathe from the way you looked at him, like he was holding up the moon and stars, your expression brimming with affection and warmth that made his heart full. 

“It’s perfect,” you muttered reassuringly, a shy, thankful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I love you, a lot. I don’t think anyone has done this much for me before, just for my birthday,” you spoke pensively. 

A hint of smugness washed over his face which made you roll your eyes, a light giggle escaping your lips. “I love you more,” he paused, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards another room. “Anyways, there’s more. This one is a video, this one is just for you and not part of the exhibition which by the way I have to talk about it to you later,” he mumbled the last bit, “okay but first! Sit down and watch this amazing video I’ve put together.”

You sat down compliantly on one of the beanbags while Jaemin walked around to set it up. The longer you waited, the more impatient you got, anticipation bubbling in you for what was to come. The first thing shown on screen was Jaemin sitting in front of the camera with a wide beam plastered across his lips.

“Hello! Haha wait this is kinda awkward,” he scratched the back of his neck, “this video is just a collation of moments we’ve had together. I just wanted you to know that no matter how busy I get with my career, you’re always the one that I’m constantly thinking about. I guess this video is kind of for me to watch whenever I miss you while I’m on tour. Hehe anyways, I hope you enjoy and remember, I’ll always love you, my love.”

The first scene was one of the first few times you two met-up, right after Jaemin had gotten to know that you didn’t really take much pictures. He had grabbed his phone out just to tease you, recording a video with you whining throughout asking him to stop, though not quite convincingly enough. The video slowly progressed from when you two were friends till when you two started dating, every intimate moment captured and compiled into one. 

In another scene, your head was resting on his lap, his fingers that had previously been playing with your hair coming to a halt as he grasped the camera, angling it towards you. Your hair sprawled out across the span of his lap, eyes concentrating on the video you were watching on your phone. 

“No seriously, there was literally no reason for you to do that, why did you do that? Like um now the whole world is going to be fantasising over your abs, I mean at least I’m not alone at it but still imagine- hey are you recording me right now?” you paused your rant, glancing up at him only to see his camera being directly above your face. “Were you even listening?” you glared towards the lens. 

“Mhmm, all I hear is my baby being jealous,” he hummed, chuckling as he watched you sulk, stretching out a hand to cover the camera. “Hey, I was recording for future uses,” he frowned.

And the video ended with that. A sheen of moisture filled your eyes, blinking it back to not let a tear slip out. Jaemin came to your side, pulling you towards him, your head resting on his chest as he leaned back against the wall. He tenderly stroked your hair, fingers running through the strands. “So what do you think?” He queried, smiling down towards you which you reciprocated as you looked back up.

“I love it, the whole exhibition is perfect, impeccable, unmeasurable. It’s like the one you did for the dreamies,” you complimented. Realisation dawned as soon as you said that statement and saw the guilty look on his face. You raised an eyebrow at him, “wait…this is exactly like the one you did for the dreamies. You’re going to open it to the public aren’t you?”

It took a moment before he slowly nodded, a slight timidness washing over him. “I already did everything, it’s mostly for you, showing you off to the public is just a bonus. But that’s only if you are comfortable with it of course, I know you told me before when I casually bring it up as an idea that you wouldn’t mind but I’m asking for real this time,” he tilted his head as his eyes narrowed in on you, to show his seriousness this time. “If you aren’t comfortable with it, it’s really okay. I already showed it all to you and I think that’s enough for me.”

“I don’t mind, I trust you,” you replied simply, hand grasping his as you drew soothing circles on the back of his palm subconsciously. “Would your fans come and harass me though? That’s a really hard launch I can’t lie,” you chuckled. 

“I won’t let anyone touch you, and my company is making sure that nothing happens. Sorry, I’m just greedy to show you off to everyone. Also, did I mention that I’m planning to open it on your birthday, that’s why I’m showing it to you now so that I can get your consent, but seriously, if you don’t want to face all that you don’t have to-” he rambled, an overwhelming sense of pride and endearment made you lift your head up from his lap and give him a quick peck on his lips, cutting him off. “Oh,” his brain malfunctioned as he lost his train of thoughts, not expecting the kiss, though it lasted only for a fleeting moment.

“I told you, I trust you and I really don’t mind. I know it’s your hobby and I know you have an obsession with photos of me,” you reassured, a tinge of slyness to your voice. “I’m only comfortable when it’s you who is taking pictures of me so feel free to continue taking more alright, Jaem?”

He finally got pulled out of his stupor, a shit-eating grin taking over his lips once he processed the green light that you were handing over to him on a silver platter. “Of course. It is my pleasure to be your personal photographer, love.”

[gtsdreamer2]

Ever since your dad walked out on your family, you felt like you had a responsibility to your mom and sister to be the man of the house. You worked hard, studied hard, went to college while working a job that helped pay the bills, and it all paid off. You used your degree to dive into the tech industry and become a great inventor. Some of your inventions were taking off, and you were finally starting to see the fruits of your labor. That also meant that you could delegate some of your work to others now, which granted you enough free time to be able to work on pet projects and spoil your girlfriend, Katy. Sometimes, those two things coincided.

After a few tireless weeks of working 'round the clock in secret, you had finally finished your girlfriend's present. She was a retro soul with a 70s aesthetic, so you made her a special lava lamp. It was special because you had engineered some of your new tech into it. Katy had always had a waifish figure since you had known her, which, although you loved her just the same for it, made her very self-conscious both in the bedroom and out in public. The lamp that you had produced just for her was designed to emit special waves of energy to both grow her lacking assets and instill confidence in her, both through temporary mental manipulation and a renewed pride in her physical appearance.

You finally got home with your new toy when you got a ping on your phone to go out for drinks with your boys. 'What the hell, why not? I've been working my ass off. I deserve this.' you thought to yourself, setting the lamp on the kitchen counter before quickly changing and speeding off to the bars. Slamming the door as your left, you woke your sleeping mom, Cindy.

She came downstairs and into the kitchen and spotted the lamp on the counter. "Well this is cool. I haven't seen one of these in years!" She said, picking it up and examining it. "I bet Jake got it for me since my birthday is coming up. He definitely wouldn't have gotten this for himself. I'm so excited to set it up. It'll make a nice night light." Your mom scampered back up the stairs with the lamp and a glass of water in hand. She quickly downed her refreshment and plugged in the lamp, setting it on the dresser on the far side of the room before switching it on.

As it heated up, a warm glow filled the room. "Wow, it's giving off a lot of heat. I probably won't be able to use this in the summer, but its very comforting right now. As the lamp got hotter, so did your mom as she got cozy in bed. She dozed off while staring at the lamp's memorizing lava bubbles.

She couldn't remember her dreams, but they must have been wonderful. Cindy awoke with her panties soaked and wedged tightly against herself. She moaned and stretched, feeling a strange tightness all across her sleepwear. As she tossed and turned, trying to get her clothes to adjust, her nipples brushed the soft fabric of her PJs and elicited another, more sexual moan from her lips. She hadn't felt this turned on in years. It was like a long dormant fire had been lit. Turning on her side, Cindy put her legs around one of the extra pillows on the bed and started to aggressively hump herself to climax, biting her blanket to stifle her whimpers of pleasure all the while. Her sensitive nipples ached to be teased as she bucked. She eagerly obliged them as she snaked a hand under her top. She was so lost in her trance that she almost didn't realize that she was grabbing more breast than she should have had. Cindy was far too lost in pleasure at that moment as she humped and groped her sensitive body until she finally came hard into the pillow that she was abusing.

Sweat-speckled and panting, she finally released the poor pillow, covered with the evidence of your mom's much needed release. 'That was amazing.' She thought to herself, still trying to collect herself as she stood up from the bed. Her clothing still felt wrong on her as she made her way to the full body mirror in the bathroom.

As she looked herself up and down in the mirror, her jaw dropped. Her tits had grown. Her ass had plumped. Her head was slightly outside the frame of the mirror which was never an issue before this moment. "This is a lot." She said to herself, trying to take it all in. "I'm...a lot. I need coffee."

Cindy forced her soaked panties off her and discarded them into her laundry bin. She replaced them with a fresh pair that seemed to strain against the might of her new rear, but they fit, for now. A bra was out of the question, so she threw on a sweater by itself and then a part of leggings that couldn't cover her ankles and made her ass perk even higher. Checking herself out in the mirror again, she felt a wave of confidence as she tossed her sex hair from side to side. "I feel amazing this morning." She whispered before heading downstairs.

You awoke on your friend's couch, your natural body clock telling you that it was time to get up for work. "Shit." You cursed under your breath. You must have gotten too wasted last night. You pulled yourself together and got your things as quick as you could. You checked your phone and realized that you wouldn't have time to go home and would have to go straight to work. You wouldn't be home until late either. Sighing, you forced yourself out of your friend's house and into your car and then off to work.

Your sister came downstairs to find your mom humming to herself while doing the morning chores. She was loading the dishwasher, finishing breakfast, and sipping her coffee. She seemed different. Not just happier and peppier, but less...mom-like. She couldn't put her finger on it. "You're in a good mood this morning." She said. Sitting down to be served. Cindy quickly placed the spread before her.

"I know!" Your mom beamed back at your sister, Destiny, sitting down with her own, overloaded plate of food. "I feel amazing this morning." She dug into her breakfast, far more ravenously than she normally would have. She blamed it on the calories burned from touching herself that morning, conveniently trying to block out the obvious answer, which was that her increased assets caused the calorie deficit. Destiny sat there in disbelief of Cindy as the massive plate of food disappeared. She had no time to gawk as she had to get her things and get to her classes, however. Destiny said her goodbyes and left your mom home alone and to her own devices.

After clearing her plate and helping herself to everything that was leftover, she finally felt satisfied. She continued with her daily chores, cleaning around the house, vacuuming, tidying up the bathroom, normal motherly duties. Around midday, she finally started to feel sluggish and tired and returned to her room for an afternoon nap. That's when she remembered the lamp. "Oops" she said to no one. "I forgot to turn this off. Reaching for the lamp, she felt the warmth kiss her fingers before moving up her arm and then through her chest. Her nipples awoke and grew hard, pressing against her already too tight top. Instead of turning the lamp off, she instead put both her hands on it and lifted it up, holding it close to her chest. The warm feeling that had already started to completely envelop her intensified and she cooed at the feeling filling her body. As her body drank in the heat that was radiating from her new luminant gift, she could feel herself growing. Suddenly her nether regions had started to produce a heat of their own and she was reminded of the fun that she had gotten to have with herself that morning. Cindy then had a devilish idea. She unplugged the lamp from the outlet on the far wall and replugged it into the one by her nightstand. Peeling off her shrinking clothing, she crawled into bed and switched the lamp back on She sat with her back resting up against the headboard and her legs spread open and her feet touching In the center she placed the lamp, mere inches from her hungry snatch. Then as she was basking in the glow, she again began to pleasure herself. Cindy had no need to hold back her cries and moans in an empty house, so as she rubbed her needy clit, she wailed in ecstasy for the first time in countless years. Orgasm after orgasm shook through her as her growing body continued to become more and more sensitive.

"Fuck!" she cried out as another climax and subsequent growth spurt rattled through her. "Why does this feel so good? I just want more and more and more! There's no way this should be happening." Not that she was keeping track of how big she was growing, but she had long left the six foot mark behind. If she had kept her clothing on, it would have started ripping itself apart from her body by now. Groping her giant tits, she couldn't help but smile. "These have grown so huge! So big and sensitive! And my nipples!" She tugged on each of them in turn then, not daring to take a hand away from her needy needy cunt. With each buck of her hips, she could feel her feet sliding further and further towards the edge of the bed and then beyond as her head pressed up against and then crept up the headboard. She could feel her pillowy ass jiggle and bounce against the bed as her leg muscles continued to thicken. After what felt like her twentieth finish, her body was finally satisfied and she passed out, the lamp tipping forward and delicately landing between her lips. As she slept, the energy from the lamp poured into her, forcing her bigger and bigger in her sleep.

Work finally ended and you were heading home. You felt behind the whole day and had hardly a moment to yourself to think. Throwing your keys on the counter, they landed right where the lamp should have been. Immediately you were wide awake, mind racing. 'I forgot all about the lamp, fuck.' You thought frantically. 'There's no way that someone plugged it in right?' You crept down the hall to your sister's room first. Slowing cracking open her door, nothing seemed out of place. You gave a sigh of relief and shut her door.

Next came your mom's room. As you quietly opened her door, your heart immediately sank. She was naked in her bed and at least eight feet tall by now. Both hands gripping the lamp as she rhythmically humped against it in her sleep. You were horrified, but it was also hard to look away. Her body was producing dangerous pheromones, just like the lamp was designed to do. Luckily, you knew this and were conscious of them. As you snuck up to the side of her bed, the pheromones grew stronger. You quickly unplugged the lamp and the room darkened slightly, now only lit from the setting sun outside. You held your breath as you slipped the lamp out of her hands, careful not to wake her. Exiting the room, you finally let out a frustrated sigh and an audible "fuck" as your sister was closing the front door.

"Woah, what's the problem?" She said, immediately noticing that something was off. She set her school stuff down and walked over to you.

"It's mom. She took this" You said gesturing to the lamp in your hands "and now she's like eight feet tall."

"Well that's...something" Your sister says, clearly lost. "What's 'this'" she said pointing to what looked to her like a relic from the 70s.

"'This' is a present for Katy, but I had to run off to work this morning after being out all night. I guess mom took it to bed and plugged it in." You let out another exasperated sigh. "Katy is on her way here right now to come pick this up, but I need to go back to my lab to get what I need to fix mom. Hopefully before she wakes up. Can I trust you to hold onto it while I'm gone and give it to my girlfriend? I don't need mom waking up and using it again. It seems like it can get pretty addicting pretty quickly based on her size. Maybe it works a little too well. I think I'll grab some supplies to recalibrate it for Katy before I let her use it." You were talking to yourself at this point.

"I don't really know what's going on since she seemed pretty normalish this morning, but sure bro!" She said eager to help. "I promise I wont let mom use it while you're gone. You should hurry though, I don't know how long she's been asleep. And if she's eight feet tall, I don't think I'd be able to stop her anyway. You better fix this."

You pushed the lamp into her arms and quickly left for your lab, leaving your sister alone with your sleeping colossus of a mother. Setting the lamp on the counter, your sister crept over to your mom's room and cracked the door open. "Holy shit," she whispered, "she's huge!" Silently closing the door, Destiny quickly scooped the lamp up and brought it to her room, where she promptly undressed and plugged it into her nightstand. Sitting on her bed, she held the lamp between her petite breasts as it began to produce heat. "Come on, come on. I don't have much time before Katy gets here. I wanna grow, too. Make me bigger!"

[kairiscorner]

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

man... he's so annoying. and yet, so fucking dreamy.

summary: you were lauded as the only serious junior in the entire spider society. you did your work and loved doing it, you made no exceptions for any rules, not even for yourself. you loved order and civility, you fought hard in your universe to earn it, and you believed you deserved it here in the spider society and tried your hardest to uphold it. but when he showed up... you were gonna have a problem.

word count: 1,222 (crazy)

a/n: might be part 1 of something, or a oneshot, who knows !

you loved being a spider person, though of course, you'd never show it. you were looked up to by anyone who was anyone, everyone wanted to be like you. you upholded the law and ideals of society as a spider person, who'd've thought for your city to be civilized, all they needed was a spider-themed hero and they'd all bow down and listen?

it was because of your amazing abilities, tireless determination to serve and protect the people of your hometown that you were sought out by the spider society and became one of theirs. and you were the damn best at it. you found a new pleasure and hobby in beating up bad guys, being spotted over roofs of abandoned buildings, being pointed and gasped at by onlooker civilians, and saving the day as a friendly neighborhood spider person.

life was great like this, it followed one, linear path that everyone else did. it was the perfect pastime, the perfect job for you. you made a few friends and got along real well with jess and peter b, you had dibs on being jess' kid's mentor when it'd be born, and mayday absolutely loved you. you were peter b's go-to for a babysitter if he had to leave for a mission or go on a date night with mj. you were a trusted kid at the spider society, the adults had never met a kid as serious, responsible, and hard-working as you.

it was pure bliss, being part of the spider society.

until he showed up.

the moment he came in, you swore you heard a loud electric guitar strum reverberate throughout the halls. you felt the vibrations of it in every bone and muscle of your body, this guy couldn't have bothered you any worse. you groaned at the noise, asking others around you who that was. they shrugged, must've been some newbie, not that you cared, you just hoped they'd keep it down.

you cared for order and civility, and you found that in the spider society. despite there being some rogue ones and rebellious folks, you found yourself getting along with most of them. but you had a feeling that this newbie who made himself known through his flashy one note show might get on your nerves a little if he keeps that behavior consistent, but you digressed.

as you went over to the lobby to see what all the fuss was about, you soon heard another ear-piercing noise. it wasn't just one note that was playing now, it was a whole metal song. to make matters worse, some drummer girl joined him in, contributing to the noise.

"who the hell?" you asked yourself as you spotted a spiked spider man masked person with a black leather vest, buttons and pins adorning the lapels of it, with dark spider-doodled pants and long black boots with mismatched laces, yellow on the right and blue on the left. his mask had what appeared to be a runny look to it, the lenses of their mask ran down a little by the ends. their entire apparel screamed anarchy and chaos. and you loathed it.

"who's ready to overthrow an oppressive regime with me? an oppresive regime of boredom in this whole building!" the newbie's voice exclaimed. it was deep, yet smooth; it had a fluidity to it, almost as if he could say anything, and one would immediately listen, no questions asked. soon, everyone around you who was watching was buzzing as the guy played a loud metal song for all to hear. many were cheering for him and encouraging him to keep playing, but you soon noticed many of these people were on patrol duty. and many of them looked like they were more invested in this nutcase's impromptu performance over work, work that saves the multiverse, you thought as you reminded yourself.

"okay, people, this is cool and all, but we have work to do." you said as you tried to get the onlookers near you to listen to you, but it was for naught. none of them heard you over the incessant cheering, howling, and music in the air. you huffed as you shook your head, put your mask on, and swung over to the makeshift stage they had that was made of wooden crates and cardboard boxes laying around.

as the guy was strumming away on his electric guitar, showing no signs of giving out, you took the mic away. "okay, this was a good show and all, but we have work to do." you announced yet again, which earned the groaning and disappointment of a lot of people.

"yeah, yeah, groan as much as you want, that won't stop mr. o'hara from freaking out at us the minute he comes back and sees this whole... gathering." you say, trying to quell the audience's thirst for more excitement.

"well, aren't you a prissy one?" asked the newbie with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. you rolled your eyes. "what you did just hindered a whole lot of people from their responsibilities here, newbie." you told him in a stern voice as you frowned at him, expecting him to be mature about this if he was recruited as a spider man.

he laughed as he thanked the drummer girl for her performance as she was packing up to leave, and turned to look back at you with a smirk from underneath his mask. "you're real cute for that, upholding orders from higher-ups you so badly want to please. that's not being a spider person, though. more like being... an obedient little dog." he teased as he bent over a little to look you in the eye.

up close, he was much, much taller than you, much bigger in nearly ever aspect. you gulped a little, but your frown and angry expression remained. "say what you want, my judgement stands. i'm also more experienced than you here, so if you want to survive, you listen to me." you whispered as he leaned in closer to you, smirk widening.

he took off the mask, and you were surprised to see just how many piercings he had, you didn't even have any piercings for earrings at the bottom of your ears, yet he had... so many. he grinned at you as he ran a hand through his thick hair in wicks. "i think i can manage on my own, little doggy." he teased as he ruffled your hair and chuckled a low chuckle.

"i mean it though, it's cute. if you wanna be more than just a little dog for the higher-ups, though... you'll know where to find me." he said with a wink as he put the mask back on and swung away.

you were left alone now, thinking about who you just met. he was, of course, rebellious and disorderly, everything you weren't aspired never to become. you knew nothing good came out of a discordant lifestyle like his, no matter how little you knew of him, you knew one thing.

"man, he's so annoying..." you complained aloud as you took the mic and hopped off the makeshift stage, ready to clean it up before the adults got back. 'and yet, so... dreamy.'

oh dear, looks like he's gonna be quite the pain in the ass for you.

lmk if i should keep this going babes, i loved this idea sm, thank you to my friend on the dc server for the idea :DD

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04 @pixqlsin @k4tsu3 @nokkihy @fictarian @bivivivii

[covid-safer-hotties]

Long Covid activist Meighan Stone didn't want to take her mask off. After pressuring her multiple times, an ER nurse called security on her. This public health failure happened at Sibley Hospital in D.C. These incidents are happening on a regular basis now as mask bans and proposals spread from L.A. to New York. You're not going to hear much about it in the news. When you do, it's framed as a problem for the vulnerable, with blue fascists freely associating masks with crime and hate.

None of the handful of stories that discuss these mask bans mention that we're currently in the middle of a deep Covid surge, at a million cases a day. None of them talk about mask bans in the context of Long Covid in adults and children.

A widely cited study declaring "strikingly low" rates of Long Covid in children was recently retracted due to major flaws in methodology. The researchers who pushed for this retraction are heroes and champions of truth.

Is the media covering that?

Not really.

To their credit, Time did recently run a very important piece on Long Covid in children, focusing on a recent study published in JAMA.

Here's the highlight:

They estimated that 20% of the previously infected younger children and 14% of the previously infected adolescents met that threshold [for diagnosis]. Kids infected before the Omicron wave were especially likely to fall into the Long COVID category. Those numbers are higher than some previous estimates—for example, a recent U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention report concluded that only about 1% of U.S. kids had had Long COVID as of 2022. But other studies have come to similar conclusions, estimating that somewhere between 10% and 20% of kids who catch COVID-19 will develop long-term complications.

Media outlets like USA Today and NBC are also covering this study. For once, major news networks are devoting attention to something that deserves it. Of course, they're doing it after years of running stories blaming children's school performance and developmental delays on smartphones and lockdowns.

Earlier this year, The New York Times published a misleading, biased story on the "long-lasting" harm of school closures. And The Washington Post recently ran a story also blaming absences on everything except Long Covid and immune system damage. Even Education Week has run pieces attributing weak academic performance to school closures and stress, not the virus itself. It's like shooting fish in a barrel. Pick a magazine or newspaper and you'll find stories like these, but very few talking about the ongoing harm of exposing children and teenagers to Covid. The ones that do are almost always sitting behind a paywall.

Absence speaks louder than words, and not just about Covid.

In 2022, barely 1 percent of all corporate television focused on climate change. That was, in fact, a record high. A year later, it fell 25 percent. That was 2023, the year we surpassed 1.5C of warming for all practical purposes. It was the hottest year in recorded history, and also the worst year for climate disasters, costing us $600 billion in the U.S. alone. Entire countries shut down because it was too hot for work or school. All that, and the corporate media spent even less time talking about the problem. Meanwhile, one columnist after another published long screeds against doomers and fearmongers, insisting that we still had plenty of time to turn things around.

A compelling piece by Ryan Hagen breaks down the unsettling relationship between western news media and the fossil fuel industry. As he points out, internal reports from companies like Exxon celebrate their campaign to turn liberal news outlets like The New York Times in favor of their own industries, convincing the public they were working hard to shift toward renewable energy when the plan was always to use it like icing on top of a cake made out of coal.

Tireless work by Amy Westervelt has chronicled the impact of these campaigns. As her research shows, climate change has morphed from a topic that 80 percent of the public felt an urgency about to, now, a divisive issue and a point that most people would rather not talk about. On top of that, think tanks like the Atlas Network have made a major push to criminalize peaceful climate protests and turn public opinion against activists. A Yale study found that more than 60 percent of Americans hardly ever hear anything about climate change now.

And if you bring it up...

You're a doomer.

There has been a concerted effort across the internet to paint anyone who actually cares about the future as a deeply unhinged fearmonger. Meanwhile, social media giants like Meta have relentlessly censored information about Long Covid.

Have you noticed?

Nate Bear pulled the curtain back on how the media works roughly a year ago. As he puts it, "A lot of the stories you see in the headlines are the result of a PR agency. And depending on the news, the PR agent might not send out a release en-masse but “sell in” the story as an exclusive to just one outlet... Every day a proportion of all news you read starts at just a handful of these agencies."

PR firms are constantly wooing journalists, creating an atmosphere where conflict of interest is more of a feature than a bug.

Caitlin Johnstone did a thorough breakdown of mass media bias. Perhaps the most egregious example: MSNBC reporter Krystal Ball leveled blunt but accurate criticism of Hillary Clinton's 2016 campaign and correctly predicted that she would lose against Donald Trump because of all her neoliberal baggage. In response, the Clinton campaign threatened the entire network "not to provide any access during the upcoming campaign." The head of the network told Ball that she "could still say what I wanted, but I would have to get any Clinton-related commentary cleared with the president of the network."

So, she couldn't say whatever she wanted.

Right?

Johnstone cites a piece by Jeff Cohen in Salon that also outlines the peer pressure, groupthink, and careerism that dominates the newspapers, magazines, and mainstream news networks in the U.S.

As she further explains:

Journalists either learn how to do the kind of reporting that will advance their careers in the mass media, or they don’t learn and they either remain marginalized and unheard of or they get worn down and quit.

Christopher Hedges, who left The New York Times after a written reprimand for criticizing the Iraq War, has gone on to describe in disturbing detail how the U.S. media caters to the Israeli government, continually overlooking its war crimes. An outspoken critic of U.S. policy, Hedges has endured persecution for speaking the truth, including the cancellation of his news program for defending other writers and real journalists from charges of antisemitism.

Another outspoken critic, Mehdi Hasan, was dropped from MSNBC for speaking out over Palestine. As Sharon Zhang wrote after the decision, "Hasan has been one of the only news anchors on a major broadcast outlet speaking up against Israel's brutality." He was also one of the few news anchors who told the truth about Covid. As Hasan recently made clear in The Guardian, it's imperative for Democrats to take a stronger, pro-humanitarian stance on Gaza and break with Biden's approach, which has sparked outrage and disgust across the left.

Hasan makes a remarkable point in this column, looking to history for cues about how Democrats need to act to ensure history.

It's not vibes.

It's guts.

Nobody really remembers Hubert Humphrey, LBJ's vice president who lost the 1968 election to Richard Nixon by about a percentage point. It's a lesson worth talking about. Humphrey was losing badly because he couldn't stand up to his own party, the Democrats, who were actually very, very pro-Vietnam War. He managed to close the gap considerably in the 11th hour of the race, finally standing up to his own party and promising to end the war if he became president. Hasan wonders what would've happened if he had trusted his gut sooner.

Well, history gives us a few clues. After all, Nixon did end the war. In the decades since, the Vietnam War has gone down in history as one the biggest mistakes the U.S. ever made. Psychologists use it as a case study of entrapment in escalating conflicts. It's a touchstone used to rate our other failures.

Time and again, history tells us that doing the right thing actually serves political expedience far more than vibes.

Democrats could ensure a landslide victory if they would just take a clear stance on our biggest threats and challenges. They could be honest about Covid. They could stand up against mask bans. They could stand up against genocide. They could renew their promise to take on climate change.

We're not seeing that.

Instead, we see the same groupthink and indirect censorship that dominates the news media. It's not a surprise, given how entwined they've become.

Look at what's happening to Taylor Lorenz.

Outlets like The Washington Post and NPR, who pride themselves on their devotion to democracy and diversity, have assailed Lorenz for referring to Biden as "a war criminal" in a private social media post.

Here's the worst part of NPR's story:

Lorenz has also courted controversy, online, in print, and in real life. During the peak of the pandemic, and since its ebb, she has inspired mockery from conservatives over her insistence on wearing masks, even outdoors. She has cited autoimmune issues as the reason.

Look at the verbs here. Far from objective, they describe Lorenz as "insisting" on wearing a mask "even outdoors," and then frame her autoimmune issues not as a reality but as a reason, almost an excuse. For the record, multiple studies have shown that Covid spreads outdoors, especially at crowded events.

This is what writers and real journalists deal with as they try to do the right thing. It's disturbing to watch.

Both Jared Yates Sexton and Sarah Kendzior have expressed an ambivalent reluctance to get on board with the vibes as the DNC hosts their national convention. The kindest thing Sexton can say is that "It was a masterful feat of political theater" as organizers clambered to put down pro-Palestinian protests during speeches and tilted cameras away from violence and toward more soothing, therapeutic shots of Tim Walz with his family.

As Kendzior writes, "Today both the Democratic and Republican parties operate on cult logic, which means they sometimes have the same policies, but wrapped in different rhetoric--because cultists will abide anything so long as their leader is the one pushing it. Policies they would protest if they were carried out by the other side are suddenly deemed acceptable when pushed by their own."

The same goes for media coverage.

It's worth pointing out that Kamala Harris no longer supports a ban on fracking. She no longer supports a single-payer healthcare system, otherwise known as "Medicare for all" which would provide healthcare access to everyone. Her stance on border patrol and police funding have all shifted right. The media signs off on it, saying "Progressives said they’re disappointed but still support her as she works out the best strategy to defeat former President Donald Trump — even if it means leaving their cause behind."

But it's not just causes getting left behind.

It's human beings.

Is it simply a desire or a wish that nurses don't call security on us because we want to wear masks at an ER, like Meighan Stone? Do we have to leave our human rights behind so we can ensure our human rights?

Do we have to lay down our lives for vibes?

That's the current groupthink.

So there you have it.

The media doesn't report the truth. They spend about 1 percent of their time on things that actually matter. Politicians cater to an underinformed public, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy that leads to nurses calling security on immunocompromised patients for wearing a mask, while newspapers and networks fire real journalists for daring to do their jobs.

It's really something, isn't it?

It doesn't help when readers and viewers complain anytime someone salts their mood with the truth. In an era where free, independent content matters more than ever, it's also harder than ever to come by. How are content creators supposed to tell the truth or talk about things that matter when they're constantly being reprimanded, penalized, and punished every time they try?

We desperately need a free press, and we need a public that supports a free press and not silos of dueling echo chambers.

You get what you support.

It's that simple.

[enavstars]

Cyberpunk au characters (Part 2)

Details:

Jay

He lives in the city junkyard with his parents Ed and Edna, who work as tinkers and scrap sellers; he got his passion for engineering from them.

When he was a kid, he got extremely sick with a deadly disease that was very difficult to treat. In the shitty society that is the city, his parents could not afford the safest medicines to cure him, so they were forced to risk it and buy a cheaper version from a not so reliable seller.

Unfortunately, even though he did survive and recovered, the medicine was mixed with a drug that had an unexpected side effect: he began to lose feeling on one of his legs until eventually he lost control over it entirely.

Rather than having him to deal with an unresponsive leg, to help their son deal with his disability Ed and Edna decided to spend all the resources they could spare to build him a prosthesis and amputate the flesh, and, after a few months of tireless work, the family’s joint efforts were able to get him walking again.

As a silver lining to this traumatic incident, though, he discovered his passion for technology and realized his aspiration: he wanted to make bionic prosthesis to help other people forced to go through the same kind of situation as his. But his family did not have the proper technique nor the resources to teach him (it had been hard enough just to make a single rudimentary leg), so it was after meeting Nya and eventually telling her about his goal that he finally got the opportunity to learn from an expert. Although he was intimidated by Ronin at first, the two of them grew fond of each other almost like an uncle and his nephew (yes he's become a literal wine uncle).

To this day, the man is (secretly) very proud of his boy and thankful he got him doing something useful again after his retirement.

The anecdotes with these gangs happen when they are older:

Morro

He’s the leader (alive and in flesh) of one of the many, many city gangs; particularly one known for their violent tendencies. For the area’s criminal standards, they are in fact relatively tame, because at least they do not ever mess with other arguably more serious criminal activities like drug dealing or pimping. They do like, however, beating the shit out of people for barely any reason at all (most of the time, just to “assert dominance” lmao).

One time, this habit came back to bite them in the ass when Morro decided it would be a good idea to mess with Lloyd. Obviously, underestimating him and the RGB as a whole just for being weird Outsiders was a terrible mistake, because as soon his brother caught wind of the situation, the fool got to taste Kai’s vengeful fury :).

As a result of that encounter, both Morro and Kai got VERY badly beaten, but finally the RGB got famous for being Those People You Don’t Mess With.

Harumi

The leader of THE most dangerous of the city gangs, known as the Sons of Garmadon (le wink), a cult-like criminal organization whose ideology is basically “survival of the fittest”. In fact, she is so obsessed about demons that she even wears pointy ear accessories to mimic their ears.

The organization itself is almost like a mafia, being at the center of most of the worst shit that goes on in the city. Of course, she loves being the head of all this attention, and she prides herself in being the deadliest and most cunning gang leader of them all.

On one occasion, after learning about the RGB’s (aka the outsiders) reputation of being tough as shit and hard to get advantage of, she figured it would be best to form an alliance with them to expand her contacts and (secretly) keep them in check. However, upon arranging a meeting with their leader, Kai, he is able to discern her true intentions. For this reason, when she eventually oversteps their agreement to try to manipulate the group, he is ready to confront her, and the siblings end up beating the shit out of her, marking the first time the great boss Harumi has ever been beaten up badly (by our queen Nya) and defeated in her scheming :).

Brad (le Greenflawa cuz why not)

Since back when he was a kid, he's been part of a little group of orphans named the Darklys, who like to pull pranks and cause trouble in general.

However, back then it used to be a lot more harmful than it is today, as the children were not completely aware of the damage they were causing. In fact, Brad himself was still an entitled brat, so much so that the first time he met little Lloyd ("Green"), the first thing that came out of his mouth was "Outsider, bow before me!". But it was due to Lloyd's deadpan response (he's used to his brothers being crazy stupid) and the awkward relationship that grew from it that Brad eventually realized that his bratty attitude was not getting him anywhere, and that little gangs' pranks were actually harmful.

So by the time he gets older, his gang is reformed to a more tame biker gang who only really pull harmless pranks from time to time. Brad himself is a far calmer person, but he still holds on to some problematic aspirations:

At one point he became fixated on the idea of him and his gang to join the Sons of Garmadon out of oblivious admiration. It was so bad that only Green was able to convince him, and only after having a pretty serious argument with him about how vicious and deadly they could be and how wild their insane leader's influence had become. But the stubborn Brad was not completely convinced, until in the end, Green managed to get through to him by emphasizing how his life would be in constant danger if he joined the literal most dangerous criminals in town. Most importantly, he confessed just how important of a friend he was to him, to which Brad, insecure and doubting his words, quietly replied that he didn't even know his true name. Right before leaving, though, Green offhandedly revealed his name to him, and Brad, left speechless, became the first person in years to learn his real name.

Long story short, he realized he was being stupid and was rewarded with massive gay panic :)

[elia-nymmeros]

Cersei and her vision of ruling

I waited, and so can he. I waited half my life. She had played the dutiful daughter, the blushing bride, the pliant wife. She had suffered Robert's drunken groping, Jaime's jealousy, Renly's mockery, Varys with his titters, Stannis endlessly grinding his teeth. She had contended with Jon Arryn, Ned Stark, and her vile, treacherous, murderous dwarf brother, all the while promising herself that one day it would be her turn. If Margaery Tyrell thinks to cheat me of my hour in the sun, she had bloody well think again.

I love thinking about Cersei and her inefficient and ultimately doomed attempt at ruling because, beyond her faults and terrible traits as a person, she simply does not offer any valuable incentive towards anyone who wishes to follow her, as opposite to other contestants (something that I think 100% comes from Tywin), and any attempt at ruling would've failed sooner or later.

Edit: added some quotes to show some examples and tweak some stuff!

From AGoT all the way through her PoVs in AFfC, one of Cersei's main characteristics both in her personal approach to other people and in the way she tackles ruling is that she believes she's entitled to power and she's entitled to be treated as superior both as a Lannister and as the queen regent of Westeros. She routinely dismiss and berates people with lesser social power and status, she despises people who try to 'take liberties' and who don't treat her as an untouchable regent, and she's willing to hurt, torture and kill anyone who she considers a threat to her claim to rule. I personally think it's understandable that she's paranoid about traitors and people who have double intentions about her and Tommen —especially considering that in AFfC she literally just saw her son die in her arms by poison— but her problem is that she's a bad judge of character, she's been flawed in how she interprets other people's actions since AGoT, and she's incapable of adequately judging who is on her side and who is a bad option for an ally (see for example her thinking that Kevan was a traitor when he made good criticism about her as a ruler).

"The next Hand will know his place, she promised herself. It would have to be Ser Kevan. Her uncle was tireless, prudent, unfailingly obedient. She could rely on him, as her father had. The hand does not argue with the head. She had a realm to rule, but she would need new men to help her rule it. Pycelle was a doddering lickspittle, Jaime had lost his courage with his sword hand, and Mace Tyrell and his cronies Redwyne and Rowan could not be trusted. For all she knew they might have had a part in this. Lord Tyrell had to know that he would never rule the Seven Kingdoms so long as Tywin Lannister lived." AFfC, Cersei I

For me, a very hard truth about Cersei is that she absolutely suffered physical and sexual abuse from Robert, and she did not deserve neither this nor her perpetual objectification by pretty much every men in her life, but this simply does not make her entitled or eligible as a ruler by default. By Westerosi laws —which are undoubtedly misogynistic and unfair to women no matter their ability to rule— her claim as a Queen regent comes by her marriage to Robert and her sons (which are supposed to be Robert's blood). Since she decided to go all girlboss about it and put the two sons who clearly did not have Robert's blood on the throne, she actively harmed their claim and her own, and she literally created a succession crisis by having the bad luck of marrying the one family with strong genes and zero chance of having blondes in their family tree.

But let's say, alright, put the clearly Lannister boys on the throne anyways, kingship is a social construction and the Baratheons didn't really have any more intrinsic claim to Westeros than the Targaryens other than military might, fuck it; the obvious question is, what am I offering my subjects so that their support is rewarded and their loyalty is secured? This is something that, in some way or another, is answered by the other pretenders in the War of the Five Kings, even if it's in a limited capacity and with very dubious intentions: Robb offers a rule from, by and to the Northern people that takes into account their wishes and reclaims, and also offers the people of the Riverlands justice and protection; Balon offers the Ironborn a new, revitalized rule over the islands and surrounding land with the Old Way which he claimed would improve the life of his people; Renly and his alliance with the Tyrells came with the prosperous wealth of the Reach and offers of food, pardons and a generous rule by a charismatic ruler mimicking Robert's long peaceful reign. Stannis, by contrast, is the one who pushes his claim solely by his rights in Targaryen dynastic succession (if the king dies with no legitimate children, the crown should go to the next eldest brother), and we see over and over throughout the saga that this isn't enough to secure his claim, that a ruler should also fulfill their rights as a protector if they wish to be followed, that he was demanding loyalty and obedience without offering something in return and that this won't give you support no matter how legal is your claim.

"If not for my Hand, I might not have come at all. Lord Seaworth is a man of humble birth, but he reminded me of my duty, when all I could think of was my rights. I had the cart before the horse, Davos said. I was trying to win the throne to save the kingdom, when I should have been trying to save the kingdom to win the throne." ASoS, Jon XI

Compared to all this, Cersei (and Joffrey by extension, because she encourages in him what she believes are good traits for a king) simply did not have anything to offer precisely because they live under the illusion —once again coming from Tywin— that they have the intrinsic right to power and ruling simply because they're Lannisters and they should be obeyed because of this. This would be a normal thing to believe in a normal, regular dynasty —for example, I doubt Aegon IV or Viserys I or Maekar I were particularly thinking about what they could offer to their subjects, they simply gained power because they were part of a royal lineage where a Targaryen man inheriting the throne was expected— but Joffrey's claim came from a break of this succession, and Robert justified his reign both by being the descendant of a Targaryen and also because he offered Westeros peace, protection, justice and mercy if you'd been in the wrong side of the war.

""It is, Your Grace," Lady Merryweather agreed. "The High Septon should have come to you. And these wretched sparrows . . ." "He feeds them, coddles them, blesses them. Yet will not bless the king." The blessing was an empty ritual, she knew, but rituals and ceremonies had power in the eyes of the ignorant. Aegon the Conqueror himself had dated the start of his realm from the day the High Septon anointed him in Oldtown. "This wretched priest will obey, or learn how weak and human he still is."" AFfC, Cersei VI

A lot can be said about Robert's rule and what he did right and wrong, but I think one can admit that he was a man capable of pardoning his enemies' lives unconditionally (think Barristan, Balon, Jaime), he put down disagreements and fights without sending someone to be tortured to death, and traditional customs in Westeros were respected —Aerys' rule was contested precisely because he broke the right of nobles to have a trial. Cersei doesn't simply ignore all this, being particularly vicious, cruel and spiteful to her enemies/rivals even after she supposedly made peace with them, but nothing about her rule is about anything except her and her wishes: if there's a scarcity of food, then she hoards everything to herself; if there's danger to the city, she hides herself and withdraws her resources and fuck the rest of the population, noble or not; if someone comes from the rival side wanting to join their cause, then they're suspected traitors who sooner or later will be put to death; if someone says a criticism about her actions, whether genuine or not, then that person is a traitor who sooner or later will be put to death; everyone is her enemy and everyone wants her power for themselves and nobody can ever be trusted because nobody is as smart, capable, worthy and deserving of power as Cersei is.

"It took the rest of the flagon before the queen was finally able to coax the whole sad tale out of Lady Falyse. Once she had, she did not know whether to laugh or rage. "Single combat," she repeated. Is there no one in the Seven Kingdoms that I can rely upon? Am I the only one in Westeros with a pinch of wits? (...)" AFfC, Cersei VII

"Taena had drifted back to sleep by the time the queen returned to the bedchamber, her head spinning. Too much wine and too little sleep, she told herself. It was not every night that she was awakened twice with such desperate tidings. At least I could awaken. Robert would have been too drunk to rise, let alone rule. It would have fallen to Jon Arryn to deal with all of this. It pleased her to think that she made a better king than Robert." AFfC, Cersei VII

Since she doesn't care about feeding her subjects, protecting them from harm, enacting fair and genuine justice to those who need it, improving the physical infrastructure of the realm, honoring debts to foreign entities and previous agreements to other nobles, or at least diminishing the economic problems left by Robert's rule, then she (and once again, Joffrey and Tommen by extension) literally has nothing to offer anyone who wishes to follow her. She doesn't make even the attempt to pretend she cares about any of this by the time we get to AFfC, like Renly once did in ACoK, precisely because she has the mistaken and very dangerous belief that she's owed obedience and deference and the right to rule over an entire continent, and that people should somehow be grateful to obey her no matter how shitty and depraved and harmful she is to them and their families.

""The realm is at war. His Grace has need of every man." Cersei did not intend to squander Tommen's strength playing wet nurse to sparrows, or guarding the wrinkled cunts of a thousand sour septas. Half of them are probably praying for a good raping. "Your sparrows have clubs and axes. Let them defend themselves."" AFfC, Cersei VI

"When the door closed behind them Cersei poured herself another cup of wine. "I am surrounded by enemies and imbeciles," she said. She could not even trust to her own blood and kin, nor Jaime, who had once been her other half. He was meant to be my sword and shield, my strong right arm. Why does he insist on vexing me?" AFfC, Cersei VII

All of this is remarkable precisely when put in contrast with Dany, because both of their ambitions to the throne come from their belief that they're entitled to the throne above any other consideration, and both of them had little experience ruling before their ascent to power and are continuously doubted/criticized because of their gender, but what sets Dany apart is her willingness to learn from others and take care of the people who follow her. Despite all the troubles that ADwD have brought her, Dany has always been characterized by someone who attempts to protect others and is prepared to hear her subject's opinions and make actual efforts to improve their lives; many of us root for her precisely because she makes a genuine effort into being a good and fair ruler to her subjects even when she fails, even when she makes wrong choices, even when she falls short of her goal. One of the main problems in her journey has been the question of how can she become a legitimate ruler in the eyes of the Westerosi people, and she rightfully understood that she needed to offer something in exchange for loyalty, just like Stannis did.

""There's much I don't understand," Davos admitted. "I have never pretended elsewise. I know the seas and rivers, the shapes of the coasts, where the rocks and shoals lie. I know hidden coves where a boat can land unseen. And I know that a king protects his people, or he is no king at all."" ASoS, Davos VI

"Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can't protect themselves?" ASoS, Daenerys III

I believe that the fact that Cersei doesn't ever comes close to this realization doesn't just steam from her natural self-centredness, propensity to cruelty and repeated trauma in the hands of the men in her life, but precisely by the vision Tywin had about himself and house Lannister. At the end of the day, Cersei mimics not only what Tywin himself believes about their house (that they're superior, wealthier, worthier and morally above everyone else, even other noble houses), but also how Tywin behaves as a political actor (making deals in bad faith and not fulfilling them, mistreating children, women and disabled peoople, using extreme violence as a form of correction and coercion, following no moral guidance or innate beliefs other than what benefits them in the short term, etc.). They're not the only ones who exhibits this behavior (Bronn, for example, is just as self-serving and violent as them), but House Lannister, and Tywin, Cersei and Joffrey in particular, are definitely some of the most powerful and influential people in Westeros thanks to their military might and economic power, which amplifies the consequences of their selfishness to... quite scary levels.

[m1dnyt3-w0lf]

Good Puppy Part 5

Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

⚠️WARNING: NSFW IMPLICATIONS⚠️

Summary: Awkward

Breakfast was awkward. Pretending to love Miguel was one thing. Pretending to love Miguel after grinding on him and then getting off to the thought of him was a whole other issue! You swore your cheeks were in a permanent blush since that moment. You did your best to keep your attention on your family, but your mind kept wandering.

The grip of his hand.

The ragged breathing.

The desperate tone.

You wanted it to happen again.

“Junebug, dear, are you listening?” Your mother’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You look up from your plate of pancakes to your mother. Everyone’s attention was on you.

“Oh, sorry, I zoned out. What happened?” You ask, feeling your cheeks heat up from embarrassment.

“The twins had the bright idea to camp outside! We’re going to make it a family thing!” Your mother recounted excitedly. “Will you come shopping with us while the men set everything up here?”

“Sure!” You reply with a smile. Time away from Miguel sounded like a godsend. Maybe then your mind wouldn’t be so horny.

“Here,” Miguel rumbled as he handed you his card, “I’ll pay for it.”

He has a black card?! You thought as you tried not to drop your jaw. You've known him for how long, and he never told you?! Why was he showing it off now?!

Was he trying to impress your family?!

“Oh, no, Miguel, we can’t ask that of you.” Your father says. Miguel only smiles. He looks so good when he smiles…

“I’m offering from my own free will.” He says coolly, gently taking your hand and placing the card in it. “Please allow me to show my gratitude for your hospitality” His eyes slid from your father to you, his eyes staring into yours intensely. “And for gifting me such a beautiful soul to love and be loved by.” A collection of “awe” filled the air.

You have never wanted to kiss someone so bad.

“Get yourself a fruit bowl, amor.” He says casually, eyes still holding your gaze. You manage to nod your head.

“Okay.”

“Can I get myself one, too?” Sammy asks.

“Sammy!” Your mother scolds.

“What? It was just a—”

“No.” Miguel interrupts curtly, never even glancing her way. Your cheeks were burning at this point.

It’s fake-it’s fake-it’s fake-it’s fake. You chanted in your head. It felt like you had to remind yourself a lot about that recently.

You were first to look away from the shared eye contact. Any longer, and you would've jumped him. You see Miguel turn away in your periphery. You clear your throat.

“So, when do we leave?”

“Junie, I will not ask again. Get the watermelon.” Your mother said sternly. Her voice sliced through your mindless fog and had your back stiffening. She only called you that when you were in trouble.

“Sorry, mom!” You hurried off for the produce section. You have been nothing but distracted since you got to the store. No matter how hard you tried, your mind seemed to trail back to this morning. You swore your mind was torturing you. It was like you were an addict experiencing withdrawal despite only having a taste. You groaned softly and rubbed at your eyes.

Focus, dammit. You mentally scolded yourself. You took a deep breath and began your tireless search for the juiciest watermelon in the bunch. Once found, you hurried back to where you last saw your family. You frown as you begin in a slow circle before picking a direction to hurry off to. One thing you hated about grocery shopping was always losing everyone whenever you went to do something else. You won't lie. It was quite annoying to have to go through. The endless up and down of the aisles, looking like a crazed person as you feverishly searched. You groan and take your phone out, only to pause at the message on your screen. A message from Miguel.

'We need to talk when you get back'

Was he discovered? Was he not able to continue this charade? Oh gods, was he going to talk about—

“You got the watermelon!” You were thrown out of your thoughts when Maggie took the watermelon out of your hold. You quickly pocket your phone.

“Oh, um, yeah.” You walk with her through the aisles. She gives you a look.

“You doing okay there?” She asks. You look at her and see the concern knitting her eyebrows together. You offer a smile.

“I’m fine.” You tell her. She looked unconvinced.

“Junie, I love you, but you’re such a terrible liar.” She says.

Say that to my relationship with Miguel. You thought before it gave you pause. Wait, no, what relationship?

“Junie?” Maggie tries again. Her hand was on your arm, both of you halting by the toilet paper. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I promise.” You say then sigh. “It’s just…”

“Just?” Maggie pressed. You huff.

“Miguel wants to talk to me about something.” You tell her. It felt nice to be able to talk about something about your fake relationship with Miguel. You pretended you didn’t have to remind yourself of that fact. “I’m not sure what it is, but I’m really worried about it.”

“Oh, Junie.” Maggie pulled you in for a hug. “I doubt it’s anything bad. Miguel loves you!”

“I don’t know—” She’s quick to brush you off.

“Please, you can see it clearly on his face and the way he looks at you! I’m surprised he could even keep his hands off you.” She says with a giggle. You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Maggie, stop.” You cover your cheeks.

“I’m serious!” Her voice comes out in a hushed tone. “I swear sometimes it feels like he’s undressing you with his eyes!”

“Maggie!” You gasped, your face red as a tomato. You gave her a light smack on her arm. She laughs.

“I’m serious! Really, don’t sweat it. He loves you. We all know it.” Maggie smiles, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. Now, let's get back to mom before she blows her top.” You both giggle and hurry away.

Miguel stared at his phone as if willing you to respond back to him. He can’t keep up the charade. He couldn’t keep pretending to be in love with you.

Not while being in love with you.

He wasn’t sure how you’d react to his confession, nor was he sure if you’d share feelings. Since that morning, you’ve plagued his mine. He’ll admit, not in the most innocent ways, but he still couldn’t deny it. He really did love you. He didn’t know why it took him so long to figure it out, or why it took you grinding on his dick to figure it out, but he wasn’t about to go any longer without calling you his.

“You alright there, son?” Your father asked him. Miguel looked up from his phone and put it away. He shot your father a charming smile.

“Of course, just missing my girl is all.” My girl. It felt so right on his tongue. Just like how he hoped you felt-shock, your dad was right there! Miguel was quick to force his thoughts clean.

“I wish I could say it gets easier with time.” Your father said with a laugh, clapping a hand on Miguel’s shoulder and leading him to the backyard. “But I miss my wife every time I don’t see her.”

“Even while sleeping?” Miguel asks.

“Not at all, I dream of her in my sleep.” He sighs, making Miguel chuckle. “I am forever grateful I met her.”

“That much, huh?” Miguel asks him. Your father nods.

“Just as much as you love our Junebug.” He says. Miguel flusters a bit. Was he that obvious?

“I just hope they know.” Miguel says. Your father chuckled.

“Nothing like just saying ‘I love you.’” Your dad tells him as they rejoined Pete and the kids, who were busy setting up the tents. Miguel was surprised at how simple Your father put it. But was it that easy? Did you love him back? Or was all your blushing and hints just part of the charade? He really hoped it wasn't.

Despite wanting to talk to Miguel as soon as possible, your family somehow kept you both separate from each other. The most you were able to do was give him sparing glances as you passed by each other or met each other's eyes from across the yard. Dinner was a definite no. However, Miguel had quickly cut up his food, so his left hand was free to lay on your thigh and gently caress it with his thumb. The action left you so heated and surprisingly comforted. He wouldn't do that if what he needed to talk about wasn't good, right? You tried to focus on that thought rather than the darker thoughts that filled your mind.

Your mother had ushered everyone outside after dinner where your father had built and lit a fire. Maggie brought out the marshmallows, chocolate, and graham crackers. The younger kids cheered. Everyone took their places around the fire. Everyone was throwing jokes and stories, laughing, and having a good time. It didn’t take long for you to forget about everything. You found yourself laughing and jumping in with your own stories, unaware of the gaze Miguel was giving you. You gasped and turned to him suddenly, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Remember Brad?!” You asked with a laugh. The very name had him rolling his eyes.

“Don’t remind me. I still don’t know what you saw in him.” Miguel huffed.

“Who’s Brad?” Sammy asks with interest.

“Oh, he was my—” You cut yourself off. Shit, you forgot. How the hell are you going to talk about your ex?!

“Their boyfriend before me.” Miguel answers with ease. “Before they knew I loved them. Worst three months of my life.”

“You never told me you had someone before Miguel!” Maggie gasped. You chuckled a bit nervously.

“To be fair, it was nothing serious.”

“Nothing about that man was serious. I’m surprised he even had a job, what with his lack of responsibility and his tendency to slack off. Really, it was a godsend when they broke up. I was able to sweep my love off their feet and show them exactly how they should be treated.” Miguel scoffed. There was something strange about his tone.

“Now, Miguel, you aren’t still jealous of their ex, are you?” Thomas joked. You looked from your brother to Miguel.

“Is that true?” You ask. Miguel clears his throat and averts his gaze.

“‘Course not. I’ve got you, don’t I?” Miguel mumbled. You couldn’t help but smile. Whether this was fake or not, it was real enough for you. You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“My big grumpy man.” You whisper, earning yourself a dust of pink on his cheeks and a soft smile.

“I’m not that grumpy, am I?” He whispered back, his tone playful.

“Not to me.” You say, gazing up into his eyes as you did so. Something flickered in his eyes.

“Get a room!” Thomas called, followed by a chorus from the rest of your family. You and Miguel chuckle.

“Maybe we will!” You call out, standing. Miguel was quick to follow. You waved off your family as Miguel led you to the tent you were both supposed to share. He pulled the flap back to allow you in, crawling in after you. You laughed.

“Can you believe them? I swear they’re all-Miguel?” You turned to see him looking a bit more somber.

“Amor, this is our chance to talk.” He says quietly. Your blood runs cold.

“Wh-what is it?” You ask, spluttering slightly at the sudden change of mood.

“It’s about us fake dating.” Miguel says, a pained expression on his face. “I can’t do it.”

His words were like a slap in the face. If you weren’t already sitting, you would have staggered. You felt your heart crack and break, each piece cutting your chest open like a shard of glass. You blinked at him as if he were a hallucination.

“What?” You hated how broken you sounded. Miguel physically winced and took your hand in his. His once warm hand now felt cold as ice to you. You tried to slip away, but he held strong.

“Amor, listen to me first.” He pleaded, his own voice sounding broken. “I can’t pretend to date you because I love you.”

Finale

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[thislovintime]

Remembering David Jones, and sending thoughts to his family and friends.

(Footage in this edit from the Blu-ray set, Getty Images, Australian TV, Extra, the 1990s documentary; audio 1 from Peter's 1999 interview with GOLD 104.5.)

“Genuine, reliable and huggable, Peter is a natural person — really gets off on talent — loves other musicians and can jam along with the best of ‘em. I saw him holding his own with Hendrix, Stills, Young. He encouraged me no end. Bought me my first guitar and my first drum kit. […] He used to walk with a swagger, shining his arms with a confident air. He calmed hysteria, and lifted depression. ‘Dried banana, anybody? Piece of orange?’ — smiling, waving, running his hands through his hair. He knew all the crew by their first names. Kids crying at his feet he lifted and hugged like a father calming a child. […] He’s the most musically talented of us all by a mile. His songs are real. ‘For Pete’s Sake’ — which replaced the Monkees Theme at the end of some of the shows of the second season — is one of my all-time favorite songs by anybody. I’ve joked a lot about Peter giving everything away. But it was true. He was always giving his spare room to someone who needed it for the night — anyone. And he always seemed far away somewhere — in a different space. But I’m glad I know him. Of all the things he gave me, he gave me lots of laughs — and food for thought.” - Davy Jones, They Made A Monkee Out Of Me (1988) “I enjoyed [Micky] the most, respected Mike the most, and loved Davy the most.” - Peter Tork, Hartford Courant, February 26, 1982 “Davy adored performing, and adored meeting and greeting his fans. He was tireless in making himself available to sing a song, do a dance, shake a hand; whatever was asked. I had heart-to-heart moments with him that were among the best in my life. I was blessed to know and work closely with him. He was one in about 6 billion, give or take. We won’t see his like again. He left much too soon. I share your sadness. Thank you again for this chance to contribute. God bless and keep you all.” - Peter Tork in a note for a Pennsylvania memorial event for Davy, also shared via Peter’s official Facebook page, 2012 Peter Tork: “He was a master of many aspects of this kind of thing [entertaining], and, you know, and we had some very wonderful personal connections, and I’m really sad to see all that gone.” Q: “He just seemed to be a fun guy. I know he loved horses.” PT: “Sure did.” Q: “And obviously loved Peter.” PT: “Sure did. Loved him.” - 94.5 FM (Phoenix), 2013 “[Micky] and Mike and I have a very cordial relationship and share a lot of common topics. We go to lunch together when we’re all in town and have a good time. I love and respect each of these guys in their own way, although the real joys that I shared with Davy were special. At one point we had some good hard connections but as the years rolled on, those things faded away. But I am sorry to see Davy go. He was the one member in the group that I had the strongest human connection with. I still have two guys that I love and respect left from the band, but we share a different dynamic.” - Peter Tork, Review Mag, May 27, 2016

[billskaarsgard]

Not Just Ken - Ken x f!Reader

Alright so I'm still thinking about the whole story behind the last post I made, trying to give a chance to a new story and I'm fascinated by Ryan Gosling as Ken. Still giving it a shot, at least for now it's only some fluffy stuff!!.

Word count: 2.1k

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It was a very hot and dry day, you got your favorite iced coffee from the shop and headed back to work. You had just had lunch and enjoyed the rest of your work break, in the midst of a tireless routine of clients who would still visit your office that day. Walking faster, among countless people who were also running through the streets of Los Angeles, you bump into a man who you hadn't noticed in your field of vision. The blonde, who you thought had just stepped out of a Calvin Klein shoot, dropped grotesquely and almost "hard" to the floor, letting out an "ouch." You quickly reach out his hand to help him up, and only then do you notice how his eyes are deep blue, his teeth perfectly aligned, and his muscular body exuding sensuality.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry! Did I hurt you?", you said as soon as he stood up, smiling at you even though you just dropped him on the floor.

"Hey, it's not broken!", he exclaimed excitedly, checking his left arm, twirling the limb that was still in place. "Hi, I'm Ken," he said, reaching out to shake your hand.

Wondering the way the guy kept a good mood even after being bumped into and falling to the ground in the middle of hundreds of people, you accepted to greet him. "I'm (y/n). I'm really sorry I didn't see you, I'm getting back to work and I'm in a rush".

"That's alright, wow you're so pretty!", said the blonde, still keeping a wide smile on his face. You smirked, getting lost in that impeccable, almost unreal face, forgetting you were rushing to get back to work.

"Well thank you Ken, it was nice meeting you", you said and turned on your back to keep doing your way to work. Even though it would be a good chance to meet someone, you weren't sure it was the right way, maybe it was just a coincidence, and it wasn't supposed to be like that. You reached the sidewalk and as you were about to cross the street looking at both ways, the man was there standing behind you, with a playful smile still. Well that's kinda creepy, maybe he's just going the same way you are and that's all. You crossed the street and turned your left as you're approaching your building as you come back to your office. Looking back, you realize he was still following you. Ok, this is beyond creepy.

"Uh, do you work here?", you asked and raised a brow, watching him shake his head no. "Then why are you following me?".

"I thought you were nice and I don't know anybody here, maybe we could hang out!", he replied. Was that a fucking joke? Why the hell would someone you only know for about 10 minutes wanna "hang out" with you at your work? "I can't right now, I have to work and my schedule is really busy. But maybe some other time". You tried to sound nice and not one tiny bit mas and sort of scared, but he frowned and your head turned into a giant question mark.

"OK, I can wait", Ken said, and gave you a side smile, showing he understood you. You had no idea what to say so you just waved at him and entered the building. That was so awkward and not to mention very random to happen, but the guy seemed nice. Maybe he had a disease, maybe he was autistic and you didn't know, maybe maybe maybe.

Hours after you finished with your last client, you let out a loud sigh as you were really tired and just wanted to go home, take a shower and get some rest. At the ground floor, as soon as you got out of the elevator you saw a bleached hair sitting in a chair reading a magazine about horses and country stuff. I can't deal with this again right now, you thought. Even you tried making a different way to the exit he would probably see you, so that's why you sat next to him.

"Hey, (y/n), I've been sitting here all day waiting for you!", the tall guy lowered the magazine and stared at you with a cherished smile still on his face. HE WHAT?

"What? Why?", as confused as you were, you thought it might be better if you called someone and tell them there's a guy out there who may be lost. Everything was so weird.

"I left Barbie Land and I don't know anybody here. I tried to make friends but they seem scared of me", he replied and your brain flipped at the sound of "Barbie Land".

"AH okay, Barbie Land? Where is that?", you asked but you weren't sure where this conversation was headed. You heard him sigh, closing the paper on his hand before looking at you.

"You have to take this trip with a car, a spaceship, a boat and rollerblades before getting here, so if you wanna be there you do all of that but in reverse". He explained it with so much conviction that you couldn't tell if he really was a person with some condition, in which the parents could have lost him. That could only be it, nothing made sense in your head. Okay, he really looked like a doll, but that story sounded really bizarre. "You don't believe me", he let a sad gaze as you were still trying to follow what he said. Ken lowered his head and let out a noticeable noise of disappointment..

"I- uh... it's not that. It's just... a very weird story". You looked at your smartwatch as the clock hit almost 6:30 PM. "What about your parents?". You know by the look of his face he was an adult, but you were in denial as to what the hell he was talking about. "I don't have any parents. In Barbie Land we only have Barbies and Ken's. Some Allan's too".

Well ok, he sounds so serious about that story, maybe you should give him a chance and talk to the guy. You invited him for a walk to the same coffee shop, sat in front of him as he was looking at the menu. "So you like horses?", you asked and he stared at you, smiling. This man is always so smily and happy. "They're my favorite animals. I would love to have one of them. How about you?".

"Cats and dogs I guess, but turtles, specially sea turtles are cute", you grinned when he made an "aww" face. Everything was still a little tumultuous, the whole conversation seemed out of touch with reality, but you were trying to keep your sanity and trying hard not to get paranoid about the whole thing. "So tell me about you, Ken. You're from Barbie Land, that means you're a doll right?".

"Yes, I am. I can show you if you want. I have all the genitals". Okay, what? You laughed at the way he said it, but the look on his face showed he would like it to be true. Probably he really didn't have any genitals. "I can also stand on tiptoe and if you notice I don't have body hair". Yeah alright, not having any hair on your body doesn't mean much, but we all have some hair. And he was always walking on his tiptoes which is hardly something people do unless they're doing ballet. Still, it was too weird. "I also don't have a heart". He said like it wasn't a big deal, but when he grabbed your hand and pulled it on his chest, you couldn't feel a pulse. And then you knew it.

Holy fucking shit what the actual hell was that? You tried not to show you were definitely surprised by the fact you were actually talking to a doll, but you squeezed his skin and he didn't flinch a little. Ken never stopped smiling, unless the subject was Barbie, who you learned, wasn't in love with him. You also learned that even though he didn't have a heart and didn't know what feelings were, he was always jealous of the other Ken's and felt sad about Barbie, that was why he decided to left Barbie Land.

You got home about almost two hours later, took off your shoes and left your purse by the counter, giving space for the blond man to get in the house. You both agreed he would sleep on the couch until you figure out what to do with him, who made sure he wouldn't leave the real world until he finds out how to bring the patriarchy to the other world.

"Thank you for making me company today. I'm still upset Barbie shot me down", he said as he sat on the couch, getting rid of his cowboy boots, the bandana and the hat. The look on his face explained why he decided he would leave their Land and stay in Los Angeles.

"Hey it's okay. We don't need to depend on someone to live our life", you sat next to him and held his chin, this chilling energy traveling through your body while he kept his gaze at you. "You're gonna survive, but for now I think it's best you get some rest. I'm gonna shower, you can shower after I'm done too".

"We don't sleep and we don't take showers either", he grinned. Ok, that makes sense. Dolls don't need to sleep and neither take a shower. Might as well don't eat either, since he didn't drink the coffee, but couldn't hurt to offer him something to try out.

"That's right, I'm sorry. I know you usually don't eat either, but are you willing to try and find out how to eat? As long as you're staying here maybe you could learn some human stuff". You smiled and headed to the kitchen, you quickly made a chicken and ham sandwich for him, handing him the place. He spent a good whole minute looking at the slice bread until he realizes he didn't know how to swallow the food, and then when he could finally do it Ken made a sound.

"That's really good, (y/n), thank you so much". With a smile, you left him enjoying the food and hoped in the shower. After a few minutes, you put on your pajamas and went to the kitchen to grab some food, watching him lying on the couch singing some tune you had no idea which one. The man ate his whole sandwich, you saw as the plate was sitting empty on the table in your living room. This man is something else. While you were heating your food you were trying to figure out which clothes to offer him to wear since you're a woman and didn't have any good clothes for the giant man in your couch. "Uhm, I'm going to find you some clothes but they might look pretty short on you", you sat on a chair close to the TV and looked at him, while he was still singing the song and "playing drums" in the air.

"It's okay, (y/n). I can lay on my underwear, it's not cold for me anyway", Ken smiled. You thought if he wasn't a fucking doll he would definitely be teasing you, but ever since you met him you've come to realize everything he does is just plain innocent. You two spent a few hours watching TV together, you were trying to explain what a TV show was when you told him you liked to watch some of them. He tried to understand the best he could, but he wasn't so sure he got the idea. Before you went to bed, you brushed your teeth and walked to the living room to say goodnight to Ken, who was already on his underwear, looking at your book shelf. The strap read "Ken" around it and you blushed at the sight of his sculptural body.

"G-Good night, Ken", nice. You were already acting like some teenage girl with erupting hormones. Never saw a man naked before? Many times, but they weren't that good looking.

"Oh, good night (y/n). I hope you have a good night of sleep", he turned around smiling and you wish the lights were off as the man's bulge was definitely getting all of your attention. His eyes are a little up above you pervert. And after all, he does have a genital. At least in this world. Maybe he just doesn't know he does and maybe it's for the best of both of you.